by Lexy Timms
I want my purse.
I want my life back.
She squared her shoulders, and with her head held high she walked through the doors at the end of the hall, pulling the door open hard enough that it stuck in the open position.
The sign that said WAITING was now hidden against the wall.
Chapter 19
“Brant.” Mel didn’t like that she was kneeling at his feet. She didn’t like that he’d been trying to stall her from doing anything for the last ten minutes. And she didn’t like that he smelled so damn good. Why did he have to stand so darn close? She tossed the sodden paper towels on the floor she had just cleaned. “Please, just…just don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He was seated on the edge of the couch. Sitting where she’d been sleeping. She brushed against his leg as she picked up the paper towels again, and scowled at the sodden mess. She should’ve just grabbed her purse and run when she had the chance. She should’ve just left the purse, and called the hospital to have someone look for it, claiming that she’d forgotten it somewhere. They could have held it at the front desk for her until tomorrow. No, her stupid pride and that need to prove something to him had left her where exactly? On her knees, with sticky hands, holding a bunch of wet paper towels.
Well, at least part of that she could deal with.
She stood and threw the paper towels at the trash can next to the door. And missed. A small wad of them went in; a few struggled at the edge and fell behind the trash can. Mel sighed and decided she’d made her point about cleaning up her own messes, and wasn’t going to go hunting down errant soggy messes. And almost believed it right up until she walked over and bent down to pick them up, again, and this time dispose of them properly.
Thankfully a bottle of hand sanitizer was bolted to the wall next to the trash bin, with a helpful sign advising good health practices by cleaning one’s hands often. She sprayed more than was necessary on her hands, desperate to get the smell of coffee off.
“Mel…”
“Just…don’t,” she repeated.
“I’m just asking you to hold on for a moment.”
“And I told you before, I’m not staying.” She looked around for her purse, that stupid purse that had kept her from running aw—leaving in the first place, and found it, just out of reach in Brant’s outstretched hand.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Just how old are you?” She grabbed for the purse, but he only held it higher.
“Five minutes. Just give me five minutes,” Brant said, checking his watch for the fortieth time. The other hand held her purse and she reached for it again. Again, he dodged her reach. It was like a game of keep-away at nursery school. A game she’d always hated.
“Brant!” She threw up her hands in frustration. “This isn’t funny!”
“Brant!” another voice called. It was a perfectly modulated soprano, a clear and ringing voice. Mel turned to the door, face red, knowing she was sweaty and disheveled and this was going to be…
Her biggest nightmare.
“Gloria!” Brant threw Mel’s purse onto the couch behind them and turned to wrap the woman in his arms. Not that he needed to hold onto it anymore. There was no leaving.
He hadn’t needed to say her name. Mel had recognized her the second she’d come through the door. This was Gloria Shaffer—starlet, model, and Brant’s fiancée. Behind her, a young woman with an insane amount of curly brown hair was holding a few bags and checking a little booklet—an aide, or assistant of some sort. Behind her was the same television crew that had been in the waiting room with her and Kenneth, with perhaps the addition of a few more cameras. And reporters. And people. All eyes were on the starlet.
“Please don’t do this.” Mel retreated toward the couch, fingers so cold that she fumbled with the strap of her purse, trying to grab it. He’d brought her here. HERE. To do what? Revenge because she’d kissed some stupid Uber driver? To show off just how perfect his perfectly perfect fiancée was?
Gloria was wearing a halter top and jeans. The top was tied behind the neck and made a pretext to be tied in the back, but that was more implied that actual. Mel supposed that wearing a bra would have spoiled the view from the back, but from up front, the girl really needed one. Not that this was news. Gloria had been in seven of the last ten top-grossing movies of all times. Keeping her shirt on hadn’t always been a priority in those roles.
