Page 39 of Omega Artist
Why deny it, right? “Are you serious right now?” To escape divulging more, I stuff a piece of steak in my mouth.
And while my question was rhetorical, she speaks her mind anyway. “There’s that expression again! And of course, I’m very serious.” Her tone is slightly offended which I find humorous, considering what she’s discussing.
My expression dares her to falter as do my words. “You would’ve followed me into the bathroom and helped me out?” I wrongly thought that muttering it aloud would unsettle her.
Instead, she leans my way again and murmurs, “Why would I say I would if I wouldn’t?”
Good question, young lady.
“I can think of several reasons…” Debating on how to phrase it, my thumb and index finger mindlessly stroke my chin. “Let’s see. You don’t know me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Come on, Tig de Luca! After everything…” She wiggles in her seat, sipping some water before adding in a grave tone, “I know you better than you think. You don’t need to be shy all of a sudden because we’re face-to-face. Honesty is all I ask of you.”
“Oh, Alie, you have no idea how much I’m myself around you. And that’s a rare occurrence. I’m just… Thank you.”
It’s her turn to ask, “Excuse me?”
“Thank you for traveling this far so that we could meet. Thank you for following me here tonight. Thank you for letting me be myself.”
The side of her foot brushes against mine during dessert and coffee, spurring a myriad of long-forgotten but welcome sensations that course through my body, mind, and soul. Her eyes lazily and brazenly linger on me… until the moment’s ruined when I snatch the bill and declare, “It’s on me.”
“What? No!” The outrage that contorts her lovely face almost scares me and the volume of her voice arouses Hugh’s suspicion, but she makes a gesture to send him away before lowering her voice. “I can pay for my own dinner, thank you very much.” Her fair brows are scrunched together.
“I’m well aware of that, Alie.” My gleeful voice seems to irritate her further.
“I hate it when guys assume they have to pay. Why can’t I buy you dinner for a change?” She’s completely blowing this out of proportion.
“You need to chill out, Alie. Maybe you should practice more of the breathing exercises we’ve chatted about.” I sigh, mustering the courage to speak my mind.
I like this girl. Her looks. (I’d love to see that red mouth wrapped around my dick.) I really like this girl. Her chutzpah (as Ethel Katz, my eighty-year-old Jewish neighbor, would say). I truly like this girl. Her appeal. (Other than my late wife, I’ve never been attracted to someone on so many levels.) In truth, the age difference is an excuse my dead heart mustered to flee whatever it is we are building.
I roll back my shoulders and deliver my speech between clenched teeth; I need to set things straight. “I know it might come as a shock, but I’m not treating you tonight because I’m trying to get into your pants. Finding a free fuck isn’t that complicated, you know. I’m treating you because I want to thank you for making this trip and taking a chance to meet in person. I’m treating you because I had a lovely evening, and it’s been so long since that happened. I would have done the same if you were a dude, and not because I was hoping to top later. Are we clear?” I’m amazed that I’m not shaking when I stand up, get my wallet from my coat pocket, and leave a wad of cash on the table. I’ve never felt so right.
“Fine, fine, pay the bill.” Her voice is laced with the same annoyance as before. “And thank you for dinner. Really.” It turns softer. “I mean it.” Her tone grows warmer as she follows me outside after wishing Hugh a good evening.
“My pleasure.”
Chapter Fourteen
Titanium
Aliénor
My iPhone chimes,and I rummage through my purse to find it. Father made fun of Mother when she chose this particular birthday present. Too big. Too black. Too expensive. BirkinSo Blackis its name. So large is this Hermès purse. Sooo expensive is its price tag.
Despite our ample bank account, Mother shied away from ostentatious tastes and taught us well. From the day we were born with silver spoons in our mouths, my parents emphasized that life is never to be taken for granted; we are privileged, but that’s no reason to feel or act entitled. We don’t brag about the family money, status, or name because it doesn’t define us; it’s simply a part of who we are.
However, this special luxury accessory was the exception to the rule. From the moment she laid eyes upon it, this bag called to her. It had to be hers, at least once Father agreed to her whim and put her name on a waiting list, which was unthinkable for her. It was her guilty pleasure. A pleasure with a bitter taste, since I inherited it after her death. A pleasure with a sense of pride attached to it, since she’s always by my side, sort of. A pleasure with lots of hidden treasures… like my phone that I ultimately find buried under other vital items. Checking my missed calls, I see that one is from Father, which I’m not prepared to endure yet. The note that I left on the dining room table was self-explanatory.
In the middle of my tasty breakfast of avocado toast, I take a sip of my morning coffee and don’t bother listening to my cousin’s voicemail. I call her back instead of texting like we usually do, forgetting that it’s Wednesday morning and she’s at work. “I should have called you back sooner.”
“Don’t stress it, Aliénor. We all know how independent you are, but when my dad started to ask if we were in touch and was ready to call Uncle Charles, I warned him not to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. As for me, well, after your text on Sunday night, I figured you were... otherwise… occupied…” She trails off, and I know exactly what she’s implying; my reputation knows no bounds, not that I mind. I’m happy in my own cancer-free skin.
“Thanks, Greer. I owe you.” I take another bite of the delicious dish while gazing out the window in the vain hope that it’ll make the pouring rain stop. It’s a shame because the view is breathtaking. I’d love to wander around and discover the neighborhood.
“I’ve been patient… So, spit it out! I’m on a ten-minute break.”
I check my watch, realizing that it’s already past nine. Staring at my avocado toast, I mull over which details to give away. “Where should I start?” Splitting the yolk in two, I munch on my softened toast to buy some time. “For once, it’s actually not what you think, but I can tell you all about it when we meet after you’re done with work. Is seven okay or too early?” She’s learning the ropes at a fashionable PR company for red-carpet luxury style brands. It’s right up her alley, considering her connections to many of the happy few, and it also keeps her schedule full.
