Chapter Fifteen:




"Hey, Claire, look! I'm going to fly off the roof!" Bobby shouted joyfully as he skipped past her.
"Great." Claire said absently as she repeatedly loaded and unloaded her camera with film.
"Not until I finish your make up!" The make up artist, Tina, screeched running after Bobby and glaring at Claire. For having encouraged him, was her guess.
Claire hadn't been herself at all that morning. She was sure it was affecting her work, because she had tried to set up the tripod when she realized she was clutching the coat rack. She had made sure to pay a little more attention to detail after that, but even the kids realized how out whack that day because for most of the morning, they tip-toed around her quietly and whispered when they spoke. Bobby, who was the youngest in the group, was the only one who didn't notice anything beyond toys and outdoors.
Setting up her camera, she grimaced inwardly as she recalled the previous night. How could she have done that to Leon? She groaned loudly as she saw Leon's hurt expression and disgust even though he tried vainly to hide it. She would be sick too, if it had been the other way around. Claire had returned to her bed that night, but that didn't mean she had slept, she stayed awake for a good hour, thinking about how Leon must have hated her right then. How would she face him in the morning?
As it turned out, Leon, ever the gentleman, had been civil and tried to make polite (although forced) conversation. And that only made Claire feel even more like a rotten person. Leon, unlike her, was able to rise to the occasion when she had fallen. And what pissed her off even more, was that she wanted that kiss as much as he had, but she had chickened out. She had let Steve control her again and he wasn't even there. Feeling dismayed, she wondered whether she would ever be truly free of all the static. Leon had to have been the strongest person she knew aside from Chris, yet he hadn't been able to free her from the past.
Steve's face appeared in her mind and she sat down hard on the ground, her hands wrapped around her knees. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. Not now. She willed them as she stood and hurried for the bathroom. Her stomach felt testy as she slammed herself in and keeled over the toilet, releasing her toast and orange juice from that morning. Her retching echoed against the walls and alternated with gut-wrenching sobs. She wanted to die. She wanted to crawl under the sink and just die. Right now, that seemed like the only escape. It would've have been so easy to stick her head under a faucet or her finger in an outlet or something else that would...
Knock knock knock. Three soft knocks on the door interrupting her death wishing and she gagged helplessly over the bowl. "Claire?" Carly's voice spoke through the door.
Wincing slightly, Claire rested her head on the seat and sighed but couldn't answer or move. After fifteen seconds of silence, the door opened and Carly walked in. Feeling foolish, Claire made a move to get up, but instead, Carly knelt down beside her.
"I--I'm sorry." Claire blubbered into the toilet.
"Shhh." Carly said, patting her back comfortingly. "Just get it all out."
Another hurl of toast might not have been exactly what Carly meant, but she smiled gently and slicked back Claire's bangs from her eyes. As soon as Claire had stopped crying, she handed her some towels. "What's wrong? And don't tell me nothing." she added quickly. "Because when a woman cries and vomits, it isn't because she's happy." Her eyes examined her closely. "Are you pregnant?"
Claire felt paralyzed then relaxed. "No. I had my period last week."
"Oh." Carly said, looking relieved. "So that singles out PMS, too."
Claire nodded.
"So, then, what is it, sweetheart?" She asked in that wonderfully maternal voice she had.
Claire wanted to melt into the tiles of the floor but she didn't have any choice. She took a deep breath and began telling her story to this woman who was little more than a stranger to her. But for some reason, Claire trusted her. She was like the mother that Claire had lost, that Claire had missed so much. And she seemed to understand what Claire had been going through. She didn't question or judge, just let Claire talk and cry into the shoulder of her expensive Dior outfit.
"I want him to be gone--but he's always going to be there. He WON'T GO AWAY." She sobbed loudly. "I feel like tearing myself into two pieces and sending one over a cliff and the other straight to HELL!"
Carly didn't seem fazed or surprised by the ferocity of Claire's words, in fact, she looked almost nonchalant.
"I understand how it feels." Carly told her as she patted her head gently. "You feel like you'll never get back on your feet again, even after all the damage is said and done. Everything is hard, going out into the world, getting a job...finding new love."