But then Gloria was a natural beauty who didn’t need the professional talents of one Dr. Layton. Her breasts tried to escape the filmy cloth, not through clandestine means but from a full-on assault straight through the fabric. Mel couldn’t stop staring, not in some stupid, creepy, perverted way. It was…well, dammit, it was just so easy to make out the shape of each breast beneath the cloth, and they were stunning. So utterly fucking perfect.
Mel’s hand reached up to her torn and destroyed breast, sensing with her fingertips every flaw and imperfection as though for the first time. How could she not? Where Mel bore the scars on her hip and stomach, this girl’s exposed waist was just like the rest of her. Perfect.
And, as expected, when faced with that absolute perfection, Brant was oblivious to her. Mel might as well have been on another planet completely. From the way the press crowded in to get a picture of the happy couple, she might as well have been. Without Kenneth laid out at her feet, no one was noticing her now.
Such was the fickleness of fame.
With Gloria engulfed in Brant’s arms, Mel’s fingers closed around the strap of her purse finally. She grabbed it and threw herself at the startled press, pushing her way through the crowd until she was through the door and out into the hallway. And then where?
She hadn’t thought this far ahead. And, if she was hearing correctly, Brant had just shouted her name. He was hard on her heels, and from the sounds of it he was leading the contingent.
Mel lunged for the elevator, stabbing at buttons until a door opened. She slid in and rapidly hit the ‘close door’ button. It shut in the faces of the entourage. But she’d seen Brant’s face: he was livid and he was heading to the stairs.
“Come on, come on, come on...” She swore and hit the L button again. The elevator stopped. On the third floor. An elderly woman smiled sweetly to her and wandered in, each step taking an eternity, dragging an IV pole behind her. She wore a bathrobe over a hospital gown and great puffy pink slippers. Her smile was ingenuous and she turned and stared at the closing door. Then she pushed the button for the second floor.
Mel groaned.
The elevator paused, the speakers crackling with a smoother version of “Tie a Yellow Ribbon” and then the car slowed and stopped. After a moment to two, the doors reopened and the little old woman took one step forward, then another. And stopped just inside the doorway, stalling the elevator.
“This isn’t Macy’s,” she said to Mel in a small voice, her face crumbling into a look of fear and confusion.
“Audrey? Are you out of your bed again?” A nurse rushed over and bent to look in the old lady’s eyes, drawing her gently forward, one arm going around trembling shoulders to guide her away.
The elevator doors closed slowly on one of the most confused looks Mel had ever seen, and she felt like an ass for being so caught up in her own problems that she’d failed to see the problems of someone else.
Then the door opened on the first floor, catching her up into her own problems all over again.
Brant, Gloria, Gloria’s assistant, and the camera crew were patiently waiting for her.
“Damn.” She sank to the floor in a messy little heap and sobbed like a little girl.
“Mel.” Brant was at her side in an instant, reaching down to draw her to her feet. He gave just enough room for Gloria, who truthfully didn’t require much room, to come along beside him. “This is Gloria, my oldest and dearest friend. Gloria, this is Mel, the beautiful woman I want to marry.”
Beautiful woman? Mel was far from beautiful. She was scarred and broken. And she’d just slept on a
chair and her hair was everywhere. Her breath probably smelled like it belonged to a dragon. Her face was blotching from crying. Wait a sec. Did he just say “Marry?”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Mel.” Gloria’s smile could launch ships, and likely had.
Mel stepped back away from them both, confused, though Brant never once let go of her hand.
Outside, the press clamored.
Gloria turned to blow them a kiss, reaching for her assistant’s hand, and pulling her into the elevator with them. The elevator tried to close on her, leaving the poor girl squealing and breathless, her eyes wide though she still managed to give Gloria a quelling look.
Which Gloria ignored. “This is Trudy,” Gloria said, holding her assistant’s arm as the doors slipped shut on the press. “This is the one I want to marry.”
“Marry?” Mel stared. She knew her mouth was hanging open.
“You said that,” Brant supplied helpfully, “twice now.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Trudy said, and held out her hand.
