"So you see, my schedule's all wrong right now, which I think is a sign that nothing's gonna go right this semester." Tess could feel her anxiety engulfing her during her meeting with her advisor, Bev, that day. Everything was stressing her out. Everything. "I'm not being pessimistic. I'm just being realistic, you know?"
"What seems to be the biggest problem?" Bev asked.
"Well . . . all of it." She wasn't exaggerating; it was true. "Mainly this History of Furniture class. God, that sounds boring."
"It's a requirement," Bev pointed out.
She knew that, but that didn't mean she had to look forward to taking it. "Yeah, I know. But the class is full, and I already checked with the college of Interior Design: They're only offering it again this summer, and I can't take it this summer because I'm probably gonna be working full-time at the place where I'm interning now. So do you see the predicament I'm in?"
"Well, you could probably take an equivalent course at a community college," Bev said.
"When? I've already got my senior year schedule planned out." Tess rubbed her palms against her jeans. She'd been hoping that this meeting with her advisor would ease her stress, not add to it.
"Modify it," Bev suggested simply.
Now Tess was staring to grow frustrated. "I can't," she said. "Please, I need to get in this class this semester. Not this summer, not next semester. Right now. It's gonna throw off all my plans if I don't. God knows my plans have already been thrown off enough already." There was too much change happening in her life, and none of it was good. Splitting from Max was good in retrospect, but it hurt like hell, too. "Please," she begged. "You're my advisor. Advise me."
"Well," Bev said, looking over her schedule contemplatively. "I would advise you seek an override."
"The professor doesn't offer them."
"Then check back in a few days to see if anyone's dropped the course."
Tess slouched unhappily. "That's it? No, come on, I'll sit on the floor if I have to. Just get me in this class."
"I'm sorry," Bev said, "but there's nothing I can do."
"Seriously?"
Bev nodded.
Tess sighed heavily. Nothing was going right. She was starting to hate her life.
"You should've registered earlier."
That pissed her off. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "why didn't I think of that when I was finding out my boyfriend was cheating on me?" She seized her schedule and angrily got up and left the office. "Thank you for your time," she grumbled on her way out the door.
Once she got outside, she was marching towards the parking lot, her shoes resounding on the pavement when she caught sight of two familiar figures walking alongside each other on the other side of the street. Max and Liz didn't seem to notice her, but she certainly noticed them. They were talking. They were even smiling a little. They looked almost like any other normal couple, and Max even reached out to hold Liz's hand.
Jealousy arose within Tess despite her desire to contain it. She really didn't want Max anymore, and she pitied Liz for falling back into his inevitable web of deception. But the sight of them together still made her muscles tighten, her jaw clench. She hated them both so much. They made her miserable. She was so tired of being miserable.
She whipped out her cell phone and dialed Maria's number. When boy drama happened, she and Maria always bitched it out. It usually made them feel better, at least a little bit.
"Hello?" Maria answered. "Michael, stop."
God, I'm interrupting, Tess realized. Sorry, guys. "Maria?"
"Hey, girl." Maria sounded as cheerful as ever. Michael must've done something that surprised her, because she laughed and shrieked, "Michael!"
"You'll never believe who I just saw," Tess mumbled.
Maria laughed again, then cleared her throat and said, "Sorry, what'd you see?"
I'm so interrupting. Tess shook her head. She was in a bad mood, but Maria was clearly on cloud nine. There was no reason to dump her problems on her when she was so happy. "Oh, um . . . a cat," she lied lamely. "With two legs. Two front legs. Yeah, it was in this, like, permanent handstand position. Pretty kooky."
"Oh," Maria said. "Well, did you take a picture?"
"No, it ran away. It was a fast cat." Tess looked over onto the other side of the street again. Max and Liz had walked out of sight. "It's gone now."
"Okay," Maria said, her tone indicating her confusion. "Well . . . thanks for letting me know."
Stay on cloud nine, Maria, she thought. It's nice there. "Have fun with Michael, okay?"
"Oh, I will," Maria assured her. "Later."
Tess flipped her phone closed and dropped it back into her purse. She supposed she might as well just go home and try to re-work her spring semester schedule. It was, after all, a disaster. Just like the rest of her life.
...
Liz couldn't believe it when she felt Max's hand link with hers. It was such an unexpected gesture coming from him. His hand was cold, but it started to warm up when intertwined with hers. She smiled. She wanted this to work out so badly, and so far it was.
"Favorite ice cream flavor?" she questioned.
Max thought about it for a moment, then replied, "Mint chocolate chip."
"Favorite color?"
"Green."
"Favorite TV show? Probably, like, The Apprentice or something." She laughed.
"No, that's not real business," Max said. "Although I do idolize Trump."
Of course he did. He was a businessman and always would be. But she loved discovering the other sides to him. Because there were other sides, more than people thought.
"No, I don't really watch a lot of TV," he said. "I'm too busy doing . . . other things." He grinned at her.
She blushed, refusing to let herself get side-tracked. She was learning a lot about Max, little things, mostly, but the little things added up after awhile. "Favorite movie?"
"The Godfather," he answered. "The second one."