Claire looked up sharply. "You talk like you've gone through this."
Carly smiled a bit more solemnly. "Because I have gone through it. I've been exactly where you're in now."
A single tear fell down Claire's cheek. "So you do understand."
"It was a living hell." Carly told her. "He blamed me for everything. Everything I did was wrong. If I said or did something he even imagined embarrassed him, the moment we got home I was in for it. My husband was a very important man, he even once ran for governor of California. When he lost, he was sure it was because of his 'marriage venture'. He actually used that phrase."
"How long were you with him?" Claire asked softly.
"Too damn long." Carly replied. "Thirty-five years. You're lucky you got out when you did."
Claire looked up and saw, for the first time, that Carly looked much older than she'd originally thought.
"Why did YOU stay with him?" Claire asked.
"I thought I was still in love with him for the longest time. And by the time I realized I wasn't, we had three kids and his political career was off the ground. He couldn't tolerate a divorce just then. I was 51 before he passed away and I was really free." she paused, choosing her words carefully. "I remember how very hard it was. My children encouraged me to start dating, even though the thought of a woman as old as me dating was hysterical. Every man I met got frustrated because I couldn't help comparing them to my late husband."
Claire closed her eyes tightly as she hugged Carly like a life preserver. "Didn't you ever find someone who you thought you could love--who could love you?" She sounded like a hopeful little girl asking a question even though the answer was right in front of her.
Carly took a deep breath, "There was...one man...he was different from my husband in every way. Gentle, kind, strong...and he respected me for who and what I was...I remember he was very supportive of me when I said I wanted to make a photography company."
Claire was instantly reminded of Leon. Almost afraid to ask, she went on, "What--what happened?"
Carly laughed a deep, unhappy laugh, full of regret. "I blew it. He tried to hold out for me for as long as he could, but he couldn't take all the references I made to my husband and my disbelief to believe that he truly cared. Pride is a sin, Claire, try not to make it amount to too much." Then, after some thought, Carly went on. "He loved me, but I could never believe it. I could never let go. And because of that, I couldn't let him touch me. Men can't take rejection as gracefully as women can, honey. They may be stronger than us in some aspects, but they're only human, too."
Almost as if Carly had reached into Claire's brain and flipped on a light switch, Claire understood. She couldn't wait around for someone to save her from falling. She'd have to do it herself. Leon had helped her out far more than Carly's boyfriends had and she couldn't let herself make the same mistake her boss had. Eight years of mistakes had to have taught her something and that included getting out of one.


"Leon, you're working too hard." Dave Lennon declared as he and three other guys headed out of the garage. "Why don't you come with us to lunch?"
Leon groaned as a spurt of motor oil sprayed his arm. "Uh, no thanks. I'm just going to finish up here. Thanks anyway."
Dave shrugged, "All right. Oh, and Kennedy, if you ever want to run for sainthood, our supervisor will vouch for you."
Leon forced a laugh. "Yeah, thanks. I'll keep that in mind."
Dave gave a friendly wave before heading off.
Sainthood. Figured. Everyone saw him as the good guy. Maybe that's why Claire had done that to him. Turned him away so many times. Maybe what she was after was a bad boy...she had chosen Steve once, hadn't she? Finishing up with the Ferrari's engine, he wiped his hands on a grimy towel before slamming the hood of the car down.
"Anyone who still cares about his job in here?" A voice called from the side.
Leon turned to see his supervisor Keith Harper standing in the doorway.
"Ah! Leon! My boy!" He looked thoroughly happy to see him. "I swear if this place were a family, you'd be my favorite child."
"From who?" Leon asked looking around skeptically. "You're fourth or fifth wife?"
"I know, it's impossible for you and the rest of the guys to be blood siblings." Keith said. "Anyway, if you're up to it, there's a BMW convertible coming in with a blown tire and totally damaged rim--not too bad."
Leon clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. "Bring it on."
"That's the spirit!" He said, obviously relieved.