Mel looked at it like the girl had just produced an old boot; easy to identify, but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with it. Brant resolved her dilemma by picking up her wrist and placing her hand in Trudy’s.
Gloria laughed.
The door opened again, and a very young nurse found herself face to face with one of the most influential doctors in the hospital and the hottest rising star of stage and screen. For a moment, no one moved. The doors whispered shut. Brant tried to lunge through the closing doors but missed, and glared at Gloria whose hand was firmly on the ‘close door’ button.
Trudy giggled. “I’m afraid she might have fainted.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Gloria said with a smile that was rather like a cat who ate the cream as she pulled Trudy into her arms and kissed her noisily, leaving the girl blushing and breathless in the circle of her arms.
Mel stayed where she was, backed against the back wall of the elevator, looking from one to the next of the players in this little drama. She was having trouble keeping up. “I...” She looked helplessly at the other women in the elevator.
“My manager said it would kill my career if people found out I’m a lesbian,” Gloria said, and made a face. “For a long time I listened to him, and poor Trudy had to stay hidden like some dirty secret.”
“But…” Mel said, and they waited. Her mouth opened and closed. The problem with having so many questions was that it was impossible to know which question to start with.
Gloria laughed. “You’re sweet. I think I’m going to like you.”
“Not too much,” Trudy warned.
Gloria kissed her again and laughed. “Never.”
“That’s more like it.”
“When Brant told me the agony he’s been in for the past couple of days—”
“Agony?” Mel looked up to him. He kind of shrugged, though his face did seem awfully red.
“It made me think of what Trudy’s been through for my sake.” Gloria tugged on one of Trudy’s glorious curls. “So, I fired my manager.”
The elevator jolted. Back at the first floor. Brant put a hand out to hit the ‘close door’ button again. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as love,” Gloria said as the door slid open. Trudy gasped. As the camera rolled, Gloria Shaffer ‘came out’ in a hospital elevator. This time, the reporters blocked the door bodily.
Mel found that Brant’s hand was still wrapped around hers. She looked up into his face, then down at their intertwined fingers. “Marry?” she mouthed.
“I kind of wanted to go about it a different way,” he said from the corner of his mouth as Gloria gave a splendid performance and Trudy blushed so hard Mel feared the girl might catch fire.
“But…” Brant dug into a pocket and pulled out a small black box, handing it to her.
Mel’s hands were shaking so hard it was a wonder she could even hold onto the box, much less get it open. Her fingers fumbled with the lid, and finally got it open.
There it sat, bright light captured in a moment, fire in a rock, gold band, glittering diamond, black velvet. She noticed a lack of noise and only then looked up from the ring.
They were looking at her. The press. The movie star. The girl. The crowd. Looking at her. For a moment, she couldn’t understand why. She looked to Brant for guidance, but he wasn’t there.
Oh wait…he’s on…one knee.
Her breath stopped. Her heart stopped. Time came to a crashing halt. Mel spent a lifetime between the beats of her heart.
She could only nod.
Like a crazy person.
Chapter 20
Mel didn’t remember the drive back to Brant’s place. They’d been able to escape the press long enough to make sure Maria was comfortable in her room and resting. Gloria ran interference for them.
Even Maria had heard of the great Gloria Shaffer, and seeing her suddenly appear in her room was the perfect wake-up after surgery. Mel was pretty sure they were going to have to reassure the girl that it had, indeed, happened, for some time to come.
Mel spent the entire time with her fingers on the ring on her left hand. When the girl fell asleep, they slipped out. Gloria promised she’d be back to see Maria as the girl healed. The reporter crew got exclusives on Kenneth, Melissa, and Brant, and clearly more financially important to him, an exclusive on the hottest sex-symbol in America announcing that she was not only gay, but intended to marry. He agreed to let the story with Maria disappear. Maybe it wasn’t the most effective solution—the stories were out there on the internet and couldn’t be called back. But it was a start. Eventually the furor would die down and the ‘jungle girl’ would escape back into obscurity.
