Call it Love

by Kress, Alyssa

  If Chess thought her an easy woman of many lovers, it was only because she had deliberately set out to give that impression. She'd made sure everyone did. It was easier for men to take no for an answer when they thought they had stiff competition.

  She could hardly blame Chess for believing she singled him out for inferior treatment. She couldn't blame him for his disgust and anger. And she knew, deep down, that he considered the role of wife to include more than merely sex.

  A door at the back of the studio opened, letting in a bright shaft of light. Ruth's slender figure became silhouetted in the opening for a moment, followed by another figure, one that was much larger, masculine, and familiar.

  "Perfect!" Joann exclaimed, snapping the shutter on Cookie's expressive reaction.

  What was he doing here? With her heart beating wildly, Cookie could not figure it out.

  "Why don't you give Cooks a break?" Ruth's voice suggested from the darkness behind the bright lights. "We need to have a board meeting here."

  "Sure thing." Joann grinned at Cookie. "Good work, girl."

  Cookie slid off the iron rail, trying not to be too obvious about rubbing her aching behind.

  The harsh studio lights sighed off. She could see then that Chess looked as surprised by this meeting as herself. And as displeased. He probably wouldn't mind if they didn't speak another word to each other until January.

  "This way," Ruth commanded and led them down a hall.

  As they followed, Cookie glanced at Chess. "What's going on?"

  He shrugged. "Guess we'll find out."

  After opening a door into some sort of equipment storeroom, Ruth ushered the other two inside. "Now, I understand I'm taking my life into my hands here, but that's what I get paid to do. So here goes. A few home truths."

  On the other side of Ruth from Cookie, Chess's face noticeably tightened. Cookie felt herself tense as well. She didn't want any truths.

  "We've lost a whole month of marketing here," Ruth began. "But you both know that. What you may not realize is that the sales of Love did very well, considering."

  "What are you talking about?" Chess asked.

  "I'm talking about the eight thousand little bottles of Love we sold last month, thanks to the posters I put up at the department store counters."

  "Eight thousand?" Chess sounded astonished.

  "It hasn't showed up in your earnings report yet, but I was keeping track. I know this wasn't as much as we'd hoped for, but considering we did zero advertising beside those posters, Love did very well.

  Cookie focused on a different point. "What posters?"

  "Of you and Chess." Ruth's voice was dry. "I made them from the photograph at the airport."

  The photograph at the airport. The romantic shot of Chess sweeping her against him. The moment of utter fraud.

  "In other words," Ruth went on, "the hottest thing this campaign has going for it is you two. Don't ask me why that is when I haven't seen you exchange civil words with each other since you got married, but sue me. People can be fooled."

  Chess snorted.

  Averting her gaze, Cookie assured herself he didn't know he himself had been fooled; he was simply agreeing that he and Cookie hadn't exchanged civil conversation for the last three weeks.

  "No hurtful words or noises for the span of this conversation," Ruth ordered, raising a finger.

  "It's not a conversation, it's a lecture," Chess retorted. "I'd appreciate it if you could get to the point."

  "The point." Ruth gave him a dark smile. "The point is that if we hope to make up on our lost sales, we have to take full advantage of our main asset: your so-called romance." Now her ominous smile took in Cookie, too. "Which is why I called this meeting here. You may congratulate me later for my slick connections and shrewd business acumen, for I managed to get you a spot on the Buddy Rivers show."

  "Advertising?" Chess was baffled.

  "No, you idiot. A talk show interview. You and your loving wife here."

  There was a moment of shocked silence. "You want me to get on TV?" Chess's voice was choked.

  "Kind of brilliant, isn't it?" Ruth said. "Except I can't imagine how the two of you are going to pull it off. A blind man could see the tension here."

  Cookie raised an eyebrow in Chess's direction. "What tension?" In three weeks the man had not indicated he cared that she wasn't speaking to him. She sometimes wondered if he'd even noticed.

  Chess turned to Ruth. "You'd better cancel the interview."

  "Over your dead body. Literally. You'd have to be dead before I excused you from this one. Dammit, Chess. This is a half-hour advertisement—for free!"

