Becoming His Ch. 03

"You're invited to Robert's birthday party," she informed Cameron over the phone that evening, when he called.

"Oh, joy," he said. She could hear him moving around. "I'm afraid this is going to be brief, princess. I'm getting dressed for dinner at an associate's house."

"O- oh," she said, caught off guard by this. It struck her that he had said the other night that he had personal reasons to stay longer in New York. "Will there be wine there? Or women?"

He laughed.

"I imagine there will be both. Why?"

"Because..." She bit her lip. "Well, I was just thinking, wine and women..."

"You don't have anything to worry about, baby girl. Trust me, everyone will be keeping their clothes on, even if inhibitions get looser. Now I have to go, and I won't be good for much of anything at all tomorrow, so you'll have to hold your horses and not worry your little head about me."

"May I text you good luck in the morning?" she asked all in a rush.

"You must text me good luck in the morning, or else I'm afraid the deal might go sour." She could hear him smiling. "Goodnight, Lila. Sweet dreams."

He hung up, and she let out a feeble little groan and slumped back in bed. His voice was like air to her, his laughter like sustenance, the smell of him -- She drew a breath, growing faint. At first she had worried that by reliving their kisses again and again she might dirty them somehow, like a coin too-often handled. But now she had realized that the magic never died. It never faded. And the memories remained stamped indelibly in her head.

She slept restlessly, her dreams filled with faces in masks. She searched and searched for him, but could not find him amidst the sea of beautiful others. A moment came when she thought she had found him, but as she reached out to catch his sleeve the dream faded, and she woke. Morning had come.

She texted him good luck on the closing of the deal and puttered about the back garden after forcing down some cereal, cutting flowers. Her mother, without knowing their source, had insisted upon disposing of the yellow roses as soon as they had begun to wilt. Lila had preserved a single one, spraying it with hairspray and pinning it on the pegboard in her room beside her corsage from prom. Now she brought her cut tulips and daffodils upstairs and put them into a glass with some water. She wanted to paint, but found herself far too restless, so instead she sketched the flowers from all angles.

She had begun filling in the lines with watercolors when her phone began to ring in her pocket, and she snatched at it. Cameron was as good as his word, though -- unreachable. It was Emily calling. Lila picked up.

"I'm going to the animal shelter. Want to come?" her best friend asked.

Lila glanced down at her unfinished illustration, then out the window at the bright day outside.

"Yeah, sure," she said.

"I'll pick you up in five."

Emily drove them into the city in her parents' borrowed car. As they passed through the Fenway, Lila stared dreamily out the window, wondering which rooftop belonged to Cameron's apartment. Not just apartment, but apartment building. Emily gave her a sharp glance.

"Earth to Lila," she said. "Did you see the picture Tori posted last night?"

Lila blinked.

"No," she said, pulling out her phone. "I haven't been keeping up."

Emily rolled her eyes to heaven.

"Who knew you had such a one-track mind," she said.

They arrived at the MSPCA. Lila went immediately to her favorite part of the shelter, the room filled with kittens. She yearned to bring one home, but she had already begged her mother and Robert too many times to count. It wasn't long before Emily joined her, and they spent several hours playing with the kittens. Lila snapped a selfie of herself with a little gray one clawing its way up her shirt. She sent it to Cameron, with no expectation of a response.

She and Emily drove back out of the city and went to the coffee shop for a quick bite to eat. Emily paid, as usual. She babysat, like Lila, but her parents also gave her a weekly allowance of fifteen dollars, while Lila's own babysitting money went toward one of two causes: the Red Cross donation jar at the church for international disasters, or her own college fund. When they had first begun going places on their own in middle school, Lila had sometimes begged Robert for some cash to cover her share of the expense, but Emily, having witnessed these pitiful performances one too many times, had assured her that she didn't mind covering her. This had all been before Victoria, in possession of a credit card linked to her father's account, had become a regular fixture.

"Look at her. She's gonna get skin cancer," Emily muttered, thumbing through Victoria's Snapchat story. "Jesus, what is that bikini? She's gonna get knocked up, too."

