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Liza Morris
"I don't get it, what's your problem?" Melony asked loudly. Liza winced and pulled away from her phone. Just once, it would have been great if they could have had a conversation that didn't wind up hurting her ears. Nevertheless, she was grateful for the conversation. If possible, she was even more nervous about this second not-date than she'd been about the charity thing. She was in the process of trying on her fourth dress, and there was a pile of the ones she had already discarded behind her on the bed. She tugged at her current choice, a black thing that looked like it had been painted on, and blew her hair out of her face loudly.
“What?” Melony laughed, “What’s wrong? I can practically see you doing that thing where you blow on your hair. You’ve gotta stop doing that, by the way. It makes you look like a cartoon character.”
"Oh. Oh, great. Just what I needed. Another thing to be nervous about. Fantastic," Liza squealed. She scoffed and bit her lip to keep from screaming. It wasn't Melony's fault that she didn't understand. She couldn't possibly; she was missing basically all of the important details. Liza had thought about telling her about a thousand, but every time she opened her mouth to do it, she couldn't quite bring herself to. How exactly was one supposed to say, by the way, I'm dating this guy for money? Oh, and don't forget I kind of, sort of accidentally slept with him the other day, too. Even thinking about it made her want to be sick.
"Please, chica, you'll get zero sympathies from me. You're going out with a freaking star tonight!” Melony shouted, oblivious to the way Liza’s brain was tormenting her.
"Yeah, that doesn't help, either. If you're trying to make me more nervous you're doing a bang-up job," she said weakly.
“I’m not, so cool your jets. Just tell me what you’re wearing. And keep in mind, this may be one of the most important outfits of your life.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
BY THE TIME HER UBER pulled up to the swanky bar, Liza was going on thirty minutes late. That was like a lifetime for her, and it made her jangling nerves about a thousand times worse. Still, she could hardly make herself open the double glass doors. With some prodding from Mel, she had chosen the black dress. Now, she felt like it was a terrible mistake. She had no idea how sexy a person was supposed to look at a wrap-up party. She had never been to anything remotely similar. The odds that she was leaning more on the side of hooker than appropriate date seemed good, if not great. The urge to turn, march right back to her Uber and go back home came on so strong she hardly had the will to ignore it. Ignore it she did, however, and marched into the bar with her head held high.
“Oh my God,” she said breathlessly, “what the hell have I gotten myself into?”
"Has anyone ever told you that talking to yourself is a bad habit?" A friendly voice said very close to her ear. She yelped and jumped about three feet high. When she landed, she wobbled and almost toppled over to one side, which would have clinched the category of most horrendous entrance ever. She'd dreamed about walking into a building and having it go that badly. It was right below the one where she was walking through the hallways of her high school with not a stitch of clothing to use for cover. The only reason she didn't fall was the strong arm that looped around her waist and drew her in close. She whirled and found herself looking up into Wesley's face.
"Jesus, I'm sorry, Liza. I swear I didn't mean to freak you out. I was just playing around," he said sheepishly. She didn't smile back. She didn't want to give into the sudden, surprising flash of anger gripping her but it was hard. Everything about this stupid party was freaking her out, and Wesley seemed like the perfect scapegoat for all of her unsettled emotions.
"Tell me, Wesley, how exactly did you see that happening?" she asked, her face hot and her knees trembling. He still had his arm wrapped around her, and it was distracting. She took a deep breath and smelled his cologne. It was sweet and spicy with a hint of something that reminded her of a trip she had taken to Sequoia when she was young, which was her favorite trip in memory. His scent reminded her of what it was like to taste him. It worked amazingly well to quell her bubbling anger, this memory. It worked, in fact, like a charm.
"I don't know; I guess I didn't think it through," he answered glumly. He looked like a kid whose school prank had gone horribly wrong. She softened further and reached to touch his cheek gently. A spark of electricity went from her fingertips, through her body, and down to the tips of her toes. In her head, there were all sorts of warning bells going off about keeping things professional this time, no matter what. Her muscles, though, were an entirely different matter. Her muscles were full of memories that made her want him again, no questions asked.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you that way. I’m just nervous, okay? I’m not used to going to this kind of thing,” she said kindly.
“Tell me about it,” he said, sounding every bit as put out as she felt.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not buying that for a minute. You must do this kind of thing all of the time!" she chided. Her tone was different this time, though, playful, and he could tell. He let go of her waist, which left her feeling immediately let down. Then he grabbed her hand and started swinging it lightly back and forth, which sent her emotions skyrocketing in the opposite direction again. She was going to have a heart attack if she didn't find a way to get herself under control. This man was bad for her health, she thought, laughing to herself softly and shaking her head.