  "It's not going to be much of an advertisement at all if you put us together on the air."

  "He's right," Cookie put in. "It would be negative advertising."

  Ruth raised her eyes heavenward. "Thank you, Lord. They understand." She lowered her gaze to pierce them both with it. "You two are going to have to kiss and make up."

  There was another silence, this one more pronounced than the last. Cookie didn't dare look at Chess, and she was quite sure that he wasn't looking at her, either.

  "You are going to make up," Ruth repeated. "Come this Friday at one-thirty p.m., you are going to be the most in-love couple this side of the Rockies. You are going to exude sex appeal and romance. You are going to convince every lonely divorcée out there and every love-starved male that the direct route to everything they so desire in their empty lives is through a little blue bottle of liquid Love."

  Chess scoffed and shot Cookie a peculiar glance. "Didn't Cookie tell you? She's allergic."

  Ruth hesitated a moment in surprise and then laughed. "If you ask me, you've both got a case of the hives. Now, go ahead, Chess."

  "What?"

  "Tell her you're sorry." Ruth spoke as though instructing a small child.

  Chess shot Cookie another strange look. "Hell. I'm sorry. Of course I'm sorry. What man wouldn't be sorry after being shown the cold shoulder for nearly a month?"

  Cookie blinked. It wasn't much of an apology, not what she'd been waiting for, but on the other hand, Chess didn't hand out such things very often.

  "Now you," Ruth addressed Cookie. "You tell him it's all right and he's forgiven."

  As if he'd care. But when Cookie slid Chess a glance, she froze. Beneath his carefully neutral expression, she saw pure terror. He was afraid she was going to throw his words back in his face.

  Frowning, Cookie muttered, "It's all right."

  "And he's forgiven," Ruth prompted.

  Cookie raised an eyebrow. "This isn't going to make us a loving couple by Friday, you know."

  "Say that he's forgiven," Ruth insisted.

  Cookie shifted her eyes to the closed storeroom door. "I forgive you." It sounded grudging. How could you forgive someone for rejecting you? Yet a burden seemed to lift from her chest.

  "Fine. That's taken care of." Ruth brushed her hands together. "Take another five, Cooks, and then back to work." She walked out, leaving the two of them together and alone.

  Neither of them made a move as silence closed around them.

  "I am sorry, you know," Chess finally said. He cleared his throat. "In fact, I'm sorry about this whole rotten mess. When I think how I promised you wouldn't regret marrying me—" He made a helpless gesture with one hand. "Now you're running yourself ragged working two jobs, you had to give up your apartment in order to live with a person you dislike, and to top it all off—" He shook his head with a visible swallow. "To top it all off, I complain you haven't done enough for me—as if you owe me time in your bed."

  Cookie could neither move nor speak. It was horrifying to have Chess's point of view expressed so clearly—and in doing so reveal all the lies she'd led him to believe.

  "I am sorry about all of it," Chess repeated, low. Having delivered his say, he moved toward the door.

  "Wait."

  He stopped with his hand on the knob. Slowly, he turned back to face her. "Yes?"<
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  She shouldn't have stopped him. She had everything she wanted: freedom from any more challenges regarding her wifely duties and Chess's humble apology.

  But was that what she really wanted? She had missed Chess very badly over the past three weeks. And she still liked him so much. Okay, maybe more than merely liked. While she didn't imagine she'd get past her sexual hang-up, she did wish they could get back to—to some level of harmony.

  "Ruth left out something," Cookie claimed. With her heart thumping high in her chest, she approached him in her high-heeled sandals.

  He watched with a deep crease between his brows as she placed one hand on the lapel of his suit jacket.

  "What?" Chess asked.

  What, indeed? Why had she stopped him?

  But she knew why. With her heart pounding, she rose even higher on her toes and brushed the side of his jaw with her lips. It was stupid. Perhaps it was even sadistic, but the way he looked—she couldn't help herself.

  "She forgot the kissing," Cookie stammered. "You know, kiss and make up."

