Authors: Callie Harper
“San Francisco! Get
out the performance fleece!” a man sauntering past called out.
My phone rang in my
bag. “Sorry, I just need—” I broke away from them for a moment
and grabbed it. It was almost noon and I hadn’t heard from Ash yet.
But it wasn’t him.
“Hi, Mom.” I tried
to make my voice sound normal, like I was having a typical Saturday,
maybe still at my apartment drinking coffee and chatting with my
roommates. Chilly hands unzipped the back of my dress and the fabric
fell to my feet.
“What’s this?” a
woman asked, fingering my bra strap as if it were contaminated.
“I know, right?”
another woman agreed, shaking her head in disgust over the sorry
state of my plain, beige bra. Apparently they didn’t buy their
lingerie off the extra-markdown discount rack at Marshalls. But maybe
they should, you could get some good deals there.
“Who’s there?” my
mom asked, her spidey sense tingling. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, nothing, just my
roommates.” Stripping me naked and making me try on new bras, just
like every other Saturday.
“Do you work today?”
“No, not until
Monday.” They’d been cutting back on our shifts, part of their
money-saving campaign. Which would end in a month, I reminded myself.
That was the silver lining of all of this.
Speaking of silver, the
bra they hooked me into fairly glittered with silver beading and boy
did it lift and plump. But why were they bothering with my bra when
Ash and I had a no-sex clause clearly and explicitly written into our
agreement? I’d signed the papers, twice now, electronically last
night and in hardcopy this morning. Despite romantic appearances,
both parties agreed to not engage in sexual relations of any kind. I
knew it made sense and would certainly help to keep things simpler
between us, but I had to admit when I signed I felt a hint of
disappointment. He’d made me feel so delicious, so irresistible, as
if he couldn’t stand to keep his hands off of me. But then hours
later he’d signed an agreement to not touch me for the next month.
Guess all that
adoration had been manufactured, a ploy to reel me in. It had worked.
The feel of his fingers working their way along my thighs, slipping
under my panties, stroking my sex so slippery wet for him. It had
worked really well.
“And this afternoon,
are you finishing your Christmas shopping?” Mom asked.
“I think so.” How
was I going to handle this with my parents? Maybe I should drop a
hint? “I had a nice time on a date last night.”
I winced, knowing the
avalanche of questions my simple statement would provoke. “A date?
You didn’t mention a date! Who’s the boy? Do we know him? What
does he do for work?”
Like a life preserver
thrown from a coast guard ship, another call came in offering me an
out. “I’m sorry, it’s my boss at the library calling. I’ve
got to talk to her.”
“Call me back!”
“OK, Mom.”
The conversation with
my boss went as easily as I’d expected. She was thrilled that I
needed more time off around the holidays. As it was, they’d been
encouraging people to take vacation so they could save money. They
already had implemented reduced hours and reduced staffing. My
requesting more time would only ease things up for them.
It wasn’t any harder
with the families for whom I taught piano. Around the holidays, none
of them stayed in town anyway, all heading either somewhere warmer to
de-thaw or somewhere even snowier to ski and snow board. My absence
until the second week of January wouldn’t create any inconvenience
at all. It was almost too easy to free myself up. I almost wanted to
ask—wait, don’t you need me?
But Lola had informed
me that she and Ash certainly did. She wanted me to treat my romance
with Ash Black as my full time job for the month, and as such all of
my expenses would be paid. I’d be outfitted, styled, flown across
the country and perhaps out of it—details were still being
finalized. I was expected to give everything to this.
Starting tonight.
Apparently Ash’s family didn’t just throw a typical sort of party
for the holidays. No, they held their party at the Waldorf Astoria,
black tie. Stop one on the Crazy Train.
The stylists slipped
something new over my head. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and
tried to prepare myself for the wildest ride I’d ever been on.
Ash
The Waldorf Astoria
ballroom. I knew it like the back of my hand. If the back of my hand
kept getting redecorated and retouched every year. We’d congregated
here for our annual holiday party as long as I could remember.
