Authors: Christina Ross
“Do
we have good vodka?”
“You
know we do.
We can afford it
now.
What’s wrong with you?”
“I
think I have amnesia.”
“Sweetie,
you’re just horny.
You’re a vessel
of pulsing hormones.
It’ll
pass.
Let me get you a drink.
It’ll numb the pain.
Or whatever it is your going through.”
“That
would be a mystery,” I said.
Then
I told her about the facts of my night.
*
*
*
“He
did what?”
“You
heard me.”
“And
you
did what?”
“You
heard me.”
“I
can’t believe this.
Who are you?”
“I
don’t know anymore.”
“Let
me see the photos.”
“Oh,
come on.”
“We
share everything.
Do you really
expect me not to ask to see them?
Come on, Jennifer!
You can’t
give me a blow-by-blow like that and expect me not to ask to see the photos.”
“Fine.
But let’s just say it’s not my proudest
moment.”
“Who
cares?
For you to trust someone
like that says it all to me.
I said
it earlier and I’ll say it again—you’re in deep.
I just didn’t realize how deep.”
I
got my phone and brought up the photograph he sent.
I showed it to her.
Greedily, she took my cell from my hand.
“Holy
shit.
I’ve seen photos of him
online, but not like this.
He’s
hotter than I thought.
Look at that
chest, never mind his abs.
As busy
as he is, where does he find time to stay in that kind of shape?
And look at that smirk on his face.
You know, if my apocalyptic zombie books
ever get made into a movie, I’d want the lead actor to look like him.
Or, frankly, to be him.”
“I
don’t think Alex acts.”
“But
I bet he could finance the project.
I’ve done my research.
Part
of Wenn is Wenn Entertainment!”
“You’re
killing me.”
She
looked at his photo again, and sighed.
“He’s totally into this.”
She looked up in approval.
“Good for you, sweetie.
Really.
Now, where’s that
photo of you?”
“You
don’t want to see that.”
“Oh,
yes, I do.”
“Just
swipe to the next image then.”
She
did.
I winced.
And then, for whatever reason, she was
silent for a moment.
I’d gone too
far.
I knew it.
But then she said, “Hello, Victoria’s
Secret supermodel.
Look at
you.
And tasteful, too.
Nice bit of cleavage.
Love the hair covering the boobs, but
just showing a trace of lace.
And
you’re biting your lip, your eyes are closed, and your head is pressed
back.
It’s obvious you’re in the
back of a limo.
This must have
slayed him.
Well played, love.
Well played.
It’s as if Mario Testino took this shot,
only with a Warhol edge.”
“Mario
who?”
“You
wouldn’t understand.”
“Is
he one of your fashion photographers?”
“He’s
one of
the
fashion photographers.
Think Madonna, Madonna,
Madonna—throughout the years.
And many other famous women.”
She admired the photo a moment more before handing me back my cell.
“I bet that made Alex second guess
everything.”
“After
he received it, he wanted to ask the driver to turn the limo around.
I told him that wasn’t happening because
I think he’s right.
This should
build.
I want it to build.”
“Are
we building a two-story home?
Or a
skyscraper?”
“Definitely
not a skyscraper.”
“Well,
that’s good.”
“But
I will wait as long as it takes for it to feel right.”
“When
it does happen, you better be ready for that, honey.
Because this man is going to annihilate
you.”
“Is
that one of your zombie words?”
She
finished her martini and cocked her head at me.
“Maybe.
But when he gets his hands on you and
you both decide the moment is right?
That’s what’s going to happen.
You’re going to feel annihilated, but in the best sense.
He’s going to rid you of your virginity,
and destroy you in bed.
Those are
the two definitions of ‘annihilate’:
‘rid’ and ‘destroy.’
Just
you wait and see.”
The
next morning at six, my cell rang.
I’d left it on my bedside table in case Alex called during the night,
which he hadn’t.
I reached for it,
and saw his name on the screen when I answered.
“Mr.
Wenn,” I said.
“Ms.
Kent.”
“How
are you this morning?”
“Despite
getting no sleep?
Surprisingly good.”
“What
kept you from sleep?” I asked.
“What
do you think?
Did you sleep?”
“There
might have been some tossing and turning.”
“Just
the tossing and turning?”
“What
are you implying?”