She nodded. Must've missed that one. "Favorite food?"
"Wow, twenty questions, huh?"
"I'm just trying to get to know you," she explained. "You know . . . more than physically."
He stopped walking and turned to face her. "What's your favorite food, Liz?"
She didn't even hesitate. "Waffles."
He smiled at her, but his smile fell into a frown when his phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and said, "It's my dad."
Liz sighed. Phillip Evans had called Max five times within the past two hours. It was ridiculous, and she was growing sick of it. "You know what I think?" she said, taking the phone out of his hand. "I think the new Max Evans doesn't have to answer that." She flipped the phone open and closed it rapidly so that it quit ringing. "Call him back later," she said, placing his phone back in his pocket.
"Right," Max said, looking slightly apprehensive.
We're having such a good day, Liz thought. Don't let your dad ruin it, Max.
"Mashed potatoes," he blurted suddenly.
She made a face of confusion.
"My favorite food," he reminded her. "Mashed potatoes."
She laughed, trying to picture him eating something so . . . suburban. She couldn't do it. "I thought it'd be, like, caviar or something," she admitted.
"Nobody really likes caviar," he informed her. "Everybody likes mashed potatoes."
"That's true," she agreed. "Wanna go get some?" There was a home-style café a few blocks away from campus. She figured they could have their first real date there.
"Sure," he said. "Let's go." He reached down and took his hand in hers again, leading the way.
...
Kyle dropped in that night to keep Michael company while Maria was taking a shower. Just hearing the running water and knowing that she was standing beneath it without a stitch of clothing on . . . it really made Michael's y-chromosomes kick into overdrive.
"So is the romantic chemistry there?" Kyle asked as he stood behind the counter snacking on a bag of Doritos chips. "'Cause if it's not there, you got a problem."
"Oh, it's there," Michael assured him, glancing over his shoulder at the closed bathroom door. "It's there in spades." Damn, Maria had asked him to climb in the shower with her, too, but he'd declined; not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't want to rush things. He really wanted to take his time with her.
"Yeah! Way to go, man," Kyle said in a congratulatory manner, socking him on the shoulder.
"Ah, I knew it would be," Michael claimed. But that was a lie. The primary doubt all along had been whether Maria would reciprocate his feelings, but now . . . she was definitely reciprocating.
"Nice. You and Maria got the chemistry, and I got Tess sleepin' in my bed," Kyle said in between munches. "You know, for a couple of artistic nerds, our loves lives aren't so bad. I'm making progress and you're making babies."
"I'm not making babies," Michael snapped. "We haven't even had sex yet."
"But you're gonna tell me about it when you do, right?" Kyle made a pleading face. "Please, I'm still living vicariously through you until Tess succumbs to my natural sex appeal."
All of a sudden, Maria strolled out of the bathroom wearing one of Michael's grey t-shirts. "You have sex appeal?" she teased Kyle.
"More than you," he retorted.
"Yeah, right," Michael muttered, unable to take his eyes off Maria. Her hair was wet, and there were some wet spots on the t-shirt. His t-shirt. How was it possible for one person to look so good?
"Ooh, smack-down on Kyle and his lack of sex appeal," she said.
Kyle shook his head and tossed the Doritos aside on the counter. "Your girlfriend's kind of a bitch, you know that?" he told Michael.
"Get outta here," Michael said, practically shoving him towards the door.
"Geez, take it easy."
Michael shut the door and turned around to look at Maria again. He'd seen her in his clothes before, but somehow, seeing her now after their relationship had begun to progress . . . it was a whole new level of sexuality and erotica.
"Alone at last," she said sultrily, and then as if reading her mind, asked, "Do I look good in your shirt?"
"You look amazing," he informed her, sure that she already knew.
She made her way towards him and hooked her fingers into his belt loops, pulling him closer. He wrapped his arms around her and stepped around so that he was pressing her back against the wall. He realized how much larger he was than her in that moment, physically at least. But her liveliness and her personality and all the things he loved most about her were so much larger.
"Nothin' on TV tonight," she said, pressing her hips forward.
"We could go out," he suggested, not really sure why he would suggest something so stupid.
"Or we could stay in," she said, smoothing her hands up his chest to wrap around his shoulders. He gripped her waist and kissed her, thinking that sounded like the best idea in the world.
...
"Oh, spring semester," Maria sighed as she and Tess walked into the biggest lecture hall in the math department. How was anyone supposed to learn anything numerical in a class of two-hundred people? "New realms of knowledge to be utterly confused and intimidated by."
"And bored," Tess added. "Can't forget bored."
"No, we can't, because statistics is the most boring thing in the world." Maria squeezed past a few students who already had their laptops out, ready to take notes, and managed to find two empty seats for her and Tess to sit in. "But at least we're taking it together."
Tess sat down and tossed her backpack on the floor in front of her. "I wouldn't even be here now if I'd gotten into that History of Furniture class," she grumbled. "But no, fate likes to make my life as difficult as possible. So here I am."
"Oh, it could be worse," Maria assured her, not used to hearing so much pessimism from her best friend.
"You're only saying that because you're giddy right now," Tess said. "Happy-go-lucky. On cloud nine."
