"Stop! In the name of love before you break my heart!"
So, who remembers Wanting? Anyone, anyone? Well, good news everyone! I rewrote it! It's better! It's longer! And it's probably filled with typos because I am a terrible editor!
Here we go!
WANTING
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Mae Townsend smiled at him, smiled at his dashing good looks, smiled at his inviting smile, smiled at his perfectly styled red hair, smiled at his electric blue eyes. She smiled at everything he was, everything that he stood for. She smiled at the possibilities that danced in his eyes, the promises that were coupled with his own smile.
It wasn’t love. It wasn’t anything close to love that made her tilt her head up and ease up slightly on her toes so that she could meet his lips with her own. It wasn’t love that made her open her mouth in a rush. It wasn’t love that made her grasp at his lapel, grasp the fabric like a lifeline. It wasn’t love that made her sigh.
But it was love that made her flinch when his hands traveled down past her waist, love that made her pull away when his kiss became too demanding. And as she murmured apologies, half-formed and incoherent as they were, it was love that kept them tumbling out of her mouth. It was love that forced her to turn and practically run from him, stumbling in her black, glossy heels. It was love that made her leave the balcony and leave him behind.
It was love that compelled her to walk back to the party, back to the small group of people surrounding her husband. And when he smiled at her, a brief fleeting moment when he caught her eye and gave her an adoring smile, it was love that made her excuse herself to the ladies room. It was love that made her try to wipe the other man’s taste off her lips. It was love that made her lean against the sink and cry.
“Well now,” James Townsend said as he slid into driver’s seat of the sleek, black Audi, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Mae smiled. Or at least attempted to smile. “No. It wasn’t.”
Her voice sounded slightly dull to his ears, and he looked at her with a frown. He passed a hand through her short, dark hair, tilting her head back so that he could get a better look at her. “You look a little pale,” he observed. “Did you eat something strange?”
“No, not really. I had some of that Hawaiian shrimp,” she admitted.
“Maybe that was it,” he said. “You know, between you and me, I think René went a little heavy with the coconut this time.” James smiled, “You know what? How about I draw you a nice hot bath when we get home? Maybe a nice hot soak will do you some good.”
She nodded, her face scrunched up as she tried not to cry and she knew that in the dark of the car he couldn’t see her. She just hoped that her voice didn’t break. “Yeah, yeah I think that might do the trick. Thank you.”
He turned the key in the ignition, a simple flick of the wrist. “It’s no trouble at all, Mae. You go ahead and recline the seat, take a nap or something. I’ll wake you when we get home.”
“What if you fall asleep on the way home?” After parties, James and Mae were both equally exhausted and James would always prod Mae in the side if he caught her dozing off. “You need to keep me awake,” he would say, glancing at her sideways and smiling cheekily. “Say something, sing something, make random noises. Anything! Because if it’s too quiet in this car, I might just close my eyes and fall asleep behind the wheel. And I don’t think you want that to happen, do you?”
James reached over and squeezed one of her hands. “I think I can manage to stay awake this once. But only for you,” he said with a slight chuckle. “I’ll just turn on the radio. You don’t mind if I listen to jazz, do you?”
She shook her head numbly before reclining her seat. Under normal circumstances, Mae would be relishing his touches, far and few in between as they were. Under normal circumstances, she would have leaned into his touch when his fingers were in her hair, would have squeezed his hand back and tried to think of some excuse to keep the contact going on for as long as possible. Under normal circumstances, she would smile and tell him that he could listen to whatever he wanted to. However, it seemed wrong to act like everything was the same. It seemed wrong to act like she was the same person she was only hours before. She closed her eyes, hoping that maybe her lack of sight would help with her overwhelming sense of guilt, but found that if anything it made it worse. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was the man’s inviting smile. She sighed; she was going to hell.
¤
Mae had been nineteen when she had officially met James.
Back then Mae had been a Weston, the only child of Stuart Weston and the sole inheritor of his fortune. Mae was well aware that she was privileged-one have closet that strongly resembled Neiman Marcus’s new fall line and not think that you were privileged-but there were times, like now when she was staring at her closet and trying to decide what it was that she should wear for tonight, when she wished that she could be anyone else. It would be nice-for once-if going to a party meant that she wouldn’t be judged. When she walked into a party she could always feel a hundred or so sets of eyes on her, watching her every move. With every step she took there was a silent critique. The older portion of the crowd watched her with appraising eyes, sizing up the next generation of Weston and wondering if she would be able to live up to her father’s legacy.