“That
you did something to give yourself relief.”
“What
if I did?” I said.
“Did
you?”
“No.”
“Would
you judge me if I did?”
“I
thought this was about holding back,” I said.
“It
is.
I did nothing to myself last
night, though I sure as hell wanted to.
I was hard for a good hour.”
I
blushed at the thought.
“It was
your choice.”
“It
was the right choice.
By the way,
that was an interesting photo you took of yourself last night.
And an unexpected one.”
“I
could say the same.”
“Do
you ever take a bad photograph?”
“I’ve
taken my share of them.”
“I
doubt that,” I said. “I think I looked at you for most of the night.”
“I hope your battery held out.”
“Miraculously,
it did.”
“Look,”
he said.
“I know you have to work
tonight, but it’s still early and my first meeting isn’t until nine.
Are you up for breakfast?”
It
would take me forty-five minutes to get ready.
“I’d love to have breakfast with
you.
Where should I meet you?”
“At
my place.
I’m cooking.”
“You
cook?”
“I
do.”
What
doesn’t he do?
“When
should I send a car for you?”
“At
seven?”
“That’ll
only give us a couple of hours....”
“But
we’ll have tonight, after I get out of work.”
“I
have an event tonight,” he said.
“It’s a big one, so I’ll probably be too late to pick you up.
But a car will be waiting for you to
make sure you get home safely.
I
apologize.”
“There’s
no need to apologize.
You need to
tend to your business, Alex.”
He
sounded frustrated when he said, “I also need to see you more than just a
couple of hours a day, Jennifer.”
I
wasn’t about to engage him now.
He
worked days and evenings, and I worked evenings.
What did he expect?
I had two days off a week, with an
additional day off to try out new restaurants for Stephen.
Somehow, if he wanted to see more of me,
Alex would have to adjust his schedule, if that was even possible, which it
should be since he owned Wenn.
But
I knew better.
That wouldn’t be so
easy for him to do.
The board at
Wenn expected a lot from him, including attending as many events as possible.
Getting away so we could see each other
was going to be an issue.
And
how is that going to affect our relationship?
“We’re
wasting time,” I said.
“Let me take
a shower.
Send the car sooner than
later.
I’ll be ready before you
know it.”
*
*
*
When
I arrived at Wenn ten minutes before seven, the driver told me to go to Mr.
Wenn’s private elevator.
“Someone
will be waiting there for you.
They’ll see to it that you have access, Ms. Kent.”
“Thank
you,” I said.
I
went inside, and was greeted by the security guards at the front desk, all of
whom addressed me by name, which felt bizarre to me.
I nodded at them as I went to the
concealed elevator just behind them.
When I did, I saw that the person who was waiting for me was Alex
himself.
He was in jeans and a
T-shirt, but otherwise was perfectly groomed and ready to start the day as soon
as he changed into his suit.
He
took me in his arms and kissed me when I walked over to him.
“You’re
here early,” he said.
“I’m
curious to see how well you cook.”
“Is
that it?”
“It
depends on how we define ‘cooking’?”
“Breakfast.”
“Oh,
that.”
“Yes,
that.”
“That’s
fine.
And maybe I came because I
wanted to spend more time with you.”
“That
makes me happy,” he said.
And I
could tell that it did, even though there was an undercurrent I couldn’t quite
define.
He seemed distracted again,
just as he had early last night, before I came clean with him about my past and
things took a romantic turn.
I
decided to just be myself, and see how the next two hours played out,
especially considering what had happened between us the night before.
Would the chemistry still be there?
Or was all of that just in the heat of
the moment?
I hoped it wasn’t, but
what did I know?
He
slid a card into a slot next to the elevator and we stepped inside when the
doors opened.
When they shut, the
elevator soared, and he pressed me against the rear wall.
“You look beautiful,” he said, kissing
me on the neck and then hard on the lips before he leaned me back and fingered
the length of my hair.
“And your
hair is curly.”
“No
time for a flat iron this morning.”
“I
like it when it’s like this.
It
reminds me of the first time we met.”
“Why
does that seem like ages ago?”
“It’s
only happened to me once before, but, sometimes when you meet someone, it’s as
if you’ve known that person forever.”
Was
he referring to his wife?
Of course
he was.
I wondered what she was
like and what she had looked like.
