Go Around, page 23
“Actually, he’s taking photos of you.”
“Us,” she corrects, smiling as she stands. Elise rubs Bennett’s head. “Unfortunately, pap-photos of me will only pay his rent for a week.” The smile turns to a wicked grin. “Unless you and I kiss. Then I think he’d be set for rent for a few months.”
Kissing her in public doesn’t bother me at all. But the idea of someone profiting from it, of people thinking it’s okay to intrude upon her life like that, does. Especially because we’re not yet at Elise’s Coming Out Day and a paparazzo breaking the news instead of Elise, when and where she decides—or her management team decides—and on her terms is wrong.
As if she knows exactly what I’m thinking, she bends down and kisses the top of Bennett’s nose. “That’s the only kiss of mine he’ll make money from today.” The smile she gives me is luminous and I wonder what caption will accompany these photos when they make it to the gossip pages.
Elise Hayes and a gal pal take Elise’s handsome new guy out for coffee in WeHo. Does Tomas know he’s been replaced by someone buff and super charming?
I also wonder who actually cares about these things. Except those who care too much…
Bennett takes a longing last look at his puppucino cup before Elise tosses it in the trash and as I slip my hand through the leash handle, I tell him, “Maybe Mommy E will make you one at home without all the sugar and whatnot I’m sure that thing was loaded with.”
Elise’s coffee cup pauses halfway to her mouth before she lowers it again. She stares intently at me. Her voice has the slightest tremble when she asks, “Mommy E?” Momma A and Mommy E were our dog-mom nicknames when we were together. Elise’s idea, and usually so she could tell Bennie something like, “Mommy E wants you to have those leftovers, Bennett, but Momma A said no.”
“Of course you’re still his dog-mom, Ellie. You love him, he loves you.”
“Goddammit,” she mutters under her breath.
Not exactly the reaction I’d anticipated. “What?”
She inhales deeply. “That coming out statement. I…it’s not live yet and so we can’t…and I just want to kiss you so badly right now.”
“Then let’s go home and you can kiss me all you want.”
“Deal.” She pauses, her smile wavering. “Would you be okay with PDAs? When everything’s out and official that is.”
“Yes. I’m okay with pretty much anything.” The idea of a PDA with Elise makes that excitement build again.
“Really? Even the shit stuff we talked about?”
“You know I am.” I gently nudge her arm. “Hey, what’s up? This feels like it’s about more than just a PDA.”
“It is, I guess. It’s just…like…it’s the people photographing you while you’re just out buying tampons or trying to have a quiet brunch with a friend. Or when you’re collecting your mail in your pajamas or arguing with the guy who keeps parking so he’s just blocking your driveway. There’s no privacy, Avery. And I know this is what I chose but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. And if you’re with me then that’s going to happen to you too. There’ll be speculation about Elise Hayes’s new lady friend. And after the statement goes live…” She lets the implication hang.
“Does that bother you?”
“No,” she says immediately. “But it might bother you. I know you’re not enamored with having eyes upon you.”
“No, I’m not. But I am enamored with having my eyes on you. We can deal with the rest of the stuff if and when it happens.”
“It will happen,” she assures me. “And I know they’re going to dig to try and find out about you.”
“Let them. We both know that nobody’s going to find me on the Internet.”
“I know. That was one of the things I thought back then, when I was trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing for both of us.” She pauses and her eye contact turns intense. “I wondered if you being publicly attached to me would piss your boss off. You shoving yourself into the public eye when you’re supposed to blend into the shadows.”
“I’m not my job, Ellie. I just do my job. You know we’re allowed to have families and participate in things outside that job, right?”
“I know, it’s just—”
“It’s just nothing, babe. If I was a prolific social media user or ran some Secrets of the Skies blog or something under a pseudonym that a clever person could trace back to me somehow, then yeah I might have a modicum of concern. But as far as the world is concerned, I’m nobody.”
