| |
Wesley Baker
"For Christ's sake, Wesley, will you stop that? You're making me nauseous with all of your pacing back and forth," Charles said in his droll, ‘I can hardly be bothered’ voice from his place by the living room mantle.
"Go to a different room then, why don't you?" Wesley snarled in return. He stopped to deliver the answer, running his hand through his hair distractedly. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and saw how insane he looked, he started up the pacing again, moving faster than before. If he could move fast enough, maybe he could get the damned day over with and be done. He caught Charles giving him one of his patented dismissive hand gestures from across the room and turned on him. He and his brother had never been friends when they were kids. People always said it got better when you grew up, but that was a lie. Maybe it got better for some people, but Charles was a sanctimonious prick. He had been one when they were in high school, and he was still one today. There had been plenty of times over the years that Wesley was tempted to beat the shit out of him. Fear of either school or parental retribution had always forced him to keep his shit in check, and then Charles had moved away, and it had been a non-issue. Now that they were back in the same room, though, settling the score didn't sound like a bad idea at all. Good way to pass the time and a way to use some of his energy, too. Win-win, as far as Wesley was concerned. And it didn't hurt that he was roughly double Charles' size. Seriously, when had the guy turned into such a pansy?
"Please, boys, let's not and say we did, shall we? This macho stuff is so gross," Charles' fiancée said from her place on the couch. Wesley was tempted to turn on her, too, but for a wonder, he actually kind of liked the chick. She was no way the kind of woman he'd want to be with, which he thought helped when a girl was already with someone other than you. She was funny, though, and his short-term impression was that she wasn't inclined to put up with any of Charles' shit. If he was ever in a situation where he had to spend another holiday with his brother, which was unlikely but you never really knew, Wesley thought he wouldn't mind so much hanging next to Charlotte and making fun of people's bullshit. He thought Liza might like her, too. She could be an ally, and that was a good thing. That was a very good thing because Charles was being a dick and his mom was already halfway through her second stiff martini as the grandfather clock struck noon.
“Charlotte, please,” dear ol’ mom said, swaying slightly in her most expensive Chanel suit, “don’t be fooled by little Wesley here. He does so love to go on about things. He’s been making mountains out of molehills ever since he was born.”
“Gee, Mom, I'm flattered. I didn't know you were there. When I was born, I mean." Wesley eyed his mother, daring her to start something real. He was pissed. That was the plain and simple of it: he was pissed, and on top of it he was pissed that his family could still piss him off. She had no right to act this way. Not when she was the one who'd insisted on this fucking lunch to begin with. She had no right to act like she was doing him a favor or like he had done something for which he was supposed to be ashamed. She was the one on her way to sloshed in the middle of the day. She was the one who didn't know how to mind her manners.
"I'm sorry, Charlotte, but you might as well learn the truth of it now. My youngest son never really took to the Baker way. His father was disgraced for it, I can assure you, but I did my best. We soldier on, don't we? That's something you should be prepared to do since you are to become one of our clan." Wesley's mom raised her martini and drank deeply. When she set it down on the mantle beside a still scowling Charles, some of the gin sloshed over the side. Wesley already knew that she would see it tomorrow and blame the housekeeper for sloppy cleaning. That was the way things went in the Baker Mansion. Nothing was ever one of the family's fault.
"I'm sure tensions are just high. I suppose I would be a bit stressed, too, if I were bringing a new girlfriend to meet my family for the first time," Charlotte said diplomatically. Wesley studied her, trying to figure out if she was being a bitch or not. For a wonder, her face was open, and when he made eye contact with her, she held it. He almost felt bad for the lie. There was a perverse desire to tell her everything – that Liza wasn't his girlfriend. That she was a means to an end. If he did that, though, he'd probably tell her the rest of it, that he was afraid he'd gone and developed feelings for his contingency plan.
"Please, don't spare him the pity. If you'd seen the kind of girls he's spent time with. I'm sure it's safe to say that this one doesn't deserve our pity," his mother said, looking at Charlotte conspiratorially. And Jesus, what was he playing at? He wanted to get at his mom. It was unattractive, but it was true. But what about Liza? He hadn't thought about that part, and now he was the asshole, no ifs, ands, or buts. She was going to be here soon, any fucking minute, and it would be his fault when she walked into a lion's den.