  For a horrible instant, she thought he was going to be angry. Then she saw it wasn't anger, but shock. He stared down at her as though unsure she was real.

  "Yes," he spoke slowly. "She did forget that." He blinked a few times, the crease between his brows deepening. Then he put a finger on her chin and brushed his own lips, very lightly, against hers.

  The little touch went all the way through her.

  "There," he said in a deep voice. "We're all made up now."

  ~~~

  They were all made up? That wasn't exactly true, and Chess knew it. All the same, he was parking his Porsche in the back lot beside the stage door at midnight. It was a fair bet he was making a tremendous error by assuming it was all right to pick up Cookie from work tonight. But he'd been sitting at home, unable to get anything done and with no desire for sleep. There hadn't seemed any better use of his time than to drive out to the theater and save Cookie cab fare.

  That's how he would explain it to her, anyway.

  A cold breeze played through the fog. It bit through his cloth jacket as he made his way over the gravel lot toward the stage door. A shiver ran up his back, though, that had nothing to do with the cold.

  He stopped, surprised, then whirled around, looking out into the murky darkness.

  Nothing.

  Strange. He could have sworn there was someone right there, behind his back, watching...angry, malevolent. But now he couldn't see a thing.

  Nerves, Chess told himself. Stupid nerves. He turned back and opened the dressing room door.

  A man lay stretched out on the green sofa, one knee bent, a home design magazine in his hands. His grizzled hair was close-cropped over his nearly bald head, and he looked faintly familiar. A pair of clear gray eyes came up over the top of the magazine and looked at Chess.

  "Ah," the man said. "Mr. Bradshaw."

  "I'm afraid I don't—" But the man's face nagged at him. He should remember.

  The other man unfolded from the sofa. "Luther Aramjan." He held out one hand, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "You nearly decked me the night Cookie wanted to spend at my place."

  "Oh, yes." Chess automatically reached out to shake Luther's hand. "I didn't want to deck you. I simply thought the whole idea of sleeping somewhere else the night before the wedding was silly."

  "Not so silly if she'd picked a girlfriend." Luther grinned amiably. "Cookie has a lot to learn about male possessiveness. Speaking of which, what are you doing here?"

  Chess's face warmed. Clearly, Cookie had explained to Luther she wasn't getting along with Chess. "I hadn't realized Cookie already had a ride home this evening."

  "Oh, I'll gladly cede the field if you can convince me she'd take a ride home from you."

  Chess suppressed a rising irritation. "Cookie and I...came to an agreement this afternoon."

  "Uh-huh." Luther remained unimpressed. "By any chance did this 'agreement' include an apology?"

  Chess's irritation moved to anger. Cookie had discussed their problems in great detail. "Yes, not that it's any business of yours."

  Luther managed to look offended. "I'm only trying to help. For example, Cookie got an apology out of you. What, pray tell, did she give you in return?"

  Scowling, Chess turned away. "I don't need anything from Cookie. It was simply...a strain having someone living in my house who wasn't talking to me."

  Luther watched as Chess prowled up to the makeup counter. "Seems to me you need a great deal from Cookie. You needed her married, then you needed her shares to vote, and now you need her to model for your ads."

  Chess closed his hand around one of the round glass jars on top of the counter. "Does she tell you everything?"

  "She talks. But she certainly doesn't tell me everything." Luther's gaze was perceptive. "Maybe she doesn't tell you everything, either."

  Chess swiveled his head around. "What do you mean?"

  Luther gave him a mild smile. "I warned her," he said, in apparent non sequitur. "Before she ever married you, I warned her. She wouldn't listen."

  Chess's brows contracted. "Warned her about what? Me?"

  Luther closed his mouth abruptly as the door from the service hall opened. "Why, Cookie," Luther intoned. "You didn't tell me you already had a ride home tonight."

  "Oh." Innocent surprise illuminated Cookie's features as she stood in the open doorway wearing Theodora Scampi's skin-tight purple velvet gown. She wiped at the blood spot on her forehead. "I didn't realize—"

