A Gentleman's Affair (15 page)

“I was actually thinking about going to the
beach too,” she replies with that beautiful smile of hers. Molly
arrives with her meal, gives me a curious look, then trots off,
back to work.

“You should definitely do that.” What? Ask
her to join you, idiot! Fuck. I can be so dense sometimes. She
mentioned the beach…that was her way of asking to be invited. “Why
don’t you join us? Do you play?” Better, much better. Pull your
head out of your ass, man.

In my defense, I have to say that I would
never want to lead her on. I just cannot date her. She is working
for me. Remember how I never date ladies that I do business with?
Danielle? Alright. Moving on.

“Oh, really? Umm, I play but I’m not good,”
she laughs softly as she shakes her head. “No, I couldn’t…I’d feel
like an intruder.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You have already met
most of the people that will be there. It will be a lot of fun. You
should come, I mean, if you want to…” Blathering idiot. Smooth,
Donovan. Very smooth.

“Okay. Then, I will. Thanks,” she giggles.
“But don’t be mad if I throw the game. But I’m going to try, I
swear. Um…you know what I mean…” She rolls her eyes, laughing. She
is blathering as well. And I like it. 

“Alright,” I nod, grinning from ear to ear.
That should put an end to the uncomfortable yet adorable
conversation. “You will need your strength, so eat up.” I
wink…shit. I did it again. I am going to stop winking as well as
talking for a minute and finish my pancakes.

I pay the bill, and we walk across the
street towards the hotel where my Hummer is parked, already having
decided that I will drive us. Everyone is meeting at Venice Beach
for the game, so we have to drive. Once again, I will have to
suffer with her perfume trapped inside of my vehicle. Torture.

We arrive at the beach, and I see that
everyone is already there gathered around the cooler full of ice
cold beer. I introduce Scarlett to the few employees that she
hasn’t met yet, grab two cold beers from the cooler, and delegate
the choosing of teams.

I am always one of the “team captains” and
Reggie is usually the other. After choosing our teams—Scarlett
being my first pick for my team of course—we take sides and get
ready to play.

Scarlett pulls her tank top up over her
head, revealing a tiny red triangle bikini top that barely covers
her ample breasts. Nice. She turns around to toss her top near her
bag, and I can now see that she has a rather large tattoo spread
across her lower back.

Tribal artwork all done in black with what
looks like barbwire from what I can see at this distance. Two small
cherries on a green stem set off to the right side and one single
word, “Sinful” perfectly centered in the middle of the tattoo.
Very, very nice. 

Does Scarlett have a naughty side? I have to
wonder…

The sand is flying and the game is well
underway. Scarlett is much better than she let on and is knocking
out some pretty nice serves. I have to say that I am very
impressed. Everyone is enjoying themselves, and they all seem to
like Scarlett. It is nice to see her out of “work mode” and having
a good time with my work family. She just fits right in with us,
like she was always meant to be part of the group.

At one point during the first of many
one-minute beer breaks, Reggie takes me aside asking if she is
single. I immediately blurt out no, but…No! Don’t even think about
it buddy! Trying hard to not sound like I am interested in her, I
just explain that I would frown upon him pursuing her. He nods,
understanding all too well what I actually meant by that. But do I
actually understand? I will not admit it, but I am interested. Fuck
my rules. Rules are made to be broken. 

After a few games and many beers, everyone
begins to head home. I ask Scarlett if she needs to get home, and
she quickly says “No”. Do I take this as another sign that she
would like to continue hanging out or continue in my usual dense
ways? I invite her to lunch. We sure seem to eat together a lot
these days.

I suggest a hole-in-the-wall pizza place on
the strand, near Muscle Beach, where the guys, most of whom are
from Gold’s Gym, lift weights right on the sand. Venice Beach has a
lot of interesting “street entertainers” as we call them, and
they are always fun to watch. We have the famous chainsaw juggler,
tarot readers, street musicians, food and shops, all right here
along the strand. People-watching here is always hilarious.

