Out of Her Comfort Zone (2 page)

Elliott sat back in the chair. “I have a proposition.”

“A pre-nup? Sure.”

He shook his head. “Our lawyers will take care of that. I’m talking about the party.”

“The party? Oh.” The event she always left town for. Elliott’s annual stag night, complete with strippers, or whatever they were. It was important for his job, he said, and since his job was matching personalities to start-ups it made sense, sort of, at least for the geek-tech men. But she didn’t have to like it.

As his wife, she didn’t want to put up with it.

“Will you stop with the party now? After all, women need venture capital too.”

“That’s what I want to talk about.” He patted his shirt front, straightening invisible wrinkles. “I have… a proposition.”

Now she knew something was wrong. Elliott never repeated himself, except to sing that blasted song, “say something once, why say it again?” She crossed her arms in front of her. The ruby caught at her sleeve, startling her.

“This is the thing. The parties are great, and they do serve their purpose. But I’ve grown tired of them, especially since you. Because of you. The girls, they don’t feel as good in my hands as you.” He stared out the glass window to the slow-moving scene outside. “But I want to try one last thing. Like the toes. Something new.”

He rubbed his eyes. She sighed as theatrically as she could. “Just say it.”

Dropping his hand, he caught her glance and held it. “I want to see you – I want you to be – one of the girls.” He raised his hands fast, pleading patently false innocence. “Just for one night.”

Emily sat straight, her hand almost knocking the coffee over. “You want me to what?”

“It’s always been a dream of mine.” Elliot’s smile showed perfect teeth and no hint of irony.

“It’s been your dream to pick up a – sex worker – and marry her?”

He shrugged, and his face stilled. “Please, Em. I don’t want to upset you. Maybe just think about it?”

Emily tried to quiet her roiling emotions and think clearly. What did they say to do to be more rational? Translate. She flipped her English thoughts to Spanish and back. Since she had only third-grade Spanish, the words were simple.

“You want me to go to your annual sex party and make out with you?”

“Exactly.” He nodded, face taking on his businessman’s officiousness. “The girls are masked, so no problem there.”

No problem?
“You don’t think anyone would recognize my body? My hair?”

“A wig, then.” He wasn’t even fazed. One of the best negotiators in the Bay Area, he almost always won.

“Like a game.” She tried to taste the possibilities on her tongue, but the bitter dregs of shame bound her down.

“And it would be only with me.”

“You swear it?”

“And only the once. Haven’t you ever wanted to try it, to be the bad girl for once?” He smiled again, but not too wide. He wasn’t sure he’d won yet, she was surprised to see.

“Sex workers aren’t bad girls.” Petulance laced her words.

“But they’re not you, either.”

He was right, she had to admit. And who hasn’t wondered about it? Those ladies were so cocky, so beautifully, so confident. Could she ever be that way, even hidden in costume? It might be delicious. She shivered.

“You’re too scared to do it.” Elliot downed the last of his four-shot espresso coffee mix.

“Am not.” How dare he? Now she did want to do it. But just the once. “What do I get in exchange?”

“A night of games?”

“That’s a given, right? No, you have to give up something.”
Of course.
“The party. This is the last party.”

As he sat back in his chair pretending to ruminate, Emily remembered they weren’t at home. The NoMa hipster clientele, and the café’s brick and lofty beams and world-music vibe, did do more to make it feel like a business transaction than it would have in their own kitchen. But it was her body they were transacting about. Her reputation.

He shifted in the seat, strong forearms crossing against his pressed Oxford shirt. “What if I don’t give up the party?”

“What if I don’t join in your party?”

“Deal-breaker.” He sounded serious, final.

“You’re kidding.”

“If you won’t help me with my dreams, why should I marry you?”

“That’s low.”

“I’d like to go lower on you right now.” He leaned forward, brushing his thumb across the inner flesh of her wrist. Her coffee almost spilled, again. She picked up the cup and sat back, away from him. She sipped slowly, trying to buy time.

“I do help you with your dreams,” she muttered, then a new thought rose to the surface. Her gaze flashed to his. “This is how you dump women, isn’t it?”

He jerked back and shook his head like a dog who’d just had ice water poured over him. “What?”