“You’re not nobody,” she rebuts instantly. Her expression is focused, serious and though she lowers her voice there’s still an intensity to her words. “You are the love of my life. You’re my soulmate.”
Chapter Nineteen
Because of a gate holdup and delayed departure on my first mission flight, I’m running a little late for my flight back from Atlanta and board near the end of the first-class section instead of right up front as is preferable. I take my time walking to my seat, casually looking around at the other occupants of the first-class cabin. I decide nothing looks out of the ordinary. Except for a late-twenties blonde occupying the window seat of my row who eyes me like I’m her in-flight meal.
She doesn’t bother hiding her glee when I slide into the seat beside her, especially when I smile at her. Without saying anything, I fish my book from my leather tote, open it, and pretend to read as I scan the rest of the passengers filtering through the plane. I can feel my seatmate’s eyes on me as I’m reading and know she’s seeing mid-thirties CEO-type businesswoman, and wondering where her opening will be. It doesn’t take her long. “You don’t like working on flights?”
Hmm, not what I’d expected. One point for originality. I turn away from my book and make myself look friendly. “Too cramped for me to concentrate. And I deserve a few hours off the clock.”
“I think you deserve a lot of things,” she purrs.
“You think so?”
The woman’s voice lowers. “I know so.”
The flirting is completely harmless, but something about it still feels wrong. Mercifully, she refrains from any more suggestive comments for the rest of the flight but once we’ve landed she leans in close, thankfully without touching me. “Why don’t you give me your number? Then the next time we happen to be passing through the same town…”
She hands me a Mont Blanc pen and a small notebook. I pause, considering, then take the pen from her. If I refuse, it’ll make a scene and all I want is to get off the plane and go home to Elise. I scrawl something on the page then close the notebook and hand it and the pen back. When she opens it she’s not going to see a phone number, but a short message.
I have a girlfriend but thank you.
I have a girlfriend. I have a girlfriend. I have…a girlfriend.
Just as I’m leaving the airport, Elise calls and launches right in before my “Hi” is barely out of my mouth with, “I made pizza dough.”
“That’s great.” Ellie’s homemade pizza is the stuff of dreams. But she usually only makes it when she has time and is in one of two moods. “Are you stressed, or trying to get into my pants?”
“Yes.” She laughs. “The dough is almost ready, but I realized I’ve done it all ass-backward. My brain’s mush and I didn’t check I had everything I needed for toppings before I made dough. Avery, please enlighten me as to why there’s no buffalo mozzarella or homemade marinara sauce and just the bare minimum of veggies in your house? There’s not even any turkey sausage for your pizza. What kind of culinary hellhole have you been living in?”
“The deepest of hellholes. The last time I made pizza from scratch was with you, hence the lack of ingredients. And you’re the marinara master, not me. Also, we have tons of veggies in the fridge.”
“Not the right ones for pizza. I am both shocked and appalled.”
Since our breakup, I’d kind of forgotten how fun and funny she could be, and this ease with which we’ve slipped back into our relationship with all its silliness and amusement makes everything feel light and wonderful. “We can’t have that. And might I remind you that you’ve had a couple grocery deliveries since you turned up, in each of which you could have added pizza things?”
She’s quiet for a moment. “How was I supposed to know I needed to make pizza?”
“I think there’s a difference between need and want. But I’m not going to complain. So, I guess I’m making a stop on my way home?”
“Mhmm. I’ll text you a list. I won’t have time to make sauce so it’ll have to be premade, ugh. But the most important thing is to clean them out of plum tomatoes. I’m going to make jars and jars of pasta and pizza sauce while I have time before I go back to work.” Which translates to Ellie stress-cooking marinara sauce. It was always my second-favorite way of her dealing with stress. The first being her asking for a massage which always ended with lovemaking. Stress equaled marinara sauce or sex. Either way, I won.
I make a mental note to detour to Paris Baguette to get her favorites—an almond croissant and some pistachio macarons. Her coming-out statement is going live tonight, and sweet treats usually improve her mood some. It’s not going to ease all the worry she’s trying to hide but it might help. “Yes, ma’am. Then I’ll be home in an hour and a half or so.”
