CHAPTER FOUR
Out of all the people Stella could have chosen to rant and cry and despair at, it shouldn’t be a surprise when it turns out to be Augustus from Marketing. Although, Stella hadn’t really chosen him; they more or less ran into each other at some boring convention they’d apparently both agreed to go to months before, infinitely happy the other hadn’t decided to bail. He had been his usual good company, and somehow, she’d accepted him feeding her one (or two) vodkas too many. Afterwards, he’d led her outside to the taxi stand to wait with her in the cold and dark of a late November evening. He turned to her and asked her how she had really been doing, she’d barely managed a fine, thank you before her eyes brimmed with every last tear she had refused to shed over the past few weeks.
“Now there’s a lie if I ever heard one,” Augustus smiles, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Maybe you should find someone to tell the truth to, because you seem about to explode keeping that straight face.”
“There’s no one to talk to this about,” Stella mutters, not looking at him. “I don’t want anyone to know.” And as she says it she knows she’s already gone too far; knows Augustus is without a doubt the most likely candidate to tell.
“That’s your choice, of course,” Augustus agrees. “But you look far from happy, and it messes with your pretty face.”
“Don’t,” Stella starts, but he’s laughing already.
“I wasn’t trying to,” Augustus grins as a cab drives up and he lets go of her shoulder to get the door for her. “But I guess this is about men, then.”
“It is,” Stella admits sheepishly, getting into the taxi. “Want to share?”
Augustus nods and gets in after her; giving her address first - then his, a hotel not that far from her own place. They chat idly on the way to Stella’s home, and before she knows it the cabbie pulls up in front of her door and what she had explicitly forbidden herself to say tumbles out of her mouth anyway.
“Care for a drink?” Stella asks, giving him a casual, sideways glance as she’s getting money from her purse. “An innocent, not that kind of drink?” He smiles and nods again.
“I can walk it from here,” Augustus tells the cab driver and gets out as well.
“So,” Augustus asks when they are settled with a bottle of wine and a bit of music. “Explain to me why you’re terrified of talking about whatever it is you’re not talking about.” He takes a sip from his glass. “Because it’s so totally not you. I’ve come to know you a bit, you know. We have worked together for god knows how long.”
Stella smiles. “Augustus,” she starts, and it’s soft and almost apologetic as she can’t find the courage to look him in the eye. “I’m in love with someone. The head-over-heels and in-too-deep kind of in love.” Stella can almost hear his eyebrows shoot up, she thinks. “And it’s mutual. But it cannot be; I’m his boss - he's my employee. I can’t give in, even though it’s killing me.”
“Max, then?” Augustus asks straight away, and she almost chokes on her wine.
“Fuck, Augustus,” Stella coughs; trying to catch her breath. “Were we that obvious?”
“Obvious,” Augustus repeats, tapping his chin. “Dear, the two of you practically oozed it by the time I had my Christmas party.” He puts his glass down and gives her an uncharacteristically soft smile. “You and I – we developed something beautiful; at times it felt almost real.” Augustus sits back again. “But the way you touched him, the way you could look at him sometimes, especially near the end of the project - there was something very gentle in that as if he was the most precious thing in the world to you.” Augustus shrugs. “At first, I thought you were working on developing a bond with him that you’d probably need to work together on the other projects, but there was always this odd, sexual undercurrent - or at least I thought there was, so I have always kept my suspicions.” Augustus picks up his glass again, giving her an innocent little wink, or at least as innocent as Augustus Thatcher can manage. “So, since when has this drama been unfolding?”
“Couple of months now,” Stella says quietly, embarrassed when she thinks about the many weeks that have passed during which she has not contacted Max once. “We caved near the end, it was all just too much. Max walked me back after a few drinks, and we fucked, and it was amazing.” Just thinking about it, about him – his naked body pressing up against hers, his grasp on her breasts, his mouth on her cunt, his cock so hot and hard in her hand... It causes her body to tingle all over, and she must swallow to keep the groan that’s on her tongue inside. “And we did it again a few weeks after we finished, and, on both occasions, I told him not to expect anything, the morning after.” Stella feels even guiltier actually saying the words, and she realizes that by telling a virtual outsider she might finally be able to gain some perspective.
“And where is he now?”
“Project in Yorkshire for a major client.” Stella looks away, fiddles with her glass. “I think.”