Maria thought about it and smiled in agreement. "That's right, I am on cloud nine. And do you know what I'm doing on cloud nine? I'm making out with Michael on cloud nine." And she hoped to be doing more than that very soon.
"Is it weird at all?" Tess asked as she bent down to unzip her backpack and take out her stats notebook.
Maria shrugged. "It's different. But it's awesome, so . . ."
"Well, I'm happy for you. Both of you."
"Thanks." Maria stared at her friend, not liking the hopelessness she saw in her eyes. Tess had never exactly been on cloud nine before, but she'd never been back on cloud negative nine for an extended amount of time. "What about you?" she asked, concerned. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Tess answered too quickly, not looking her in the eye.
"Really?"
Tess nodded. "Yep."
Maria sighed, doubtful of that claim. "If you say so." She didn't want to push too hard. If Tess didn't want to talk about everything that was bothering her, what right did she have to force her?
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Tess groaned suddenly. Maria saw her looking towards the front of the classroom, so she followed the direction of her gaze and saw what she was seeing. Liz had just walked inside. She looked so sweet and innocent—she was even wearing glasses—but they both knew better than to assume that anything about her was sweet and innocent now. She wasn't either of those things, and she probably never had been.
"What's she doing here?" Maria asked, watching as she took a seat in the front row on the left-hand side of the aisle.
"Taking statistics," Tess answered simply.
"Kyle said she and Max are still together."
Tess grunted and shook her head. "For a smart girl, Liz sure is dumb."
"Mmm-hmm," Maria agreed. She didn't point out the obvious, that Tess herself had stayed with him for two whole years. Tess wasn't dumb; she just wasn't very good at being on her own.
Tess shook her head and propped her notebook up on her lap. She turned to a blank sheet of paper and wrote Statistics Notes at the top, followed by the date underneath. She put smiley faces over the I's, even though she wasn't smiling.
"You know what we should do?" Maria said, hoping to snap her out of her funk. "We should go out tonight."
Tess glanced up quizzically. "You and me?"
"Is that so weird?"
"Well, yeah. You told me you and Michael were gonna go see a movie tonight."
"Well, we are," she said. The movie theater was still showing Twilight, and she wanted to see it before it was too late. Granted, she hadn't read the books and never planned to. Movies were so much easier. "You can come along."
"And change the bicycle into a tricycle? No, thanks, I'm not into being the third wheel."
Maria made a face. "No, it's not a . . . tricycle; it's a . . . a wagon. Or a car. Four wheels. Four people. You, me, Michael, Kyle. The Core freakin' Four or whatever." She rolled her eyes, still appalled by the lameness of that nickname.
Tess's interest finally seemed piqued. "Kyle's gonna tag along?"
She hadn't exactly asked him yet, but . . . would Kyle pass up the chance to spend an evening with Tess? Not in a million years. "Yes," she answered confidently. "Yes, he is."
...
Kyle wasn't even watching the movie. He didn't even care. It was decent enough, he supposed, from what he'd seen so far, but if he'd wanted to watch a love story between a vampire male and a human girl, he could have just curled up on the couch under his childhood blanket with his favorite stuffed animal and seasons one through seven of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Not that he ever did that.
He had to admit, he was quite pleased with the sitting arrangements. He and Michael were sitting by each other (which wasn't the most thrilling thing in the world), but Tess was sitting to his left, and Maria was sitting to Michael's right. It was all very fun, very romantic, very . . . double-date.
He glanced over at Tess. She didn't seem very interested in the movie, either. In fact, she seemed more interested in eating her extra-large popcorn. Michael and Maria just looked as though they were fighting the urge to sink down in their seats and make-out. For the most part, though, they were doing a pretty good job watching the movie. He whispered little comments to her now and then that made her smile, and she curled up beside him when he put his arm around her.
Oh, the old arm around the shoulders technique, Kyle thought, inspired. It didn't look too hard. And Tess's shoulders . . . well, they were armless. He had an arm.
Mustering up all his courage and bravado, Kyle let out an exaggerated yawn and brought his arms upward as casually as possible, trying to set his left arm down comfortingly around her. But since he wasn't looking, he messed up and accidentally set his arm down on her bowl of popcorn instead. It hit kind of hard, and she shrieked as the popcorn spilled all over her lap.
"Oh!"
"Shit," he cursed, embarrassed and mortified. "Tess, I'm . . . I'm sorry."
"It's fine," she assured him.
"I'm really sorry."
The people behind them shushed them loudly. He hung his head, wishing he'd never tried such an advanced maneuver. It was way beyond his capabilities.
"I'm really sorry," he repeated again.
"It's okay," Tess whispered, standing up. "I'm just gonna go to the bathroom." She slid past him and Michael and Maria and scurried out of the theater. He sighed heavily. One second she was there, and then she was gone. Just his luck.
Michael and Maria were both giving him a look, a sort of What the hell were you trying to do? kind of look. He couldn't blame them. Sometimes he wondered himself.
...
Michael took it upon himself to teach Kyle how to put his arm around a girl's shoulders. He knew from experience how hard it could be. If it wasn't done right, it was awkward, and there was a chance of spilt popcorn.
