The Everlasting Chapel (6 page)

“No,” I say.

“Then what’s the rush? You’re letting him
call the shots, and if he loved you, he wouldn’t force you into
anything.”

“But…I…” I sigh. “I think I might want to
try again, too. Am I insane?”

“Now that’s different. If you are sure you
want to give him a second chance, just stick to your guns. I’ve
always said, if it’s meant to be, it will be.”

“Okay. Will you just help me—make sure I
actually do stick to my guns?” I ask.

“You are a grown woman, and are fully
capable of doing that on your own.”

She must not understand the effect Michael
has on me. I become completely helpless and lose all control when
he’s around. It’s as if he has some special power over me.

“But I’d be more than happy to be your
cheerleader and talk you through it anytime you’d like,” she
adds.

“Thanks,” I say. “I’ve arrived at Ophelia’s
now so I have to go. Hey, what are you doing this weekend?”

“You know, dancing.”

“Can’t you get Laila to give you a day off?”
I ask.

“No. As you are aware, we’re one girl short,
so she’d never allow that. Especially on the weekend.”

“Are you trying to guilt me?” I ask.

“Of course. I miss you! The Black Chapel has
become The Chapel of Doom without you there.”

“I miss you, too.” I don’t see her nearly as
much now that I’m working a gazillion hours a week. “Maybe some
other time then?”

“For sure. Take care,” she says.

“You too.” I hang up and head to work. The
restaurant is rather slow tonight, so I don’t make nearly as much
in tips as I normally do. Not that I need it, but there’s just
something about making my own money.

I’m back home by eleven, and my father is
already asleep. I don’t like this new schedule, in fact, I’m
starting to hate it. I never see my father or Anne. Once the check
clears, I could technically just quit working. Except the benefit
of working at the Portland Museum of Art is that I get to stay
connected with local artists. The benefit of working at Ophelia’s
is that I make more money.

6

On my way to work the next morning, my phone
rings, and when I check it, I see that it’s Michael calling. My
heart speeds up. Shoot. What should I do? I told him I needed a few
days to decide, and here he is calling me the very next day.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Scarlett. It’s me, Michael.”

“I haven’t taken you out of my contacts, you
know.”

“Well that’s nice, but before you bite my
head off…I’m not calling to get an answer,” he says.

“Oh…okay…?”

“I wanted to see if you would accompany me
to the grand opening of a new business of mine,” he says.

“No, Michael, come on. We agreed that we
wouldn’t do this,” I say.

“I agreed I’d give you a few days to decide
whether or not you would give me a second chance. In the meantime,
there’s no harm in spending a few hours together, is there?”

“Have you no boundaries?” I ask.

“Not when it comes to you,” he says.

Here we go again. “The answer is no. And
please, don’t call me again. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

“Alright. But don’t leave me hanging too
long,” he says.

“You said I could have as long as I
need.”

“I did say that, but I miss you.”

“Well, stop.” I hang up and throw the phone
back into my purse.

I spend lunch with Spencer again, and this
time he brings a picnic basket with sandwiches, white wine, a fruit
platter, and pound cake.

“Is this your way of getting out of me
paying for the meal?” I ask.

“Absolutely,” he admits with a sly
smile.

We find a small patch of secluded grass
behind the Portland Museum of Art building where he spreads a red
and blue plaid blanket.

Since I did all the talking last time, I
think it’s only fair that it’s his turn. After we’ve settled down,
I ask him why he chose to go into the medical field.

“My father,” he says, “used to have a weekly
interview with me, questioning me on things like sexual purity,
whether or not I said my daily prayers, how many hours I studied
the Bible, etc. And with his other radical ideas, he’s somewhat of
a Christian extremist.”

“Like what kind of ideas?” I ask, popping a
grape into my mouth.

“He doesn’t believe in medical science. He
claims that one must turn to God in times of both physical and
spiritual need. When my grandmother on my mother’s side fell ill,
he even convinced her to go against the doctor’s recommendations.
She left the hospital, and…” He pauses and takes a deep breath, his
face steeped in sorrow as if he’s remembering it clearly. “She died
two days later.”

