Love Love (7 page)

At the moment, I can’t even remember
my own name, let alone what I was drinking. Brad returns with more
towels. I see him shake his head back and forth but I’m too
preoccupied to give it a second thought.

After hearing the question, Brad
replies for me, “she was drinking a Salted Caramel
Mocha.”

Dark and Sexy immediately requests
another one and I stand there like a fool, tapping my hand against
my thigh, while his eyes feel up my entire body. Thankfully, Brad
saves the day and returns with my drink.

“
Thank you, “ I say, still
a little taken aback by this whole fiasco.

Dark and Sexy pays for my drink and
gives me a wink, says “anytime,” and heads out the door. No name,
no introduction, and he didn’t even get a drink for himself. What
the hell?

By the time I arrive at work, it’s ten
o’clock, and I know Robby’s going to give me hell for being late. I
sneak into my cubicle, shove my purse in the drawer, flip on my
computer, and take note of the demonic red light on my phone
blinking at top speed. I sigh loudly, so much so, that when I look
behind me, Robby is standing there. His dirty blonde hair is
perfectly coiffed and he’s wearing one of his signature silk
shirts, this one hunter green, black pants, and loafers. His arms
are crossed over his chest, his foot tapping, and his lips form an
annoying grin when I make eye contact.

Busted
.

“
Gabby, dahling. Do you
realize what time it is?”

I swallow hard. “Yes, Robby. I’m
really sorry. I had a bit of a difficult morning.”

“
Well, difficult morning or
not, there’s work to be done. As it is, I had to deal with the
calls you were supposed to be taking, and you know how much that
pains me.”

“
I know. It won’t happen
again.”

“
Good, now let’s get to
work. Have a look at your latest sticky notes. I couldn’t sleep
last night so I started then.”

Lovely. “Okay, Robby, thanks.” When
Robby leaves, I put my head on my desk. Could this day get any
worse?

“
Are you fucking serious?”
Fran asks me when I get back to our apartment.

“
I know. This is the second
time he’s made me crazy with lust, and he hasn’t even touched
me.”

“
So let me get this
straight, you saw the hot guy at the coffee shop and dropped your
drink and your purse…geez, that must have really turned him on,”
she deadpans.

“
Very funny. I don’t know
what the hell happened. I never thought I’d see him again, so when
I did, it caught me completely off guard.”

Fran’s eyebrows crease and her lips
press together. “So no name, no introduction, no drink, and he just
left.”

“
Yup, that about sums it
up.”

“
What the hell?”

“
Exactly. It was very odd.
But, if I thought he was hot from a distance, you should have seen
him up close. Dear Lord. Those green eyes were mesmerizing, that
mouth was intoxicating, and his body...well, it screamed
sheet-clawing sex.” A light bulb immediately goes off in my head.
“Not to change this hot topic, but do you want to be my date for
the company party next Monday? It’s actually going to be pretty
cool. There’ll be food, drink, and lots of hot guys.”

That last comment clinches it. Fran
looks excited. “Well, that’s an offer I can’t refuse. I even have
the perfect dress to wear! I’ll be right back. I want to try it on
for you.” She disappears down the hallway excitedly.

I open the fridge and pull out the
leftover pad thai, pop it in the microwave for two minutes, grab a
fork from the drawer, and dig in. After five minutes, Fran still
hasn’t come out of her room. “Hey, hot stuff! Let’s see that
dress!” I call out, but she doesn’t respond. I put down my fork,
chomp on the last bit of pad thai, and walk down the non-existent
hallway to her bedroom.

When I step in, her black dress is
laid out neatly on the bed and she’s standing in front of the
full-length mirror wearing nothing but her bra and panties,
clutching her belly, and staring at herself. “Are you going to put
that sexy dress on, or what?” I ask, but she doesn’t
answer.

I walk up behind her and put my hand
on her shoulder. “Fran, what is it?”

She continues to stare in the mirror.
Her eyes are glazed over and her hand passes across her stomach
again and again, tracing hundreds of tiny scars. “I remember the
first time my dad cut me. I was five years old. My mom had gone
back out to the grocery store after he pushed her into the wall
because she forgot his favorite cereal. He came into my
room…holding it…the small paring knife…the one my mom cut fruits
and vegetables with…”

I can see in her eyes that she’s
there, back in her memories, so I squeeze her shoulders, put my arm
around her chest, and pull her back against me.

“
He told me he was doing it
on my belly because no one could see it. He said it would be our
special place…that after, he would put my favorite Dora Band-aids
on for me. He always gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me he was
doing it because he loved me.” Tears roll down her cheeks. “I was
so scared. I kept praying my mom would come home and save me, but
she never did. She couldn’t even save herself, Gabby. How was she
going to save me? Now I have all these horrible scars, and I wonder
if I’ll ever find anyone who isn’t silently disgusted by the way I
look once my shirt comes off.”

