All That She Desires: The Stranger (6 page)

Fiona took the joint from him. "Yeah, that's
pretty much true." She took a drag.

"So why not quit?" he said. "You must
have some money. You could fire everybody, go underground for a while, and
figure out what you want to do. If you want to continue on as a singer, you can
do it, but on your own terms."

"Maybe. It wouldn't be that easy. I've got
contracts and shit. My record label would probably sue me."

"You can probably get out of it somehow. Or
just fulfill your contracts and then get out."

"It's not that simple though," she said,
passing the joint back to him. "You get addicted to the income and the lifestyle.
I don't even think I really own anything, you know? My place is rented, my car
is leased, I've got all this staff and shit. If I stopped getting money from my
record company and touring, everything would just get all fucked up. I wouldn't
know how to deal with anything. I'm paralyzed by my own wealth and power."

He shrugged. "Time to start downsizing. Time to
start learning how to live like a grownup. You live like a grownup here."

"Yeah, maybe. I owe the company another album,
but maybe I could just do a Scarlett."

He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "I don't know what
that means."

"You know Scarlett Johansson? She made that
album, and it was all covers of Tom Waits songs. Someone must have said to her
like, Scarlett, we'll let you make an album, but are you sure this is what you
want to do? Just Tom Waits? And she must have been like, yeah, just Tom
Waits."

"Sorry, I'm not thinking very clearly right
now," he said. "Are you saying that you want to do an album of Tom
Waits covers?"

"No, I just mean I could do an album of just
whatever I want," she said. "The only problem is I have no idea what
that would sound like."

"You need to step back."

She squeezed his hand. "I do. I really
do."

* *

They ate dinner together at his cottage that night.
After dinner Mike produced an acoustic guitar, and they sat singing and playing
for a while. Mike played the songs he knew. He tried to get her to sing any of
her own songs, but she refused. "I hate them," she said. "I
would have to learn new ones if I wanted to sing just for fun. And people will
always want me to sing those stupid songs."

"You should do a heavy metal album," he
said, and he played some harsh chords on the acoustic. "Fiona," he
sang, mocking a metal singer's voice, "Luxe! Raaaaah!"

She laughed. "Yeah, I'll think about
that."

They move to his bedroom and undressed. Mike climbed
on the bed first, and she made him lie flat on his back. Fiona took him into
her mouth and sucked on him until he was hard and moaning, and then she climbed
on top, working him inside so she could ride. He watched her as she made love
to him: she had her head back, her eyes closed, her mouth slightly open. He put
his hands on her, and she took his hands in hers, holding on as she rode him to
her own orgasm, and then collapsing on top of him.

They kissed. She climbed off, and grabbing a towel
off his night stand, she wiped him off. Then, touching him on the chest to keep
him from getting up, she took him in her mouth again, licking and sucking until
he came.

"Careful, I'm ready," he warned. She
didn't move, and when he came inside her mouth, she swallowed it down.

She slid up next to him, and they wrapped their arms
around each other. "That was amazing," he said. "I've never had
anyone do that before."

"Not even your wife?"

"No."

"Wow," she said. "It's not that big a
deal. I mean, a girl doesn't have to if she doesn't want to. I don't do that
for everyone. I didn't even do it for all my boyfriends."

"But you did it for me."

She gave him a squeeze. "You're special to
me."

"We just met yesterday."

"I know." Fiona looked Mike in the eye and
stroked his cheek. "But you listen to me. You show concern. And you don't
want anything from me. I don't know a person in the world who doesn't want
something from me. You're just nice to me. And I like that. It means
something." With tears glimmering in her eyes, she kissed him on the lips.
"If I had every so-called friend in the world lined up to choose from, the
only person I would want to be with right now is you."

*****

Fiona slept curled up with Mike in his bed. Before
they went to sleep they agreed Mike was going to have actual time to work on
painting the cottage in the morning. And Fiona was going to let him work and
not distract him for huge chunks of the day.

Early morning sunlight flooded the bedroom, waking
Fiona. Mike was still asleep. She listened to him breath for a minute, then
rolled quietly off the bed. She dressed and slipped out of the cottage, back to
her own place, where she showered and put on fresh clothes, before getting in
her car and driving to town. When she and Mike went there for groceries, she'd
spotted a bakery. Fiona went inside and picked up breakfast sandwiches, cinnamon
buns, and coffee for two.

She drove back with the food and coffees on the seat
next to her. The conversations from the night before were playing and playing
through her mind, and she wondered if maybe Mike was right. Maybe she could
disconnect from the massive network that was running her life. Maybe she could get
out of her contracts, cancel obligations, stop promoting, and just leave the
music industry. She could dismiss her staff, downsize her lifestyle, and she
could probably live comfortably for at least a few years on royalties alone.
And that would give her some time to figure out what she actually wanted to do
with her life.