“That’s horrible. Were you close to your
grandmother?” I ask softly.

He looks out into the distance. “Yes. She
was a huge part of my upbringing, like a second mother. A few
months later I found out that if she had listened to the doctors,
she would have lived. It was an easy fix, but she wanted to please
my father. I was seventeen at the time. My grades were crappy, and
I had a very poor attitude. After she died, I vowed to become a
doctor. It was and still is my way to honor my grandmother.”

“So you’re like the black sheep of the
family then, rebelling from your parents’ ways?”

He smiles, and gently kicks my foot. “To my
father, I am. My sisters and mother all are against him in that
way.”

“And your mother stayed with him?”

“Yes. They have tons of issues, but somehow
they make it work. I know my father loves my mother, and that my
mother loves him, too. I think it’s the only thing that keeps them
together.”

I gaze out into the distance. I don’t want
to end up old and miserable, arguing with Michael every day, just
settling for a crap relationship because the sex is so good. But
then again, when I’m around Michael, I really do feel as if I
belong with him. Why is that? He brings out the best and the worst
in me. Every damn day. “Well, love isn’t always enough.”

“That’s for sure,” Spencer says.

We eat the sandwiches and fruit, and he
makes a toast to friends and lovers.

“Hey, it’s almost time for you to get back,”
he says. “The rest of the week I’m on call so I probably won’t be
able to make lunch. But do you want to go clubbing on
Saturday?”

“Sure,” I say. It’s a while since I’ve been,
and I would definitely enjoy a night on the town.

* * *

That night I give my two-weeks notice at
Ophelia’s. I ask Bernadette, one of the other part-time waitresses,
if she’ll cover for me on Saturday, and she agrees to do it. She
says she needs the money since her lousy ex hasn’t been paying
child-support for their three children.

I check my balance daily to see if the check
has cleared, but all there is, is just a big, fat, pending amount.
Learning how the president of the bank knew about the deal, I am
now almost certain that the check is legit. Although, one could
never be too sure with Mrs. Manning.

The rest of the week goes pretty smoothly,
and as promised, Michael doesn’t call me. I thought I’d be okay
with that, but for some reason when he hasn’t called by Friday, I
start to feel a little neglected. Wow, I’m such an idiot sometimes.
I ask a guy not to call me, and when he doesn’t, I feel ignored.
Where, oh, where is the sanity?

By Saturday, I’m so exhausted from work that
I consider canceling with Spencer. When I tell my father about it
and say I want to spend time with him instead, he becomes angry and
insists I leave the house and don’t come back until a very
unrespectable hour. He says I’ve been way too uptight and stressed
lately and need to go have some fun. I don’t tell him who I’m going
with, but at this point, I’m not going to introduce anyone to my
father unless I actually have a rock on my finger. I don’t care
that my father has already met the guy and that he’s his doctor.
Seriously, when did I become so anal?

What’s even worse is Vivian backs my father
up. I accuse them of being PIC’s, and they mischievously glance at
each other. Are they…? No. Not that I don’t want my father to find
someone again—he needs a woman to make him happy. But I’m not going
to ask. I don’t want to know, not yet.

I take a shower, and dress in a black,
leather mini skirt, wedges, and a light gray satin tank top that is
speckled with crystals. I realize it is January, and that I’ll be
cold while I wait to get inside the club, but once inside, I’m sure
it will be melting hot, and I hate sweating like a pig while I’m
dancing.

Spencer picks me up at 8:00 p.m., and we eat
dinner at a local pub. Then he drives me to
The Fountain
.
I’ve never heard of it. Not that that’s particularly strange—I
don’t go clubbing often, but what is strange is that not even the
girls at The Black Chapel have mentioned this place. They’re always
going on about which club is the best in town. Which tells me,
either this place is a brand spankin’ new one, or it’s just a
really crappy one.

“Have you been here before?” I ask Spencer
just as we’re getting in line in front of the red brick
building.

“No. It’s a new club,” he says. “I thought
it might be fun to check out. If you want to go somewhere else, we
can.”

