Page 59 of Beautiful Deceit
I attempt to sound casual as I say, "Just what I said, I've never had a real boyfriend." I know it's strange, I'm twenty-three and I've never had a boyfriend, but after my experience in high school and my failed attempts at intimacy, I haven't really tried since.
He's walking next to me and looks down, "I thought you didn't do casual?" He seems kind of disappointed in my answer.
"I don't," I say simply.
He stops and the couple behind us has to veer around us as he grabs my arm, "What does that mean then? You've never had a relationship, and you don't do casual?" His brow is drawn in; it seems to really be bothering him. I don't want to hash out my history standing on the sidewalk, but maybe it'll make it easier to just throw it out there while we're here so it doesn't seem like such a big deal.
"High school was tough for me," I start and grab his hand to pull him along. "I was this hillbilly girl thrown into a private school in New York. The girls hated me immediately, and the boys were just as bad, they just hide it better." We step past a few street performers and keep a steady pace as we walk. I don’t need to tell him the gory details of the ‘pranks’ that were played on me, all in the name of good fun of course. "Anyway, right after I got up here, I met a guy in a coffee shop. He took me to his place, but not much more happened. He could tell I wasn't really present, ya know.” It’s embarrassing to say, so I look away and continue to walk ahead. “A few years later I tried my luck again and it was—” I am not sure how to put it"—um it was well, the same, but this guy wasn’t as aware."
I stop walking. I try to form an accurate description of it. He stops too, I can feel his eyes on me. I don’t meet them. I look instead at the street, pretending to be engrossed in the few people moving up and down the sidewalk. I laugh and decide to just go with the truth, "It was really fast and pretty terrible."
I finally chance a look up at him and immediately start laughing harder at his horrified expression.
"What?" He almost yells. Laughing, I motion down the street.
"Are we close?"
He shakes his head no but says, "Yeah, it's right up here." We continue on in awkward silence. After another block, we are standing near the front of the Dakota building, and my jaw almost hits the ground.
"You're trying to get away from the celebrity life, so you moved into the Dakota?" I ask incredulously.
Beau looks sheepish, "It’s a friend’s apartment, that's why I didn't offer it to Brian, and it would be like handing him to the wolves. This place is crazy. I swear people stake out the door. Most of the people that live here must give a fucking press conference every time they walk out the door. I hate it."
The disdain in his voice makes it clear he's speaking the truth. We're still about thirty feet from the entrance when he grabs my hand and rushes up to the doorman tugging me along behind him. As we pass, a woman in a white dress, comes out the door and is helped into a waiting car at the curb. She stops momentarily looking over the vehicle. It takes me a moment to realize that she is posing. She then bends into the back seat of the car.
The driver closes the door behind her quickly, and I lose sight of them as Beau tows me to an elevator.
"Mr. Huntington? Sir. Mr. Huntington, Sir." Beau doesn't even turn to answer, only ignores the man darting forward.
I tug his hand, "Beau." I know he can hear him, why not answer? Beau sighs in defeat and turns. His face is stone, no sign of the fun, easy-going man that was in my studio an hour ago.
"Yes," he says curtly conveying annoyance.
I can see the relief in the nervous man’s face, no matter how unwelcoming Beau’s response seems.
"Sir, you have quite a few messages at the desk and a few deliveries as well."
"Put them in my box." Beau presses down on the elevator button.
“Yes sir, we’ve have done that like you asked. But….” Beau turns and pushes the up button again, clicking it this time repeatedly.
"Sir, these messages are of an urgent nature," the man looks at me quickly and then looks back to Beau, indicating that he doesn't want to say what they are with me present. "I've personally taken several messages from the same caller," he urges.
"Anyone I want to speak with can call me directly," Beau dismisses him. His hand is tightening on mine as he's moving us closer to the elevator door.
The persistent man either takes no notice or just ignores theback offvibe Beau is clearly conveying, "Sir, I'm more than sure these messages you would take." He almost seems desperate for Beau to accept them.
Beau finally turns again and narrows his eyes. He shifts from one foot to the other clearly uncomfortable, still gripping my hand.
"That's where you're wrong. I don't care who it is. Unless I've given them my number; I don't want to speak to them. Okay!” There’s no question, just a statement. The man looks aghast but doesn't try to convince Beau any further.
"Yes of course, Mr. Huntington. When she calls back, I'll inform her of your wishes. What of the deliveries?" It's not lost on me that he mentioned the caller is a female.
"I didn't order anything," is Beau’s only response. He turns back around effectively dismissing the man. The elevator doors click close.
"Shit," he curses as he punches the button again. I use my free hand to wrap it around our already entwined palms. Beau looks down at me at the contact. His face looks weary. I give him a small smile and step forward when the doors ping open, this time I pull him along with me.
"What floor hoss?" Beau hits the button, his shoulders falling as soon as the doors close. We're alone.