"Both of you are being ridiculous if you want my opinion," Charles offered from his spot. Charlotte shot him a warning look, and Wesley mentally put another check mark in her yes column. Then the doorbell rang, and Wesley felt his stomach slingshot into his throat. Christ, but this was a mistake. There was no amount of compensation that would be worth what she was going to have to go through at this stupid lunch.
"I'll get it!" his mother trilled, picking up her martini and clomping towards the door. Wesley followed, feeling like a dog at her heels. For a wild minute, he thought about pushing in front of his mom, so he could get to the door first. He would fling it open and tell Liza to run while she still could. What he did instead was stand there like a jackass watching the inevitable shitshow's inception.
"Well, dear, you didn't have to bring anything. This isn't a dinner party," Mrs. Baker said instead of a greeting. Wesley looked around his mom's shoulders and saw Liza standing there in the frame of the door. She looked like she was standing in a life-sized picture frame and for some reason it made Wesley want to cry. He kept seeing her the way she had looked the morning after their night in Austin. Waking up with the yellow early morning light making its way through the window. There was only a sliver of space for it to make its entrance, the small amount of space between the window sill and the blackout curtains. It was like it had been looking for Liza's face. He thought Megan had probably taken hundreds of pictures, thousands with her famous photographers, and not one of them compared to Liza's face in that light. He told himself his thoughts had only arisen from being half-asleep. It was nice, having someone in his bed, and as long as he didn't think about it too long, it didn't bother him that he’d enjoyed it despite not having sex. Now she was here holding a bottle of wine that would invariably not be good enough for his stupid fucking family. His mom would use it as a weapon. Because that was what she did.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought it was the polite thing to do,” Liza answered uncertainly.
“Don’t be sorry. It looks great. I’m a fan of this one,” Wesley interjected. He pushed past his mom and took the bottle in one hand, Liza’s fingers in his other. It felt better when he had a hold of her; like the world was more solid.
"Thanks," she said quietly enough that it was almost a whisper. When she looked at him her face was so full of gratitude he was tempted to drag her back out the front door and take them both far away. Only that kind of thinking was bullshit, given their current situation. She was a means to an end, and he couldn't forget it. She was a means to an end whose fingers were running discreetly up and down the inside of his palm. The feeling was electric, and his body shifted, trembled, and started to react the way it always did when a chick was getting to him. Having a boner during the horrific family get together was a good sight below optimal. Fortunately, his mother's clearing throat took care of it before it could go any further.
"Yes, well, it's lovely to see the two of you getting along so well. Now, if we could take the pleasantries into the parlor where the rest of the family is waiting," she said, sounding more bored than anything else. Wesley knew better. He'd heard her sound this way enough to know that she was far from bored. She was sizing Liza up, figuring out how far she had to push in order to fuck up Liza's world really. Mrs. Baker was a predator, and she was readying herself for the hunt. As he watched, she looked Liza up and down once more, appraisingly and with a frown, then turned her eyes to Wesley and winked. Goddamnit, she actually winked at him. She might as well have said, “let the games begin.” At least it would have been more interesting, less waspish. Then she turned on her perfectly respectable heels and waltzed back towards where the rest of the piranhas lay in wait. He felt a little bad about lumping Charlotte into that category, but for the time being, he didn't know enough about her not to. She was an unknown entity, and for the time being, that meant she was as good as the enemy.
"Are you ready for this?" Liza asked quietly from his side. He looked down at her and saw that her face was fundamentally serene. It didn't make sense; Wesley was no expert in the inner workings of a woman's mind, but he was pretty sure most in this situation would be close to shitting themselves. Everything about his mom was designed to elicit that precise response and Wesley had seen more formidable girls crumble under the patented Mrs. Baker effect. But Liza? She looked like she was taking a stroll through a park instead of playing girlfriend. He probably would have been okay if he hadn't seen that; if he hadn't seen that he wouldn't have understood what kind of woman he was really dealing with. He'd had a feeling about it if he was honest with himself. He'd had an idea that she wasn't anything like the kind of chicks he'd been with before. Seeing her grace and calm now made it impossible to ignore. Perversely, he wanted to let her hand go and tell her to get the fuck out of the house, and good riddance. Things would be easier that way, for everyone. Instead, he gripped her hand harder and ran the tip of his finger along the inside of her index finger. She sighed so low that it could only have been audible to him and he knew he wouldn't be tossing her out anytime soon. He'd like to take her into one of the upstairs bathrooms, lift her prissy skirt up around her hips, and fuck her until she screamed, more like it. Instead, he had to settle for pulling her chair out and helping her take her seat. He noted that she'd been placed between him and Charlotte, and said a quiet thank you to the universe. He didn't think anyone at lunch was exactly safe but if he had to hedge his bets he would say that Charlotte was the safest. When she caught his eye she smiled at him, and he was sure as he figured he was ever going to be. He sat, lowering himself into his seat slowly and without any desire to be doing so, and laid a hand lightly on Liza's back. She didn't look at him, didn't even flinch, and he knew they both understood. They were in the trenches now, by God. They were in the trenches, and there was no way for him to push rewind and get them both the hell out of dodge.