"What, you're laughing at me now?" He smiled, steering them towards the bar. While she looked silently on, he ordered two glasses of champagne and handed her one with a wicked half-grin. A low, slow heat began where her upper thighs met, and she shook her head again, more discreetly this time. She was not here for a repeat of the charity ball fiasco. She was here for business, and getting along well with Wesley didn't make that any less true.
“No, sorry, I’m not. It’s just weird being here,” she said as lightly as possible.
“Would it help if I said I’m glad that you’re here?” he asked, his eyebrows raised hopefully.
"A little," she smiled flirtatiously. A little flirtation didn't mean anything, she reasoned. It was all but part of the job description. She was getting paid to be a girlfriend, and she would make it convincing. If she had a little fun while she was at it, so be it. Just so long as she didn't have too much fun, she reminded herself.
“Good. Because I am. I honestly hate these things most of the time. I’m not a fan of schmoozing,” he said, leaning in confidentially.
“Somehow I find that very difficult to believe,” she said and smiled up at him; she liked smiling at him. She liked the way his eyes smiled back in return.
"On my mother's grave," he insisted, "this shit is for the birds. I love my show; it's the best thing in my life, I just don't want to stand around talking about how much money it's going to make everyone."
“Interesting,” she answered as she thoughtfully sipped on her drink. He linked her arm through his and began leading her slowly deeper into the room, into the thick of the party. He glanced down at her while they walked, his head cocked to one side.
“What? Do I have something on my face?” she asked, feeling decidedly on display.
“No, I’m just wondering what that means,” he said slowly.
"What what means?" she asked cautiously. Without meaning to, she felt like she had stepped over some kind of an invisible line. She wanted badly to step back in the other direction, but she didn't quite know how.
“You said it was interesting,” he prodded gently.
“I did. It’s just a word.”
"It sounded a little like a euphemism," he laughed uncertainty. She stopped walking abruptly and almost fell over the tops of her too-high heels. She had no idea what she wanted to say, which was terrifying. Fortunately, or perhaps, unfortunately, they were interrupted before she had to give any answer at all.
“What the fuck, man?! Where have you been all of my life? I’ve been waiting for you for fucking ever, you know it?”
Wesley's body stiffened, and he tightened his grip on her arm. She glanced at him, saw the expression on his face, and felt her insides sink. He was recovering quickly, but the first expression on Wesley's face told Liza everything she needed to know. Wesley was not pleased by the addition of their newest companion.
"Hey, Adam, good to see you, man," he greeted the guy with a warm, easy voice. It was the same voice she'd heard on his shows, each time he informed her where and what she should be eating next. It was his acting voice, and it made his real feelings almost invisible.
"I bet it is, man!" The guy laughed, reaching out and grabbing Wesley's hand. Liza could see that the man's palm was either sweaty or covered in something else liquid and she shuddered. The movement was small, but it was enough to catch the attention of Wesley's friend. He punched Wesley jovially in the bicep and winked at him lasciviously.
“And who is this lovely minx?” Adam asked, leaning into Wesley and smiling conspiratorially. All of the sudden Liza could see the two of them sitting at a bar together or maybe out at a club full of half-naked women. She could practically hear their gross talk and their mouths filling up with saliva. She moved a step closer to Wesley and was pitifully relieved when he removed his arm from hers and slung it protectively around her shoulders.
"This is Liza, Adam. Liza, this is one of our show's producers," Wesley explained, looking at her level. The look said to proceed with caution, and at least some of Liza's ill feelings about the meeting subsided. If Adam was someone important on Wild Man's Mission, Wesley didn't have much of a choice as to whether or not to hold a conversation. The idea made her feel better for all of forty-five seconds, or as long as it took for Adam to start talking again.
“You’re full of shit! Don’t sell me short just because you’ve got plans for her after the party!” he cried, putting a hand over his chest as if he had been wounded.
“Sorry. Not just one of the producers, then. He’s one of the biggest, one of the execs,” Wesley agreed dutifully. The sick feeling in Liza’s stomach returned. The way Adam was talking about her, she might as well have been a box of tasty takeout.
"You got that?" Adam continued, really getting into his groove now and not giving a damn whether or not he was offending, "I'm one of the boss men. If you really want to get somewhere in life, you should consider ditching that loser for me. He may be the pretty face, but I'm the one with the connections."
"Hey, come on, man," Wesley warned softly. He didn't sound angry yet, but Liza got the feeling he could get there without too much prodding.
“I’m just saying, I’m just saying,” Adam said with his palms up in a gesture of innocence, “besides, she’s not even your type!”
"I think that's enough," Wesley started. Liza looked at him closely and ducked under the circle of his arm. All of a sudden, it didn't seem like such a protective place to be.