Lila half-listened, staring out the window at the street. She, for one, imagined that Victoria was going to become much more serious in college. After all, Tori had recently confided in her that the plan was for her to transfer from NYU to Tufts after a single semester of hard study -- and a healthy donation from her father to the new university's endowment. She intended to study business and management. Lila, for one, thought that she would succeed in all her endeavors, and not just because of her good looks.

Turning back to her half-finished chicken salad sandwich, she rolled her sleeve up partway to expose the scratch on her forearm, a gift from an over-excited kitten. It was all part and parcel of playing with cats, of course. But it had reminded her of something that had lain dormant for a long time. Pushing her sleeve further up, she exposed several silvery lines that ran across the inside of her arm just below her elbow. She brushed her thumb across them, thoughtful.

Across the table, Emily's eyes widened.

"You're not..." She eyed the scars. "... again?"

Lila shook her head.

"No. Of course not," she said softly. "It's been years."

"Well, keep it that way," Emily said, a catch in her voice. Lila knew that she was thinking of the time she had gone to check on Lila in the bathroom in eighth grade, only to find Lila cutting herself with one of her mother's razor blades from home. It would have driven some friends apart, but they had become closer, bandaging the wound together, vowing to keep Lila's dangerous habit secret from her mother and Robert, who would have sent her to an institution. After years, Lila was still certain of that one point.

She walked home from the square, waving off Emily's attempts to drive her, and thought about what Cameron might say when he noticed her scars. She doubted he had seen the ones on her arm, faint as they were and as guarded as she kept them, frequently turning her arm inward to keep them out of the light. But there were others, deeper and representative of more hurtful events, along the insides of her thighs. She didn't find them ugly, but she didn't like to look at them. He would notice them for sure, if things between them ever progressed beyond kissing. A flush of heat spread across her cheeks at the thought.

He texted her at ten that night, after lights out. She groped for her phone in the darkness, her heart pounding. His text was short and to the point, but it lifted her spirits.

Deal went through as planned. Will FaceTime you tomorrow morning at 11 and fly home in the evening. Sleep tight. Oh, and cute kitten.

The next morning, she woke up before eight, her heart all aflutter. Phone calls were one thing, but Tori had said once that if a guy wanted to FaceTime with you, he was probably serious. Or looking for live porn, but that was another matter. Lila combed her hair and put a bow in it and spent an hour doing and redoing makeup, which was not a daily affair for her. By the time she went down for breakfast, it was past nine thirty, and Robert was long gone to work.

Her mother glanced up from where she was sweating like a pig on her exercise bike.

"Jeez, you look nice," she said. "What's the occasion?"

"Going out with Mr. Keaton's nephew," Lila lied. It was true, she had heard from Jonas. He had asked her if she could show him the best coffee shop in town. But she'd brushed him off, giving an evasive non-answer. Still, he was a good cover story. Her mother's eyes boggled out.

"I heard you were set up with that young man!" she said. "He sounds like a catch. Honestly, honey, I'm surprised that you're going for it."

Lila drew in a deep breath. She was surprised, too.

"Yeah, well, I'll see you later," she said, heading for the door.

Her mother's voice followed her.

"And where are you two going?"

"The library."

She went out and shut the door on her back before her mother could get another word in, and walked down the street in the direction of the square. She had figured, what with her mother's nosiness, that one of the private study rooms at the library would be a safer bet than her own bedroom. So she'd reserved one that morning, and she felt vindicated already. In her bag, she'd packed her watercolor from the day before to work on, as well as the essay guidelines for a few potential art school scholarships and her notebook and trusty pen.

The library was quiet. Lila found her way to her reserved study room and settled down inside. One of the essay questions asked her to discuss her earliest experiences with art. She began writing about her father.

And wrote and wrote, until she had filled three pages and talked little about art. She tore them out and started fresh. What was art to her? Art was like reclaiming someone she'd lost, like raising him from the dead.

The clock on the wall ticked over to eleven. She'd been writing for over an hour. On the table, her phone began to vibrate. It was Cameron, initiating the FaceTime call.

She jumped on it, hurriedly smoothing her hair back from her face and putting on a big smile.

He popped up, him, really him, his face, his smile, his voice in her ears, so close yet so far away.

"Where are you?" he asked, frowning at her. "That doesn't look like a bedroom to me."