  Chess felt his heart drop slowly to his toes. It had been a mistake to come. He'd known it would be a mistake.

  Then a cautious smile moved her lips. "Oh, Chess, this is so sweet of you."

  He stood rooted to the spot as she walked up. She put her hands on either side of his chest and he had to will himself not to tremble.

  "Thanks." She brushed another shy kiss against his chin. "Oh, dear," she suddenly remembered, stepping quickly back. "I'm getting blood all over your sweater."

  She dabbed her hand at something Chess couldn't see on the sweater where it covered his breastbone. He studied her bent head, the line of her neck where small sprays of escaping dark hair curled, the curve of her cheek. Her skin looked smooth and creamy in the incandescent light, and he could smell her— He thanked God for the bristling awareness that they weren't alone. He was otherwise on the verge of committing an unforgivable assault on her person.

  "The sweater's fine, Cookie." Putting his hands over her wrists, he removed them from the vicinity of his body. His eyes, however, strayed to the black lace spread over her décolletage where the second shot had made contact. "Just go take off that damn blood, would you? It gives me the creeps."

  Cookie wrinkled her nose at Luther. "He's no good at make-believe."

  Luther's eyes were shrewd on Chess. "I can see that."

  Chess let go of Cookie's hands. He'd thought he'd been disguising it well. Cookie rarely picked up on his physical awareness of her. But Luther had taken it in at a glance.

  "I'll be running along, then," Luther said. "Want to walk me to my car, Chess? I still have your wedding present sitting in the back seat."

  It was an excuse, and Chess knew it.

  Cookie did, too, halting in the removal of her makeup to give Luther a worried look in the mirror.

  "Sure, Luther." Chess made his assent casual. "I'll be back in a minute, Cookie."

  A swift expression of panic crossed her face.

  Chess wondered about that panic as he followed Luther into the brisk night. He waited until the stage door had shut closed behind them. "You warned Cookie about what before the wedding?"

  "Sh." Luther's long strides quickly brought him to an aging Volvo. He stuck his key in the door.

  "Well?" Chess demanded.

  "Be quiet." Luther stopped with his key in the door lock. "I'm trying to think how to put this without betraying Cookie's confidence. Not that she's told me much to begin with."

 
"Much about what?"

  Luther's smile went arch. "Her love life."

  "Good Lord! That's something I try not to think about."

  "Yeah, well. Maybe you should start thinking about it." Luther jerked open his car door. "Maybe you should think about it with your brain instead of your cock."

  Chess tried not to see red. "Meaning...?"

  "You're an intelligent man, Bradshaw. You figure it out. Oh, yeah. Your wedding present." He reached into the car and pulled out an oblong box tied with a ribbon of corn husk. "Here." He shoved the box into Chess's hands. "Best wishes."

  "Thanks." The box weighed a ton.

  Meanwhile, Luther folded himself into the car without having given Chess one scrap of useful information.

  Chess stopped Luther from closing the car door. "Wait a minute." He glared at the other man. "You have to give me more."

  Luther released a long, put-upon sigh. "That woman belongs to you."

  Chess made a scoffing sound.

  Luther ignored it. "She's belonged to you for a long time, longer even than she probably realizes. But she isn't going to just fall into your arms." Luther reached out and turned the key in his ignition.

  Chess held onto the door. "What is that supposed to mean?"

  Luther looked disgusted. "Hell, Bradshaw, you don't need me to tell you how to seduce a woman."

  Given Luther's apparent sexual preference, this was probably true, but Chess hung on. "No, tell me. How would you do it?"

  Folding his arms over the driving wheel then, Luther gave Chess a careful perusal. "Well. Acknowledging ignorance. That's a step in the right direction. But it's not a question of how I would, but how you should."

  "And?"

  "And you have to give her something that's very precious to you, something you would much prefer to keep for yourself."

  A funny fear snaked through Chess's stomach. "Which is?"

  "Your pride, Chess. You have to give her your goddam pride."

  ~~~

  Cookie was just pulling her angora top over her head when she heard the outer door open. She quickly pulled the sweater down to cover her bra, blowing hair out of her eyes. She shot a quick glance at Chess to gauge how much he'd seen.