Cable thought about it. “How about I just call you honey?”
“Sounds good to me.” She moaned and slid farther up Cable’s thigh.
“Well, don’t just look at me, hon. Come on up here,” Cable ordered, his voice dark with arousal, his breath heavy with anticipation. She licked her lips, and Cable grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head up towards his face. “Wait,” he growled. “How much, how much is this going to cost me?”
She began to laugh softly. “Honey,” she said, “it’s been a long time since I had someone as big as you. This one’s on the house.”
Cable let go of her hair, pulled her in closer, and kissed her. A kiss that was both rough and sweet, and bruised her lips. She moaned in response.
Chapter Twelve
Lark sat in the coffee shop and sipped nervously at her skinny latte with cinnamon. She’d been tempted to cancel, but Toby had been adamant on the phone; a local poet had released his first book, and the publisher was holding an exclusive meet-and-greet in a rented room at the local library. Toby had somehow managed to get a hold of two tickets for the luncheon — cocktails and buffet included — and Lark had eventually admitted to herself that the date would be a much-needed distraction.
Normally, she would have been thrilled at the invitation, but the conversation at the beach had put a hefty damper on her enthusiasm. She hadn’t been able to get Avalon out of her head and felt physically sick whenever she thought about what that evil bastard, Dr. Phillips, had done. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how badly Avalon had been affected by it all. A day away from worry, Lark thought, would help distance her from the unpleasantness, and in the morning, she and Avalon could get their heads together and figure out exactly how they would deal with the Dr. Phillips problem.
Toby arrived, grinning and brandishing the two tickets. He bent and kissed Lark on the cheek, then sat on the chair opposite her and ordered a plain white latte, no sugar, extra chocolate flakes. They had about half an hour before leaving for the reading, he explained, his voice bubbling, eyes shining.
Just the sight of him lifted Lark’s mood. It was rare these days, she thought, to find someone as young as Toby capable of rustling up excitement for poetry. That, coupled with the fact that he did truly, passionately believe in saving some obscure toad no one had ever heard of, was exactly why she found him so appealing. Lark knew it would be all too easy to let herself get swept up in his open and honest exuberance for all the things he valued.
He had a dark side, of course. Lark thought of the pills in his bathroom and his extreme reaction when she had mentioned his father, but it was precisely that contrast that made him so emotionally interesting: he had a gusto for life coupled with a vulnerability bordering on the naive. In other words, she thought, while he babbled on about how brilliantly the poet had mastered the minimalist art of haiku, for her, he was the perfect storm — her Achilles’ heel and a heartache waiting to happen.
They left the cafe and strolled slowly along the boulevard towards the library. Toby talked incessantly. Lark intertwined her arm with his and tried to concentrate on his words. The warmth of the day had given way to a heavy closeness of air, and Lark could smell rain. The couple strolled past open bars, closed boutiques, and a bustling liquor store. They approached an ice-cream cart, and on an impulse, Toby stopped and bought two double scoops of vanilla. When he tried to pay the vendor, the old man with warm eyes and a sad smile refused to take his money.
“No charge for lovers,” he said.
Lark laughed, but Toby looked troubled. After they had walked farther on, Lark asked him what was wrong.
“We’re not lovers.” Toby licked his ice cream and stared off into the distance.
“We’re just getting to know one another,” Lark said, surprised. “But we’ve fooled around some.”
“We haven’t really done it yet. Not properly,” he insisted obstinately.
Lark stopped and pulled him to a halt. “This is all about sex?” She looked at him, confused. Was that really what he meant?
“Yeah, sex. You know I have a problem.”
Lark started to laugh but stopped abruptly when she saw Toby’s face darken. “I wouldn’t describe it as a problem, Toby. It’s more a case of…” Lark searched her vocabulary for the right word. “Over-enthusiasm,” she said and smiled. “Which is nice. It’s really quite flattering.”
Toby blinked and broke off his distant stare to look Lark in the face. “How is that flattering?” He was beginning to sound annoyed.