“Wesley!” his mother barked sharply, pulling him rudely out of his thoughts, “be a gentleman, won’t you? Your new friend was kind enough to bring that bottle of wine. Open it and pour her a taste. Let her approve it for the lot of us.”
"No! No, sorry, I can't do that. My stomach hasn't been in the best condition lately, and I don't think the wine would help," Liza countered apologetically. The hair on the back of Wesley's neck prickled when he heard that, and he looked at Liza closely without really understanding why. She didn't return the look, but her face flushed a deep red. From across the table, he could almost hear his mother rolling her eyes.
"Dear, please, you insisted on bringing the wine. You may not be aware of this, but it is customary for the person who chooses the wine to do the tasting," she said, her voice dripping with false friendship.
"Mom, it's fine," Wesley cut in, doing his best to keep his voice light. It was a hell of a lot harder than it should have been. He remembered Adam mentioning the woman who was supposed to work for him and calling her a bear. The conversation felt like it had taken place about a thousand years ago, but that image of a bear woman had stuck. If there ever lived a bear woman, it was his mother, no doubt about it. She was entirely in her element now, too. She knew how uncomfortable he was, and probably Liza, too. She knew, and she fed off of it like a vampire fed off of human blood.
"No, honestly, Wesley, I only want to make sure she feels comfortable. She should feel free to do the tasting," his mother insisted, her eyes twinkling maliciously. His fists clenched and unclenched rhythmically, angry both with her and with his own feeling of impotence. Any question of how the lunch would go was long gone; the tone had been set, and it was, to put it mildly, totally fucked.
"That's alright, I've had this one before, and I think it's just fine. I'll just open it, shall I?" Wesley looked at Charlotte sharply, searching for some sign that she was in league with his mother. Instead, she gave him another small look, and he saw that she was only trying to help. Looked like he owed somebody one hell of a wedding gift. And it would need to be something that was just for her, too, because Charles deserved exactly nothing. It was true that he wasn't doing anything to make things worse, but he wasn't trying to help anyone either. That was Charles all over, and Wesley knew it. The only person he was liable to look out for was himself, and if his future wife chose to put herself in the line of fire, so be it. She would learn. If she didn't, she would suffer. Such was the way of things in the Baker household, and Charles wasn't going to challenge it. Wesley almost understood it. It was only recently that bucking the system had started looking so attractive. It was easier to toe the line, and a quick look at his mom's reaction to Charlotte's interference was enough to remind him why. Mom wouldn't say anything now, an outright confrontation wasn't really her style, but he did not doubt that Charlotte would pay. She might not even realize it was happening either.
“Only if you want a glass,” she said sharply, her voice like a judge’s gavel falling, “and don’t do it on my account. I really was only trying to be accommodating, but if we’re all doing whatever we like I think I’ll stick to my martinis. If it’s all the same to you, Wesley.”
“Sure, great. Have a ball,” he said dryly. Wesley cleared his throat and Liza reached out and pinched him. For a second, it pissed him the hell off. He was trying to take her side. He could think of plenty of reactions from her, but getting pinched wasn’t one of them.
“Good, now that that business is settled,” Mrs. Baker said, glossing right over Wesley’s unfriendly tone, “why don’t we get down to business. Liza, why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?”
"Mom, come on. It's not a job interview," Wesley said through gritted teeth. It was, and they all knew it, but that didn't mean he had to like it. His mom didn't look at him, and that was a bad sign. She was really hitting her stride now, and almost nothing would stop her.
"Of course it's not, dear, nobody's saying it is. It's just ‘getting to know you’ chatter, isn't it, Liza?" she asked in her sugary-sweet voice.
