Strip Me Bare (23 page)

“I can’t,” he says through gritted teeth. “He
just makes me so fucking angry!”

“I know, but he’s gone and I’m here.” I grip
his shoulders. It’s scaring me to see him like this, but I know the
only way to calm him down is to be cool and collected myself.

“Alana, just talk to me,” he says with his
eyes squeezed shut. “I just need to hear the sound of your voice
right now.”

“Okay, if that’s what you want,” I say
soothingly, and then rack my brain for something to say. I blurt
out the first thing that comes to mind: “I want that bed.”

Ryan opens his eyes surprised, “What
bed?”

“The bed in the B and B. I love it.”

Ryan gapes at me, “What?”

“Yes, I love it, and I want one.”

“Okay,” he says blankly, and I think my
distraction is helping to subdue his anger.
I think.
I wipe
some of the blood away from his eye then slip my arms around his
neck and hug him tightly, “Are you okay?”

“No,” he heaves a heavy sigh, then slides his
hands around my waist. “Shit.” He drops his head into the crook of
my neck, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For losing it. I never wanted you to see
that side of me,” his voice sounds a little calmer now.

“The badass side? Why not?”

“For the same reason I didn’t want you
knowing I was in jail.”

“You’re ashamed of it?”

He looks up at me and nods, his silence is
oppressive.

“Ryan, it’s okay,” I reassure him
sweetly.

“It’s not okay,” he snaps and his stare is
suddenly juiced with electricity.

“Why isn’t it okay? You got angry. It
happens,” I gaze up at him, but he refuses to look me in the
eye.

“Ryan?”

He keeps his head turned and breathes
heavily, and I get the feeling there’s more bothering him than just
his anger management issues. “You don’t believe what Sean said, do
you?”

He frowns, “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Ryan,” I grab his face and force him to look
at me. “You are good enough. Don’t let Sean get in your head.”

“I’m a stripper, Alana.”

“That’s not who you are and we both know it,”
I argue sternly. “Nothing’s changed, not the way I see you and not
the way I feel about you. And Sean deserved that punch in the face,
he’s been playing mind games with me all night.”

“
What?
Why didn’t you say
something?”

“Because I’m a big girl and I can take care
of myself. Besides, you have enough shit to deal with when it comes
to him. You don’t need to add me to the rotation.”

“Fucking Sean,” Ryan mutters, dropping his
head against the door.

Ryan doesn’t speak, or move, or rip his eyes
away from the ceiling, so I just stand there with my arms wrapped
around him and wait until he’s ready to let the anger go. By the
looks of it, I could be here till sunrise.

“Do your feet hurt?” Ryan finally looks down
at me.

“Maybe, why?” I scuff my boot timidly.

“Because you keep shifting back and forth,
and when you do that, it usually means your shoes are killing you,”
his voice is even and calm.

“Am I that obvious?”

“With things like that, yes.”

“But other things not so much?” I ask
curiously.

“No.”

“Like what?”

“Your emotions.”

My emotions?
When did this become
about me?

“What are you questioning? I just told you
how I feel.”

“You didn’t give me a straight answer.”

“A straight answer to what?”

“To marrying me.”

“I don’t recall you ever asking me to marry
you,” I answer slyly.

“Alana-” Ryan drawls, but I refuse to give
anything more away.

I stare out over
Manhattan from my uncle’s office, wondering what it will be like to
look at the bright lights of Vegas instead of New York.

I’ve interned at Remington, Lincoln, Anderson
and Steele for the last two and half years. During every semester
break and summer vacation. To call it an enlightening experience
would be a dramatic understatement. My on the job training at one
of the most prestigious law firms in New York City has put me light
years ahead of my classmates. Two years ago I was looking for an
edge, today I have one.

“There’s one of my favorite girls,” my uncle
says behind me, spurring me to turn around.

“Afternoon Uncle John,” I say sweetly as he
sits down and shuffles the papers on his desk. “Can I help you find
something?”

“No,” he says casually as he picks up a piece
of paper and smiles. “What’s on your agenda today?”

“Legal research. I’m assisting some of the
associates on the Ericson case.”

“The wrongful termination suit?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Good,” my uncle says pleased. “Alana?”
He swivels purposefully in his chair.

“Yes?” I lean on the edge of his desk facing
the window.

“Have you started applying for first year
positions yet?”

“Um, yes, I sent out a few applications last
week.”

Before I knew I was moving to Las Vegas.

“I see. Is there a firm you have your heart
set on?” He steeples his fingers and rests them on his lips.

Yes, yours.

“I have a few in mind, why?”

“Would you consider taking a job here?”

“Here?” I squeak.

“Yes, you’ve impressed every partner at this
firm. There’s no challenge you haven’t risen to, and when I
approached them with this request they agreed unanimously.”

I stare at my uncle with disbelief. A week
ago I would have jumped through the window to accept his offer, but
now? Everything’s different.

I drop my head and sigh, “Uncle John, you
have no idea how badly I want to say yes-”

“But,” he interrupts me.

“But…Ryan was offered a huge job opportunity
in Las Vegas.”

“Las Vegas?” he grunts. “I take it this is
not a graphic design opportunity.”

“No,” I snicker.

“Is that what you want, Alana? To go to
Vegas?”

I look down at him timidly and shrug, “I want
Ryan.”

“I see.” He looks out the window
contemplatively.

“Do you think that’s a bad decision? To go
with him?” I ask.

“I can’t answer that. Only you can.” His
chair squeaks a little as he rocks back in it.