"I'm at the library," she said. She glanced out the glass window of her study room, then turned back and propped her phone up in the center of the table. "I didn't want my mom to intrude."

"Ah. A prudent choice." He leaned back a little from the camera, revealing himself to be leaning over his phone in his hotel room, the bed at his back. He gave her a tired smile. "I stayed up most of last night tying up loose ends."

She felt simultaneously guilty and overjoyed that he expedited things especially for her.

"You didn't have to," she said.

"Of course I didn't have to. But I want to come home." He laughed aloud, raking a hand through his hair. "For the first time in my life I want to come home. What are you doing to me, princess?"

"You like New York City, then," she said, her tone guarded.

"No, I like travel. If you were here... it would be perfect." His eyes had turned lazy, making a slow survey of her face. "You look different. Did you put on makeup for me?"

She blushed.

"Yeah. A little."

"That's nice. Cute. You look fine without it, you know."

"I know. I just thought it might be special," she said softly, her heart pattering what felt like a million beats a second within her. Truth be told, she had no idea what she was doing, except doing the things she thought a good girlfriend might do for her boyfriend. Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Her cheeks burned. They weren't girlfriend and boyfriend.

At least... not yet.

"So I thought I would drop by tomorrow evening. Unless you think that's too soon," he said, turning businesslike. "I mean, I can talk shop with your stepfather. Then segue into art and voila, we're alone together in your room."

"With my mother right outside the door," Lila said. Her mother and Robert didn't even know what was going on between her and Cameron, yet she was weary of their meddling already. "Yes, please come."

"I'll take you out for a drive, how's that?"

His voice and his eyes had darkened, and she shivered beneath his gaze. A part of her was terrified by how much sway he held over her.

"Y- yes," she said, her breath hissing between her teeth. "That sounds all right."

"Just all right?" he asked teasingly.

"It sounds wonderful," she said, the words spilling from her breathless throat. In that moment she thought she might give everything away from him.

Then she saw movement in the corner of the frame of view, and she became certain that there was someone in the room with him. He shifted the camera slightly and seemed to turn and said something that she didn't catch to the unseen visitor.

"Who's that?" Lila asked. Her voice sounded high-pitched and frail in her own ears.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude," came a new voice, and the person stepped into the frame, brushing past Cameron's shoulder to look down at his phone. Person. Woman. Beautiful woman. Tall, blonde, elegant, perfectly manicured nails standing out against the Burberry purse in her hands. Her lips curled upward at the corners, but the smile didn't reach her eyes, which shone cool and blue at Lila. "I arrived early for our lunch date, so I thought I would come up to his room to surprise him. I'm Claire, by the way. Claire Belisle. You must be Lila."

"Y- yes," Lila managed. She suddenly felt very small. "You... Lunch date, you said?"

Claire gave her a big smile. A row of perfect white teeth shone at her from the screen of her phone.

"Yes, he's taking me out for my birthday. It's the big three-O. I know he'd be too polite to tell you that."

And she laid her hands on Cameron's shoulders, as if she owned him. Lila realized suddenly who this woman had to be, the ex with whom Cameron was still good friends. A little bit of anger flared in the pit of her stomach, and she leveled her chin at the camera of her phone.

"If you please," she said. Her voice trembled a little, but otherwise it ran clear and cold. "We were in the middle of our conversation."

"Oh, of course. I really am sorry for interrupting. I hope we'll have the chance to meet in person someday, Lila," said Claire, and she wiggled her fingers at the camera before moving out of frame once more. Out of frame, but not out of mind, and likely not out of earshot. Lila stared at Cameron, who appeared to be gesturing the unwelcome visitor out of the room.

"I'm sorry," he said, turning back at last. His voice was low. "I didn't expect her so soon. I also didn't expect her to convince the concierge that she was staying with me and needed a room key."

"It sounds like you can't know what to expect with her," Lila said, quietly and angrily. "She's your ex-girlfriend, isn't she. Why didn't you tell me you were going to see her?"

He ran a hand through his hair, consternation evident on his face.

"I didn't want you to have to think about it," he said at last.

"And what did you think I would think about it?" Lila asked, her lips trembling.