"Do it again," he instructed.
Kyle sighed impatiently and lifted his arm up to scratch the back of his neck, then pushed it outward as if settling on a girl's shoulders.
Michael shook his head. "No, no, no. See, your form's all wrong. You wanna wrap it around. Don't lift your arm up and bring it down. Just—you gotta be like water. Make it flow. Wrap it around." He demonstrated the proper technique.
"Like this?" Kyle asked, trying to mimick him. But he was still making that sort of half-circle with his arm, and that wasn't the technique.
"No."
"Am I doin' it?"
"No." Michael rolled his eyes. "Don't be so stiff. Loosen up."
"This advice coming from you?"
Before Michael could respond, he heard the front door shut. He glanced over and saw Maria staring at them open-mouthed with a sack of groceries in her hand. "What are you two losers doing?" she asked.
Neither one of them said anything for a few seconds before Kyle sputtered, "What . . . what does it look like we're doin'? We're dancin'." He circled his arm to the right and slid in that direction, then did the same thing to the left. Then he circled both his arms in front of him and slid forward with a cheesy smile on his face. "How's it look so far?"
Maria grunted. "Like you're trying to hide the fact that you're learning how to put your arm around a girl."
Kyle looked at Michael and said, "She's good."
Michael smiled. That she was.
"God, you have, like, no experience, do you, Kyle?" she said, setting the sack of groceries down on the kitchen counter.
"Well . . . no," he admitted. "Liz and I were never really a touchy-feely couple—never really that much of a couple, actually. And I can count on one hand the number of times we locked lips."
Maria's eyes bulged. "One hand?"
He groaned frustratedly. "Fine, maybe six times. Ooh, two hands. Get my thumb in on the action."
Maria shook her head. "Nerd."
Michael went and sat down at the counter, peering into the grocery sack. He saw whipped cream, and that intrigued him. "Yeah, I figured I'd help him out, show him the tricks of the trade," he mumbled.
"What, like you're some relationship guru?" she teased.
"Well, I am in a relationship."
Maria sighed heavily and braced her hands against the counter. "Okay, Kyle, listen to me," she said. "Do not put your arm around Tess. She's still trying to forget what it felt like to have Max's slimy arms around her. Besides, you guys aren't even dating. And at this rate you never will be."
Kyle's expression was one of outrage. "Thanks a lot!" he huffed, marching towards the door. "I'm gonna go cry myself to sleep." He stormed outside and slammed the door.
"Kinda harsh," Michael remarked.
"I know. I'm just worried about Tess," she explained as she began to unpack the groceries. "Today she turned down a shopping spree, which she never ever does. And last night when I dropped her off at her place, she seemed kinda . . . oh, what's the word? Listy? Listful?"
"Listless?" he guessed.
"Yeah, listless."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Don't make me give you the Webster Dictionary definition. You know what I mean. She's just really distant and disconnected right now. Very disconnected."
"Because of Max?"
"Yeah. I mean, he's not a great guy, but she loved him. Or at least she thought she did. Or at least she tried to." She sighed and folded up the empty grocery sack, leaving it on the counter. "I just don't want us to be one of those couples," she said.
"A Max and Tess couple?" he questioned, having trouble keeping up with her rapidly shifting train of thought.
"No, one of those couples that gets so wrapped up in each other that they aren't even aware of what goes on around them or what other people are going through. You know?"
He made a face. "We're not one of those couples."
"We might be."
He hadn't really thought of it like that, but they had been pretty absorbed in each other over the past couple of days. And they had every right to be. But he didn't want to be one of those couples, either. "Come here," he said, motioning for her to sit on his lap. She walked around the counter and did just that. He put his arms around her midsection and held her close. "You know, I really am a relationship guru," he murmured in her ear.
She laughed lightly and admitted, "Just a little bit."
"A lot. A whole lot. Come on, I gave you that New Year's kiss. That was epic," he reminded her.
"It was, kinda."
"Kinda?"
She tilted her head back and said, "Shut up."
"But if I shut up and I'm no longer talking, I'm gonna have to do something else with my mouth."
She smiled. "Such as . . . ?"
He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her. It was crazy that just a few days ago, he didn't know what it felt like to kiss Maria, and now he couldn't imagine not knowing.
"Mmm," she moaned, raising one hand to tangle in his hair. "Oh, I hate that you're a better kisser than me."
He wasn't, but the fact that she thought that made his chest swell with pride.
"No, seriously, though," she mumbled against his lips, "we can't be all about ourselves. We have friends."
"I know," he said, "but does that mean I can't do this?" He pulled the collar of her tight t-shirt to the side and pressed a soft kiss to her left shoulder.
"No," she said, smiling.
"Or this?" He brushed all of her hair over her left shoulder and kissed the back of her neck.
She shivered. "Michael . . ."
He loved the way she said his name. It made him feel truly wanted for the first time. No one else had ever said his name like that.
...
The meeting Max attended that evening was the first meeting he completely zoned out on. His father used sharp rhetoric to try to motivate his employees. Nothing actually got accomplished, and Max felt that it was a waste of time. When he ran the company, he wasn't going to be so bureaucratic. He was going to get things done. At the rate they were going now, the new hotel they had in the works wouldn't even see the first wave of construction until 2012.