“Sure. You propose, and then set some condition you know the woman won’t agree to. She says no, and you’re free of her.”

“Is that what you think?” He could see that it was, and his jaw dropped. “Em, I have never – never – proposed before. I have never – never – set this condition before.”

“And if I say no?”

“Why should you say no? It’s just a step up from the play we do now. It’s just the once, and it’s safe.”

“It is not safe.”

“It’s safe as houses. It is my own house, for Christ’s sake. Our house.”

“Why do you want this so much?”

He sighed, drawing a finger across where his mustache used to be. He got rid of it for her; that was a forever thing. What he wanted from her now was one-time only. She was starting to cave. She drew her brows down to look like she wasn’t.

“You’re so beautiful, even when you’re mad. Don’t scoff, it’s true. But…”

“But?”

“But it’s not the first thing people notice about you, or even the second. Sack dresses may be all the rage, but they don’t do a thing for you.”

Emily looked down and couldn’t help smoothing her midi-length corduroy skirt. It was hard enough to keep geeks focused on clean lines and getting the coding right, why distract them by wearing a miniskirt?

“People respect your mind, Em, and they fall for your voice. But I want them to see what a hot chick you are. I want you to know, to feel, how desirable you are, and to see how I desire you.”

“I know that already.” She heard the tentative edge in her voice.

Elliot heard it and tilted his head, spilling a half-smile out. “Be the object of everyone’s admiration. Let ’em ogle you.” He shrugged. “You won’t always have that bodacious bod. Show it off, just this once.”

She had to admit, she was tempted. She knew she was passable, having heard enough cat-calls and whistles in her time. She had consciously chosen to play it down. But, again, she had always wondered. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad?
Might be damned good.

“Now you’re piling on,” she said, trying to put scorn in her voice and failing miserably.

Elliot grinned. “You’ll do it?”

“I’ll think about it.”

****

Emily was used to heads not turning as she opened the door to her company’s second-floor office. After all, most folks who worked here were coders and testers, eyes glued to their screens and ears filled with ear-buds delivering sound straight to their cortexes. She could see the tops of heads over the four-foot movable mauve walls, grungy from the office’s last tenants. A former newsroom, this seemed the perfect place to perfect an app that blocked all unwanted communication.

Still, something was different this morning. Or maybe she just saw things a little differently. After their coffee shop snack the afternoon before, Elliot had left for a confab in San Mateo and Emily had come to work. She hadn’t thought to get much done, what with The Proposition buzzing about inside her head, but staring deeply into a screen of code mesmerized her into productivity. She hadn’t come up for air – or rather, a bathroom break – until two in the morning. It was already nine-thirty now, full sun here and well into the afternoon over on the East Coast.

Had she left the coffee brewing last night? Impossible with the new pod machines. The lights on? No, she coded in the dark, to help her concentrate.

Had she crashed the system again? No, she could hear the clickity-clack of keyboards. But she also caught surreptitious glances as she passed. Nobody seemed able to focus this morning.

When she reached Josh leaning in his chair in the back corner, dark with black bookshelves behind him and his desk light off, she didn’t even say good morning.

“What’s up?”

“The ten o’clock scholar.”

“That’s not it. Spill. Is it the patent suit?”

“No news there, sad to say.” Her business partner rolled to his large feet, a grin nearly splitting his dark beard. How his Ginny even kissed that thicket of face-curls Emily couldn’t fathom.

“Found something in the paper, though.” He stepped past her to a large white poster board, the brightest thing in his corner. He flipped it around and Emily had to take a step back.

It was a blow-up of a photo of her, with Elliot, at the NoMa cafe. It must have been taken through the window. Her head was as big as life. Panic shot through her sinews – Elliot was going to freak. But almost as soon as she felt it, it was gone, replaced by the joy she saw in her paper image.

Elliot was kissing her hand. Her eyes were closed, her lips soft as if she were melting a perfect piece of chocolate in her mouth. It was a beautiful moment, even if she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world.

There was no way Elliot could object to this. Sure, it was a gross invasion of privacy, but she’d seen many, many photos of lovers, and weddings, and all. And this, this was beautiful.

“You had this done this morning?”