After all of five
minutes, I ducked out of one of the service doors. Ana wasn’t there
yet, no need to torture myself with relatives I didn’t know and
former colleagues of my father’s offering their condolences. I
could hide out until Lola texted me that Ana was about to arrive.
Then, I’d rush to the entrance, the eager suitor, helping her out
of her limo and embracing my dearest love.
Lola had assured me
that that there’d be a full array of media outlets represented to
capture the moment, our public debut. Our modest family shindig of
500 usually got a few pics in the press anyway, what with all the
socialites and brand names in attendance. Lola had merely turned the
usual interest up a notch. Well, really I’d done that. She’d just
let them know that if they came, they’d get an Ash Black-related
hot new scoop.
In the empty, plain
corridor connecting to the kitchens, I exhaled. There, I could relax,
just for a minute. I could really use a cigarette, but I knew I had
to resist. There was the image thing, of course. These days smoking a
cigarette landed you in the doghouse worse than kicking a puppy. Not
that I’d ever done anything like that, though Mandy Monroe would
probably pay good money to doctor up footage of exactly that. Point
was, I didn’t need any grainy photos leaking of me scowling like a
villain with a cig in my mouth.
What really had me
worried, though, was that bout of bronchitis that had laid me out in
Italy last month. I hadn’t been able to shake it. Doctors and vocal
coaches and lots of other people who liked to wag tongues and point
fingers had been telling me to lay off the cigarettes since the
second I picked one up. I’d ignored their cautionary tales and
common sense nonsense. That was my specialty as Ash Black. But
apparently at 26 I had the lungs of a middle-aged coal miner. I could
lay off or look forward to my famous rock star vocals fading to a
raspy wisp in the next five to ten years.
So, no cigarettes. I’d
just have to rely on my many fond memories of past years’ annual
Waldorf Astoria holiday party to keep me company. Smoking weed with
the kitchen staff, making out with one of the caterers. And let’s
not forget flipping my father the bird in front of the president of
his board of directors. Priceless.
Tonight, I’d have Ana
for entertainment. It seemed a promising addition to the list,
bringing a girl I’d just met and introducing her to everyone as if
she were The One, as if I’d propose to her in a mere two weeks.
That part was true. It was also true that I had a hard time
remembering her last name, and I knew absolutely nothing about her
other than that she smelled like warm honey and vanilla, responded
hot and fast when I stroked her and made the most incredible sounds
when she came. Did I really need to know more than that? Lola had
given me a cheat sheet, a long list of Ana’s likes and dislikes.
I’d stopped somewhere after chocolate chip ice cream. I wasn’t
much for reading and memorizing long lists. And who would even
believe that Ash Black knew all these mundane little details about
some girl? Not me.
Only I had found myself
thinking about her a lot today. Not wondering what her favorite ice
cream was, though. The only time ice cream might have entered into my
train of thoughts was imagining her licking a cone, that sweet
innocent mouth and tongue sucking and licking, her flirty eyes
watching me as she did it. Or dripping cold ice cream on her
stripped-naked skin, just a drip here, a drop here, and I’d lick it
up, taking my time. I’d like to make her squirm. She’d have to be
blindfolded, of course, so she wouldn’t know where the ice cream
would drip next. I’d like to make her drip.
Damn it. I adjusted
myself. This tux fit me like a glove, in all the right and now wrong
ways. Slim cut, like a tux out of
GQ
.
It probably was. I had stylists to take care of all that, thank God.
I liked looking good, but I sure as hell didn’t want to spend any
time getting that way.
I knew my PR team had
kidnapped Ana and spent the whole day running her through the whole
Cinderella thing. Lola had assured me that it had to be done, and
they wouldn’t change too much. I’d told her Ana didn’t need a
hair messed with on her head. First of all, the whole point of this
was to hook me up with an average girl, the type my fan base could
identify with. If they sent me some tweezed, plucked, dyed-blonde
thing caked in makeup, she’d look way too Tinsel Town.
And then there was the
fact that I found Ana immensely appealing exactly as she was. She
didn’t need any improvements. I didn’t mention that to Lola. She
didn’t need to know my inner thoughts. And it wouldn’t register
with her since it didn’t have anything to do with the bottom line.