Though I’d looked, I’d seen no photographs of her in his apartment the
night before.
Maybe they were too
much for him to look at.
Perhaps
they were gone for a reason—so he could move on with his life.
Regardless of whatever was happening
between us now, I felt terrible that he lost his wife so early.
It must have devastated him.
The
elevator slowed, he took my hand, and we stepped out.
It was so sunny—and his apartment
was so white—that the light streaming through the surround of windows was
almost blinding.
“How
can you stand that?” I asked.
“Let’s
just say it’s an instant wake-up call.”
“I
bet it works.”
He
smiled.
“Have you ever been to
Paris?” he asked when we left the elevator.
“So
far, I’ve gotten as far as Manhattan.”
“Not
a bad start.
Do you like French
food?”
“I
love it.
Along the coast in Maine,
there are a few very good French restaurants.”
“I
miss Maine.”
“I
don’t.”
He
glanced at me, but said nothing.
“Do you think you’ll be taking me to any French restaurants in New
York?”
“If
any hot new ones open up, it’ll be my pleasure.
What other kinds of food do you like?”
“It
doesn’t matter, Jennifer.
As rare
as they seem they’re going to be, a night out with you is what matters to me.”
He
tightened his grip on my hand, but I couldn’t help but linger on what he really
was saying.
Because of the job I
took and because of his own hectic schedule, our lives weren’t designed for us
to spend much time together.
The
undercurrent I sensed earlier was now clear.
Not being together was going to be
difficult for him, possibly because his wife, who might not have worked, had
always been available to him.
And
if I was honest, it also was going to be difficult on me.
So, where did that leave us now?
How would the reality of our situations
impact what was only a budding relationship?
At this point, everything was so
fragile, it was as if we were walking on broken glass.
Leaving him now would be difficult, but
not as difficult as it would if months had passed.
If we invested in each other for a long
period of time, it would tear my heart out if we finally decided we couldn’t be
together because of mere conflicts in our schedules.
But we each had our own lives to live.
He didn’t have to worry about his next
meal or the next month’s rent—I did.
So, which would win out?
The
potential for a meaningful relationship or work?
I
had a feeling that too often in this particular city—by far one of the
most aggressive and challenging of cities—it was work and that saddened
me.
“How
about an omelet with fresh tarragon, salt, and pepper beaten into the eggs,
roasted asparagus tucked inside, and a bit of Parmesan cheese on top?
Fresh orange juice, obviously.
And a croissant and good coffee?”
“Are
you sure you haven’t ordered in?”
“With
the exception of the croissants, I’m positive.
You’ll witness all of it.”
“It
sounds fabulous, but do you have time to make all of that?”
“It’s
quicker than it sounds.
That’s what
I love about French food.
Some of
it is time consuming to prepare, but much of it is actually simple because they
don’t use a lot of ingredients.
It’s all about the preparation and the execution—in this case, you
cook the eggs very slowly.
Protein
should be cooked on the lowest heat for the tenderest results.
When I was growing up, our cook,
Michelle, who is French, taught me a lot.
To escape from my mother, which I did as often as possible for reasons I
won’t bore you with, I spent a lot time with Michelle in the kitchen.
I enjoyed learning from her because she
was kind to me, because she loved me, and because I could hide when I was with
her.
She was an amazing chef.
Sometimes, I think she had more
influence on me than my mother.
She
was a sweet, loving woman, but stern when she needed to be.
‘Not like that, Alex—like
this.
Pay attention.
You’re making too much of it.
Why do you harm the food like that?
You should love it.
Caress it.
It’s not that difficult,
mon chéri
.
Treat it like a woman.
You’ll see what I mean.
Yes,
that’s right.
Just like that.’
That sort of thing.”
Why did he need to escape from his
mother?
“I would love to meet Michelle.
Is she still alive?”
“She
is, but she’s in a nursing home.
Parkinson’s.
She doesn’t
know me anymore, but I visit as often as I can anyway.
I just like being near her.
I wish she was well enough to know you,
but in her condition, that’s impossible.”
His throat thickened when he spoke, but he quickly cleared it.
Wherever she was, I had no question that
he was taking care of her.
“Let’s
go to the kitchen.
Sit at the
bar.
You’re the business
junky.
Read the paper.
I’ll do the rest.”