“Hurry back. But also do it safely.”
“Will do, Captain Contradiction.”
“I love you. Don’t forget the tomatoes, I’m talking like ten pounds or more.”
“I won’t forget your tomatoes. Love you.”
Despite the fact Elise already fed him before I got home from work, Bennett is paying close attention to the pizza-making, hopefully watching the counter while I pull the insides from a turkey sausage. After a few minutes of mopey dog eyes, I break the bad news to him. “No sausage for dogs. You know it’s got onion and garlic in it and I don’t want you to get sick. We’ve had this discussion before. Repeatedly.” I wash my hands and tear off a small piece of mozzarella for him. “Sit.”
Bennett’s butt hits the floor so fast he almost leaves a crater. I offer him the cheese and he takes it gently. “Good boy. So polite. Here you go, try this.” When I hold out a slice of mushroom he takes that too but eats it with far less enthusiasm, like he wants to spit it out but feels like if he appears ungrateful the counter treats will stop.
Ellie laughs. “Poor Bennie.” She tears off another piece of cheese and gives it to him. “There you go. That’ll get the taste out of your mouth.” After she pats him, she moves to wash her hands. Her back is still to me when she quietly says, “I had an update about…Troy Bridges today.”
“Oh?” I force my shoulders to untighten from the instant tension the moment I heard that name. “And?”
She turns around and idly begins pushing the edges of pizza base dough. “Summary? He’s still out on bail, still restrained by my temporary restraining order, behaving himself and adhering to the conditions of being released until trial.”
“That sounds about right. The wheels of justice don’t always spin as quickly as they do on television.”
She smiles at my teasing dig. “Mmm, yes, I’m realizing that.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I think I’m okay, but thanks.” Ellie sighs and it seems to release some of her tension. “I’ve made a decision.” At my eyebrows-raised query of just what that decision might be, she elaborates, “I’m going to move past it until I have to allocate some emotional energy to it. There’s nothing more I can do and thinking about him makes me feel so fucking awful. And this is not the time to feel awful and pinned down by those people who think they’re entitled to the personal side of me. This is the time to feel free and easy within myself, not saddled with anxiety about things outside my control.”
“I think that’s a great way to approach it. I’m proud of you.”
She leans over and kisses me. “Me too.”
After dinner she stays in the kitchen while I clean up the sprawling mess. I think I got the raw end of the deal. However…Ellie’s pizza is worth the mess. Elise is leaning against the counter mumbling to herself, “It’s eight p.m. on a Friday night a week before Christmas. Nobody’s going to be on social media. They’re all out partying. It’s a great time to sneak it through people. But I’m not sneaking, I’m being open and honest. Okay. Here goes.” She taps and scrolls through something on the screen before holding it up for me to see the rainbow flag newly added to her profile. “Game on.” Elise sets her phone on the table and pushes it away. After a moment she grabs it back and laughing, says, “I’m just going to mute notifications for a while.”
“So now we just…wait?”
“Pretty much. I’ll post the video in an hour or so and then it’s done. I am officially out for all the world to see.”
“Great.” I pull her toward me. “How should we fill the time until then?”
“We could read. Watch TV. I could start my batch of marinara sauce.” Elise fiddles with the hem of my shirt. “Or…we could have a make-out session to help relax me?”
“Tough choices. But I think I have to cast my vote for the last option.”
She grasps my shirt and starts pulling me toward the living room. “Me too.”
The make-out session might have relaxed her but it certainly hasn’t relaxed me. Pent up from her teasing and anxious about the public reaction to her announcement, I drag Bennett outside to play some fetch and chasing games with me. From outside, unsurprisingly, I hear the unmistakable sound of Elise on the piano and call Bennett back so we can go inside to listen and have him settle.