Max was gathering up his things and putting on his coat when Tony, one of the company's finance experts, approached him and said, "So you're officially on the payroll now, huh?"
Max chuckled. "Officially." He knew that Tony knew a thing or two about prolonged employment without pay. He had worked for Phillip personally for two years before finally earning his place in the organization.
"Good," Tony said. "You're a real asset around here, Max."
"Thanks." Max found himself only half-heartedly listening as he read a text message from Liz. She was eager for him to get off of work so they could go out.
"A distracted asset," Tony amended.
"What? Oh, sorry." He dropped his phone into his coat pocket. "My, uh . . . well, I guess she's my girlfriend now . . . she keeps texting me about this restaurant we're going to tonight. It's our first real date. She's pretty excited."
"Oh, you're gonna go out to eat after the party?" Tony asked.
Max froze. "What party?"
"The party your father's throwing for Seymour Randolph in hopes of persuading him to put some money down on the new hotel," Tony explained in response. When Max gave him a look of confusion, he elaborated, "You know, Seymour Randolph, business tycoon extraordinaire, Bill Gates of the Sunbelt . . ." He trailed off. "No?"
No, Max thought. He really had no idea who Seymour Randolph was, and he'd completely forgotten about the party that night. That wasn't like him. He usually did his homework when it came to business, usually remembered all the important engagements. He'd just been so busy with Liz. He'd been trying to change. But he couldn't change too much. He still had his aspirations to attend to.
"Right," he said, pretending to know exactly what and who Tony was talking about. "That party's tonight?"
"Has been for awhile now. Did you forget?" Tony asked.
"No," he lied.
Tony looked right at him, and it was as though he could see right through him. "That's not like you, Max."
"Thanks for reminding me," Max said, gathering up his belongings as he bolted for the door. "I'll see you tonight." Once he got outside, he breathed a sigh of relief. That was a close call. He couldn't let anyone know that he was slipping up. One wrong move and Tony or some other guy would be the one who inherited the company instead of him. He couldn't have that.
He took out his cell phone and dialed Liz's number, surprising himself by having it memorized. "Hey, it's me," he said after she picked up. "About tonight . . . how do you feel about a change of plans?" He felt sort of bad for altering their date—she'd been so excited. But it had to be done. A date and a business maneuver all at once . . . two birds, one stone. He could multitask.
...
"This is so wrong," Maria groaned, settling in on the couch, "homework on the second day of class."
"I had homework on the first day," Michael said. He sat in chair now doing some reading for a history class.
"But you're good at it," she said, opening up her literature anthology. "I have to read these stupid poems for my English class. Tess took the same class last semester, you know, same professor. She said she never read any of the readings." An idea occurred to her. "So maybe I don't have to read them, either." She smiled, but Michael gave her a look, and she knew he wouldn't let her get away with that. He kept her on top of things. "Fine, I'm reading," she resigned. She quickly browsed through a short eight-line poem by William Carlos Williams (whoever the hell that was, she didn't care), and slammed her book shut. "Oh god, that was stupid."
"What?"
"This poem. It's about, like, this red wheelbarrow and . . . chickens and-"
"Chickens?"
"Yeah, isn't that stupid?"
Michael grinned. "You gotta look for the deeper meaning."
"Deeper meaning my ass," she grumbled. She lay her head down on the arm of the couch and groaned again. "I hate college."
"You love college."
"Not the studying part." She would have loved for winter break to have gone on forever and ever. Academics were overrated.
"Why are you taking that class anyway?" he asked her.
"I don't know. I figure it'll fulfill a humanities requirement or something."
"Or something?"
"Yeah. I should really go talk to my advisor," she mused, "but I'm just . . . freakin' lazy." She was so lazy, in fact, that she had never even met her advisor before. Or if she had, she'd been too hung-over to recall any of it.
"Have you decided if you're gonna stick with journalism or change your major?" he inquired.
"Haven't given it much thought," she admitted. "I've been too busy." She grinned at him, because he was the one she'd been busy with. He was much more fun to do than homework, except that she wasn't exactly doing him yet. Whenever he wanted to progress past second base, she was more than ready.
"You should probably think it over soon," he suggested.
"I know," she acquiesced. "I think I might as well just stick with it, right? 'Cause if I changed it, what would I change it to?" She had no idea.
He shrugged. "Plenty of options."
"Well, like what? Besides the obvious choices of, like, pole-dancing and being a phone sex operator."
He laughed and said, "No, you can do way better than that."
"Then give me ideas." She wanted to hear them. "Seriously. You know me better than just about anyone else." The only other person she trusted to give her good, solid occupational-advice was Tess, but she trusted Michael even more in this arena than she did Tess. He was very career-inclined.
"Well . . . to be honest, I never really pictured you and journalism as a match," he told her. "Too many rules, too much structure. I always thought you'd end up doing something where you could interact with people on a daily basis, something where you could be creative. Something pretty hands-on and intense, 'cause, you know, you're pretty intense."