“Ordered it last night, when the tabloid put it online. Ginny saw it first. And happened to notice something odd, though.” Josh pointed at her hand in the photo. “A new piece of jewelry? On the hand you write with?”

“Yes, it’s an engagement ring, whatever.” She couldn’t help the grin, and apparently Josh couldn’t help matching it.

The sounds of whoops and cheers rolled over her. She turned around to see all her people, her team, clapping and smiling. Josh punched her shoulder lightly. “Give them the Queen’s wave. You need the practice. You’re going to be royalty now.”

“I’m not.”

“The richest guy in the city last year.”

“Actually, Elliot told me I made more than him last year, because our app sale was recorded in December.”

“But he still has that diva of a mom.”

And wasn’t she a stickler.
“Right. Make sure I stop working at four today, wouldja?”

“You’re only going to give yourself a half-hour to get ready for the biggest social event of the season? You should go home at two and primp it right.”

“Can’t. Gotta fix that scroll bug we found. Beta’s coming.”

“So’s Christmas. Yeah, don’t take my advice. I’m only the marketing and social guru, whatever.” But his pat on the back was friendly.

Emily couldn’t believe he’d done this all. “Thanks, Josh.”

“Least I could do. Elliot brought us together, didn’t he? And once the poor guy fell for you, he couldn’t even profit from it.” Because he’d wanted to date Emily, Elliot had had to recuse his firm from doing financial deals with hers. She’d tripled the investment of another VC firm instead.

He squeezed her shoulder. “But then, he got the better of the deal, after all, didn’t he now.”

****

In a stroke of luck, Emily’s gown for the opera gala was ruby red velvet. Elliott liked shoulders bare, but Em couldn’t bear the idea of nip-slip, so the bustier was as secure as she could stand. She’d dusted her shoulders with a little sparkle and carried the sheer wrap Elliott bought her when they were in Hong Kong. Such a beautiful safety blanket.

As she stepped out of the elevator, she saw the Elliott-mobile, black and sleek, already waiting at the curb. The War Memorial Opera House wasn’t even a mile away, but they had to make an entrance. He pushed the door open from the inside and stepped out to let her in. He’d need to be the first one out on the sidewalk when they arrived. The press photographers usually ate him up quickly, and by the time Emily was out and on her way the media horde was on its way to the next victim.

But it would be different now, he’d told her on the phone this afternoon. They had to show as a team, whether they liked it or not.

“Shooting us at the coffee shop? Invasive bastards,” he’d said. “They’re forcing our hand.”

“I’ll always remember how you proposed, and how I felt. But I only saw it from inside. Now I see how beautiful it looked outside, too. I’m glad they took it.”

“Glad?” He huffed in derision. “For every beautiful photo, they take a hundred ugly ones. And it’s the bastards’ choice which one they run. Careful what you wish for.”

 Even now, hours later, Elliott looked a bit flushed. Did he believe ruminating forever on an event would ever change any piece of it? Emily stroked his two-tone hair and gave him a quick air-kiss. “You get in first, right, from now on? So I will get out first.”

“Right, right,” he said, shaking his head as if to get his thoughts straight. “You go in, and I’ll go around.”

Settled in and on the move, Elliott was still chewing on his thoughts, his face abstracted. After a long couple of minutes, he looked sidelong at her. “How long are you going to put up with me acting like this?”

She looked out the window at the warm fall night, rich with the setting sun. “Looks like three more minutes.”

He laughed. “You know, Mariah will be on the prowl.”

“She loves you. Or her cameraman does.”

“Now she’ll have to love us both.” But he sounded angry about it. He seemed to notice, because his next words were more conciliatory. “And she’ll have to admit, you are a gorgeous creature. With lipstick to match.”

So he also had noticed that she hadn’t wanted to touch his skin with her glossed-up lips. “The color’s called vixen,” she said.

“Tease.” He took her hand in his, warming the ruby between his strong fingers. She sank happily into his love.

The Opera House scene was raucous, a great show for the start of the artistic season. Though it was missing the crowds of random gawkers that attended film premieres, the sidewalk was abuzz with members of the gentry alighting from their modern carriages and media and opera handlers flitting about them. From the car’s window as they waited their turn in line, it looked as if the socialites and politicos were borne inside on a wave of chatter and hand-flutters.