“I don’t know, Wesley, maybe we should let the man talk,” she said nonchalantly. And God, what in the hell did she think she was doing? Playing with fire only ever got a person burned, and she had no interest in being hurt. The weary look in Wesley's eyes said that the chances of that happening were good.
"Please, don't let the guy's sweet talking fool you. You've got a banging body, dear, but not the kind he usually goes for. He's more into the super skinny, heroin chic chicks. He likes to be able to see their hip bones, if you know what I'm saying," Adam said, laughing too big and drawing more and more attention.
"I do," she replied and smiled. She felt like she was having an out of body experience, and not the good kind. Wesley's face was parchment white, and he was looking at Adam like he would gladly kill him right on the spot. Liza saw this and knew that she was going to cry. It was the most ridiculous thing in the world, to cry over the drunken admissions of this asshole. For starters, he was operating under the influence of a serious ulterior motive. For another thing, nothing he was revealing came as a surprise. Whether a person was actively into pursuing the tabloids or not, the gossip wormed its way in. She'd seen the pictures of Wesley out on the town, and she had a rough idea of the man's type. Suffice it to say, it wasn't her. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and reminded herself that she knew these things and had no right to feelings about them one way or another. It didn't work. Her tears were coming and she couldn't, under pain of death absolutely couldn't, let them fall in the middle of this room.
“You know what?” she said brightly, “I think I’m going to take a trip to the ladies’ room.”
"Good! Gives us a chance to watch you walk away, am I right?" Adam roared, elbowing Wesley in the side. Wesley didn't appear to notice. His eyes were glued to Liza's face as if letting them wander for even a moment would cause him to lose her forever.
"Glad it works well for everybody," she said nonsensically, already walking away. She had no idea where the bathrooms were, the bar being so far out of her normal league it wasn't even funny. Luckily for her, it didn't matter. She had no intention of finding the bathroom, any more than she did of staying at the party. All at once, she was sure she stuck out like a sore thumb. She was a Wal-Mart sundress in a sea of couture. She was nowhere near heroin chic and never would be. By the time she was back at the front door, she was almost sure she was going to be sick. She needed to call an Uber. She wanted to call Melony. Most of all, she wanted to sink into the concrete and vanish from view.
“Woah! Hold on, Liza, please.”
Liza took two more steps forward, trying to make her escape in a car she hadn’t yet called. Wesley caught her easily and held her arms tightly. She didn’t want to look at him. She was sure that the pity she would see in his face would deal her the kind of humiliation from which a girl just didn’t recover.
"I'm sorry, I'm not feeling quite myself all of a sudden," she said, careful to speak slowly and sound as calm as she could manage, "I'm going to have to leave."
“Please don’t,” he begged, trying to turn her around. She made her body rigid and stood her ground.
“I know it’s not convenient,” she pressed on, “I’m sorry about that. Please dock my pay. I won’t feel right about it if you don’t.”
"I don't want to talk about money right now, goddammit, I want to talk about what just happened in there," he insisted. Incredibly, he sounded almost angry now. It was the surprise of hearing that emotion from him that finally made her turn. When Wesley saw her face, he didn't look too sure that he was pleased by the development. If her face looked half as fiery as it felt, she didn't blame him a bit.
"This may come as some shock to you, but I actually don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about it at all," she answered through gritted teeth. He looked stung, but she didn't care. She reasoned with herself that there would be plenty of time to care later, once she had calmed down and was as far away from this vapid place as possible. For now, it felt good to spit words into the perfect man's face. It felt like the only weapon she had left in her meager arsenal.
"I get it, I do, but I think we need to," he pressed, trying to take her in his arms. She sidestepped him easily and took a step back. She had no idea where she was in relation to the curb, and it would be just her luck to fall and break an ankle or something. Breaking something would be bad, but she couldn't let him touch her. When he touched her, she seemed to lose all sense.
"We don't, actually. I came here because you asked me to because, at the moment, it's my job. Maybe I should have known better. These aren't my kind of people, and I'm not theirs. I don't belong, Wesley."
“Why?” he scoffed, “Because of Adam?”
“I wouldn’t say he helped,” she agreed, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Look, I like the guy, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s talking about. He can be a dick, especially when he breaks into the scotch,” Wesley shot back.
"But he was right about your type. We both know that, just like we both know that what happened at the charity thing was a fluke. A fluke that never should have happened and now I'm going home," she finished, turning back towards the street and looking around desperately for a cab. Of course, there wasn't one anywhere in sight. There never was when you really, truly needed one.
“What are you doing, Liza?” Wesley asked, his voice drained.
“I’m going. I told you, I don’t feel up to this anymore,” she called over her shoulder.
“If you think you’re taking a cab, you’re insane. It was bad enough that you wouldn’t let me pick you up. I’m not letting you get away with it twice in one evening.”