Lark noticed and thought, Oh god, save me from men and their insecurities. Even when they’re not trying to get in your pants, it captures their full attention. This time, she really did have to laugh. “It’s flattering because…” Lark giggled. “…if my body gets you so excited you can’t wait, it’s a kind of a compliment, don’t you think?”
For a moment, Toby did not speak; he simply stared at her with that look of annoyance on his face. Then, out of nowhere, he smiled.
Lark watched, fascinated, as his infuriated expression gradually changed to one of self-contented smugness. He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, then pressed his mouth against her ear.
“You’re really hot for me, aren’t you?” he whispered. Without a second thought, Toby threw his ice cream into the gutter and reached around Lark, grabbing two handfuls of her ass and crushing her up against his body.
Behind them on the street, the ice cream vendor cheered, giving them a round of applause and a thumbs up.
Toby’s sudden public display of passion took Lark completely by surprise. Slow down, she thought, politely but firmly disentangling herself from his ardent embrace. Perhaps I overdid soothing his feelings a little? Lark backed off to an arm’s length while Toby stood at the curb, animated and still grinning down at her, an unabashed glare of blatant lust in his eyes.
Toby’s ardent behavior continued throughout the afternoon. Even during the poetry reading, he couldn’t keep his hands off her, constantly touching Lark’s leg, her arm, capturing her hand in his, and at one point, nibbling noisily on her ear and neck. He drank way too many cocktails at the open bar, which worsened his behavior to the point that he actually reached out and tried to grab Lark’s breast while they stood in line at the buffet.
Lark slammed her plate down on the table and walked away in disgust. She headed straight for the exit, staring at the floor to avoid the embarrassed and shocked stares of the other guests, but from the corner of her eye, she caught a look of utter disdain from the respected poet himself. She was halfway down the street when she heard Toby running to catch up.
“Lark, wait, please!” he shouted.
She did not turn around. All she wanted was to forget both Toby and the mortifying day. Toby’s hand was on her arm and Lark spun about, her face red with fury. “We’re through, Toby; leave me alone.” Her eyes glowed with anger, and her voice was deadly cold.
“Please, I’m sorry, Lark. Let me explain. Can we talk?” Toby stammered. He was close to tears; his bottom lip trembled, and his eyes pleaded with hers.
Lark shrugged her arm free and turned away. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to see you again. Ever.” She began to walk away, and Toby rushed forwards and threw himself to his knees directly in front of her.
“Please, Lark. Five minutes, that’s all. I just need to explain why I am the way I am. My father, he did things, bad things. Please, try to understand.”
There he is again, Lark thought. The ominous, evil father figure who cropped up whenever Toby felt the need for a smoke screen. But something told her there was more to it than that. There was a real issue here, buried deep but not forgotten, and Lark felt again the mystical pull she always felt when she embarked on the crusade of lost causes.
“Get up, Toby.” Lark breathed out an irritated, impatient sigh and looked around. A group of people outside the liquor store had turned to watch; a car slowed down as it passed them. “You’re embarrassing me again. Get up, dammit
!”
Toby got to his feet, still staring into her eyes. Despite her anger, Toby’s look of utter hopelessness touched her, and slowly but surely, Lark began to crumble and melt inside. A part of her still suspected he was taking advantage of her overgenerous nature, but she couldn’t simply send him away. Not like this.
“Damn!” she shouted, more at herself than Toby. She took a deep breath and caught him by the hand. “Come on,” she said, pulling him down the sidewalk. “I need a clear mind and you’re buying.”
Chapter Thirteen
Toby and Lark walked down Santa Monica Boulevard toward the beach in silence. The ice cream vendor had packed up and gone home. A street sweeper crept by on the other side of the street, its multiple wire brushes scouring the gutter while its powerful vacuum sucked the dirt and grime of another day into its huge, orange tank.
