Crazy Love

by Michelle Pace

  I tightened my grip on her and closed my eyes tightly. In the back of my mind, a haunting voice called out a rebuttal.

  Oh no it’s not, Dahlin’. And you’re downright mad if you believe it ever will be.

  I strolled out of the conference room, letting the door behind me swing with flourish. The murmurs of the board members followed me out into the corridor, and hearing Trip’s footfalls behind me made me grin. We were halfway down the hallway when he finally caught up, matching my stride.

  “Sammy.” Daddy used to call me ‘Sammy’ and with a smile leaking into his voice, Trip sounded just like him. “You are a total dick.”

  “Yeah, well…I learned it by watching you,” I quipped. At the first board meeting two weeks before, the board had made a united effort to treat us like upstarts, practically patting us on our heads. Unfortunately for them, I wasn’t quite the doe-eyed virgin they took me for. All attempts to interrupt me during my presentation were met with smooth admonishment and swift, unarguable facts. When a condescending senior board member tried to snap me back by the leash, I replied that we’d gladly sell off our stock, since neither Trip nor I were interested in keeping our considerable wealth tied up in a company with no agility. Two weeks later, they were falling over themselves to accommodate us. Hardly a shocker, since the two of us owned nearly sixty-five percent of Beaumont Enterprises. It appeared that, blood relative or not, I possessed the razor sharp teeth of a Great White Beaumont.

  “Well now that you’ve proven you have the biggest set of balls in Chatham County, do you want to celebrate? I have to deliver the last of my paintings, but after that I’m free.” A disappointed frown escaped me when he mentioned the art. Since his blow up with Violet, Trip had been focused on accepting the responsibility that was his to own. Though his first instinct was to move to The Keys and give her the space she asked for, visions of Dashul raising his daughter quickly squelched it. His sponsor Vanessa told him to ‘quit being a pussy’ and in more diplomatic terms, his psychiatrist agreed. So when Vi refused take his calls, he’d written her a long email, explaining that he would never lay another amorous hand on her again, but that his daughter needed her father. Since Violet and Maisie were supposed to move to Charleston after her Valentine’s Day wedding, Trip made plans to leave Savannah. Though I knew it was killing him, he slapped on a smile and claimed the city held far too many painful memories for him anyway. He needed a ‘fresh start.’ Imogene’s was hosting a show to liquidate his inventory. Moving all of those paintings would be ridiculous, he explained. Frankly, I think they held far too many memories, too.

  Trip had been to Charleston to house hunt a couple of times, and the week before Annie and I had joined him. Charleston was a charming city, but I had a very hard time imagining Savannah without my brother. When I pictured him elsewhere, I was taken off guard at how emotional it made me. It totally sucked that I was laying roots just as he was replanting. Now that he and I could speak to each other unfiltered, I discovered that I was going to miss the hell out of him. Though his relocation made me blue, I got it. I worried about his being without a support system. I openly questioned the strategic intelligence of it, but as he pointed out, I wasn’t faced with losing precious formative years with my child. What he failed to mention was that he’d continuously face the loss of his true love to his own past transgressions.

  The abortion bombshell was devastating for him. He’d heaped the blame on himself in typical Trip fashion. Annie had proceeded to chew him out for that, telling him Violet was a grown-ass woman and that what she decided to do with her body was her call. Then she ordered Jayse, Dale, Randall and Patience to remove all the booze from the beach house. They did as she asked, each one of them looking relieved to have an excuse to blow the emotionally charged scene. Then my girl demanded his phone from him and proceeded to call Trip’s sponsor herself. I’m not sure exactly what Annabelle said to her, but twenty minutes later a busty, foul-mouthed blonde showed up on the porch. Pushing up her glasses anxiously, she introduced herself as Vanessa M. I was about to invite her in, but Trip met us at the door, and the two of them commenced a chain smoking marathon that I’m certain continued long after we left. With Vanessa M’s company, Trip seemed a hell of a lot more stable and he had insisted we go. At some point I had to trust him with himself, but Annabelle seemed as leery about going as I did.