So we start walking towards the pizza joint,
discussing the volleyball game and stopping to watch the
bodybuilders, just for a minute. These guys are huge. Steroid huge.
We walk about 30 feet and stop to listen to a guy sing and play
acoustic guitar. His rendition of Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl”
done in a reggae-esque way is quite good actually. Like I said,
entertaining. You never know what you will find here. I toss a
twenty in his guitar case and we move along to the next “act”.

Right across from the pizza place is where
the chainsaw juggler is usually tossing his three chainsaws up in
the air, expertly catching them without missing a beat. He is
definitely more adventurous than I am. I like both of my hands
attached to my arms, thank you very much.

We walk up to the window and order two
slices and two beers, with Scarlett mesmerized by the daredevil
juggler the entire time.

We decide to take our slices down to the
sand, finding an empty spot near the shoreline to sit, eat and
talk. This is starting to feel like a date—oh hell, who am I
kidding?—that started back during breakfast.

Now for the inner dialogue to begin once
again. Should I or shouldn’t I? That…is the question. Is she even
interested? I’m not one to ever feel insecure. I used to be known
as the “biggest playboy in Malibu” back in the day…well, just a few
months ago to be honest.

Since beginning my search for “the one”, I
have had nothing but shit slung my way. Am I even cut out for
monogamy, or am I meant to be a lonely old bachelor?

Rebekah’s body isn’t even cold, and I am
already moving on. “But on from what?” is the question. That burned
out before it began. So what is my next move here, you ask? Stay
tuned is all that I will say at this point, because I don’t even
know the answer to that burning question.

“This has been a great day, Donovan. Thanks
for letting me tag along,” Scarlett says out of nowhere, as she
watches a young surfer out in the water.

“Yes, it has,” I agree quickly, trying not
to overdo my excitement that she came today.

“I should really consider moving closer to
the water…I love it here.” She looks behind us at the small houses
that line the strand, just beyond the shops and small
restaurants.

“Do you have any idea how much those places
go for?” I ask out of curiosity, already knowing the answer.

“Nope, not a clue. But after you pay me for
my work, I bet that I could afford one,” she laughs.

“Good point, Scarlett,” I laugh right along
with her. But she is right, she could.

“I am looking for a place though. My place
is small, and I was thinking about getting a dog.”

“Where do you live now?” I ask, feeling like
an idiot for forgetting. She had mentioned it when we first met
actually.

“Fullerton? I thought I had told you before.
Great memory,” she teases.

“You did,” I laugh. “And I do have a bad
memory. I’m sorry.” Slightly embarrassed, I shut up and drink my
beer.

“No worries. I do too, actually,” she smiles
in an attempt to put me at ease. “I would forget my own phone
number if it wasn’t on my business card,” she laughs, then
continues, “but I never call myself, so…”

“That is very true,” I reply, laughing along
with her. We sit in silence just for a moment, looking out at the
water. Funny thing about silence. It can be uncomfortable, or it
can be just silence: a moment of peace shared with another person
that you don’t really worry about it being uncomfortable with. I
feel that with her.

“So last night you told me that you’ve just
started seeing someone? Where is she now?”

That’s right. I never actually told her that
Rebekah lived in Florida.

“About that…” I have to explain this
carefully so that I don’t come off as a “player”. “She actually
lives in another state. She was here for one of my employee’s
weddings, and we seemed to hit it off, but we sort of decided that
it isn’t going to work. You know, the distance thing…” I shrug my
shoulders and hope that my explanation was satisfactory.

“Oh. That’s too bad. How long were you
seeing her?”

So, not satisfactory, like I had hoped.

“Well, it lasted a weekend… the weekend that
she was here.” I try to laugh this off…but will it work? Will she
see the humor in this at all? I hope so. “I tried to see her again,
but we just couldn’t come together.”

“So you’re just over it now?” She is
searching for something here. Possibly the “all clear” sign that I
am indeed done with Rebekah?

“There is really nothing to be over. It
never really got started. She is a great girl, but she just isn’t
the one for me.” I smile, hoping that this will be the end of the
inquisition now.

“But…if she lived here? Would she be the one
then?”

Christ, I feel like I am on trial now. The
interrogation continues.