Worse still was the younger portion of the crowd. There was an unspoken animosity among the young, unattached daughters of the privileged, something that was cleverly hidden behind bright, fake smiles and back-handed compliments. They competed against one another in terms of what designer names they were wearing, whose arm they were on that night, and so on. For every conversation there was always a double meaning, and the duplicity of it all gave Mae a headache.
But worst of all were the men. From the moment she walked into the room until the moment she left she was on display. Any flattering sentiments that she felt about having several men vying for her attention were quickly lost when she realized that it had very little to do with who she actually was and more about who her father was.
To say that she was disillusioned with love was an understatement; at the age of nineteen, the age when most girls were starry-eyed and believed that Prince Charming could be found anywhere from the line at Starbuck’s to the reference section at Barnes and Noble, Mae had come to the conclusion that love was just a bedtime story. She’d learned her lesson after a handful of dates in her freshman year at college, where she quickly found that they had no interest in the slightest about her; it was simply about being able to say that they had been on a date with Mae Weston. Not even able to drink legally, she had resigned herself to the fact that she would get lucky if she could find a man who would listen even slightly to anything she had to say.
Unfortunately for her, Stuart Weston was something of a social butterfly, and he was holding another one of his parties tonight. Standing in her room, dressed in a robe, she wondered what her chances of success were if she told her father that she was sick. Maybe if she faked stomach cramps...
“Mae?” Her father knocked once before opening the door. He took in the sight of his daughter in a robe and smiled slightly. “You’re not ready yet?”
“Neither are you,” she countered.
Stuart glanced down at his haphazard tie-mangled in a mess of knots-and shrugged. “At least I’m mostly dressed, which is more than I can say for you.”
“I’m-”
“You’re not sick; you tried that the last time. Besides, an hour ago I caught you dancing to the radio in the kitchen. If you really wanted to convince me you should have started pretending to be sick as soon as you got up.”
“I caught the flu?” she tried.
“I don’t think so.”
“I suddenly came down with SARS,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. “It hurts to breathe. I don’t think I should be there tonight. You wouldn’t want me to infect your guests, would you, Daddy?” She made her saddest, most pathetic face.
Stuart rolled his eyes, immune to her theatrics. “I don’t think a person can contract SARS that quickly. Nice try, though.”
She made her way over to him and began trying to untangle his tie. “Geez, how did you manage this? What, did you let an epileptic monkey tie this?”
“An epileptic monkey? Mae, that doesn’t even make sense. How could a monkey have epilepsy?”
“Seriously Daddy? We’re going to quibble about whether or not a monkey can have epilepsy?”
“Look, if I’m going to be insulted I would prefer it if the insults actually made sense.”
She made a face as she grappled with his tie, “I’m starting to rethink my insult. Did you let a retarded epileptic monkey tie?”
“You know, throwing around the word retarded is not very PC.”
“And I would care because…?”
“As my daughter, whatever you say reflects on how I raised you.”
Mae glanced up from her work and raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, ha ha.”
“You walked right into that one, Dad,” she said as she resumed her work. “You know, I think you do this on purpose.”
“Do what?”
“Tie your tie in knots. I mean, am I really supposed to believe that a prominent businessman such as yourself can’t even tie his own tie? Seriously, what did you do before there was me?”
“I have a wonderful collection of clip-on ties hidden in the depths of my closet. And for years, I was doing a wonderful job of concealing my secret, but now you know. Guard this knowledge with your life.”
“This is just your lame attempt at a father-daughter moment,” she scoffed, though if she was honest, she would admit that she liked tying his tie for him. When she was younger it made her feel important and in a way, it still did.
“Well, I don’t know how many of these I’m going to have left,” he lamented. “One of these days you’re going to leave me a start a family all your own.”
“Dad...”
“And then who will tie my ties?”
“Glad to know that I’ll be missed,” she muttered.
He smiled, “I’ll be heartbroken when you leave. But enough about all of that. What are you planning on wearing? There’s that strapless green gown; you always look nice in green.”
“I’m not going.”
“Oh, no?”
“Nope.”
“Really, now?”
“Yep.”
“You know, you don’t have to wear the green dress. There’s that one dress…you know. It’s blue, but not really…”
“The teal gown? The one with the halter neckline?”
“Halter neckline?”
“It means it hooks around the neck, Daddy.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, that’s the one. You could always wear that one.”
“Dad. I’m. Not. Going.”
“Since when did this become negotiable?”
She considered strangling him with the tie once she had the knots untangled. “How hard would it be for you to just tell people that I’m not feeling well? No one would even notice I was gone.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m pretty sure that Erik Renning would be very disappointed if you didn’t show up.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and Mae’s hands froze. “You just had to mention him, didn’t you?”