They took the stairs down to the beach. He sat in exactly the same spot where he had met Lark, and she hung over the railing, talking on her phone. He found it hard to concentrate, and it wasn’t because of the noise made by the tourists. It was because of the conversation he’d had with Lark earlier. Toby still couldn’t believe he had said those things.
He picked up the comic page someone had left behind on the bench and glanced around the pier. Half the city’s population was out taking advantage of the warm weather, it seemed. Everywhere he looked, Toby saw people in various states of undress enjoying the sunshine. Some were stretched out on benches, others just walking around aimlessly. A couple of teenage girls were sitting on the railing over the sign, “No standing or sitting on the railing,” giggling hysterically. Toby wished they would shut up. He also wished Lark would hurry up and get off the phone. But more than that, he wished he hadn’t tried to blame his behavior on his father.
But what else could he have done? Lark had been about to end their relationship, and that had scared the hell out of him. The bar they’d gone to hadn’t helped. It had been packed full of rival fans watching soccer on TV. The noise had been horrendous in the small neighborhood bar, and the headache that had hit him the minute Lark walked away only amplified the sound. Toby had stood in the line at the bar for almost twenty minutes before he was served, and on every return trip, he half expected Lark to get up and leave him there, to walk away from him forever. She hadn’t. Lark instead suggested that they walk down to the beach. Toby had thought that was a good sign. He’d gotten drunk and behaved like an asshole at the poetry reading, and no one could have blamed Lark if she’d blown him off without a second thought. But it wasn’t his fault. His father made him do it. Even now, the lame excuse caused a hot flush to rush up Toby’s neck and cheeks, and he buried his face in his hands to hide his embarrassment. But he hadn’t lied.
He stood and waved to Lark, motioning to her that he would go and get drinks. He headed down the pier toward the ferris wheel and the lemonade stand and ordered her favorite: strawberry. He returned with two plastic cups, calling out to Lark, who was now sitting on the bench, head back, her face to the sun, enjoying the warmth of the day.
Lark’s eyes popped open and she gave him a cool look. She smiled when she saw the drinks in his hands. “My favorite.”
He handed her a cup and sat down next to her. “My father doesn’t like women,” he blurted out, desperate to explain.
“What does that mean? He married your mother, didn’t he?”
“That’s true. But he didn’t like her. He used to… do things to her.” He stopped there, hoping Lark would simply nod and say, Okay, I get the picture, spare me the details. Of course, she didn’t.
“What kind of things?” she asked instead.
Toby looked away, down, up, from side to side, anywhere and everywhere to avoid looking into Lark’s eyes. But she didn’t let up.
“Look, Toby. Right now, my opinion of you is lower than a rat’s scrotum. I came here for an explanation. So explain. Please.” She didn’t have to say please, that was just the way she was. Lark could be both firm and polite, a talent Toby himself had never mastered.
He took a long gulp of the lemonade, wishing it was alcohol. His stomach turned queasy and he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “He was mean. Any little thing would set him off,” he said at last.
Lark gave him a quizzical look and said, “He was abusive?”
“He beat her. Sometimes the bruises wouldn’t show. But I knew because she would limp around, making little noises when she moved suddenly. Occasionally, he would black her eye. Appearances were important to him, so she always stayed in the house until the marks went away. She explained those away, saying that she stumbled, fell. I told her, ‘You’re the most graceful woman I know, and not just because you’re my mom.’”
An enormous cheer went up from the other side of the deck. There was an illegal gambling game going on. Someone had beaten the dealer, and those who’d lost a few dollars were happy to see the man have to pay out.
“What did she say?” Lark said when it was quiet enough to speak without shouting.
“The look of fear on her face frightened me. She begged me never to question Father about her bruises. Pretend, she said.” Toby stared into Lark’s eyes.
“Then why didn’t she leave him?” Lark looked like she was waiting for the punchline to a bad joke.
“She did. She waited until I was old enough, and until she had stashed away enough cash, then divorced him and took me with her.”
Lark sat quietly, letting Toby’s candid revelations sink in.
Toby sat opposite her and waited. There was another roar from the pier. “Can we go somewhere else?” he asked.