  By that time, we were both fried. We’d been up talking most of the night after she’d had her break-down. Crushed that I’d hurt or upset her, I begged her to tell me what I’d done. She just kept telling me to go, but I refused to leave her. Once she’d finally cried herself out, she caved and confessed about the abuse. I tried not to combust as I held her while her sweet voice described horrors that I don’t dare dwell on. The calm way she recalled the atrocities and the unforgiveable way her mother ignored them threatened to unhinge me.

  She told me about the miscarriage when she was a girl and that she’d felt so low she’d nearly overdosed after. Though she’d had years of therapy, she said sex was predictably complicated for her. To use her words, “My extenuating circumstances have extenuating circumstances.” She’d had plentiful meaningless sex, and for a short time it gave her an odd sense of control. But there was no bond involved with any of the men, no connection. She said it was like having an out-of-body experience at the absolute worst time to be outside of one’s body. This sounded to me like some coping mechanism, like she’d learned to detach herself from the act to preserve her sanity. We were still spooning on the bed when she added that she’d never had an orgasm. She sounded embarrassed as she confessed that, at its best, sex felt about as pleasurable as a back rub.

  Finally, she rolled over and looked at me in the dark. Though it was hard to see by the light of the moon, her expression appeared resigned. “I just wanted you to know that it’s not you, Sam. You did nothing wrong. I’m really attracted to you and I really want to be with you. I won’t blame you if you go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I stroked her cheek with my knuckles and dared to kiss her forehead. The trust she’d shown me was humbling and my instinctive need to protect her, ferocious. Frowning, she glanced sideways up at me. Her doubtful eyes immediately spiked my adrenaline. I’d seen similar transformations before; like a fighter between rounds, she’d put her mouth guard back in and was leaving her corner.

  “Don’t feel obligated. I can deal if you go, but I can’t handle you staying because you feel sorry for me.” She tried to turn away, but I flipped her back in my direction, caging her with my arms. I doubted myself immediately…nervous about being physically assertive with her after all she’d been through. But she only seemed curious, not afraid.

  “I need you to listen to me. Don’t ever put words into my mouth.” My voice was firmer than I intended, but I was still humming with barely contained rage at those who’d wronged her. The best I could do was hope she could feel that my words came from the right place. “You should know by now that I never do anything that I don’t want to do. Just accept that what I say to you is true. You don’t live inside my head, alright?”

  After a long pause, she nodded. It may have been a trick of the moonlight but I thought I saw tears standing in her eyes.

  “But what if I…what if this happens again? Sam, I don’t…I just don’t know what to do. All the times before, I’ve always had to be in control. But it’s always been about the power; the other person was a tool. When I’m in the act, that’s all it feels like…an act. With you…I don’t understand it, but I feel differently about you.” She reached out and stroked my facial hair, and I turned my head to kiss her palm. I felt differently about her, too. I remembered Jayse’s warnings and her sexual aggression that night in her bedroom, and it all seemed to click into place like a tumbler on a combination lock.

  We finally agreed that when it came to intimacy, she’d have to take the lead—at least for the time being. She told me she’d recently found a therapist and intended to make it a priority to sc
hedule an appointment with her. Now, a full month since my birthday, there had been some heavy moments, but we always stopped before things got too crazy. Though I’ll admit that I was frustrated, I felt like things were going really well. We spent time together each and every day. I’d been swamped with moving, overseeing construction on the building I bought and all my Beaumont Corporation deals, and Annabelle’s scheduled made me look retired. Her class and studying schedule were brutal, not to mention her job at the piano bar and her pharmacy externship. We made it a priority to get together every night. I’d “help” her study, which usually digressed since I made her take a piece of clothing off every time she missed an answer. Lord, she was gorgeous. I could kiss that girl for hours and never tire of it.