“So, you haven’t called him all these weeks?”
“No…”
“You don’t miss him?”
Stella rolls her eyes, huffing out an annoyed “I get the point, Augustus”; frustrated that he’s relentlessly pushing all the painful buttons. “But it’s still not a good idea – it cannot be. Impossible.”
“So, you keep your distance and prefer to be miserable only because of that?”
“Essentially, yes,” Stella admits, and it sounds ridiculous to even to her own ears. “He’ll leave me in the end, you know. For someone more appealing. Someone who can give him kids. Someone who isn’t his boss.”
“Jesus, Stella,” Augustus bursts out, the expression on his face a war between sheer astonishment and raucous laughter. “Live a little, will you?”
“Then tell me I’m wrong!” Stella is close to tears.
Augustus gets up and sits down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t,” Augustus starts. “The truth is - you don’t know. Another truth is that you’re miserable, I mean, look at you. And I bet he is too.” They stare at each other. “Are you not calling him because you hope he’ll move on in the end? Because if that’s the case, you’ve got another thing coming.” Augustus squeezes her shoulder a little. “Robertson is a relentless little pup; once he bites, he won’t let go, mark my words.”
Stella can’t help it; she must laugh.
“He’s not a pup,” Stella giggles, swatting Augustus’s knee.
“Oh, he is in my book,” Augustus rumbles, accent thick. “But grown up enough to get your attention, right?” He leans back a little, staring at her face. “I mean, you’re not just in this for the sex, are you?”
“I’m not in anything, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Stella mutters, giving him a defiant look. “And no. If I were in this, it wouldn’t be just for the sex.” She swallows. “Although I don’t think I would have any complaints in that department.”
Augustus chuckles. “I thought not.” He goes back to his own chair, winking at her. “I’m pretty sure that everyone you talk to about this will tell you that you are making things unnecessarily difficult for yourself. Let it go. I’ve never known you to be afraid of a little risk.” He folds his arms in front of his chest and shoots her a challenging look. “Now. Call him.”
Again, Stella must fight not to choke on her wine.
“What? Now?” Stella asks, shooting him an angry, disbelieving look. “No.”
“Why not?” Augustus throws back. “If I don’t push you on it, you might go back to moping around, telling yourself you’re old and ugly and likely to drop dead anytime soon, and that, my dear, is unacceptable. This is what life is all about, and you’ve got to stop being so pig-headed. Seriously, call him.” He looks at her, downing his glass and refilling it – clearly showing he’s not about to let the matter go.
“What if he’s asleep?” Stella tries, but she knows it’s a faint, useless excuse. She knows she'll call him.
Augustus checks his watch. “I doubt it,” he grins. “That guy has too much energy, to begin with.” Augustus shoots her a knowing look, suddenly as if something just popped into his brain and he waggles his eyebrows. “I start to see the appeal…”
“Oh, shut up,” Stella grumbles. “I can so do without your cheek.”
Augustus chuckles again. “Call him, Stell.” He grabs her purse and hands it to her. “I won’t leave until you do.”
Stella mutters something under her breath, fishing her phone out of her purse, opening it up, going to Max’s contact. “What the hell am I going to say to him?”
“I don’t know,” Augustus shrugs. “What would you tell him if he were here?”
I wouldn’t be telling him anything. I’d just want him to hold me and lie in bed with him and listen to him breathe. She swallows, makes up her mind. Okay, then.
“Augustus,” Stella says quietly, her voice oddly serious. “I’ll call him now, but I need you to leave.”
Augustus smiles, downs his wine in one and gets up. “As my lady commands,” he says and grabs his coat. He plants a kiss on her forehead, and within seconds she hears the front door close.
“Thank you, dear,” she mutters into the emptiness of the living room, vowing to get in touch with him later.
***
“Yeah?” Max sounds awful, background noises almost drowning out his voice, clearly a party or a concert or something equally rowdy. She squints, moves her phone away from her ear, trying to adjust. Then there’s a loud bang, and she realizes he’s probably either dropped his phone or walked into a wall or something. Stella waits for things to happen, for Max’s voice to return, but there are all sorts of noises, people talking, music playing, someone breathing, then nothing, then the line is disconnected.
“Wonderful,” Stella mutters, dialing again.
It takes about ten rings for the phone to connect again, and she knows she should have called him sooner when, for a brief moment, Stella is scared out of her wits Max won’t pick up because he can see it’s her.