He laughed. “It was only a joke, baby.”
Turning on her heel, she stalked back over to her bed and plopped down. “Yeah, well, ha ha. You can fix your own tie.”
“Mae...”
“Can’t you just let me stay up here, just this once?” she pleaded. “It’ll be more fun for everyone that way: you won’t have to worry if I’m having a good time or not, all the single men won’t have to fight one another for who gets to refill my punch glass, and I won’t have to pretend that I care about what so-and-so did on his yacht last weekend.”
“You know, I think it was a little too cold last weekend for anyone to go out sailing,” he commented lightly as he sat down on the bed next to her.
“Thanks. I’m glad that all you got out of that sentence was the part about sailing. Glad to know that you listen to me when I talk.”
Her father decided not to comment. “You could always wear that red dress,” he said, subtly trying to change the subject. “Marie did a really nice job when she picked that one out. You always look so beautiful when you wear that dress. You look like your mother.”
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “That’s a dirty card to play. ‘You look like your mother.’ I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t use that trick unless the occasion called for it.”
“The occasion does call for it,” Stuart replied calmly, “and it’s true. The first time I saw your mother she was wearing a red dress and talking with some droll CEO. The red complimented her snarky attitude.”
“Are you implying that I have a snarky attitude?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Mae, baby, the last time I had a party you threw your drink in Anthony Levin’s face and then proceeded to slap him. And that was only after you purposely stomped on Erik Renning’s feet when you were dancing. ”
“Anthony totally deserved it-you didn’t hear what he said to me. I certainly don’t want to repeat it, but if you had heard him, you would have hit him too. And Erik is just a terrible dancer; he’s lucky his feet were the only casualty.”
Stuart gave her a flat look.
“Yeah, yeah, I get your point.” She blew out a sigh and leaned against him. “Do I really have to go? You know how much I hate these parties, and it’s the same thing every single time. Some elderly couple-either the Vandenberg’s or the Winston’s-is going to remark on how well-behaved I am, but the way they’ll say it will imply that they’re shocked by this fact and they suspect that I’m just putting up a front. Some girl will compliment my dress but she won’t mean it, and then she’ll whisper to one of her friends that I actually look like a cow and that I’m wearing too much eye make-up. And then it’s four hours of me getting ogled by every single man within the metropolitan area. I hate it,” she moaned. “And I know that you can’t always be there to look after me. I want you to have a good time with your friends, so please, just this once, can I stay up here?”
Stuart wrapped his arm around her. “There will always be people judging you, that’s one of the sad truths of life. But you can’t let those people stand in the way of you having a good time.” He kissed the top of her head. “And besides, you’re a Weston, and a Weston never backs down.”
Mae groaned. “Thank you for the lovely half-time speech, Dad. No really, it was great.”
“You still don’t want to go, do you?”
“Honestly? I’d rather have my wisdom teeth taken out again.”
“What if I were to tell you that Morgan Renning told me yesterday that his son is out of town, and probably won’t be able to make it this evening? Said that Erik was somewhere in the Mediterranean,” he added.
“Really?” She pulled back to look Stuart in the eye. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”
“I had a business lunch with Morgan yesterday and he told me that Erik was out of the country and shouldn’t be back for at least another week or two.”
“Promise?”
“I swear on your mother’s grave that I am relaying the information exactly as it was told to me,” he said.
She considered him for a moment-he wouldn’t mention her mother if he wasn’t serious-before smiling. “I suppose if he isn’t going to be there, then it won’t be so bad. But at nine I’m going to find you and tell you that I have an awful stomach ache from the shrimp cocktails, deal?”
“Deal. Now, I’m going to leave you so you can get ready, but when I come up here in an hour, you’d better be almost ready to go.” He stood up and walked to the door. “In the meantime, I’m going to work on my tie.”
“Please, Daddy,” she scoffed, “it doesn’t take me that long to get ready.”
“Just making sure,” he said before leaving.
“Daddy?”
He poked his head back in. “Yes, dear?”
“I’m going to end up fixing that tie for you, aren’t I?”
“Oh, yeah,” he grinned.
At half past seven, Mae was leaning on the railing of the balcony, dressed in the red gown that hung off her shoulders. She had somehow managed to slip away before she was noticed, and now she was allowing herself a congratulatory sip of punch. She raised her glass towards the city skyline, toasting her victory.
“Ah! There you are.”