"It's fine. I don't mind talking about it, although there isn't much to tell. My mother raised me on her own. It wasn't easy, but she did her best," Liza said gracefully, her back straight and no sign of looking down at her plate. She wasn't touching any of the stupid tea sandwiches the butler had put on her plate, but she wasn't backing down, either.
"A single mother?" his mom asked in horror. She took another long sip of her drink, her nose wrinkled and her eyes overly bright. Some of that was due to the liquor, but Wesley wasn't naive enough to think that was all of it. She was getting drunk on more than just the martinis now. She was getting drunk on human suffering. Like a goddamned vampire, he thought again sickly.
“It happens, Mom, it’s not the fifties anymore, or didn’t anyone tell you?” he said dully.
"Wesley, watch it," Charles interjected. Wesley's only response was a grunt. They were the right words, the dutiful words, but they were limp and uninterested. Why Charlotte would want to marry him was beyond Wesley, but he knew better to ask. He wasn't exactly in a position to lecture anyone on the state of his or her relationship. His date was for hire, for Christ's sake.
“You always were a good boy, Charles, but you needn’t come to my rescue now. You know what your brother is like.”
"That's right," Wesley said, "we all know what I'm like, don't we?"
"I wonder, though, do you, Liza? Do you know what your new beau is really like?" Asking this question, Mrs. Baker looked even more predatorial than ever. She leaned forward, peering at Liza with bright, too-sharp eyes. Wesley put his hand on Liza's upper thigh and squeezed. They should have come up with some kind of a safe word before ever walking into this hornets' nest, and now it was too late.
“I believe so, at least as well as any of us ever can,” Liza answered quietly. Mrs. Baker let out an unamused titter of laughter and Charles joined her dutifully. Wesley hardly heard them. It felt too hot in the damned house, breathing harder than he should have been while he looked at Liza’s face, searching for who the hell knew what. She didn’t even look at him for part of a second. She didn’t look at anyone but his mom. Looking at her that way, she was well on the way to becoming Wesley’s number one hero.
"It's a lovely sentiment, dear, but hardly the stuff dreams are made of. More importantly, not the stuff relationships are made of. You must know his history, it's been all over the television and the papers," she said. Her voice was supposed to sound sad. He didn't know what it sounded like in reality, but it was nothing like sorrow. Nothing even close.
“We all have history,” Liza insisted, “his is just more out there in the open for everyone to see. I think it’s sort of brave, actually.”
"Brave?" Mrs. Baker echoed, her voice thin and chilly. Her eyes were narrowing down to slits, and Wesley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He'd seen that look before, plenty of times. He'd been on the receiving end of it more times than he liked to remember. Nobody talked back to his mom the way Liza was doing now, albeit respectfully and in a voice small enough to sound like it belonged to a little kid. Anybody who dared to do so had long ago been dispatched with.
“Well, yes, of course. At least I think it’s brave, for whatever that’s worth.”
“I’m sure it’s worth plenty,” his mom said in a voice that didn’t come close to matching the sentiment.
“It’s just that our secrets let us get away with so much, don’t you think? It makes us feel safe enough to do all kinds of things we would never want out in the open.”
"Depending on what kind of person you are, maybe," Charles offered up genially enough. Wesley was never going to really like the guy, but he appreciated that he wasn't going in for the kill alongside their mother. Maybe he'd get the guy a Christmas present after all.
"No, I don't think so. Even really good people, really straight and narrow people, have their secrets and they can be reasonably sure of keeping them. When you're in the public eye, though, you don't get to have that," Liza said, glancing at Wesley and smiling a little. He couldn't smile back. He was too stunned to do much more than sit there, slack-jawed and feeling like a grade A idiot. Nobody had ever taken up for him this way, and that was part of it, but it went deeper than that, too. It was the understanding, the empathy that surprised him. Also, he was becoming painfully curious about what this woman actually knew about him. Did she know his full asshole history? And if so, was she really willing to let it stay in the past where he wanted it to stay? If so, he might be in trouble. As it was, he was pretty sure he was halfway to being in love.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have the first idea what you’re talking about. Perhaps the two of you belong together after all. I’ve never understood this son of mine either. Not the first thing about him,” his mom said through a sneer.
“Yes, I can see that,” Liza countered. She’d been completely polite when she said it and her voice was so calm that, for a second, nobody did anything. Nobody said a word. Then Mrs. Baker sat up very straight in her high-backed chair. Her face was infused with bright color the likes of which Wesley couldn’t remember ever seeing in her cheeks. On the other side of Liza, Charlotte looked down at her plate as if it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. Charles cleared his throat, almost as red-faced as his mother.