She smiled. One of these days, he was going to see how hands-on and intense she could be, too.
"And something you could have fun with," he added as an afterthought. "You gotta have fun."
"Well," she said, "that narrows it down. Come on, give me an i.e."
"Like . . . I don't know, like a party planner or something."
She raised her eyebrows. "A party planner." She envisioned it in her head and nodded slowly. "And how exactly does one obtain a degree in party-planning?"
"Well, I'm sure there's a more stuffy, dignified way to say it. I don't know, I just think you should do something people-oriented instead of something information-oriented. 'Cause you're people-oriented."
She'd never really thought of it on such a basic, general level before. But he was right. Facts and figures and commas and colons weren't her thing. She enjoyed interactions. And she always enjoyed a good party. "That's a good point," she said. "Well, it's something to think about." She smiled at him. "And I'm glad I have you to help me." She knew for a fact that if he didn't urge her to study and work hard and think about her future, she wouldn't do it. He was really good for her.
He smiled back at her, set his book down atop the arm of the chair, and got up, coming to join her on the couch. He slowly lay down atop her and kissed her.
"Mmm, what're you doing?" she moaned. "You're distracting me from my homework."
"Red wheelbarrow, chickens . . . that's all you need to know."
She giggled loudly. "You . . . are so multi-faceted, you know that? Sometimes you're all about the studying, and the next thing you know, you're all about the kissing."
"You're all about the kissing, too," he pointed out.
"Can you blame me?" He was a gorgeous man, and he did ridiculously wonderful things with his mouth.
"No," he said, pressing his lips to hers again. He brushed his tongue against her bottom lip, and she was so tempted to just lay back and see where this went. Because she really wanted to venture into XXX territory soon. But despite her innermost desires, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed him back slightly as a thought struck her. "Ooh, speaking of party-planning . . ."
"Who's speaking?" he asked, kissing the side of her neck.
"No, seriously, speaking of parties . . ."
He immediately raised his head and looked panicked. "Oh, I'm sorry I brought it up."
"Why?"
"Because I know what you're gonna say, and you know how I'm gonna react."
She sighed. "Okay, I would like to point out that I've only thrown two parties since I've lived here, only one of which was in this apartment, both of which were phenomenal and completely under control."
"Under control?" he echoed skeptically, still lying on top of her. "Yeah, the Halloween party resulted in used condoms on the floor, and my birthday party resulted in Kyle's arrest."
She laughed. "Yeah, that was funny. Although, probably not for him." She waved it off. "Anyway, here's what I'm thinking: In the interest of not being one of those couples, we should throw a party. A get-Tess-out-of-her-impending-depression party." She smiled hopefully. He had to agree to this. He had to. "I'm people-oriented, remember?"
"How many people?"
"Well, it doesn't have to be a big thing. It can just be a small thing to get Tess's mind off other things."
He looked right at her and joked, "Well, that was eloquent."
"Shut up, I'm serious!"
"If we have it at Kyle's . . ." he said, "I could roll with it."
She snorted in laughter. "You could roll with it? Okay, gangsta."
He chuckled, too. "Alright, so who would it be?" he asked. "Just you, me, Tess, and Kyle?"
"I guess." Since when had her parties gotten so lame? Probably since she'd started hanging out with lamer people. "Although that's not really a party, is it? That's the four of us hanging out like we always do. Oh, maybe we could invite Marty and Francis." She liked that thought a lot. She hadn't gotten to talk to Marty for a long time. He didn't even know that she and Michael were dating now. "It'd be like Christmas revisited, only without that disturbing Max and Liz revelation thrown in there."
He nodded in agreement. "That sounds fun."
"Yeah. We just need a reason. We need an occasion for the celebration. We can't very well just tell Tess it's to get her out of the dumps, you know? Are there any birthdays or holidays coming up?"
He thought about it and replied, "Well . . . Kyle's half-birthday's in February."
"That's not soon enough," she said, surprised that he knew something so trivial about his friend. "But we could lie to her and say it's in January, right? She'll never know. She's not a number-cruncher; she's not gonna do the math."
"So . . . there we have it. We'll celebrate Kyle's half-birthday a month early. His half-birthday?" He made a face. "Are we serious?"
"Hell yeah, we're serious," she answered emphatically. "We're celebrating Kyle's half birthday a month—oh, seriously lame." She pressed the palm of her right hand to her head, smiling. "Oh, gosh."
"Lame and obvious," he added.
"But we're doing it anyway," she decided. "Because we're not one of those couples."
"Yeah," he said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I knew we weren't."
She smiled, still thinking that they kind of were, but not as bothered by it now. The party would be fun for all of them. It was just what Tess needed to start feeling better about . . . everything.
"Am I crushing you yet?" Michael asked since he was still literally laying on top of her.
"Little bit, yeah."
"Okay." He tried to roll onto his side, but he accidentally rolled right off the couch and landed on the floor with a thud. "Geez!"
Maria dug her head back into the couch and laughed.
...
Liz rode in a limousine for the first time in her life that night. She got dressed up in the nicest dress she owned, tried so hard to make her hair and make-up look as though it'd been professionally done, and rode in the limo with Max. A regular car would have sufficed.