Startled, Mae narrowly managed to keep from spilling punch all down the front of her. Composing herself, she pleaded to God and whoever else she thought could help that the voice did not belong to Erik Renning.
Standing there smiling a million-dollar smile was Erik Renning.
She was going to kill her father.
“You know,” he began, coming to stand next to her, “I was looking everywhere for you.”
“Were you?” Mae struggled to keep her face blank.
“Of course. You’re the most beautiful woman here, why wouldn’t I be looking for you? And we always have such fun together, don’t you agree?” Erik had the fatal combination of having a pretty face and soothing voice. He had stunningly lovely blue eyes, hair that was always styled perfectly, lips that were almost always curved into an inviting grin, and a voice that could be best described as smooth velvet; a voice that would-and often did-make most women weak in the knees. Mae had to admit that when she first met him, she’d also fallen under the spell of his good looks and his voice. Fortunately for Mae-unfortunately for Erik-she’d built up an immunity to both.
“I thought I heard that you were in the Mediterranean.” She took a sip of her punch and smiled politely.
“I was, but I was needed back home. Business affairs, you know.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, Father wanted me to come home early so that I could attend a meeting with the board.”
“Interesting.” She couldn’t have cared less. She took another sip of her punch. “Oh! It looks like I’m out of punch. You know, I think I’ll just go back inside and get a refill.”
He caught her wrist as she tried to brush by him, taking the glass from her. “You know Mae,” he said, looking at the glass thoughtfully, “punch is so juvenile.”
“Kool-aid is juvenile, Erik. Punch is perfectly acceptable for adults.”
“Wine is perfectly acceptable for adults, Mae. Punch is something that they serve at junior proms.” He took a sip of his wine glass as if to prove his point.
“So?”
“I’m only suggesting that maybe you should try drinking wine. You might find that you’ll like it.” There was something about his smile, something about his tone that let her know that he wasn’t just talking about wine.
“Yeah, well, I’m underage. Guess I’ll just have to wait on that one.” She made another attempt at getting her glass back.
“I’m sure your father wouldn’t mind, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” He moved the glass out of her reach.
“It’s just a personal preference, Erik.”
“Oh, I’m sure one little sip couldn’t hurt, Mae,” he said. Mae was getting sick of this game; she just wanted her glass and then she wanted to get as far away from Erik as possible. Erik seemed to notice her frustration because he smiled all the wider and waggled the glass above her head. She was about to give up, tell him to go screw himself and leave him all alone with both glasses when someone else snatched the glass from Erik’s hand.
“Oh, there you are, Mae. Your father has been looking everywhere for you,” a man said, handing the glass back to her.
Mae and Erik stared; Mae confused and Erik annoyed. She didn’t recognize the man, but a quick glance at Erik showed that he knew him and that he wasn’t fighting very hard to conceal the look of disgust on his face.
“James, how nice of you to interrupt.”
“Erik, how nice to see you again,” and when the man smiled-a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes-Mae could tell that he didn’t feel that way at all. The man-James-glanced at Mae and his smile changed.
“Your father has been looking everywhere for you.”
Erik scowled. “You said that already.”
James ignored him. “I told him that I would look for you.”
“And now you’ve found her. And she’s already engaged.”
“Really? Because to me it looked like she was just getting ready to leave.” He gave Erik a pointed look.
Mae had no idea who this James person was, but she wasn’t in the habit of questioning miracles. She turned her attention back to Erik and hoped that she looked apologetic. “I’d better go see what my dad wants, especially if he’s sending a search party out after me. It was nice to see you again, Erik.”
“Yes, Erik, it was lovely to see you again,” James said with a smile that was bordering on becoming a smirk. He offered his arm to Mae-which she gratefully took-and they walked back into the party, making their way over to the punch bowl.
“I don’t know who you are, but I owe you. Majorly.”
He smiled. “It was no problem at all.”
“No, really, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t have come by.”
“Mae! There you are!” Stuart Weston made his way through the crowd over to the punch table. “I’ve been wondering where you were.”
“I was outside. And you’ll never guess who I ran into,” she said.
“Uh-”
“Go ahead, guess.” Her smile seemed a little tight.
“Emma Peterson?”
“Erik Renning is back in town,” she said and gave him a pointed look.
Stuart winced, “I was talking to Morgan just yesterday and-”
“-and he was either mistaken or lying because Erik came home early to attend a board meeting,” she finished for him. She gave him a look that clearly said that he was going to hear more about this later.
Stuart floundered for a moment. “Yes, well…it appears that you’ve met James.”