Elise acknowledges me with a smile but continues playing without saying anything. Bennett flops panting into his bed by the couch to recover from his exuberance while I flop on the couch to enjoy being in Ellie’s presence. In the hour since she quietly added her rainbow flag to her social media profile I’ve been watching the flurry of activity from followers throwing a barrage of comments at her. Using a pseudonymous handle, I signed up for Twitter and Instagram just so I could see the reaction to her coming out. I can already see how easy it’d be to get sucked down a rabbit hole of procrastination. I must stay strong. I must not follow anyone except @RealEliseHayes.
All in all, the responses seem geared more toward excitement and support rather than nastiness, which bodes well. My nervousness feels more directed at possible vitriol when she makes her official announcement, rather than at the spotlight her team assured me will shine on me when Ellie and I make our first appearance together, even if we aren’t acting couple-y.
She’s been playing everything from Beethoven to jazz to Rachmaninoff, while I’ve lounged on the couch and alternated between checking #EliseHayes on Twitter and reading a book that’s not really holding my attention. I hear a tune I recognize—the opening bars to “Heart and Soul.” She glances over her shoulder and grins at me without stopping. “Duet?” Duet is a loose term for what my contribution will be, but I dog-ear my page and walk over to stand at her right shoulder.
Ellie laughs and points to a key with her right forefinger, her left hand continuing the same notes over until I join in to play one of the few piano things I know—the most basic and well-known dun dun dunnn, dun dun dun dun dun dun notes of about ten bars of the song and that’s it. When I’m done demonstrating my piano prowess, Elise laughs and takes over. When she’s finished playing, she spins around on the piano stool. “You know…it’s easier with you.”
“That song?”
Ellie almost chokes on her laughter. “Uh, noooo.”
I place my hand over my breast. “Ouch. I am mortally wounded that a classically trained Julliard pianist doesn’t think my contribution to a duet is good enough.”
“You idiot.” She leans against my side, wrapping her arm around my butt and hip to pull me against her. Ellie rests her head against the side of my breast. “I meant this. Coming out.” She makes a low purr when I run my hand through her hair and down to massage her neck.
“Of course it is.” Leaning down I kiss the top of her head. “Everything’s easier when we do it together.”
I move back to the couch and leave her to continue playing while I go back to my book and my enjoyment of listening to her. More jazz and blues, a snippet of classical then she moves smoothly into the piano opening of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” She plays it twice then stops abruptly, stands, and carefully closes the fallboard over the keys. “I think it’s time to put my video up.”
The little lurch in my stomach is excitement instead of dread. “Okay.”
Elise comes over, carefully extracts the novel from my hand and leans down to kiss me. She sighs, radiating contentment, and manages to set the book down on the coffee table and straddle me without breaking the kiss. The moment she pauses for air, I ask a question my libido doesn’t want me to ask, especially not after the make-out session’s arousal hangover. “Is now a good time to start this?”
“It’s always a good time.” She smiles and her voice goes soft. “Just reminding myself of how important this is to me.” After another kiss, this one less drag-me-off-to-bed intense, she disengages herself. “But you’re right, I have to play publicity person. Hold those thoughts.” She wanders out of the room with her phone in hand and returns a short while later. But she just stands by the entrance, leaning against the wall, watching me.
“All done?” I ask.
“Yep. It’s social media official now. No taking it back.” Her smile is forced and I know it’s not that she regrets what’s now out in the world, but that she’s afraid. Even being as self-assured as I know she is, making a statement like this is daunting under normal circumstances. I can’t imagine how she’s feeling.
“Is it okay if I watch the video here now or would you prefer me to go lock myself in the bathroom or something?” I hadn’t been present when Ellie recorded her coming-out statement yesterday, though she’d run a few things by me—like whether it was okay to mention me in the abstract and that she was dating—before she’d locked herself in my small, “acoustically excellent” gym to say what she needed to. She’d gone back and forth with her management team, who not only “approved” her script, but wanted her to record the video in a studio. The compromise for her looking authentic in an obviously home environment instead of a staged one was they had to approve the video. Which they did. After three recording attempts.
