Reye's Gold (31 page)

“Yeah, Dallas. I’m a big girl, Sam, or at least I’ve
learned to be.” She knew where he was going with this line of questioning. “And anyways, Dallas is a big city.
I’m sure I’m not in the same social circles as Stephen, and
I can’t imagine him attending a charity event. I’m good. I just wanted someone to hang with. I didn’t want to
attend as the hard worker for kids, the girl who is giving
h
er life up for her career. You know the one, with no life
as evidenced by her lack of a date or significant other.”

“Have you told Mom and Dad?”

“Nope, you’re the first. I’m calling them next. I am
going to downplay it. I don’t want them to get worked up
over it.”

“Well, they are proud of you, and, in case I’ve for
gotten to say it, so am I. You had me worried there for a
while, but you pulled it together, so yes, I will be your
escort to your prom.” She could hear the laughter in his
voice.

“Thanks. I’ll call you back with more details. See you
soon.”

Stephen leaned back against the kitchen sink, sipping
from a bottle of water, his reward for having cleaned his
apartment today. He was proud of the progress he’d made
in his life over the last few weeks. That disastrous fight
with his mom and the subsequent talk with his dad had
allowed him to lance a wound he’d kept hidden from
himself. One he’d created. Slowly, finally, he’d started to
get his life back on track, now studying for the bar exam,
running daily to get his body back in shape, and working
at his dad’s law firm. With a bit of luck, he might just
have a chance with Reye again.

He remained standing in the kitchen, taking in the
changes recently made to it and to the rest of his apart
ment. It had started one day a few weeks ago with a simple
cleaning. He needed to bring order to chaos. Other more
basic needs followed. Finding something clean to wear
turned into purchasing a washer and dryer so he could
wash clothes. Finding something to eat led to stocking the
refrigerator with something other than beer, and growing
tired of take-out required cooking, which required dishes,
pots, and pans. He also broke down and bought some
more furniture. He’d had some shopping to do.

As a way to spend time with his mom, seeking to
mend the rift that he’d created between them, he’d let her
d
rag him all over town looking for furniture. They’d
fought initially over where they would shop. His mom with her high-end taste and money to match wanted to
pay for everything, but he’d refused, needing the
autonomy that came from paying for his own things,
being his own man. So they’d agreed to a moderately
priced store that offered good quality furniture, preferably wood with clean, simple lines.

He acquiesced over the accessorizing. He didn’t get
the need for it, nor did he care. He picked out only one
item for himself, a frame to hold a picture of him and Reye taken at the second soccer game played between
their teams. In the picture, a smiling Reye stood with her
foot on the ball, leaning into his chest, trying to move around him. He, with a matching grin, stood behind her,
his hands on her hips. Using your hands was illegal in
soccer, but he hadn’t cared. He was supposed to have
been guarding her, preventing her from moving up field.
A member of Reye’s team had captured the shot and had
given it to her. He’d taken it, intending to make a copy,
but had never gotten around to giving it back. Prior to
the frame purchase, he’d kept it in the drawer of his
nightstand, taking it out when he was alone and feeling
sorry for himself. Now it was framed and prominently
displayed next to his bed. He’d moved his box of condoms to the drawer, where they would remain for now. He’d chosen to forego sex for a while. As much as he
wanted the release that a woman could offer, they
weren’t the body that he craved. So, until he’d resolved this thing with Reye, either to put a period to the end of
t
hem or to move forward if she were willing, he would
remain celibate.

Finishing his water, he threw the bottle into the
recycle bin and walked over to the couch and sat. He
found a basketball game on TV and leaned back, lifting
his feet to the ottoman in front of him, relaxed and more
content than he’d felt in a long, long, time.

* * *

Saturday morning a week later found Stephen
nearing the end of his morning jog, mentally compiling
a Christmas list, bemoaning the hurried passage of the
holiday season. Christmas was but a few days away,
catching him unprepared. No time today either for the
mall. Maybe tomorrow, he thought. The next destination
after his run would be to the office for a couple of hours
and then on to join his dad and a client in the afternoon
for a round of golf. His day would end with his required
attendance tonight at a charitable gala the firm had purchased tables for or underwritten, he wasn’t sure of the
details. No getting out of that; he was still in make-up
mode with his parents.

Actually a large part of the trust and estate business
required schmoozing, getting to know the players in
Dallas, building relationships. So, going forward, he
would be expected to attend balls, dances, dinners, par
ties, dinner parties, and golf, endless golf. Golf he could
do. Although it wasn’t his best sport, he wasn’t a
shankapotamus either. He’d grown up in one of the older
country clubs in Dallas, and his parents held member
ships at one more.

One more block and he was done, finally. He stopped outside of his apartment building, catching his breath and
looking around him, taking in others who were running, walking, or heading to the neighborhood Starbucks for a
different kind of pick-me-up. He caught the eye of several
women while running who had thrown smiles his way.