“No, this is fine.” I just want to get
inside before my legs become two ice stilts.

Spencer wraps his arms around me, and
although I don’t really feel comfortable with so much physical
contact yet, it helps me stay warm. It takes forever, but we
finally make it inside. The place is gorgeous and packed to the
hilt. Fancy chandeliers hang from the raised ceiling, plush leather
couches stand around the gigantic dance floor, and on the second
level there are tables and chairs.

Spencer takes me by the arm and leads me
over to the bar where we sit down. One of the five bartenders
approaches us.

“Free drinks all around tonight for the
grand opening,” he says with a smile.

Spencer looks at me and gestures with his
hand toward me.

“Tequila,” I say.

“Make that two,” Spencer says.

Shit. Maybe I should have ordered something
a little milder. I don’t want to make any mistakes tonight, and I’m
definitely not ready to do anything stupid with Spencer. It could
ruin the great friendship that’s developing between us.

The bartender brings us our drinks, and I
look around. Colorful lights are flashing everywhere, and the music
is loud and heavy, the base vibrating through me, making me want to
move my body.

“Salt?” Spencer holds a shaker up.

I lick the top of my hand, let him pour some
salt on it, lick it, and bottoms up. I grab a lime wedge, bite into
it, the tartness making my mouth water, and swallow down. When I
look back at Spencer, he has this lustful grin on his face. Oh,
dear. I really need to talk to him.

“Don’t let me drink anymore,” I say.

“Okay.” He drinks his tequila and orders
another one.

“I didn’t realize you were still so fond of
partying,” I say.

He scoots in closer and leans his cheek
against mine, talking into my ear. “I don’t really party anymore. I
just wanted us to forget about life for a while and have some fun.
I felt like you needed it.”

Yes, I do. “Sounds like a plan,” I say. And
in that spirit, I order another tequila. To hell with moderation
and self-control. Tonight I am going to have fun and not worry
about the past or the future. As long as I don’t go overboard, I’ll
be okay, and I trust if I do, Spencer won’t take advantage.

A half an hour later, I feel delightfully
buzzed and carefree enough to go out onto the dance floor and let
it all loose. I take Spencer’s hand in mine, and lead him into the
middle of the swaying crowd. The lights are flashing, the music
upbeat and blaringly loud, and for the first time in weeks, I am
actually enjoying myself. I can’t tell whether it’s the drink or
the club or Spencer, but the combination makes me feel alive again.
Happy again.

I’m glad I wore a mini skirt and tank top
now; it’s hot as hell in here. I start to dance, but after a few
seconds, I have to stop and stare at Spencer. Holy shit this guy
can move! Hanging out with him, I don’t consciously remember that
he used to work at Hunk-O-Mazing. He’s so proper and a perfect
gentleman all the time, but watching him dance it becomes glaringly
obvious that he’s a professional. And that he was very…very good at
his job.

I mean, he’s not fully into strip mode, but
the way his firm hips and rock hard abs roll, the way he’s
completely coordinated and oh, so wickedly tantalizing, I have to
say that I’m getting turned on. I’m not into stripper guys at all,
but seeing this, knowing who he is—a doctor, and a sweet, sweet
man—I almost think I might want to try to get a little closer. And
with the tequila buzzing around in my head, the flashing lights,
the music hypnotizing my body into moving, I see things heading
into dangerous territories. Watching, I almost think I feel
something more than friendship for him.

Spencer smiles at me as if he’s thinking
some wicked thought. He grabs my hips and swivels me around, places
his hands on my hips again and grinds himself against me.

Holy hell. He’s hard for me, his erection
pressing into my ass. I hadn’t expected this! What do I do? I don’t
want to move ahead yet. I’m not ready! I am still completely
heartbroken about Michael. I still love Michael.

Standing so close to Spencer now, I notice
that I’m about as tall as him with my wedges on. He just seems
larger because he’s so muscular and because he has this aura of
confidence. He keeps grinding his hard-on into me, and I reach my
hands back and tug at his hair.

“Yeah, babes,” he says into my ear.