A tear tumbles down my cheek. I turn
her around and take her precious face in my hands. “Fran, you’re
beautiful and anyone who can’t see that doesn’t deserve you.” I
wipe the tears from her eyes. “What brought all this
on?”

She tears her gaze from mine and
stares at the carpet. “My mom called me today. My dad got in
contact with her…he wants to know where I am. He wants to see
me.”

Fran hasn’t seen her dad since she was
ten years old, the exact time when the desire to ever see him again
disappeared. His abuse of both her and her mom left permanent scars
not only on her body, but on her heart. The thought of seeing him
again terrifies her. I didn’t meet Fran until after the horrors of
her childhood, but the damage remains. The cigarette burns on her
thighs and small cuts on her stomach are only the physical
reminders. The thought of anyone ever hurting her again makes me
sick to my stomach. I would go to the ends of the earth to protect
her.

My jaw clenches and my shoulders tense
up. “And your mom said no way in hell, right?”

Fran exhales a harsh breath. "Yeah,
she didn't tell him, but I'm worried because you know how
persistent and resourceful he can be when he wants something. I
don’t want anything to do with him. Do you remember how many years
of therapy I went through to try to heal from his bullshit? The
emotional scars are fading, I guess.” She runs her hand along her
belly and across her thighs. “But these? These will never go
away.”

What could I say? Words seem
pointless. There are no words to heal. Only time and love can do
that. So I just hold her.

***

The
week flew by and it’s already Monday. I wish the company party were
on a Friday, but what can you do? This is the first year I’m
attending and I hear it’s awesome. It feels like a bit of a
privilege, especially given the value I place on my importance at
the firm; very little. Colleagues, clients, and even celebrities
attend; it’s pretty extravagant. A colleague told me that last year
she saw Brad Pitt, which is wild. She stared at him the entire
night, but I’m pretty sure he’s used to it.

It’s my first work party and I don’t
have a date. Well, I do, and it’s Fran, which is okay. We get to
dress up, drink champagne, and drool over hot guys. I can’t think
of anything better to do with my best friend. And I get to wear the
dress Fran coerced me into buying at Bloomingdale’s.

After I’m dressed, I glance at myself
in the full-length mirror. My nerves are on end because I’m not
used to wearing clothes this revealing. I practically feel naked.
My only saving grace is that I leave my hair down so it’s sleek,
shiny and straight. It lands on my breasts and covers up some skin.
The silky fabric of the dress falls just past my clean-shaven
thighs; shorter than I normally wear, but not so short that someone
will have a heart attack if I bend over.

I hear my mother and father
in my head.
Dear, your private parts
should not be on public display like that, it will attract the
wrong type of person; like Clark.
Sitting
down on my bed, I put my head in my hands. My mother’s an idiot.
She couldn’t have been more wrong. Clark was exactly the right type
of person.

I try to gather my thoughts and
rekindle my excitement for the night. Maybe I’ll get lucky. Fran
obviously thinks I need it and maybe she’s right. When I walk out
of my room, the sight of her jars me from any wayward thoughts. She
looks absolutely stunning in a short, black, fitted,
off-the-shoulder dress, complemented by red stilettos. Her black
hair is pinned up in a messy bun and her makeup
dramatic.

“
Fran, you look gorgeous.”
I’m consistently blown away by her beauty.

She gives me the once over and it
appears she approves. “You look beautiful, Gabby! Really sexy! In
fact, you might even get yourself laid tonight.”

Fran and her one track
mind.

The party is being held at the
gorgeous W Hotel in Union Square. The event is attended by about
two hundred people. Clients, employees, and local celebrities flock
to the party every year. As we arrive at the W, I’m instantly
pleased that Fran suckered me into buying this dress. The women
look stunning, and the guys, well, they’re seriously
mouth-watering. Photographers are snapping pictures left and right.
If there was a red carpet, I’d think we were at The
Oscars.

Fran looks over at me with a wide
smile. “Let’s rock this joint.”

We wave to cameras and keep an eye
peeled for celebrities as we walk into the party and check in. The
Landon & Castell party is nothing if not exclusive.

We’re immediately blown away by the
ballroom. It’s decorated in blues and silvers, with sparkly crystal
chandeliers over each table and overflowing vases of lilies and
irises in the center. Ice sculptures surround the room, the
lighting is dim, and there are several small circular candle
holders on each table, adding to the ambience. Soft jazz plays in
the background; it’s actually quite romantic and makes me feel a
bit melancholy.