  I even made a habit out of stalking her while she worked at Black Keys, but she didn’t seem to mind my being there. She said she enjoyed the place, and Martin, her boss, had absolutely no problem taking my money for cocktails. I didn’t miss the fact that she got hit on a lot, but she didn’t seem to take any shit and assured me she could handle herself. I really wanted her to quit that job, but when I suggested it, she narrowed her eyes at me. She confessed that she’d been happy that I’d meddled with the tombstone rubbing business, but I think she saw my comment about Black Keys as crossing a line. Perhaps she saw it as some attempt by me to ‘keep her.’ Pride was deeply ingrained in Annabelle. I’d learned not to push it when she gave me the look.

  Spending my evenings with her made avoiding Cosmo a snap. Mama and I’d had our brunch, and she behaved like the altercation at Tybee never happened. I expected as much; Mama practically had an honorary doctorate in revisionist history. Annabelle wasn’t comfortable staying at the carriage house or even coming to the estate, so I usually slept at her apartment.

  At her place, tension reigned. Things between Annie and Jayse continued to be uncomfortably quiet. About two weeks after my birthday, Annie and I were making out on the couch when Jayse stumbled into the apartment drunk off his ass. We shot apart like two junior high kids. Jayse mumbled something about Dale dumping him before puking his guts out in the kitchen sink. I helped Jayse into his room where he made a halfhearted attempt to hit on me while Annie cleaned up after him. When I returned to the living room she was dialing Dale’s number. After a lengthy one-sided conversation, Annie said Dale confirmed the relationship was over.

  “Sam?” Trip snapped his fingers in front of my face. “You really ought to get some rest, bro. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Or doing something with both ends. Either way, you look like you need some sleep.”

  “Sorry.” I put a hand over my eyes. “I was up late unpacking the last two nights. What were we talking about?”

  “Celebrating,” Trip replied as we walked out into the cool January breeze. “I thought we could do it, Daddy-style.”

  “The club?” I smiled at the idea. The notion had a bit of poetic justice. “Sounds perfect. I’ll call Annabelle. She’s got a big test coming up, but she could probably use a break.” As I climbed in the car, I pulled out the phone and dialed her number.

  “Hey.” Her alto voice sounded huskier than usual, and I could tell she was happy to hear from me. Jayse was obviously home, judging by the thumping of the dance-mix in the background.

  “Hey.” I glanced over at my brother. Trip’s expression taunted me; I could tell it was obvious how ridiculously in love with her I was. I didn’t want to spook her by saying the words just yet, but keeping my poker face when I talked to her or about her was practically impossible these days. I’d even gone out and bought a bike so I could ride with her on her marathon cemetery excursions. Every facet of her fascinated me, and I found watching her process for making rubbings intriguing. Honestly, she seemed to have no method to her madness, and when I questioned why she chose one headstone over another she’d just get this thoughtful look on her face and claim it just “felt right.” That was Annabelle. She always went with her gut. This attitude seemed to be rubbing off on me, much like the charcoal handprints all over my ass when I’d whisk her off into the trees. Since I’m a person typically driven by logic, it both worried and exhilarated me that when it came to her, I went with my heart over my brain at every crossroads.

  “Still cramming?” I tried hard to focus on my reason for calling and not the memory of our groping sessions in the woods near the cemetery.

  “Yes…” she moaned in a way that made me think all manner of filthy thoughts.

  “She’s a whiny little beoch because she got an Asian A!” Jayse’s voice blared through her phone at me as if he were in the backseat. I held the phone back from my ear six inches, and Trip chuckled.

  “A “B”? Annabelle…” I mocked horror, knowing she’d go through the roof.

  “A “B plus.” Assholes,” she cracked, and I smiled. The material had been hellish, but she was such a perfectionist when it came to her grades that I knew she’d be kicking herself for days.

  “So dinner’s out?” I pretty much knew the answer, but it was worth a shot. She signed regretfully.

  “I wish I could. I want to get a head start on the next unit. And since we’re going to be unpacking this weekend, I’d rather make that sacrifice now.” I couldn’t argue with her reasoning. I was itching to wake up next to her in my new bedroom that overlooked the Savannah River. She’d texted me that she hoped that Friday would be ‘the night’. I’ll admit the thought had me drooling.