“Yeah?” Max’s voice comes again, and there’s much less background noise this time. “Stella?”
“Hi, yes,” Stella says, ridiculously relieved. “Where are you?”
“No idea,” Max comes back, and she can hear he’s drunk – or steadily getting there. “What do you want?”
“Talk?” Stella offers hesitantly.
“Again?” Max slurs and she cringes.
I’m too late.
“Where are you, sweetie?” Stella asks once more, ignoring the hurt as best as she can, trying very hard not to let it slip into the tone of her voice.
“Hang on,” Max says, and straight away he’s gone, a static sound in her ear, the boom-boom of a drum growing more and more distant. She hears a door being opened, the flick of a lighter, crackling as the phone is probably being switched from one hand to the other and then he’s back. “Why on earth do you want to know?” He sounds clearer, more focused.
“I’d really like to see you,” Stella starts, thinking of offering to pick him up, wherever he is. “Are you in London again?”
“Yeah,” Max confirms. “But I’m not so sure about seeing you. I’ve had it with your talks, quite frankly.”
“I know,” Stella relents. “I hear you.” She swallows hard. “I needed some time, Max. Can I see you? Pick you up maybe?”
It’s quiet on the other end, and she can feel her heart beating in her throat.
“Please?” Stella adds, and it doesn’t even feel like begging as she knows she’s been wrong to leave him hanging for as long as she has.
Stella can hear the soft noise his lips make when he takes a drag off his cigarette, and there’s a shiver running down her spine.
The things you do to me, baby. Please say yes.
“It’s been seven weeks,” comes Max’s voice, and she is startled from her thoughts. He sounds cold and accusing, and she suddenly wonders how hard he has taken her too many weeks of silence. “If we hook up and talk, I know exactly where it’ll end, and you’ll shower me with your bloody doubts again first thing tomorrow, and I am completely through with those. So, no. Thanks, but no.”
“Max, please,” Stella starts, wondering what on earth she has left to tell him. “I know it’s been seven weeks – I feel guilty for not calling you sooner, honestly.” At least he doesn’t cut her short, doesn’t hang up. “It sounds awful, I know, but I think it could be different this time. I’d like to try and have it be different this time.”
Max is quiet for a long time again; his lighter flicks once more.
“I thought that if I waited long enough, I’d stop missing you,” Stella continues, finding an odd sense of encouragement in his silence. “I thought I’d stop wanting to be with you all the time – stop missing our talks and...” Stella trails off, rubbing her free hand over her closed eyes. “Long story short, I haven’t stopped missing you for a single minute.”
“Stella…” Max starts but doesn’t continue.
“I can’t fight it, it’s useless, and I don’t think I want to anymore.” Stella takes a deep breath. If he says no again, she’ll give up. “Let me come and pick you up or get a cab and come over. Please. We need to be together. Or at least..." Stella hesitates for a few seconds but knows that if she wants him to trust her again, she has to start being honest with him. "I need you to be with me.”
“Fine.” Max coughs. “I’ll get a cab.”
And then he disconnects, and it’s silent. Stella drops back against the couch, phone slipping from her fingers, breathing deeply. Reaching for her glass she downs what’s left of her wine and suddenly she must giggle, getting up quickly to stop herself, picking up bottle and glasses, walking into the kitchen.
I’m turning into a schoolgirl.
Stella tidies up a little more, surprised at the amount of clutter she has actually allowed to collect in her apartment. It’s telling her things about how she’s spent the past weeks, about how she needs to stop fighting the inevitable and be herself again. Stella walks into the bedroom, goes to the window and stares out of it, willing her heart to slow down. “Breath,” she mutters to herself, pulling the curtains, sitting down on her unmade bed. After a few minutes of staring at nothing she lies down and curls onto her side, reaching out a hand to kill the lamp on her night table, waiting in darkness and silence for the doorbell to ring.
When it finally does, Stella finds herself taking the spiral staircase two steps at the time, and she dismisses her brain trying to convince her to take it slower, to keep things together, telling herself this time her heart is in charge. Stella buzzes the door open and unlocks the front door, every last word she had thought of saying to him flying from her mind, willing for once to take things as they come.
Max doesn’t look good when he arrived at the top of the stairs, tired and wasted with sunken eyes and messy curls and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes around him, but she can’t help believing he’s the best thing to walk into her house.