What were the risks? They were pretty minimal. She
could be made a fool of in the media and in the gossip magazines and maybe in
the celebrity circles, but she wanted out of that anyway. She'd met some cool
people and made a few worthwhile friendships, and those probably wouldn't be
affected. The only people that would drop out of her life were the people who
were there for her fame or her money, and they would be no loss for her. She would
gain by losing them.

Fiona didn't know if there was any future with Mike,
but at the moment he was exactly what she needed: a caring person who could be
honest with her. And he was cool, and creative, and he was good in bed. That
wasn't the most important thing in the world, but she'd been with a few cool,
or famous, or gorgeous guys that had no idea what they were doing in bed, so it
definitely counted for something. If he didn't mind having her around, she
would stay for a while. She had no demands for him, but she liked him and
wanted to spend some time with him. And a little time would tell if there was
something there between them.

Fiona dropped off the car and walked around the bend
to Mike's cottage. There was a second car parked in front of the little green
building, a sky blue compact, that hadn't been there before. Juggling the bag
of food and tray of coffees, she dug her phone out of her purse and checked the
time. It was ten o'clock. She'd been gone for almost an hour and a half.

She'd planned to walk right in with the food, and if
he was still sleeping she would wake him up and surprise him with breakfast,
but the car made her pause. Instead, she knocked on the door. She could here
clicking footsteps, and a woman with glasses and a blonde ponytail opened the
door. She looked at Lena, and at the food and coffees she was holding.

"Yes?"

Lena smiled awkwardly. "Hi. Is Mike here?"

The young woman tilted her head slightly and stared
at Fiona. "Are you Fiona Luxe?"

Mike came out of the bathroom. The young woman
turned and looked at him as he approached. "Fiona Luxe?"

"Yes," he said, as though there was
nothing unusual about it. "Fiona Luxe. Come on in, Fiona."

"How do you know Fiona Luxe?" The young woman crossed her arms. She
was very pretty. She was in shape, dressed in a tight-fitting blouse and jeans,
with brown leather boots that ended just below the knee, and the frames on her
glasses were cute. She sure didn't look very happy though.

"Oh," Fiona said, "Mike is painting
the cottage where I'm staying."

Mike nodded. He was buttoning his shirt, and folding
back the sleeves. "Steve Kerner's place, three doors up. He hired me to
paint the outside of his cottage. Fiona's stay in his place right now."

The woman looked at Fiona and back at Mike.
"But why is she staying there?"

"Just getting away from it all," Fiona
said. "I didn't know it was going to be painted the day after I arrived.
Anyway, since Mike was coming back to finish the job today, I thought I would
bring over breakfast. I seem to have interrupted something though, so I'll just
set these on the table and be on my way."

"No, I'm sorry," Mike said. "We're
being very rude. Fiona, this is Mary Ellen. Mary Ellen, this is Fiona."

Fiona smiled and nodded. "Mary Ellen, right.
Your wife. Nice to meet you." She reached out a hand. The woman, Mary
Ellen, shook it without smiling.

"Fiona, I'm going to be up there in a while. I
won't need to get inside or anything, so just do your thing and I'll see you
later, okay?"

Fiona played it cool. "Okay Mike. Have fun, you
two. I'll see you around." She backed out and closed the door. Tears were
welling in her eyes as she turned to walk back up the road. What the hell had
she gotten into? He was married, and his bitch wife looked super-pissed. So
were they actually divorced, or were they just having problems, or what?
Neither of them corrected her when she said wife instead of ex-wife. If they
were actually divorced, there's no way they wouldn't state that fact
immediately.

She walked back to her place, went inside and
located her cigarettes. She put on water and smoked in the kitchen while she
waited for it to boil, then made herself a cup of instant coffee. It wasn't
good coffee, but she didn't want to wait for the coffee maker to brew a cup. She
took the coffee and the smokes out onto the deck, and stood leaning on the
rail, looking over the lake. It was a beautiful blue sky day.

What Fiona really wanted to do was get one of those
bottles of vodka out and just get straight into it. She was quivering with
disappointment and rage, and she wanted to drink so fast and so hard, that she
wouldn't be able to feel anything at all. She wanted to drink herself right
out, so this day could be over as quickly as it began. But somehow the idea of
opening a new bottle of vodka at ten o'clock in the morning without even eating
anything first seemed like a bad threshold to cross. Right now she was just
"drinking too much." Getting shit-the-bed plastered by yourself at
ten in the morning seemed more like alcoholic territory. Instead she sipped bad
coffee and smoked.

