A Story That Has to End
“I always said that she’d do it!”
“What are you talking about?! You kept saying, ‘It’s all over’!”
We were driven back to the Ritz by limousine and we’re now in one of its bars. There’s no one around now, only a young guy ordered by the management to stay there until we leave. It’s been crazy. The car was a surprise from Tim – a little reward for my performance out there on the catwalk. There was a driver too, but Al had never driven a Hummer before so he decided it was the perfect opportunity to give it a try. We went along with him as he broke every speed limit in town until, to our immense relief, Lou took over at the wheel. I’ve never had so much fun. When we arrived at the hotel none of us wanted to go to bed yet so we booked a room for myself and for Phoebe and we settled in one of the hotel’s private rooms overlooking the garden.
“That’s so not true!” protests Lou, who can’t admit that he never for a moment thought I would get to the final.
“It is so true,” answers Tim, looking to Phoebe for backup, “and I’ve got a witness!”
“I know, Tim, I know,” I say, laughing at their bickering. “I knew that he’d be headbutting the mirror as soon as he realised I wasn’t following the script.”
“You were awesome, though!” he cries exultantly, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Absolutely perfect.”
“Oh, listen to you all – if hadn’t been for me and that amazing hairdo, nobody would ever have noticed her,” says Lou defensively, crossing his arms.
“That’s true. Without you we’d have been lost,” I say, running over to console him. “I looked amazing on the catwalk, they all said so. ‘Sam, what an incredible hairdo – a real touch of class!’” I hug him, despite his initial sulky resistance. He always acts like that, but deep down he’s a pussycat. As usual, he growls a bit to try and scare me off, but in the end he gives in and in a sudden display of affection hugs me warmly.
“Thank god some people still know how to recognise a style professional.”
“She’s lying through her teeth and you know it!” retorts Tim, earning himself a stuck-out tongue.
“It’s actually all thanks to me,” says Al, coming over with two glasses of champagne. “This one’s for me, and this one is for you.” He passes me one.
“What about us?” asks Tim resentfully. “After all the hard work we’ve put in, you’re not even going to bring us a drink?”
“I told the barman to put everything on my tab, so please feel free to take grotesque advantage of my generosity,” says Al with a laugh.
“You’re going to regret that,” says Tim.
“I know,” answers Al, taking my hand. “And as it’s now very late, we will be going,” he announces out of nowhere, surprising all present.
“What do you mean? You’re just going to abandon us here?”
“Exactly, Lou.”
“Jeez, what a party pooper,” moans Tim, but nobody does anything to stop us. Quite the opposite – it looks like they can’t wait to get us out from under their feet so they can gossip freely. And Al couldn’t wait to creep away either, so without even saying goodnight he drags me off with him towards the door.
“Would you mind telling me where we’re going?” I ask, lifting the hem of my dress to stop myself from tripping over it.
“Outside, to toast your success. You want to?” he says, when we’re already approaching the hotel’s main entrance. There’s only a French door between us and the outside, but it’s very different from the garden where they held Fashion Week. The Ritz only has a small lawn, and the atmosphere is intimate. There’s just a row of trees lining the edges of a small patio surrounded by blue azaleas and at the far end, hidden behind a willow, two stone benches next to a low wall covered in ivy.
“So,” he says, “are you coming?”
“Yeah, why not?” I smile and walk down the steps, observing every detail in the hope that I’ll manage not to forget anything. Tomorrow, Terry will want to know everything, and I need to be able to describe it all to her, even the position of the plant pots.
“Shall we sit down?” asks Al as he walks past the willow tree. “Everything okay?”
“What a night…” I whisper, still in a state of shock.
I feel as though I’m floating, suspended between reality and fantasy and everything seems perfect: the lights, the moon, the stem of the glass of champagne between my fingers and my dress. Oh, this dress… I’m developing an obsessive attachment to my wardrobe. I’m still wearing the long emerald green dress. “Is it really late?” I say, anxious for no reason. I check the time. I don’t really know why, seeing as I have nothing to do in the morning, but I can’t get used to it. It’s only been two days since I left my job and I still feel like a journalist at The Chronicle, with crazy working hours and a caffeine addiction. “Oh, my God, it’s one o’clock!” I shriek.
“So what?” he asks, with a shrug. “Come and sit next to me.” He takes my hand and forces me to come and sit beside him on that old, ivy covered bench. “To you!” he says, raising his glass. His eyes are shining and his happiness is contagious, so I find myself laughing for no apparent reason.