"I thought you'd worry. This is ridiculous, it's not like we're even dating. Look, there's nothing between me and Claire except a long history. We're friends. You can trust me, can't you?"

"I don't know," Lila retorted. "After all, it's not like we're even dating."

He stared at her, his gaze momentarily hardening. Then it softened.

"Princess, I didn't want to upset you," he said. He leaned in, and his voice became hushed, assuring her that Claire, even if she had remained in the room, couldn't hear the words he was saying. They were for her, only her. "I understand how you feel. And if something like this comes up again, I will tell you, if you would rather know."

"No," Lila mumbled. Her anger had faded into muted shame. "I'm sorry. It's really none of my business. I just..."

There were a hundred things she wanted to say to him, but she didn't know how. So she stifled it all, burying it down deep, and managed a shaky smile.

"I guess you probably want to get off to your lunch date," she said.

"It's not a date." He reached up and straightened his tie. "I don't know why she had to say it like that. You'll have to pardon Claire. She's as blunt as I am and likes to get a rise out of people."

"Yeah," Lila said, her voice faint.

"Tomorrow evening," he said. He gave her a lopsided smile. "Don't stay up all night waiting for me. I'll be there."

"I'll see you then," Lila said, her voice small.

"Hey," he said. He leaned in again. "Chin up, huh? We'll talk about it then."

"Yeah," she said again.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, but her mind had already fled elsewhere. When he ended the call, and she sat alone again in the small study room, she found her eyes wet with unshed tears.

The clock ticked steadily toward six. Beneath the table, Lila's trembling fingers tightened around her phone. Above the table, she gripped her fork in her other hand, holding it poised over her untouched portion of Salisbury steak.

Robert was a meat and potatoes kind of man.

Her mother prattled on about something that had happened at book group the night before. Book group, also known as bi-monthly women getting drunk on red wine together. Miranda had enjoyed liberal use of the Ibuprofen bottle that day. Now Lila half-listened to her, detesting every word she said. Her mother was never going to have any class, no matter how long she lived. Her father might have made up the difference, but he was dead, leaving her with this.

Her eyes jerked across the table at Robert, who was wiping his plate clean of his second portion. How the man didn't weigh three hundred pounds she didn't know. Well, she did know. He smoked cigarettes, lots of them. Her mother, though vehemently against the habit, would not take the smell of cigarette smoke on his clothing and person as proof. She would continue to refuse to believe that her darling husband smoked until the day she found a cigarette butt lying discarded someone around the house or yard, and he would never let that happen.

Lila despised him. Beneath the table, her grip around her phone tightened.

"Lila, honey," her mother said. "At least eat your mashed potatoes. What would Dr. Malloy say? You've barely eaten anything today."

Lila was surprised her mother had noticed. She jabbed her fork into the pile of rapidly-congealing mashed potatoes on her plate and choked down one gluey mouthful.

"I'm not hungry," she said, pushing her plate toward the center of the table.

Her mother shook her head and glanced toward Robert, as if expecting some kind of response from him, but he only grunted and claimed what remained on Lila's plate as his own. She watched him shovel it down his gullet, growing colder and colder inside. The clock on the wall in the living room, just visible from her seat, ticked steadily on toward six fifteen. Where was Cameron? He had said he would come.

She had been terse with him that morning when he'd informed her that his flight was taking off. Maybe that was why he hadn't told her when he'd landed. Or maybe -- The thought flashed across her psyche for a split second: twisted metal much larger than a car. A whole plane.

But she already knew that his flight hadn't gone down, because she'd checked on the airline website. She'd watched it progress between New York City and Boston, had noted the moment it touched down. Somehow, seeing that made his absent text all the worse.

Against her better judgment, she'd also investigated Claire Belisle, sole heiress of the Belisle family fortune and business holdings. They were North American old money, émigrés from Canada. Her tenure at Harvard had overlapped with Cameron's. Everything he had told Lila added up.

Except for why he had left Claire, who seemed, ostensibly, like the perfect match for him. Lila had stared at that gorgeous white smile and into those cool blue eyes for hours, green with envy. She could never be Claire. She could never be remotely like Claire. She would always pale in comparison.