“No. Can we talk about something else,
please?” I respond, sounding slightly irritated.

“I’m sorry, I was just curious.” She looks
away from me, frowning.

Shit.

“Don’t be. It was three days out of my life.
I just don’t think that it’s relevant enough to even discuss,”
smiling at her, hoping desperately to lighten the mood here.

She smiles back and nods her head, as if to
say, “I understand and let’s move past this now. I am a woman, and
we must have all of the information that we can get our hands on.”
Yes, her nod told me all of that.

“Would you like another beer? Do you need to
get home?” Subject change. And not a moment to soon, because out of
nowhere, it begins to pour down rain.

“Where the hell did that come from?” She
laughs as we both get up and start to run towards the car.

“It is really coming down!” And I laugh with
her as we reach the Hummer, getting in quickly, both of us shaking
the water out of our now-drenched hair.

“So can I still take you up on that beer?”
She smiles and gives me a playful wink. Yes, this time, she is the
one that winked. I do believe that Miss Scarlett is flirting with
me. I am a goner.

Chapter Fifteen

~B.Y.F.F.?~

“Where would you like to go?” I ask, still
trying to wrap my head around that wink. Tread lightly Donovan. She
is working for you, I continue to remind myself, feeling like a
broken record.

“I’ve never been to your club. Could we go
there?” she says, lit up with a curious smile.

“We could do that,” I respond quickly, not
thinking.

The club is more of an “adult” scene on the
weekends, a regular live sex show, if you will. Saturday night just
happens to be “B.Y.F.F.” night. Translation: “Bring Your Favorite
Fetish”. This is why it is a “members only” club, and new members
are through word-of-mouth only and thoroughly screened before they
are able to join. Memberships are hard to acquire and extremely
pricey…to keep away the deviants.

“On second thought, The
Underground is loud and extremely packed on Saturday nights. Why
don’t we go to The Blue Martini, on Second Street? Have you been
there?” I fire up the Hummer as I wait on her reply.
My nightclub is no place for a good girl like
Scarlett.

“Yeah, I have. And it’s jazz night I think,”
she smiles graciously at my suggestion, hiding her obvious
disappointment.

“Perfect. The Blue Martini it is.” I pull
away from the curb and drive down the rainy coastal highway. Bullet
dodged…for now anyway.

“Tell me about your club, though. Do you
have live music? A deejay?” She is a curious little one, isn’t
she?

“We have a deejay. So, you like jazz?”
Subject change…and fast.

“Not really,” she laughs, then continues, “I
mean, I can handle listening to it in a club, but I don’t own any
CDs or listen to it on a regular basis. It’s sort of all over the
place. You know what I mean?”

For the first time since we met, she breaks
out in the most adorable giggle that I’ve ever heard. One of those
I’m-embarrassed-but-able-to-make-fun-of-myself kind of giggles. I
have to admit, I could easily become addicted to that giggle of
hers.

“I do, actually.” I smirk, turning into the
parking lot of the club. “We’re here,” stating the obvious like an
idiot as I unfasten my seat belt. I get out and pause before going
around to open her door, taking in a deep breath. This definitely
feels like a date.

Hello rule, I am officially breaking you
now.

We enter the club and, immediately, I
recognize the song that the band is playing. A Coltrane tune, “It’s
Easy To Remember”, a favorite of my dad’s. He is a big Coltrane
fan. Mom never cared for it much, but she humored him.

So we find a table and order two beers. We
sit quietly through the song, respectfully listening as the band
wraps up their set. One thing Dad taught me is that you never talk
while jazz is playing.

After the applause dies down, I turn to
Scarlett and notice that her eyes are filled with tears. She
realizes that I caught her and starts to laugh, blotting the tears
away with a napkin that she pulled out from under her beer
bottle.

“Are you alright, Scarlett?” I ask as I pull
a handkerchief from my pocket. “Here, use this.”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” she smiles, followed with
a small chuckle to offer me some reassurance. “I’m fine, thank
you,” she nods, taking the handkerchief, dragging it under her
eyes, and covering it with running mascara. “That song… It was my
mother’s favorite.”