“To Beautiful Curvy!” I reply, clinking my glass against his.
“You were fantastic tonight,” he says, when he’s taken a sip.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were,” he insists.
“I came out with such a load of bull!”
“But your dimples looked amazing.”
“Ah, so you’re saying that’s the only reason I made it to the final?” I say, pretending to be angry.
“Of course, why else would you have? Didn’t you see them? They were all mesmerised!”
“God, that’s sad.” I bow my head and down the rest of my champagne. “I hoped I’d moved them all with my speech, but it was just for my dimples.”
“And for your cleavage.”
“Al…”
“Hey, you know how I feel about that,” he laughs, taking another sip to avoid looking me in the face.
“You’re incorrigible,” I say, leaning back against the bench and taking a deep breath, filling my lungs with the perfume of the flowers, the night and the breeze. I close my eyes and relax. I don’t think I could want anything more at the moment. Al does the same, but he doesn’t close his eyes – he prefers to look up at the sky, and while his gaze wanders between the stars, pretending shamelessly to recognise the Great Bear, he takes my hand and squeezes it. A gesture that might seem casual but quite obviously isn’t, as I can’t help noticing.
“Why are you laughing?” he asks.
“I’m not laughing.”
“Okay, why are you smiling?” he specifies.
“Is there a law against it?” I ask, dodging his question.
“Has fame already gone to your head?”
I open one eye. “Hey buster, have you any idea who you’re talking to?” I joke.
“To an incredible walking disaster who isn’t even able to memorise a presentation that’s three lines long!”
“That’s a completely unfair accusation, I remembered it perfectly!”
“Yeah, right,” he says sarcastically.
“Are you trying to tell me something?”
“Me? Absolutely nothing,” he says as I punch his arm. “Cut it out, that hurts!”
“You deserve it!” I say. Only this time, as soon as I try to touch him he suddenly grabs hold of me, picks me up and sets me on his knee.
“Careful of my dress!” I protest, trying to wriggle free.
“Will you keep still for one minute?”
“No, let go of me,” I say, continuing to struggle.
“Sam, keep still or I’m going to tie you up!” he threatens, grabbing my arms.
“Please, let me sit down.”
“You’re already sitting down.”
“I mean on the bench?”
“Am I so uncomfortable?”
“No, you’re not uncomfortable at all,” I confess.
“So what’s the problem?”
“I weigh a ton.”
“Sam, you have to cut this out. You’re not fat. I don’t know how else to make you understand it. You’re not fat.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Sam, do you want to stop acting like you’re obese? You’re just shapely, that’s all. And trust me, that is fine with me.”
“Are you sure you don’t need contacts?” I ask him, resting my head on his shoulder.
“I can see fine, you’re the one who has trouble seeing things the way they are – the thing is, your problems are in your head, and I’m starting to wonder if there’s actually a cure.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, because at this point it’s too late. I’m going to have to keep you the way you are.” He sighs resignedly.
“How noble of you.”
“It is, right?” he jokes, but then he turns serious. “Sam…” He caresses my face. “I really like you.”
“I really like you too,” I murmur without looking him in the eyes, my face still hidden in his shoulder.
I’ve spent days asking myself if I’m serious, because there was always Dave between us, no matter how hard I tried to push him out of my mind. And I don’t know if he’s actually gone even now: a part of me refuses to ask, and another part refuses to answer. I can’t just lie and pretend that what happened between us isn’t still painful for me, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t start again, right?
“Shall we go?” He asks, suddenly.
“Now? Have you seen what time it is? “I remind him. “Anyway, where do you want to go? Everything will be closed.”
“I don’t want to go out,” he says quietly, looking into my eyes. “I’ve got no desire at all to go out. Sam, I can’t take it any more. I want to make love to you.”
I sit there speechless, curled up in his arms with my heart pounding and my hands hiding themselves away in the folds of his top, because whenever I’m embarrassed they start shaking.
“What about you?” he asks me, trying to break that silence. “Do you want to make love to me?”
I knew that this would happen sooner or later. There’s no more time to wait, I have to decide. I have to finally choose which road to take: the old one that I know all about, or the new one, which is unknown but which seems to make me happy, with someone who sees in me more than just a friend or a colleague.
“Your phone’s ringing,” says Al, peering around him. It must be in my handbag, which I seem to have left somewhere. It continues to vibrate, but now I don’t care. I don’t want to speak to anybody. There’s no one I want to speak to.
“Let it ring.”
“It might be important.”
“Al…” I take his face in my hands and turn it towards me. “I want to make love to you.”