Fiona let her legs dangle off the side of the deck.
What a fucking joke. She'd felt really encouraged for a while there, like she
had a chance to really force change in her life, but now the wind was
completely out of her sales. She'd gotten her hopes up over a man that lied
about being married. She'd thrown herself at him, sucked him off, let him fuck
her. It was all selfish on her part, just wanting to get fucked by this
convenient man, but she'd put her trust in him and he'd lied to her. Now not
only was he gone, but she felt sad about not liking him anymore. And that made
her feel very, very alone.

She was still sitting on the deck when she heard
their voices. They were on the front deck, at the other end of cottage. He
would probably finish painting the deck, then get to work on the cottage
itself. And Mary Ellen would be there to keep an eye on him. Fiona didn't want
to be sitting out there with tears running down her face if they happened to walk
around to the back. She wiped her cheeks and went back inside the cottage.

What was the point of staying here now? It was going
to be awkward as hell. Fiona would need to stay inside the cottage while those
two hung around outside. But then, why should she stay inside? She should throw
the bikini on and lay out all day. Let them deal with her, instead of the other
way around.

She went into the kitchen to find herself something
to eat, and she could hear their voices. She froze and listened. They were
talking about the same stuff Mike had said they always fought about. His career
and how they could best organize their lives.

The cottage had creaky floors. Fiona didn't want to
accidently let them know she was right there listening to them by moving and
making a sound, but she couldn't stay where she was, because if one of them
took a few steps to the right, they would see her through the kitchen window.
She squatted down, then carefully leaned her back against the fridge. She could
still hear them. The box of vodka was right in front of her. She pulled one
out, quietly and patiently removed the plastic wrap off the bottle cap, opened
it and had a drink straight from the bottle. Then she sat and quietly listened
to them argue.

Mike and Mary Ellen talked, and Fiona drank, for an
hour. The bottle was half gone, and she felt absolutely rotten. She still
hadn't eaten anything, and she felt like she was going to be sick. Her head was
swimming. She thought about trying to get up, but she was pretty sure she'd fall
against something. She put the cap on the bottle and crawled on her belly back
into the living room and over to the couch. The couch was a bit too high for
her to crawl up onto in her drunken condition, so she just lay on the floor
until she passed out.

* *

Fiona woke up an hour later. She could hear their
voices again, but clearer now, like they were inside the cottage. Then she
heard the words, clearly spoken: "Oh my god. Is she passed out?"

"Get the fuck out of here!" Fiona
screamed, sitting up and lurching to her feet. "Get the fuck out!"

Mike and Mary Ellen had come in through the front
door. Fiona came at them in staggering steps, screaming at them, and they
dodged back. She slammed the door and locked it, screaming instructions at them
to stay out.

"Shit, can we just talk to you?" Mike
answered back through the door.

"No," she said. "We don't need to
talk."

"What the fuck is wrong with her?" Mary
Ellen asked him as they walked away. She couldn't hear if he answered. Fiona
stood against the door, and then went into the kitchen. She got a bottle of
water and drank it down. She still felt drunk as hell. She wanted to eat, but
was afraid of throwing up. She decided the best thing to do was grab a cooking
pot in case she needed to puke and went back to bed.

That night, she called her manager, Ken. She was
clear-headed, and asked him dozens of questions about her obligations, and how
long it might take to put her music career on indefinite hold. He cautioned her
strongly about making choices she might later regret, and then laid out a
framework for her to reduce what she was doing. She did owe the record company
one more album, and she would need to put in at least some effort marketing it.
There were a lot of things that could be eliminated. But the income would
disappear too.

She made herself dinner and sat up late reading. She
liked reading. It was something she could do without drinking. She could just
lose herself in these other lives.

* *

The next morning, Mike knocked on the door of Fiona's
cottage. She was up and dressed. She'd planned on leaving that afternoon,
although she hadn't started getting ready yet. The cottage was still a mess
with her stuff.

Fiona opened the door. Mike was by himself, and she
let him step inside. She took at seat at the little kitchen table, and he sat
down as well. "There's coffee made," she said.

"No thanks," he said. "I've just had
one."

"Where's Mary Ellen?" Fiona asked.

"At the cottage."

Fiona lit a cigarette. "You told me you were
divorced."

Mike nodded. "We're separated, and we've begun
divorce proceedings. She was the one, who suggested the divorce, but now she's
got cold feet and it's all dragging out. We've been living apart for
months."

"Why did she show up yesterday? Shit, she could
have walked in on us. Wouldn't that have been a pretty scene? What did you tell
her about me, anyway? You didn't seem too eager to say anything when I stopped
by."

"I'm sorry about that. All of this has really
thrown me off balance, including all that's happened with me and you. You
really just came out of nowhere."