Opening the main door of his apartment building, he
looked into the face of Henri, who appeared to be
leaving. Henri’s face looked into his, undergoing several
changes before settling on wariness. He looked like
someone not sure where the next punch would land.
Stephen had become familiar with that expression lately,
having seen it on quite a few of his friends’ faces.

“Dude,” he said. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine,” Henri responded, stepping away from the
door and moving toward a less active place on the side
walk.

“Do you live around here?” Stephen ran through his
memory for any recollections of the last time he’d seen
Henri. More importantly, Stephen wondered what he
had said that warranted this cool response from his
former roommate and best friend.

“No, I was here visiting a friend.”

“Oh, I purchased an apartment here. Didn’t know if
you knew that.”

“Yeah, I did,” Henri said, offering nothing further.
Stephen chuckled a little. “So, let me apologize for
my behavior, whenever it occurred. I don’t remember the
specifics, but I do know that I haven’t been in a good
place for a while. So I’m sure I’ve said something to you
that I need to apologize for. My bad, man, it wasn’t
meant to harm you. It seems that I’ve said something to hurt just about everyone I care about.” He extended his
hand again to Henri.

Henri’s expression cleared, a smile forming on his lips
as he reached to accept Stephen’s hand. Stephen pulled
him in for a hug. “I’m sorry, you were always a good
friend of mine, I still consider you one,” he said. “What
have you been up to?”

“Nothing much, working at my dad’s business,
starting from ground up. How about you?”

“I’m studying for the bar exam finally, working for my dad, too, and, as you can see, or more likely smell,
I’m trying to get in shape again.”

“Hey, I’m glad for you. You had me worried for a
while, I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me, too,” he said, smiling.

* * *

Reye finished the final touches to her makeup and
stood back to look at herself. Sam was waiting for her in the living room. As a treat they’d upgraded their room to
a suite, two bedrooms and one sitting room.

Perfect, she thought, examining herself in the mirror. The dress she’d purchased fit like a second skin, made
perfectly for her athletic body. It a long white column
with silver undertones, the color contrasting beautifully
against the brown of her skin. Her locks, which she’d
a
lways worn short, shined and sparkled tonight, framing
her face. She’d borrowed some of her mother’s dangling diamond earrings and a pair of silver high-heeled sandals,
lifting her six-foot frame higher. Reye had practiced walking in them, wanting to feel comfortable and not
like some little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s
shoes. “You clean up well,” she said to the mirror, turning
at the sound of knocking at the door. Opening it for
Sam, she absorbed his reaction. It was a salve for her
bruised psyche. She appreciated a positive male response,
even if it was from her brother.

“Wow, you look fantastic,” he said, walking into the
room and taking her hands in his. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” She stepped closer to him and placed a kiss on
his cheek. “Let’s go,” she said, grabbing her purse,
making sure she had her room key. She followed him out
of the room, and they stepped on to the elevators to take
them downstairs to the ballroom. The gala coordinator
had wanted the honorees to arrive early to be seated at
the head tables, located front and center.

* * *

Stephen sat in his car, knee-deep in a long line of
other expensive cars waiting for the valet to reach them,
regretting his decision not to park the car himself in the
hotel’s parking garage. It would have been faster. The golf
outing earlier had lasted longer than he’d anticipated,
forcing him to rush to be here on time. He had not
looked forward to this evening.

F
inally a young valet, decked out in the required dress
of black pants and white shirt, stood outside, opening the
door for him to exit. “Good evening, sir,” he piped, all
energy as he handed a valet stub to Stephen, who’d
slipped out of the car, removed his tux jacket from the
back seat and slid it on. Stephen walked through the
hotel’s doors.

This was one of the more exclusive hotels in town,
and, as he’d expected, it was very much understated,
adopting the less-is-more philosophy. He entered the doors and spotted a group of women who, judging by
their attire, were headed in the same direction as he. All
were attractive and about his age, dressed to appeal to the
available men attending. Their gowns cuddled their
bodies, laying open some very nice assets to those inter
ested in assessing. He received a few sly and shy smiles,
which he politely returned. He wanted in and out of this
gig, the quicker the better.

Outside the main ballroom doors, two long tables
covered in white floor-length tablecloths waited for
guests to receive their table assignments. Seated behind the tables were four ladies about his mother’s age. The
three girls in front of him were helped first, and he
walked over to the last woman. She was dressed in a
sequined blue number that covered her arms and neck,
reminding him of that woman who was in
Mad Money.
She smiled and looked up at him. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I am Stephen Stuart with Stuart & Stuart law
firm,” he said politely.

She took a moment to locate the firm’s name. “You are at table six,” she said, handing him a program.