  “Alright. Trip and I are going to the club. I’ll see you after.”

  “You’d better.” It was our running joke, and her bossiness made me laugh. I hung up right as we pulled into The Chatham Club.

  While we waited for our private dining room, I spotted one of Wakefield’s bodyguards leave the main dining room. Trip and I exchanged a glance. I asked a silent question with my eyes, and he responded with a smirk and a nod. His message was clear.

  Now is as good a time as any.

  As we crossed to his table, my brother waved to several ladies along the way. I was too distracted by the sight of Mama canoodling with Wakefield to even notice who else was in the room. Approaching them was awkward, but when she looked up and saw Trip and me, her initial reaction was priceless. It was short-lived. Embarrassment quickly transformed to enthusiasm.

  “Well if it isn’t both of my boys. Join us!” She sounded a bit like Henry the VIII at an orgy. Trip and I exchanged a micro-glance and took the empty seats across from them.

  “What brings the Beaumont brothers to The Chatham Club this fine evening?” Wakefield asked, and the way he emphasized the last name Beaumont made me want to rip out his throat, literally and metaphorically.

  “The Oglethorpe Club was closed for a private party.” It was a test jab, just an acknowledgement that in my investigation I’d discovered he wasn’t invited to join the Oglethorpe Club, which prided itself on being the most exclusive club in town. Batting his taunt back at him, I effectively called him nouveau riche. His frown dialed down a notch.

  “We’re here to celebrate.” Trip’s delivery was congenial, and I was impressed with his composure.

  “Well, that sounds fun!” Wakefield’s sinister grey eyes sparkled as he flagged down a passing waiter. “Two bottles of Dom Perignon. Oh, I’m sorry, Trip! It slipped my mind. Ah well…we need a bottle of sparkling cider, too.”

  Mama surveyed the exchange suspiciously, and I observed Wakefield without emotion. I was jazzed, but I didn’t want him to see my cards so I simply blinked slowly. His pomposity was going to make this way too fun. I turned slowly to Trip with feigned disappointment. To his credit, Trip seemed bored, raising his eyebrows at Sebastian in polite surprise.

  “It’s really too bad you can’t have a drink, Trip. If ever there was a grand occasion…” I trailed off, waiting for them to take the bait.

  Trip’s smile lit up the dim room. “Oh, hell no. I want to be crystal clear for this.”

  “I’m surprised you’re in a celebratory mood, Trip,” Mama remarked, her d
emeanor shifting to concern. “Moving to Charleston, of all the God-forsaken places. And all so you can be an every-other-weekend dad?”

  It took a lot of willpower for me not to fly off the handle at her. It was one thing for Wakefield to cut Trip down, but Cosmo? The way she’d treated him since my birthday brought a lot of buried memories to the surface. She’s had the same approach with me when I wasn’t her favorite. Back then, every move I made was greeted with a ‘why can’t you be more like your brother.’ I assumed she no longer trusted Trip’s enthusiasm after he’d been popped in the face by her boyfriend’s thugs. Mama could be a perceptive one when she wasn’t staring admirably at her own reflection.

  “No, Mama. Beaumont Enterprises just made a major acquisition.” I smiled like I was saying ‘cheese’ for the cover of The Wall Street Journal. “Please forgive us; we’re just a bit heady. It’s kind of a big deal.”

  “Really?” Mama practically purred, dollar signs dancing in her eyes.

  “Oh yeah.” Trip looked pensive, but I knew it was a sham. “What was that term you used, Sam?”

  “A hostile takeover.” I said it quickly, my delivery flat and crisp.

  Trip snapped his fingers. “That’s right. How could I forget? Ah well. You know me. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  “Well…it really doesn’t fit that definition, Trip. In a hostile takeover, the management of the target company fights the takeover by the acquirer and the shareholders usually overrule them.”