My preferences mattered only so much as they related to my
marketability.
My phone buzzed. The
chariot approached. Prince Charming needed to straighten out his tux,
run a hand through his famously thick and sexy black hair and go make
an appearance.
It was cold outside but
not too bad, about 30 degrees. I clapped my hands together and blew
on them for warmth. I didn’t want to freeze out Cinderella before
the ball even began. A limo pulled up. First Lola got out, my cue. I
rushed to the door, hand outstretched, hoping please don’t let a
plastic blonde Barbie doll step out next.
A toe emerged, in
suitably shimmering shoes for a ball. Then a slender calf followed by
some glittering silvery fabric and then I forgot just about
everything. I didn’t look to see if the cameras were catching the
moment. I didn’t have to prompt myself to act gallant or awestruck
by her beauty. I simply was.
Ana looked up, saw me
and smiled. It was a whole-body smile, lighting her from the inside
out, radiant. No makeup could achieve that glow on her fresh face,
her soft skin. She tossed her hair, her gloriously chestnut hair,
still the same color as before only glossier, moving and catching the
light of…oh yes, there were flash bulbs going off. An armada of
paparazzi capturing the moment.
I wanted to growl at
them all, shield her from view, keep her to myself. But that wouldn’t
do. That wasn’t the point of this, now was it?
I clasped her hand in
mine and helped her out of the limo.
“You look amazing.”
It felt fake coming out of my mouth with that audience surrounding
us, even though I absolutely meant it.
“Thanks. Wow, this
is…wow!” She looked around, taking in the ornate entrance to the
grand old hotel, the legions of press there to photograph her,
calling out to us.
“Ash, is she your new
girl?”
“Over here, gorgeous.
What’s your name?”
“Ana,” she offered
with a demure smile. She was a natural. I placed my arm around her
waist and damn but it felt good there.
“Are you going to
break her heart, Ash?” a voice called out, hoping for an angry
reaction he could capture. So I smiled. Ana leaned into me, and the
smile grew genuine.
“Ana! Ash!” We made
our way up the gauntlet, Ana moving slowly, turning and smiling like
a pro. She’d either been lying about her background, or we’d hit
the jackpot in someone who took direction so well. The natural
reaction in this kind of onslaught was to run and hide. Only an
arrogant ass like myself or someone who’d been highly coached would
do otherwise.
Inside, she let the
façade drop.
“Wow.” She brought
her face to her hands, clearly a newbie running the risk of smudging
her look. With more practice, she’d remember Makeup First, Emotions
Second. I hoped she’d never get more practice. I liked Ana exactly
as she was.
“Are you OK?” I
rubbed my hand along her back, reassuring. It shouldn’t have made
me think about reaching it lower. But it did.
“Is that, like,
normal to you?” She looked up at me, wide-eyed.
I shrugged. “I’m
used to it. But it still sucks.”
“Do you like it? All
that attention?”
Huh. Of course I liked
it, didn’t I? I was Ash Black. And at first, it had all been such a
rush, so crazy and intense and I thrived on that, always something
new, always reaching another high. Lately, though? I kept thinking
about the type of cabin my younger brother Health reportedly lived
in, not even a decked-out one, but something basic and quiet and
snowy. Someplace far away from prying eyes. Somewhere I could drag
Ana and have her all to myself.
“There you are!”
Gram swept toward me in cream satin gloves and a burgundy
floor-length gown with a train. She looked positively regal.
“Does the Queen
Mother know you’ve raided her closet?” I kissed her on the cheek.
“Of course she does.
We’re besties.” I loved my 83-year-old grandmother. “And who is
this charming creature?” She turned to Ana who truly shimmered, and
it wasn’t just the dress, though that was breathtaking in and of
itself. One shoulder draped in fabric, the other laid bare, it wound
around her curves, ending in a dramatic asymmetrical hemline. I liked
the short side better, the one that grazed her mid-thigh. What kind
of panties had they put her in? Last night I hadn’t even gotten a
good look, and I was a visual kind of a guy. But what guy wasn’t?
The sight of a beautiful woman in sexy lingerie, that was the type of
pleasure that made life worth living.