Brant and Mel were both quiet on the drive home, but it suited her mood well. She felt as small as could be, all the horrible, hateful things she’d said and thought, the terrible way she’d been acting, ran back through her mind like replaying the worst parts of her life again and again. And he wanted to marry her.
She should have trusted him.
“Before you agree to marry me,” Brant broke the spell as they pulled into the driveway, “I should warn you…I lost my job today.”
Mel looked over to him. Brant. She tried the word ‘husband’ silently in her head. It was frightening how comfortable that word sounded.
“Me, too.” She looked down at the ring and then looked up at the mansion looming in front of them. She giggled suddenly. “But I’m pretty confident we’ll be okay for a little while.”
“Till we get our feet back under us?” Brant pulled up to the door.
Suddenly everything became real.
Too real.
Mel tried to choke down the fear that came up like a trapped rabbit. She sat in the car, unable to reach for the handle. Brant stared at her, confused. He got out and walked around to her side and opened her door for her.
Mel still couldn’t move. Brant knelt next to the car.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes as she stared at the beautiful ring on her finger. “I am so sorry. For…everything. I never gave you a chance to explain. I don’t deserve you. Us. I’m…” she shuddered as she let out a long breath. “…broken.”
“You’re not broken.” Brant’s hand took hers and lifted it. She followed him with her eyes as he stood and indicated for her to rise. She kept her eyes down and followed him inside. “Alice is off today,” Brant said as he gently pulled her through the door. “The troubled grandson is less troubled, so she’s back in general. But she’s off today.”
Mel watched him close the door behind them. Since when did Brant babble? Was he nervous? Yet he wasn’t the one who’d left. He wasn’t the one who nearly broke them up. She looked at the ring on her finger. She barely breathed, terrified that she’d look up and meet his eyes. And see…something…there she wasn’t ready for.
“Brant.” She took his hand. This time it was she who did the towing as she walked him to the co
uch and sat him down. With a sigh, she opened the jewelry box she’d been carrying in her pocket, pulled the ring off her finger, and placed it in the box. It felt colder without the weight on her finger. Hands shaking, she handed the box to him.
He moved to protest, but she laid a finger across his lips. “Please don’t…not now…”
Then, taking a deep breath, Mel found the courage that had led her from one jungle to the next.
Was there anything more awkward then the act of unbuttoning a shirt? Yet, as the first button popped free, Brant’s eyes darkened and he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, with such a look of keen anticipation on his face that she forgot to be nervous at all. The shirt was tossed to the floor. The bra followed. Her fingers lingered on her scars a moment, momentarily breaking the spell, but she pressed on, stepping out of shoes…jeans…underwear…until she stood before him: uncovered, vulnerable, and defenseless.
“I know you’ve seen me before,” she said. She was vaguely surprised at how clear and strong her voice sounded. Her throat was dry and her breath kept catching. She held out her arms. She wasn’t being seductive, not being a conquest or seductress. It wasn’t even particularly sexual.
She was simply being herself.
So, Mel exposed herself to him—completely. Scars, bumps, bruises, imperfections all. She took a deep breath. “I want you to know me, Brant. I’m flawed and sometimes I’m an idiot and sometimes I get a little crazy. I’m not perfect, I’m not going to be. I need to know…” She swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat. She wasn’t really sure what exactly she needed to know that it was here. It had all seemed so clear a moment ago.
She began to feel cold, foolish. His hand on her hip brought her attention back. He pushed her back and she caught her breath, but it was only so he could get off the couch. Once more, he knelt before her.
Wordless, he opened the box, took out the ring, and replaced it on her finger.
Then went about convincing her in the only way a gentleman could.
Mel’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he began his assault at her knee and worked his way up her inner thigh, kissing and licking and nibbling as he went. By the time he reached the heated space between her legs, she was breathing heavily and holding his head tight against her.