"Say now, I don't think that's appropriate. This is her home, after all," he said uncertainly.
"You're right. It's her home. I think it might be best for me to go," Liza said quietly, standing up a little shakily. Charlotte reached halfway towards her like she wanted to either keep her there or help her steady, and then let her hand fall back down into her lap. The only one who stood was Wesley, and he was hardly aware of doing it. His insides felt like lead, his head like it was on fire. He and his family had been at odds over the years more times than he could count but it had never been like this. Never before this moment had he ever been so utterly disgusted with them. Never before had he genuinely wished he was a part of a different family.
“Hold on a minute, Liza. You don’t have to go anywhere. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said hoarsely.
"I think I maybe did. And besides, I'm not feeling very well all of a sudden. I think
I'd like to go home and lie down for a minute," she answered him softly, not looking at him. Instead, she looked at his mom who was starting to look victorious despite the appearance she had suffered a deep afront.
“You can lie down upstairs if you need to,” Wesley insisted stubbornly. “There are so many fucking rooms in this house they won’t ever all be used.”
“Wesley, really. Language,” his mom chided. He looked at her with disbelief, fighting the urge to use a couple of other choice words for good measure.
“That’s alright. I don’t think this is the place for me. I’d like to say one more thing to you, Mrs. Baker, though. If you’ll indulge me,” she said, her voice stronger now, her body steady again.
“Would I be able to stop you, dear?” Wesley’s mom asked in amusement that never reached her eyes.
"No, I don't think so," Liza allowed with a faint smile, "because it's important. I won't pretend to understand everything going on here because I don't. I do know that Wesley is a good man. He's a good man, and he works hard. I hope you see that. It would be so sad if I could see it and not you."
Wesley's head buzzed with too much blood, and when Liza turned to head back to the front door, he wasn't sure he would be able to follow. When he did, he hardly heard the uproar beginning behind him, Charlotte and Charles probably telling his mom that she was a wonderful mother and she shouldn't let a stupid outlier make her feel any different.
"Liza, hold on!" he called, afraid that she would just walk out the door without looking at him again. He couldn't stand that idea. It would fuck his head up royally until he could see her again. She stopped one hand on the door handle and then turned. Her eyes were wide and overly bright, her cheeks as red as his felt.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, shocked, “I don’t know what made me do that. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”
"Are you kidding me? That was unreal! It was fucking awesome if you want to know the truth," he laughed, taking her in his arms. He wanted to kiss her deeply. No, scratch that. He wanted to pull her into the first vacant room, bend her over, and take her until both of them were screaming, and nothing else mattered to either of them. Except that when he touched her, when he tried to pull her in close to him, her body went rigid and tight. She let him touch her, but she also resisted being pressed against his chest. He looked down into her face questioningly and immediately wished he hadn't. All he got for his troubles was a jolt of sickness straight through his stomach.
“What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.
“No, nothing. I wasn’t kidding, though, I’m not feeling so hot.”
"Let me take you home," he answered at once. Part of it was chivalry, but there was also a significant portion of him that just wanted to get the hell out of dodge. He sure as shit wasn't planning on sticking around with the family after the scene that had just gone down.
“I drove myself, remember?” she asked with a smile. He could see that it was work though – the act of smiling. She really didn’t look like she was feeling so hot. She didn’t look like she was feeling good at all.
"Okay, so I'll drive you in your car and take a cab home," he insisted. It was a stupid plan and he knew it. He also didn't give a shit.
“That’s silly. I’ll be fine, Wesley. I just need a nap. We’ll talk later, okay? If we have any more business together.”
"You bet we do," he said quickly. He tried to ignore the way she referred to their interactions as business, which made him want to put his fist through a wall. He also tried to ignore the fact that the business end of their dealings was all of his own devising.
"Good. So then give me a call. And good luck with that situation in there," she said ruefully, angling a thumb towards the room where they could both hear the aftermath of her unexpected monologue. She didn't give him a chance to answer, just walked out the door and shut it quietly behind her. He wanted to go after her and confess things he didn't fully understand. He wanted to go tell his family to fuck themselves and be done with them for good. He wanted to get into his car and drive until he was somewhere nobody knew who he was and he didn't know a single living soul because it became clear he was falling for Liza now, for sure and unavoidable. He was falling for her hard, and it was fucking terrifying.