She turned to look at him again, doing her best to ignore the party people she could still see milling around behind him. Now it was his turn to cross his arms. His eyes were blazing, and his forehead was creased with a ‘give me what I want’ line that almost made her laugh in spite of everything. She kept the laughter inside, but she was too tired to argue with him anymore. A small voice in the back of her head suggested that maybe she wasn't too tired; that maybe she just wanted to be closer to him for a little while longer. The part of her brain that had made the decision to take Wesley up on his crazy proposition told the small voice to shut the hell up and mutely followed Wesley to the valet. She even allowed him to take her hand and help her into his low car door. He drove something wildly fancy, the name of which she could only have guessed at. She wasn't a car person, but she didn't need to be to know that the leather bucket seat she was sitting in was part of an insanely expensive car. It was just another piece of a life she was pretending to lead but would never have for herself. It was a miserable thought, and she folded her hands tightly in her lap and tried not to think about anything more upsetting than the weather. She and Wesley spoke not one word to each other. Their separate seats might as well have been different universes. It stung like hell but it was for the best, and she reminded herself of the fact over and over again, like a dreary new mantra. It wasn't until Wesley stopped the car on the empty side street next to her building that Liza looked at him again. She started when she found him looking directly at her, his eyes appearing painfully deep in the moonlight seeping through the windows of the cars.
“Wesley-” she started, her hand moving to the door’s handle.
“Can I tell you something?” he interrupted, his voice thick. She’d heard him sound this way before and would never be able to forget where. It was the same way he had sounded right before dragging her off the charity ball dance floor and giving her the most intense orgasm of her mostly careful life.
“I don’t know,” she said, suddenly restless and far too hot, “I guess so. You don’t have to, though, okay? There’s really no need.”
“But there is,” he corrected, “because you’re driving me fucking crazy.”
“Um, excuse me? I’m driving you crazy?” she asked incredulously.
“That’s right. It’s why it’s so stupid, you believing that crap Adam said.”
“I told you, I don’t want to talk about that,” she insisted, leaning towards the car door again.
"Fine, then we won't talk. I don't want to talk, either," he growled. All at once, there wasn't enough air in the car. The windows were steaming up like the two of them were in a romantic movie, and Liza couldn't stop staring into Wesley's eyes. When he reached for her hand, she didn't do anything in protest. He placed it on his thigh and led it gently up, his eyes boring into her all the while. When her fingertips found his stiff cock, she gasped. That little voice was back again, warning her to get out of the car while there was still time but it didn't stand a chance. The explorer in her was in charge now, the rest of her be damned.
“Do you feel that?” he asked huskily, his breathing already picking up speed, “That’s because of you. I told you, Adam doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
"And I told you I don't want to talk about him anymore," she countered quickly. It was absolutely true, but her reason for wanting to stay away from the topic had shifted. She didn't want to fight, and she didn't want to think about whether or not she was making another massive mistake. Just in case there was any lingering question, she traversed the invisible barrier separating their seats and kissed him. His taste, which she had only experienced once, already felt familiar. She wouldn't say it felt like home, mostly because the very idea of it was too ridiculous to live, but it felt close to that. He groped for her greedily, pulling her closer and running his hands under her skin-tight dress.
“You know we’re in public, right?” she asked, grinning while she kissed him passionately.
"We're not in public, we're on an empty street, and everyone else is out partying."
"You don't want to come up to my apartment?" she offered. It was the right thing to ask, and so she asked it, but she realized as soon as the question was out that she wanted him to say no. The risk of their sexual encounter in the powder room had gotten under her skin. She wanted more, and she wanted Wesley to know it. Just in case he didn't, she went for his zipper and pulled the length of him out of his pants.
"I don't think I can make it to your apartment," he laughed shakily. She grinned and kissed him again, her fingers exploring the tip of his shaft and then closing around him gently. A low humming sound came from the back of his throat, and she smiled against his lips. When she took his bottom lip into her mouth and nibbled, the humming got louder. Her hand sped up, and her legs grew slick with want. Her hips rocked unconsciously, leading her where her mind left off.
“Get on top of me,” he gasped, tugging her dress up desperately, “please, Liza, I want to feel you.”
She yanked the dress the rest of the way up, slipping one leg limberly over his lap. This time there was no thong to slip to the side. There was nothing between Wesley and her at all. He slid into her and gasped as she let out a loud moan. She bucked her hips wildly, all of the tension of the evening pouring out of her as she rode him with violent abandon. It might have lasted for twenty minutes, and it might have lasted for five. When they came, they came together, collapsing against each other and panting like they'd just run a marathon. It was only when it was done that the fears started to seep back in, and by that time, Liza was too tired to care.