The sun had gone down, turning it chilly outside, and Toby wrapped his jacket around Lark’s shoulders. They walked slowly back the way they’d come, Lark peppering him with questions that Toby answered in a flat, resigned tone.
“Where’s your mother now?”
“She died.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I think she’d had enough of living. In the end, she wanted to go.”
“That’s awful, Toby.”
“It is what it is.”
“And your father?” Lark continued.
“He’s still around. We don’t see each other much. He gives me an allowance, paid for my condo and college. I think he feels guilty. Like he owes me.” Toby walked with his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jeans and his eyes fixed firmly on the ground.
“And the accusations your mother made? What does he say about that?”
“He’s never denied it. Nor confirmed it. Not to me. Although, he made sure nothing sleazy appeared in the divorce papers. I think the final plea was ‘irreconcilable differences.’ It was all long ago, Lark. Most people I know don’t connect me with him anymore. My father and I are more like random acquaintances than father and son. I even took my mother’s name after the divorce.” Toby laughed at the absurdity of it all, but even to his own ears, the sound he made was hollow, lonesome, like the distant whistle of a midnight freight train.
Lark hugged him. They walked on, hand in hand, until they came to a coffee shop.
“I still don’t get it, Toby.” Lark turned to look into his face. “What does your father’s hideous behavior have to do with you grabbing me at the poetry reading?”
Toby paused and looked up at the sky. Then said, “I’ve had girls before you, Lark. No one quite like you, but there have been some. None of them stayed for long. I’m too demanding. I try to get them to do things they don’t want to do. When they refuse, I get angry. But even if they don’t, I can’t…” He shrugged, struggling for the word. “…perform. I’ve never really made love. Not completely.”
Lark watched his face closely as he spoke.
Toby suspected she was waiting for another of his outbursts, like the day they first met. But he managed to stay in control, and she looked grateful that he had. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m my father’s son. I think I might be a perverted woman-hater, just like he is.”
Lark tried to interject: “Toby! That’s silly. Stuff like that isn’t hereditary; that’s just a load of––!”
Toby cut her off with a kiss, long and hard and passionate. When they broke for air, he said, “I’m going this way. You coming with?”
Lark declined. It had been a long night; she was tired and needed to think.
“Okay.” Toby kissed her again, on the cheek this time, and walked away without saying goodnight.
Chapter Fourteen
Avalon wondered where Lark had gone; she’d hoped the other woman would have time to meet her for a drink, but her phone had gone to voicemail and Avalon went to the bar alone. She wasn’t about to wait around for Lark to call her back; she’d already sat by the phone for an hour, simultaneously fighting the urge to call Zach and wondering why he wasn’t calling her. Avalon signaled the waiter and held up her empty glass, indicating she wanted another. She didn’t have to wait long for the man to reappear with a bottle and fill her glass.
She listened to the music from the sound system as she drank her wine. The more she drank, the more maudlin she became, and when at last she thought she’d have a sobbing jag, she left the unfinished wine, paid her bill, and had the bartender call a cab. If anyone saw her stumbling to the curb and recognized her, she’d be assigned to prosecuting traffic tickets.
Avalon felt disconnected somehow. When she entered her apartment, it felt like a stranger’s home, not her own. She stood in the kitchen for five minutes, staring into the freezer, puzzling over where she kept the Parmesan cheese. Eventually, she became frustrated and threw the defrosted pizza in the garbage, telling the empty kitchen there was really no point to pizza without Parmesan.
She found she had a glass of Riesling left in the bottle. Why waste it? The wine, at least, was something she could rely on. Avalon flicked through the TV channels and found nothing that could possibly distract her enough, then switched to a shopping channel and watched useless items being hawked until she felt like throwing up. The wine had taken over any rational thought. She cried again, the tears coming silently and without warning. As the warm, fat droplets fell from her face and hit the coffee table, her life felt like it was crumbling around her. Damn that doctor.
One For The Team Page 6