LOVE INTEREST
- Daniel Meade's office, Mr. Meade's assistant speaking, Betty answered the phone.
- You sound sexy, baby, the voice at the other end smoothed.
- Sorry? Betty tried to stay professional. She met all sorts.
- Will Daniel will be mad if you and I decide to go to bed – before he has introduced us?
- Who is this? Betty demanded to know, she tried to sound like Hillary Clinton. That usually put off the idiots.
- I'm sure you're a Stephanie, the man stubbornly insisted. – Or a Charlize…
- Try Melanie, Betty said dryly. If you can't beat them, join them for a while! – Daniel isn't in. He's at a formal concerning Fashion Week. Shall I give him a message? Who shall I say was calling?
- Beckett Scott, the voice said, he was trying to sound of age.
Of course! Becks! Betty should have recognized the voice, but it was years since she had had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Beckett Scott. He was one of the old friends of Daniel's that she wasn't sorry Daniel had lost touch with, but obviously Becks still considered himself a close mate of Daniel's. And she wasn't Daniel's keeper – she was just his PA.
- He has the same phone number?
- Yes, Betty confirmed. He couldn't fool her into repeating it to him; he either had it or he didn't.
- He doesn't answer my calls.
Betty smiled. Daniel had listened to her and switched the phone to soundless. She had reminded him it didn't look good if one of the most important guests got a phone call during one of the important dinners ahead of Fashion Week. All he had to do was show up, mingle a bit, eat and drink and smile at women – plus shake some hands, mostly male. Wasn't difficult, even he could pull it off.
- He's at a dinner, Mr. Scott, she said. They had been introduced, but he didn't remember her, and she didn't consider him a friend. Becks was a total dog if she had ever met one. He didn't have female friends. To him women were trophies, game and challenges. And that was the half of the female population that he did actually bother to see. The rest was non-existent.
- If you don't want to leave a message, Mr. Scott, she said in a cold tone, - may I suggest a text message?
- You're a star, Melanie, Becks said and blew her a kiss through the phone. – Sure you don't want to go to bed with me?
-Quite sure, Betty responded. Not if you were the last breathing man on earth, thank you! –Goodbye, Mr. Scott!
-Idiot, she mimed as she cut him off.
Daniel didn't have time for distractions. Their show had challenges enough as it was this year. And she felt Daniel had developed past the stage Becks still seemed to be stuck at.
Becks was a freelance photo journalist. Quite a star, she understood. He'd photographed wars and state leaders as well as bikini models. He chose his jobs. Sometimes they resulted in him being away for months – living with locals in conflict zones. Other times he lazed at a beach on Tahiti, boozing his wits out, taking pics of skinny girls in almost no clothing. Some described him as a Hemingway of our time. As much as Betty loved to read Hemingway, she suspected he hadn't been a guy she'd immediately felt at ease with. Becks made her smile like an idiot, he made her feel she was stupid – and she never knew what he really thought, as he could talk anyone after their mouth.
She hoped Daniel would know how to deal with him.
Text message, Becks to Daniel: "Posh food?Cant talk?"
Txt , Daniel to Becks:"Nope."
Txt, Becks to Daniel: " Im back 4 Fashion Week. Bet on?"
Txt, Daniel to Becks:"U bet!"
Txt, Becks to Daniel: "U got K 4 me?"
Txt, Daniel to Becks: "K?"
Txt, Becks to Daniel: "2 Ur aptmnt I stay w U"
Txt, Daniel to Becks: "DONT touch my bed!"
Txt, Becks to Daniel: "K?"
Txt, Daniel to Becks: "Leave K w Betty"
Txt, Becks to Daniel: "??"
Txt, Daniel to Becks: "PA"
Txt, Becks to Daniel: "Melanie?"
Txt, Daniel to Becks: "My PA Betty. U drunk?"
Txt, Becks to Daniel: "Braces&glasses?"
Txt, Daniel to Becks: " "
Txt, Daniel to Betty: "Becks picks up my spare key"
Txt, Betty to Daniel: "R U sure?"
Txt, Daniel to Betty: "Yes!"
Beckett Scott hadn't changed. He stood tall and well built next to Betty's desk, desert boots, faded denim shirt, jeans that had seen better days, a suede jacket Clint Eastwood could have worn in 1980 – only a few sizes smaller. Blue eyes, dark tan, wide smile, he should have shaved 3 days ago – he looked like he was a survivor of Oceanic 815!
- Hello Melanie, he said wryly and placed his palms on Betty's desk, leaning towards her.
