Page 89 of Caught in a Storm
“What about the other bloke?” Lawson asks. “Aaron? He’s quite a bit better looking than Billy. Brilliant head of hair. Aside from him smashing Billy’s face with the basketball, he seems like a nice chap, no? What went wrong there?”
“Yes!” She slaps the steering wheel. “He’s nice, too. Really nice. I had two nice men. What are the odds? And I fucked it up with both of them. One I gave up on too soon. The other I…I let fall out of love with me. I let myself fall out of love with him. I took us for granted. I put my career ahead of our relationship. I stopped trying.”
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.”
“No, it is. Marriage is work, and I stopped working. And now I’m gonna be alone. This age and alone. In Baltimore.”
As all that comes out, Robyn somehow manages to pull up below the drop-off sign. It’s not like a normal airport—no cops in yellow vests, no harried travelers. Robyn cough-laughs through a sob. “Well, we’re here!”
Lawson reaches for Robyn’s right hand. He removes it gently from the steering wheel, gives it a squeeze, then guides it slowly to the gear shifter between them. It’s perhaps as innocently as she’s been touched by a man in her adult life, but for Robyn it makes for a heart-thrumming three seconds.
“How about we put it in park, love? We’ve made it this far without killing anyone, right?”
“You must think I’m crazy.”
“Not at all. I suspect you feel a little better now, don’t you? Feels good to get all that out. I could go for a good cry myself, honestly. Maybe I’ll give it a go. Do you mind?”
Robyn laughs. “You’re the second famous person I’ve emotionally vomited in front of today.”
“Mmm. You cried in front of Margie, did you? Didn’t know what to do, I bet. Not a crier, that one. Prefers to knock the piss out of things with wooden sticks. Bit barbaric, you ask me.”
Robyn laughs more, wipes her eyes. “She hugged me. Kind of. Like a half hug.”
“Oy. Mar hugged you? No way. I think she hugged me four times when we were married. One of those was when my dad accidentally ran over my mum’s cat.”
It hardly matters whether any of that is true; Robyn suspects much of it isn’t. Either way, he’s making her feel better.
He unbuckles his seatbelt, faces her, touches her thigh again. “Can I make an observation?”
“Okay.”
“Again, you’re lovely,” he says. “We’ve been over that.”
“We can go over it again if you want.”
Lawson laughs. “Right. Your driving skills are questionable. Not sure you should be let behind the wheel again. Before I get on the plane, I’ll probably notify the authorities. Aside from that, you’re clearly quite capable. Smart. Accomplished.”
Robyn decides to go with his assessment. Her face has gone hot, like her body is fighting off something lethal. “I’m the only female senior vice president at my company,” she says.
“See?” He touches her thigh again—more of a slap this time. “I know absolutely nothing about business or having a real job, but that certainly sounds like something. So, you’re beautiful and smart, and you’re a senior vice president. You smell quite lovely as well, which is unrelated, but we might as well add it to the list.”
The spaces at the corners of Robyn’s vision are blurring, and she knows that she’d faint if she were standing, like a woman in a Victorian novel. She’s beginning to understand the phenomenon of celebrity—the mesmerizing power of this kind of charisma.
“So, what in the actual fuck, love,” says Lawson, “are you doing worrying about a couple of stupid blokes? Aaron? Billy Perkins? Put them in the bin. Wheel them out with the day’s rubbish, and never think about them again. Because you’re a beautiful, powerful woman, and you can do whatever the bloody hell you want.”
Robyn’s seatbelt catches her mid-lunge. Somehow, though, she has the presence of mind to click the release, then she lunges at him again, lips first. Lawson catches her before they collide.
“Easy now,” he says.
“Oh my God.” Robyn is horrified with herself. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what—”
“No, no,” he says. “It was my fault. It’s happened before. I have a sort of chemistry with women. I’ve become quite famous because of it, but it’s also turned me into a complete bastard. Believe me, normally I’d welcome a bit of that, but I’m trying to put all of it behind me. You know, be a better man. Not take advantage of…well, all this.”
Robyn longs for an ejection seat—a button next to the climate controls, perhaps, that would launch her skyward. She apologizes again, fearing another wave of tears.
Lawson looks out the windshield, then the driver- and passenger-side windows. He turns around, checks behind them. “All right, fuck it, then. Close your eyes, love.”
“What?” says Robyn.
