Loving The Enemy

“Do you think he saw this?” The headline was even worst than the picture. ‘Broke socialite, and daughter of the late Mark Bronson has found herself a new sugar daddy.’ The story went on to talk about daddy’s misdeeds and all the people he’d supposedly swindled over the years. There was very little about Storm and I, mostly speculation. Though they did remember to mention all the women he’d been linked with in the past and I have to say I didn’t necessarily match up very well to some of them. No wonder he’d pulled a runner.

“Don’t listen to that crap, what do they know? They’d write anything to sell that rag. Now let’s put our heads together and come to a sensible conclusion. The man I met last night doesn’t run from shit and I know he’s totally into you. Did you take a good look at him in that picture? The way he’s looking at you? Sheesh, I’m hot just looking at it. So do tell, just how hot and heavy did you and the delightful Mr. Storm get last night?”

My face gave me away and she howled with laughter when all I wanted to do was crawl under a rock. I stared at the picture trying to see what she saw. I’ll admit that from what little his angle allowed, it did look as though he were looking at me with the same hunger that was so evident on my own face. So why did he disappear this morning with a cold impersonal text?

“It doesn’t matter what the picture says, it obviously didn’t mean anything to him or he wouldn’t have left.”

“I’m telling you you’re wrong. Maybe you’re too close to the situation so you can’t see what I do. And things between you two did move kinda fast, but I’m telling you there’s something there.”

There was no putting her off, and I knew from experience that once she got like this she’s like a dog with a bone. I drowned her out while I tried to come up with a good reason for this turn of events and came back to the present when her last words penetrated.

“…So something else is going on here. Besides, he said this week, not forever.”

That’s something else about Simone; she’s an eternal optimist. “I’m not sure. I mean this was his idea and now this happens,” I flicked the newspaper with my finger, “and he disappears with a text. That sounds like someone who wants out and doesn’t want to deal with the drama of a phone call.” She rolled her eyes and joined me on the bed.

“Okay, I know a little something about that ‘restaurant’ he took you to. I have a pretty good idea what goes on there. Obviously something happened there that you’re not telling me. If you want me to help you have to tell me more and don’t leave out anything. I want sights, sounds and smells.” She was serious.

I thought long and hard about opening up to her and then even longer about why I cared. I tried telling myself that he had every right to go on his way. He didn’t owe me anything. But as much as I tried to convince myself of that, and that I didn’t care one way or the other, I couldn’t erase the lump in my throat or the pain in my heart.

I told her bits and pieces and let her draw a picture herself. She took her time mulling over my words while I kinda did the same. I went over the night with new eyes, trying to see things from his side. I know what I felt, but what about him? When I broke down and told her about our little accident she really lit up then.

“And you say he looked…disappointed?”

“I thought so, but maybe I don’t know him well enough to read him.” She wasn’t even listening to me. Just reading and rereading his text and looking back at the picture in the newspaper. Her excitement was making feel less abandoned, more hopeful. As strong as I am, being dumped like this would be hard for anyone, and it did feel like I’d been dumped, financial arrangement or not.

“You know what, this is stupid. It’s not like we meant anything to each other. Let’s just drop it. At least I got a day at the spa and a new outfit out of the whole deal.” I didn’t even sound convincing to my own ears. Of course she ignored me and carried on with her plotting.

“I know just the thing.” Oh boy, that did not sound promising. I know that tone and it only ever spells trouble. On the other hand I don’t recall a time that one of her schemes didn’t pan out. Like the website; maybe I could go back to that. Only once I’d exhausted my closet I’d have to start on mom’s, and I don’t think she was ready for that. Back to square one. Speaking of which.