- Hello, Mr. Scott, she greeted and smiled. After all she was a professional. She rolled her chair backwards, escaping him. She didn't feel comfortable around so much raw testosterone.
- I'll find Daniel's key for you, she said, - he keeps it in his office, and she fled from him.
Becks wasn't a man who behaved. He didn't wait for her in her office – he followed her into Daniel's. He closed the door behind them. He followed Betty around Daniel's desk. He breathed down her neck as she opened every drawer to find the spare apartment key Daniel kept at the office. She didn't like anyone standing so close to her. She didn't like sexy men she didn't know standing so close to her. She didn't know what to do.
- Mr. Scott, she said, - if you don't step back I will have to pepper spray you!
He laughed and took a step back, pulling his brows closer. There was a glance of apprehension in those very light blue eyes.
- Smooth, Melanie, he said. – But I don't think you could hide any pepper anywhere on your body, baby.
Betty gave him a glance that usually worked in Queens. Beckett Scott was used to tougher neighborhoods, she supposed, as he continued smiling.
- No braces, he said. – And you're not Melanie. You're Betty.
- And you are Daniel's booty-chasing buddy, Becks, she said. – He doesn't have time for such foolishness this year.
- You'd rather have him chase your booty? he asked and gave her rear a thorough visual study. His mouth curled a little.
- The key. Goodbye, Mr. Scott.
Betty was glad she found what she was looking for, as she didn't really want to continue this conversation. She put the keycard on the desk, unwilling to have to touch this man who was too much of everything macho, of everything she disliked and didn't feel attracted to at all.
He took the key, still looking straight at her.
- Thank you, he said with a little bow. – You have been most helpful, Betty – Melanie. Should you change your mind regarding us spending time together, you have my phone number…
Betty didn't fully understand what he was talking about till after he had left – and she had stared a little too long at how well he filled those worn, faded jeans.
- Argh, that over confident fool! she mumbled and clenched her fists.
Luckily she was busy. Daniel's business was confusing enough to deal with any other normal Tuesday. Fashion Week was unreal. He had Junior over. Alexis had her say. Claire wanted things her way. Daniel wanted to please everybody, but he didn't quite know how to – as a result he loaded it all on Betty's desk. This year Christina presented her own fashion line as well, under the name Magic Sewing Mice, and Betty wished she'd had more time to help Christina. But her friend had to be on her own. She was lucky to have found an opening with Mode. Betty had convinced both Daniel and Alexis that Christina was a genius. Willie still was foaming with rage.
In theory Daniel was supervising everything that was on the Mode schedule, but in reality Betty did all the work. She kicked Daniel in the rear when she wanted him to show up and represent somewhere. He did that so well, looking boyish and slightly confused. He looked good; middle aged women wished he'd be their new son-in-law. After he had quit chasing models 24/7, even family magazines printed his picture without a parental warning. Daniel was slowly getting edible in almost moral communities. Betty made sure he didn't open his mouth and ruin it all. Becks had to be kept away from Daniel. He'd ruin everything they – she, had achieved.
Daniel returned from the dinner. Alas he had that glance in his eyes – that booty-chasing glance. Betty feared the worst.
- Becks been here?
- Uhum, Betty answered.
- He looked good?
Betty nodded.
- And he went?
- Out, she said. – You didn't tell me to keep tabs on him! He is probably chasing under aged models. I have already written a press release where you state that he is a friend of yours, but you didn't realize had intimate knowledge to under aged Russian girls. All you have to do is sign…
- Give the guy some slack! Daniel demanded.
It was easy for him. He didn't have to do the cover up.
- You on your way home? Betty asked suspiciously. There hadn't been anyone special in Daniel's life as of lately, but strange things happened during Fashion Week. She once had caught him kissing Hilda during Fashion Week. That was her horror scenario no 1 of them all!
- Nope, he said and smiled ear to ear. – Junior's staying with my mother. Mind you, he winked his eye, - he really would have liked to be here, mingling with the models. The Meade genes are dominant, don't you agree?
- Surroundings have influence too, I am told, Betty said dryly. – That boy so wants to be like you, Daniel. You really should be careful about what kind of father figure you present to him, which male role model you are. Daniel Junior will take after you, no matter who you choose to be, you know…
- You know what my father was like, Daniel closed up a bit.
He didn't like to talk about his father – or his childhood. Of course he loved his parents, but they had never been an A4 family. His childhood hadn't been a happy one. Betty wished she could have changed that; she would have used a magic wand like his fairy godmother, and erased everything sad in his life, but it didn't work like that. They all had to deal with whatever luggage they had been dealt with. Daniel coped – and he was 100 more decent a man than his father had ever been, but he sometimes strayed. He was about to do that now. Betty wished she could have used that magic wand and made Becks disappear. No such luck. No such magic wand.