“Come in,” Stella mutters as he crosses the threshold, not looking at her. Stella closes the door behind him and surprises herself by wrapping her arms around his neck as soon as he turns around to face her. Max slides his arms around her back and buries his face in her hair, and they just stand there right behind the front door, taking each other in all over again. After what seems like hours, Stella finally moves out of his embrace and, without a word, leads him up the stairs to her bedroom where the lights are still off, and the beds still unmade.
“Let’s sleep first, okay?” Stella asks, guessing that’s what he needs the most right now by the looks of him. Max nods, unmoving.
“Do you want to shower or something?” Stella offers and switches on the light in the bathroom as he takes off his coat and drops it on the nearest chair. “I can conjure up a spare toothbrush?”
That causes Max to finally crack a smile at her, and she breathes a little easier. “Go,” she gestures. “I’ll get you a towel and whatever else I can find.” Stella reaches out to touch his cheek. “I know we can’t talk right now. I’d much rather just be with you anyway.” Her hand lingers on his jaw, his substantial beard rough under her skin. Max nods and turns away before she can say anything else, and when he closes the door behind him she must fight tears, scolding herself for being emotional and reading things into his silence that most likely aren’t even there, because all he probably wants is a shower and a comfortable bed after a rough night out. Within minutes Stella hears water running, and she goes through a stash of just-in-case toiletries she keeps in her linen closet, whipping out a huge fluffy towel, unwrapping a new toothbrush. Stella knocks on the bathroom door, but she can only hear the shower running, and so she opens the door and gets in, dropping everything on the countertop. Stella brushes her teeth, pointedly not looking at Max who has his back to her anyway – just looks at her own reflection in the mirror. Leaving the bathroom after she’s washed her face, making short work of removing the makeup she'd put on for her own night out, she pulls on some underwear and a tank top and slides between the sheets, waiting for Max to join her and hold her and finally be with her again.
There’s fear. Still, Stella realizes, lying in the dark with her eyes open. But she knows that earlier that evening, Augustus had been right. She must start living again, and she can only do that if she stops repressing every good, warm, loving emotion, she has had ever since she realized she felt a lot more than just friendship for Max.
She must start living again because she knows that for the first time in many, many years, Max has effortlessly, and almost from day one, managed to give her that unique, tingling feeling low in her stomach again. That odd, peaceful happiness Stella feels whenever he smiles at her, telling her without words how much he likes her, likes to be with her, likes to make her feel good. Good about him and the world and, more importantly, good about herself.
Stella has been in love before, of course, and what makes everything so huge and uncontrollable this time is the knowledge that, once again, this is it. She recognizes it for what it is, and truthfully – it’s scary. Because loving means running the risk of losing, which is doubly terrifying. But she cannot continue like this, listening to only her brain when her heart is clamoring so loudly, not to mention justly, to be heard. It’s eating her up from the inside, causing the real Stella to slowly disappear, hurting herself in the process. More importantly, though – and it is something that has become painfully clear to her now that Max has walked into her life again – she has hurt him as well, which she feels is something that is unforgivable because all he ever wanted was for her to feel good and beautiful and happy.
Stella rolls onto her back when he emerges from the bathroom; naked as the day he was born. He flicks the light switch before closing the bathroom door, leaving the room in total darkness but for the bit of streetlight coming from behind the curtains. Max gets in next to her, gathering her in his arms, nuzzling her neck.
“That’s a lot of clothes,” Max mutters, running his hand under her tank top, caressing her belly. Stella hums, pushing back against his chest, relishing the feel of his warm, shower soft skin against hers.
“Want me to take them off?” Stella whispers, shivering when his hand curls around her hip, pulling her even closer.
“Yeah,” Max breathes, and she sits up, pulling the top over her head.
“We should sleep,” Stella says quietly, settling into his embrace once more, his chest to her back, their legs tangling together.
“We should,” Max mumbles, planting soft kisses on her neck.
They settle in, sleep rapidly taking over, and when Stella thinks he’s already drifted off she hears him; his lips against her hair, his breath ghosting across the skin of her neck.
“I've missed you too,” Max whispers – softer than a whisper, but she catches it nonetheless.
Smiling into the darkness, Stella stays quiet, pretending to be asleep, well aware she wasn’t meant to hear it yet.