“I don’t think it is,” I answer. “It may not
have been part of my master plan, but life throws curve balls
right? And I don’t want to look back one day and think what if. And
I don’t want Ryan to either. He’s not asking me to give up
anything, I can still practice in Las Vegas,” I say with a hint of
disenchantment in my voice.

“But it’s not New York,” my uncle
retorts.

“Nothing’s New York, but it won’t be
permanent. We’ll move back eventually.”

“Well,” one corner of my uncle’s mouth curves
up. “You’ve certainly convinced me. I have a law school buddy out
there. I’ll see if he’s in the market for a stellar first year
who’s way too smart to be practicing in
Vegas.”

I smile slyly.

“What’s that look for?” He takes out his
pocket watch and glances at the time.

“Ryan thought you might have a friend who
could help me out with a job.”

“Did he now?”

“He’s not just a pretty face.”

“Neither are you.” My uncle stands and kisses
my forehead. “I have a lunch date to get to.”

“Anyone I know?” I joke as I start to
organize his desk.

My uncle pauses as he slips on his jacket, a
twinkle in his eye.

I regard him quizzically. “Now what’s
that
look for?”

He just pouts his bottom lip and shakes his
head. “What look?”

“Uncle John-” I raise my eyebrows like I know
he’s playing me.

“Good Bye, Alana,” he responds lightheartedly
and heads for the door.

“Bye Uncle John.”

“Oh, by the way,” he taps on the door frame.
“The job will be waiting for you when you get back,” he says, then
disappears.

I smile. Christmas just came two days early
this year.

“I feel terrible leaving you,” I tell Ryan as
I slip on my jacket.

“It’s only for a few hours, and then you’ll
be back in my clutches,” he grabs my hips, digging his fingertips
into my waist.

“If it were up to me, I’d let you hold me for
ransom.”

“Hey, your father is rich enough, he could
pay,” Ryan jokes.

Every year my family has Christmas dinner at
the Waldorf Astoria. My uncle and his partners rent out a small
ballroom for the entire firm and their families. It’s been a
tradition for as long as I can remember. Some of my fondest
childhood memories are of Emily and I all dolled up in beautiful
Christmas dresses, running around an extravagant ballroom decorated
with twinkling lights, elegant trees and lavishly wrapped presents.
They’re also the nights I remember my mom most vividly. She was so
striking, big blue eyes and long blonde hair just like mine. And
when she smiled it felt like an embrace; the love just wrapped
around you.

“Hey?” Ryan rubs my cheek, “Where’d you
go?”

I look up at him, I didn’t even realize I was
daydreaming. “I was just thinking about my mom.”

“You miss her?”

“Tonight I do.”

“I know how you feel.”

“Then why don’t you go see your mother Ryan?
It is Christmas after all.”

Ryan shakes his head, “I’ll call her, I’d
much rather be alone with your pathetic excuse for a Christmas
tree.”

“Can you stop hating on the tree?”

“I can’t, it looks like the Grinch stole
Christmas in here.”

I roll my eyes, “What can I say? I’m no
Martha Stewart.”

“Clearly not,” he gives me a quick peck on
the mouth and then off I go.

I hop in the cab and stare out the window as
it heads toward the Waldorf. I’m dressed in a long, dark blue,
formal party dress, with a five point criss-cross back. It’s
elegant with just a hint of flash. My hair is down and wavy and my
makeup is only slightly dramatic; too over the top and my father
will be displeased. And nobody wants that, especially me. I think
about Ryan as the lights on the crosswalks flash and people walk
by. He’s only seen his mother a handful of times over the last few
years. Her birthday, a holiday here and there, but for the most
part he avoids her. He still holds so much resentment. I know what
she did was wrong, begging him to take Sean’s place, but he has the
one thing I would give almost anything for; a mother who’s living,
breathing, flesh and blood.

I finally encouraged him to go see her
breaking the -by that time- ten month strike. It wasn’t easy for
him and he came home a mess, but at least it opened up a small line
of communication for them.

I live in the city and I’m the last one of my
family to arrive, go figure. My uncle John and aunt Caroline,
Emily, Alex and my father are all seated around a gorgeously set
table in the middle of a small ballroom. Wait staff with white
gloves and silver trays are floating around the room serving hors
d'oeuvres and pouring drinks, while Mariah Carey’s
All I Want
for Christmas
plays in the background.

I sit down to four warm smiles and one
brooding face.

“Nice of you to join us, Alana,” my father
says coolly.

“There was traffic, I’ll leave earlier next
time,” I say apologetically.

My uncle shoots me a clandestine look, no
doubt thinking that I won’t be seeing my father next Christmas, or
any other Christmas, after he finds out I ran off to Vegas with a
male stripper.

The night breezes by as we dine on an
extravagant dinner. As the first course is served - baked pear and
roasted beet salad - the conversation at the table flows steadily.
By the time the main course arrives - Beef Wellington atop whipped
mashed potatoes with a side of brussel sprouts and candied
cranberries in a sweet brandy glaze - my father has gone into depth
about his latest courtroom endeavors and newest investments. Emily
feigns a yawn at me. My father is not the most social of
butterflies, and casual conversation is sometimes difficult for
him. Sports Center and reality TV don’t rank high on his TiVo list.
He is brilliant though, and along with being a judge, he’s a shrewd
businessman who loves the stock market. Dessert is served and it’s
a holy experience on a plate; decadent chocolate cake topped with
peppermint drizzle and a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.