- I'll just change to a more comfortable shirt, Daniel said, loosening his tie, - and catch up with Becks. He has challenged me again. He grinned boyishly – slash like an idiot too high on testosterone and memories of the macho, womanizing kind. – Can't have him win that dollar, can I?
- Never, Betty said with a sarcastic touch, - you wouldn't be able to eat did you lose that dollar!
Daniel didn't let sarcasms stop him.
- Don't work too long, he said, practically dancing out of the office.
Betty rolled her eyes.
- Men, she said.
Becks on the phone to Daniel, - Where the heck are you, my man? You can't expect me to handle all these women?
- Where are you, Becks? Daniel asked. – I've been everywhere. You have just left wherever I ask.
- I'm wading in beauties, Becks yelled, - need help her, Danny boy! Do you prefer them blonde these days? Red heads? Brunettes? All the above and then some?
Daniel could hear music and women laughing behind Becks' voice.
- I'm literally swimming in them, Meade. Hot tub, bubbles and babes. Get over, my man. It's a private, little party at…
The line cracked and died. Annoying, but Daniel wasn't lost for company. Everybody knew his name. He didn't have to dive into any hot tub to enter this year's competition with Becks. Fashion Week had barely begun. The competition was on. He had many chances to beat Becks, but considering he was a bit rusty at this, he needed the exercise before he went into the battle, shoulder to shoulder with Beckett. Betty didn't approve, of course, but Betty didn't understand his friendship with Becks. She didn't understand the world they came from, the past they shared. She didn't understand that he had to win over Becks.
He smiled to the pretty red head. She was just Beck's type.
- You ever been on the cover of Sports Illustrated? Daniel asked as he placed himself next to her. It was almost too easy.
Betty's mobile rang. She stretched and almost fell out of the bath tub, but did manage to reach the phone. It had to be Daniel. He probably needed help to get a taxi. Or he had found a new model – one he'd promised a cover or a full underwear shoot or some sweet darling had robbed him of all his money. All had happened in a not so distant past. Betty wouldn't be surprised, no matter what he said.
- They key doesn't fit! a voice mumbled as she answered. – The bloody door doesn't even take a key card. And Daniel has switched off his phone…
- Becks? Betty asked. – This is you?
- Of course it is me, Melanie, he replied, drunk and irritated. – It's the wrong door, Melanie. I'm trying to unlock it, and it can't be unlocked. You have given me the wrong key, Melanie. Is this some kind of joke? Is this your rev- rev – revenge? Make sure no gorgeous woman get a piece of Becks? He laughed at his own wit.
- Where are you? Betty asked – she acted much more patiently than she felt.
- Outside Daniel's apartment, Becks said in the loud, stubborn tone drunk people often used. – I'm about to break in.
- Don't! Daniel probably hasn't come home yet. He went looking for you.
- The dog never found me. Becks howled like a blood hound. Or a hyena. – You should have given me a key, Melanie hunny, not a key card… I demand you come here with the right key. I need to sleep. You wanna sleep with me, Melanie?
- Try the key again, she suggested. He probably was so drunk he didn't find the lock with the key card.
- The door needs a key, not a key card, he insisted. – I'm bloody standing here at 6767 West End Avenue, outside Daniel's apartment, and the door needs a key, not a key card!
- You're at West End Avenue? Betty asked.
- I'm telling you!
- Daniel has moved, she said and climbed out of the bath tub. She was afraid she had to work magic, doing some damage control. Becks – a very drunk and übermacho and angry Beckett Scott, at this very moment stood talking loud outside Daniel's old flat. He was about to break in the door. He must have scared quite some of the neighbors already. She was afraid they had called the police by now. He was a jerk, but he was Daniel's friend. If he ended up in the goz columns for this behavior, he'd be referred to as Daniel's friend.
- What?
- Keep it low, she begged. – Daniel has moved. Will you please leave the building, Becks. I'll come pick you up in – say 15?
- Wrong house?
- Wrong house, she confirmed and cut him off.
She dialed Daniel's number before even reaching for the towel. Becks was right – Daniel had switched off his phone. She couldn't remember when that last had happened. He must have met someone really special. Bad habits die hard. She dialed her taxi service.
- Melanie! Becks greeted her with a broad smile. Surprisingly he was alone. Betty had figured he would have some doll on his arm. He opened his arms to embrace her, but Betty avoided that.
- He isn't puking in the car, the taxi driver said. – He throws up, you pay extra – and I throw you out of the car!