Keith turned away then immediately swung back. "Word of advise, when they bring the car around, try not to let the owners get to you. Very demanding people they are. I spent fifteen minutes telling them our policy for checks."
Leon grinned. "I think I can handle it."
Two minutes later, a loud scraping sound reached his ears and he put on a false smile, as the annoying grinding got closer. Be nice, be nice, be nice. He thought, remembering Keith's words. Be nice, be nice, be nic... his thoughts trailed off and his smile disappeared from sight when he saw who was riding in the car.
"Stevie, baby, the car isn't that bad is it?" a girl asked from the passenger's seat. "We're going to miss the movie."
"What do you expect us to do? Ride on a blown tire? You do that, and you damage the rest of the car."
The door opened and Steve Burnside stepped out. Leon froze as ice swept over him. Steve dusted his pants off and looked up. A nasty, arrogant expression appeared on his face.
"Well, well, well." Steve said haughtily. "Leon..."
"Steve." Leon said, his body numbing as his cheeks burned and his eyes glowed a deep red.
"You know him?" the girl asked, her eyes brightening with interest, but both men ignored her.
"We've met." Steve said. "Babe, why don't you go and wait in the lobby--it's air conditioned."
Looking grateful, the girl got out and walked showily to the lobby, her hips swinging from side to side, her head held up high.
Leon just barely managed not to roll his eyes. "Friend of yours?" he asked neutrally, a lock of his hair falling over his eye so that he looked scrutinizing at Steve.
"A good friend." Steve replied as Leon lifted the car onto the power ramp. "A very good friend."
"Oh, I can see that." Leon said icily.
It was amazing how hostility could mount with the least of words. Leon concentrated hard on repairing what he could on fixing the tire, gripping all his tools much harder than necessarily and absently wondered why he wasn't gripping Steve's neck the same way. He was aware of Steve's glare on him as the bastard leaned against the wall, yawning on occasion with boredom. When he was half way done, his hands betrayed him and he dropped the tire. He heard Steve laugh, unrestrained and mocking. Ignoring him, Leon returned to his work and finished it up with out another word.
"Pay at the front." He said as he lowered the car.
Steve tossed the keys up and caught them as he stepped forward. "Thanks."
Leon bit his tongue as Steve gave him a condescending smile and turned around. Leon headed for the office to slam his head into the wall for not keeping true to his word of putting the hurt on Steve when he had the chance.
"Oh by the way," Steve said before Leon left. Leon paused before turning around. "How IS Claire?" He said with a nonchalant tone as if they were talking about nothing more than the weather.
Leon inhaled deeply. "She's fine."
"That's good." Steve said, his she seemed a little sick the last time I saw her. Tell me," He said in an aggravating sneer. "Was she alright?"
Something inside Leon snapped like a rubber band and he sent his hard fist sailing across Steve's face, cracking his jaw. The blow had caused Steve to fall against the wall, clutching his cheek with his hand. Leon's nostrils flared in anger as he hit Steve over and over again, each blow never as satisfying as the next. Steve did find his senses and put up a fight, but Leon's fury was too strong that he was almost immune to the punches Steve dished out.
When he felt his fists weren't doing enough, he grabbed a whole box of tools and flung it at Steve. But his conscience was probably starting to kick in, because his hands veered to his left and it only just brushed against Steve's head.
Steve stumbled up, clutching the wall for support, his eye was blackened, his cheek was bruised and his lip was bleeding. His body was shaking as if it would collapse any second, but he made a brave show to stand up straight.
"What's wrong with you?" Steve asked. "A little lost without a gun to help you out?"
Leon lunged for Steve and grabbed the younger man by the shirt collar, lifting him up off the ground.
"I would LOVE to kill you right now." Leon growled lividly.
"Well, go ahead, I'm ready." Steve said coolly, despite the nervousness in his eyes. "I've had CLAIRE for eight years, remember? I can die happy."
Leon wanted to crush him, he was about to, but it was as if his hands were betraying him again. He forced his conscience out of the way to deliver one last almighty blow to Steve's face, which caused his nose to bleed.
"Get out." Leon said, giving him a short and simple ultimatum instead.