"You look beautiful tonight, you know that?" Max said as he helped her out of the vehicle.
"Thanks," she said, immediately blinded by the flash of a dozen cameras. "Oh," she said, shielding her eyes. "Look, it comes with its own paparazzi." She'd never been to a party like this before. "It's like a little slice of California right here in New Mexico."
"You get used to it," he said, holding out his arm.
She linked her arm with his and let him lead her inside. The party was being held in the penthouse suite of one of the Evans hotels, not unlike the suite where Max resided. As they rode up the elevator up to the top floor, she looked up at him and inquired, "Do these things ever actually end up being fun?"
He shrugged. "Once in awhile some guy will punch another guy over stolen money."
"Riveting."
He sighed as they stepped off the elevator and apologized, "I'm sorry. I know this isn't quite what you had in mind."
It definitely wasn't. "It's okay," she said. "We'll make the most of it."
When they walked into the penthouse suite, she was struck by how amazingly . . . dead everything was. If it was truly a party, where was the music? All she could hear was classical music faintly playing the background, barely audible over the booming chuckles of businessmen and the cackling laughter of their wives. If it was truly a party, where was the fun? Instead of dancing, these people were just standing around and talking. It wasn't a party. Not really.
"Looks more lively than the last one," Max remarked.
Her eyes bulged. If this was more lively, then just how dead was the last one?
They had barely taken another step when a man with grey hair and an over-confident gleam in his eyes cut in front of them. "Son," he said, "you're finally here. Did the limo driver get lost?"
"No, we-"
"I need you to go deal with the caterer," the man, who Liz now knew to be Max's father, interrupted. "He's putting pepper into everything even though I specifically told him Seymour Randolph is allergic to pepper." He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "It's a potential catastrophe."
"Right," Max said. "Dad, this is my girlfriend Liz."
She smiled. It was the first time she'd heard Max say that word out loud to refer to her. She wasn't the other woman anymore, and that was a good feeling.
"That's great," Phillip Evans said dismissively. "Now go deal with the caterer please."
Liz frowned, not liking his tone. "Well, why should he?" she cut in. "I mean, why don't you? It's your party, and you're the one who hired the caterer. It's not Max's responsibility."
Phillip Evans looked right at her, and he seemed to hate her very much. "Well, well, well," he said, "aren't you annoyingly inquisitive."
But she refused to back down. He didn't intimidate her. "Let's face it: Max wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you, if it weren't for the enormous amount of pressure you put on him. He's only here because he thinks he has to be."
Phillip glared at her, then shifted that glare to his son. "Is this true, Max?" he asked coldly.
Max glanced in between the two of them, seemingly . . . uncomfortable. Max rarely looked that way. "I'll go deal with the caterer," he said, unhooking his arm from Liz's. He made his way through the crowd, stopping to say hi to people who said hi to him but quickly continuing on his way.
Liz sighed, left standing alone with Mr. Evans. She hoped the caterer was fixing something good to eat, because her first taste of aristocratic life at the top of the social hierarchy had not been a good one at all.
...
"A half-birthday party." Kyle frowned. "Is there such a thing?"
"There is now," Michael replied simply.
"My half-birthday's in February."
"Yeah, but Tess doesn't need to know that," Maria put in, knowing that it wouldn't take much to sell Kyle on this idea. "Look, we just need an excuse to have this party and make her feel better."
And that was all it took. "Okay, yeah, I'm cool with that," he decided, smiling goofily.
"Oh, Kyle, the last thing you are is cool," she pointed out. In fact, Kyle was so uncool sometimes that she couldn't even fathom how he survived.
"We can have it at your place?" Michael asked. He had made it clear that he was very against having any part, whether big or small, at his place.
"Oh . . . I suppose," Kyle agreed. "It's not really much of a party, though, is it? It's more of a group-hang."
"What, a group-hang?" Maria echoed. "Who says that?"
"I do."
"Well, no one else does."
"Well, I'm not like everyone else."
"And everyone else is very glad about that."
Michael rolled his eyes and interjected, "Marty and Francis are probably gonna be there, too."
"Marty can transform any 'group-hang' into a party," Maria said confidently. He had once transformed a high school yearbook meeting into a party. Kegs and everything. "Did you know that people called him Party Marty in high school? Isn't that cute, a little rhyme?"
"Well, it might not be the social event of the year," Kyle acknowledged, "but I think it sounds fun. Then again, I'm not gonna pass up any chance to be with Tess. Hey, I've been practicing the arm around the shoulders trick, you know, just in case. Tell me what you think." He sat down on the couch, squeezing in between Michael and Maria, and lifted his arm, wrapping it around Michael's shoulders. "Yeah. How's that feel?" he asked.
"Creepy," Michael answered, staring at him uncomfortably.
"Yeah." Kyle laughed and brought his arm back down. "I thought so, too."
"Kyle, what did I tell you? No putting your arm around Tess right now," Maria reminded him. When it came to relationships, Kyle was just like a kindergartener. He needed a teacher to lead him by the hand.
"I know," he said, "but I'm impatient. Guys, be honest: Do you think I stand a chance with her?"