- Hey man! Becks walked up to the car, he stared at the driver. – You know who you're talking to? I'm Beckett Scott, you moron. Beckett Scott!
- He doesn't have guns? the driver asked. – I don't drive people who wear guns…
Betty smoothed things, - He doesn't wear a gun. He's really harmless. He won't get sick. Mr. Beckett Scott doesn't get sick. She turned to Becks and spoke to him like she would have spoken to an 8-year old who didn't want to eat vegetables.
- Clam up. I left a hot bath to pick you up, and if you irritate me, I won't hesitate to leave you here. Behave!
- Oops, he laughed and pretended to be scared. – Fierce woman! He fell into the backseat of the car, and Betty slammed the door. He barely managed to swing his legs inside before the door hit the frame.
Betty didn't much like to sit next to him, but the driver didn't want her next to him. Becks was almost asleep in the backseat, eyelids very heavy, but he still tried to smile his well known seducing smile.
- You look swell when you're angry, Melanie, he said.
- Thanks. You look a moron when you're drunk, Betty responded.
- Where to? the taxi driver asked.
Betty thought quickly. Daniel obviously wasn't home. Or he was home – and not alone. And no way she was walking into his apartment when he was – entertaining the kind of women that let themselves be picked up for a night of – entertainment by men like Daniel, or Becks for that matter. That would be fully embarrassing for them both. And Becks was so drunk she didn't have the heart to dump him off at some hotel. He was so drunk he wasn't really a threat to any woman below 70, unless she was on crouches. And she did have pepper spray.
She gave the taxi driver her own address.
He was able to walk – barely. And there was a lift in her building.
- You taking me home, Melanie? Becks asked when he realized the apartment she had lead him to absolutely couldn't be Daniel's. The interior gave her away. He leaned towards the wall, he had to or he'd fall over.
- You can sleep on the couch, Betty said, - you're here because I feel sorry for you. Don't think I think you're irresistible.
- You think I am irr… sist'ble, he said, convinced he was right. – You lust for me, Melanie. Course you do…
He tried to give her that glance women around the world had stumbled and fallen for – for almost 35 years. He'd been adorable even as a baby – he had his mother's stories and stacks of albums with photos to prove him right and rightfully irresistible. His mother's constant photographing him had lead to his love of photography. He had a lot to thank his big, blue eyes!
- I think you're a pain in the bum, Betty said, getting out of her coat. She pointed at the couch. – I'll find a blanket for you. Bathroom is to the left, if you puke on my floor, I might throw you out too…
He smiled, no matter what she said.
- Do I scare you, Melanie? I'm not dangerous. I can be real friendly…
- You don't scare me, Becks, Betty said, and tried to ignore him. – And it's Betty, not Melanie…
- I could be real loving, Betty, he insisted and made a step towards her. He swayed. – I could be your love interest, Betty…
She rolled her eyes. Love interest? Yeah right! Where did men like Becks get such ideas?
- Bathroom to the left, she repeated and opened a closet to find a blanket for him. – Don't fall into the tub.
He had obviously found the door when she turned to make the couch as comfortable as it could be for a person Becks' size. It was only a 2 seat, and he'd have to curl up, but considering the state he was in, we wouldn't notice till tomorrow when his muscles started to ache. A suitable punishment, Betty thought.
Her doorbell buzzed. She answered.
- It's Daniel, the voice said. – Can I sleep on your couch, Betty?
- Daniel – urhm, Betty said, slightly confused – then she felt relieved. Daniel could take Becks home.
- Open the door, Betty, he pleaded.
She buzzed it open. A minute later he was on her floor. He looked a bit ragged, but he was nowhere near the state Becks was in.
- Thank you, Betty, he said, - I know it's silly, but I just couldn't go home. The thought of Becks there with some woman… or women, more likely. Most likely in my bed – I just couldn't go home to face that. I'll ask him to find a hotel tomorrow. He'll have to understand – I'm just not that man anymore. It wasn't even fun…
Daniel noticed Betty's still damp hair. – I'm sorry – you were in the bath…
Betty opened her mouth to answer, when a loud voice came from her bedroom. Blood rushed to her cheeks.
- Betty baby, I'm waiting for you!
Daniel stared at Betty. He recognized the voice. Of course he did! He stared at the not fully closed bedroom door. Betty hadn't noticed – she had thought Becks went to the bathroom. He had chosen the wrong door – it was a mistake. She could explain. She opened her mouth to do so…
- I'm very impatient, Betty, Becks called.
Daniel crossed the living room and opened the door to Betty's bedroom. A butt naked Becks lay spread out in an inviting position over her bed.