Mae turned to the man standing next to her. “Oh. Yes. He came looking for me. He saved me from Erik,” she smiled gratefully at him.
“Did you really?”
James shrugged. “It was nothing. Erik looked like he was bothering her, so I thought I might step in.” He smiled at Mae. “Really, it was no problem at all.”
There was something about his smile that made her flush slightly before flittering a smile in return. She didn’t notice when he turned to look at her father, and she didn’t hear any of the conversation that was going on between them. She kept staring at him, at James.
If she was going to be honest with herself, she had to admit that she found him handsome. Undeniably handsome. He was older than she was; if she had to guess she would say somewhere in his early thirties. He didn’t have the pretty boy look like Erik Renning, his face didn’t look like he’d been chiseled out of marble, and he wasn’t clean shaven in the slightest. And yet, Mae found that she liked that even better. When she looked at James she thought man. Something about his strong jaw line and the slight creases around his eyes made him seem much more natural and real than anyone else in the room. He turned to look at her, and she found that he had nice eyes too. Nice dark, warm, expressive eyes.
“Well, I’d love to stand here and catch up, but I have to go mingle with my other guests. You know how Emma Peterson gets if you don’t say hi,” Stuart said, patting James on the arm. “Could you do me a favor and stay with Mae? Keep her away from Erik Renning or Anthony Levin, would you?” Before either one could respond, Stuart had already darted off into the crowd. However, both could hear his enthusiastic greeting of “Emma! How wonderful of you to come!”
James shook his head and smiled helplessly before turning to Mae. “I better do as he asks. Not that I mind though,” he said. “I’m James Townsend, by the way.” He offered her his hand, which she took.
To her surprise, rather than shaking it, he kissed it. She swallowed and blushed slightly before composing herself. “Dad’s told me about you. It’s nice to put a name with a face.”
“Likewise. The last picture I saw of you is the one that is currently sitting on your father’s desk at work, and it’s a fairly old one.”
“Oh, God, it’s not that awful one of me when I’m eight and I’m missing my front teeth, is it?”
He laughed. “I always thought the picture was rather cute. Apparently so does your father.”
“I’ve taken better pictures,” she said flatly.
“I believe it.” James smiled, and offered her his arm again as he began to walk towards crowd. “Speaking of pictures, your father tells me that you’re interested in photography?”
She was startled by the question; it was rare that any one asked about her interest and hobbies, most preferring to talk about their own. It was even rarer to find any one who actually sounded like they cared. “Y-yeah. I’m majoring in it at NYU.”
“Nature shots or do you use models?”
“I usually take nature shots. You know, just pictures of landscapes, but lately I find myself going to the park and taking pictures of people. I find that some of the best pictures are taken of people just acting like themselves,” she told him. “What about you? Any hobbies?”
“I play the piano,” James said. “I started when I was a kid because my grandmother thought that it would impress women when I got older; back then I couldn’t care less what girls thought and I hated the piano. Now, I find playing the piano relaxing. Plus, Grandma was right; the ladies positively swoon when I play Tchaikovsky’s Piano concerto No. 1,” he confided with a wink.
She laughed. “Is that how you met your wife?”
It was his turn to laugh. “I’m not married,” he said. He held up his left hand. “I’m afraid that while I’m excellent at charming them with the piano, I’ve yet to find one who can manage to put up with me for an eternity.”
“Now I find that hard to believe,” she teased. “Successful, charming, and musically inclined; I’m not seeing the problem here.”
“I’m too boring, apparently. It would seem that because I’m actually working and not vacationing in the Seychelles I’m not half as interesting as the other men. Spontaneity is more desirable than responsibility, and I can’t seem to find a single spontaneous bone in my body,” he admitted ruefully. He laughed, “I’m sorry, I must be boring you. We’ve only just met and I’m already dumping my problems on you. Maybe I should just leave, that way you could talk to someone closer to your age, someone who isn’t nearly so responsible and boring.”
“Oh no,” she said quickly, a bit too quickly because he glanced at her with raised eyebrows before smiling softly. She flushed, the heat spreading to her ears. “In all honestly, Mr. Townsend-”
“It’s James,” he corrected.
“-James,” she amended, her ears burning more with each word, “I’m having much more fun talking to you than any one else in this room. At least you’re listening to what I’m saying and not trying to stare down my dress. But if you’re bored,” she began, “I would completely understand if you wanted to find someone more mature to talk to.”
“I think I’ll stay right here. Besides, Miss Weston, I think we’re doing quite well with our own mature conversation,” he told her. He smiled.
“It’s Mae,” she corrected with a smile.