Maria and Michael exchanged a glance, and Michael just shrugged hopelessly, leaving it up to her to answer. Kyle looked at her expectantly, and she replied, "I think you stand more of a chance now than you did a few months ago. I think you guys are really good friends, which is an important thing to be."
"But . . .?" Kyle trailed off.
"But . . ." She sighed. "Tess has a type, and . . . you're not it."
"The jerk type."
"The jackass type," she corrected, because Max was far beyond the realm of jerk. "And don't even try to be a jackass, 'cause you'll just embarrass yourself trying. But look at me. I had a type, and now I'm dating Michael. He's not my type."
Michael feigned hurt when he said, "Thanks a lot."
"No, I mean you're the exception to the type," she explained. "And that's a very good thing to be." She grinned at him. God, he was sexy.
"Huh, eye-sex," Kyle remarked, glancing back and forth between them nervously. "Fantastic." He rose up off the couch and stood in front of them, still thinking about the only thing he ever thought about. "So do you think I'm the exception to Tess's type?"
"I don't know," Maria replied honestly. "I can't see the future, Kyle. But even if I could, I wouldn't tell you anything about it, because it's much more fun seeing you all worked up."
He glared at her.
Michael chuckled. "Alright, look, man . . . relationships take time. Maria and I just started dating a week ago. We've been friends for over two years."
"Two years?" Kyle echoed in horror. "You mean I might have to wait two years? Oh, hell no. Hell to the no, screw that. I don't have the patience. I just don't have the patience!"
"Because you're a virgin?" Maria asked. She never got tired of teasing him about that.
"Yes! My libido is screaming. I like the girl, and I hate not being able to tell her or show her or put my arm around her. I mean, is that too much to ask?" He shook his head, looking on the verge of tears. "No, I can't wait two years. I gotta pick up the pace."
"Just don't pick up the pace too much, Kyle," she cautioned.
"No," he assured her, "I won't."
...
Max made his way through the crowd towards Liz. She was standing near the door. She obviously really wanted to leave, but she'd stayed. For him. She was a bad girl who could be very good and a good girl who could be very bad. It was why she fascinated him, why she always had. He wouldn't have blamed her for leaving. Despite the facade that he put on, he didn't want to be there any more than she did. Not really.
"So did you get that whole business with the caterer sorted out?" she asked.
"Yeah." He surveyed the dress she was wearing once again. Black, sparkly, form-fitting in all the right places . . . the old Max Evans wouldn't have hesitated to rip that dress off her once they stole a moment of privacy. The new Max Evans was trying hard to value her for other aspects. Because there were other things to value about her, and he knew that. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that.
"Sorry it took so long," he apologized. "He doesn't speak a word of English."
"Hmm." She nodded, pressing her hands back against the wall, and changed the topic to a more pressing matter. "I don't think your dad likes me very much," she said. "After you left, he basically told me to shut my womanly mouth and leave his party. He didn't scare me, though. He's not as big and bad as he thinks he is."
"Obviously. You're still here," Max noted.
"Yeah." She sighed heavily. "I kinda wish I wasn't, though. I just look around at this so-called party, and it doesn't look like a party at all. I can't believe this is what you want out of life."
Sometimes he couldn't believe it, either.
"What anyone wants," she added. "I mean, I understand why you feel like you have to be here, but I wish you didn't." She lowered her head and mumbled the last part. She really wanted to be somewhere else. She wanted to be out eating at that restaurant they had planned on going to before he'd changed their plans at last minute.
"I'm sorry if my dad made you feel uncomfortable," he said. He had used that word so much over the course of the past week. Sorry. It left a bitter taste in his mouth every time he said it, but since he'd been dating Liz, it'd been getting less bitter.
"I'm sorry if I said something I shouldn't have," she apologized in return. "He just rubbed me the wrong way right from the start."
"He does that sometimes."
"I mean, why does he think he can just tell you what to do?"
"Because he can," Max replied simply. "He's not only my dad; he's also my boss." Those two roles gave him almost unlimited authority.
"But does he have to be so mean about it?" Liz asked.
"Yes." Again, it was an easy answer. "You don't get where he is by being nice and understanding, Liz. You get there by being shrewd and ruthless, by not caring about how anyone else feels or what happens to them. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. To be successful in the corporate world, you have to be willing to set any and all integrity aside; and my dad did that a long time ago."
She gazed into his eyes rather worriedly in that moment and asked, "And is that what you're willing to do? I mean, is that what you really want?"
He wasn't even sure if he had any integrity to give up, but if he did . . . "I just wanna run this company," he replied. He'd been dreaming of it ever since his father had first shown him his office. He'd been three years old. It was a desire that was so engrained, he didn't even think to question it.
"At what cost?" Liz asked, questioning it for him.
He glanced around nervously, looking for a way out of the discussion. He couldn't find one, and he knew that Liz wanted to be somewhere else, so he reached down, took her hand in his, and asked, "You wanna get out of here?"
It took her a moment, but finally she smiled at him and squeezed his hand encouragingly. He led her out the door, happy to have slipped out unnoticed. It wasn't too late to go to that restaurant.