One Night Stand

“What do you mean?” A warm tear rolled down her cheek. She wanted to wipe it off, to show how strong she was, but there was no room for pretense—not now, when she was about to lose everything.

She was standing in the middle of the living room; in a home she had made with the man she loved. And even though she looked at him, saw his dark curly hair, his amber, honey eyes, and that crooked smile, she still couldn’t believe it was him. “In sickness and in health, through good and bad times, till death do us part,” she mumbled.

“Well, Cat, it seems like you’re almost there,” he barked out. And as soon as the words left his lips, she could see the regret in his eyes. He combed his fingers through his hair, as he always did when he was frustrated. Ever since she got sick, she realized this simple act had grown habitual.

“I love you,” she whispered choosing to disregard his last statement.

“And I love you—”

“But not as much as you used to.” She finished the sentence for him—it sounded less painful coming from her than it did from him. Cat let another tear roll down her cheek as she fought for control and to keep her breathing in check. “So, what do you want to do?”

“We can’t be together,” he mumbled as he shook his head. “Sixteen was too young to get married. We should have listened to your parents.”

“Michael.” A bitter laugh rolled through her. “You aren’t leaving because we got married young and you don't love me anymore. You’re leaving because you’re tired of this,” she yelled as she pulled off the scarf that covered her bald head. She then pulled the corner of her shirt down to show the chemotherapy port next to her armpit. “You’re leaving because you’re sick and tired of me being sick.” Her words labored as she said each one with a huff.

“That’s not it,” he shouted then repeated it, exasperated: “That’s not it. I want kids.”

Cat stumbled back, the weight of his accusation hitting her in the chest like a ton of bricks. “You decided not to freeze my eggs. It’s your fault that we can’t have any kids. The doctor told you the chemotherapy, the radiation and whatever juice they had me on would fry my eggs.”

“Can we just not argue about this anymore?” Michael waved his hand in a dismissive, exasperated gesture and turned his back on her. He headed to their bedroom, and when he returned, he had his bags with him. “My lawyer will call you. I don’t want to drag this out. You can have anything you want. I will also help with the medical bills.”

“I don’t want anything,” Cat mumbled as she sank into the chair beside her. “Please leave. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Maybe I’ll die even before the papers get here.” Cat laughed, the pain in it evident.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Maybe you aren’t the only one who thinks I’m a burden. Maybe it would be easier if the treatments and the transplant failed once again. Maybe everyone will be able to move on with their lives without me holding them back,” she mumbled, feeling lost suddenly.

“Don’t try and guilt trip me, Cat, it won’t work,” he said.

“I know, because you have an ice box where your heart used to be.” Cat sang it out in tune, then laughed. She slid down on the floor and rolled around, her painful laughter filling each corner of the small apartment. The sound of the door banging closed pulled her out of her trance. It was done. She was now officially alone.

Cat sat up and the loneliness crept in. She felt desperate, and all she wanted to do was to be free of herself, and to free everyone else in turn. She had a fifty-fifty chance of the transplant and treatment failing a second time, and a one percent chance of ever conceiving. This gave her an equally one percent chance to find a guy who would love her. With all the odds stacked up against her, she wondered why she should bother with the world any longer when it seemed to have turned its back on her already. Her tired body and mind pleaded for release, asking her why she was struggling with a life that didn’t want her.

She felt a slight shiver and her arms encircled her frail body. She decided on a warm bath. And, in those few steps from the living room to the bathroom, she was going to decide what to do with her life.

Cat turned the tap on and sat on the side of the bath. She pulled off her clothes and stood in front of the full-length mirror. The chemo-port had left an ugly scar above her breast. The treatment had turned her once voluptuous, luscious body to that of a skeleton. The shine of her bald head pulled her attention to where she once had long, thick, curly, jet-black hair. Her once bronze skin was now ashen and seemed to be peeling off.

Cat didn’t like the way she looked, or how she felt. Michael had left her. And although she had her family with her, they were supposed to be there; had been engineered by God to love her. The only person who had chosen to be with her had walked out the door.

She punched the frail image in the mirror, shards of glass fell into the sink as a web spread around what was left. She grabbed a piece of the glass and headed for her medicine cabinet. She had a bottle of sleeping pills—they were supposed to help her sleep when she was in pain. She never used them because the pain reminded her that she was still alive, and sleep was the last thing that she had ever wanted to do. The act of sleeping seemed too close to death, so that she often didn’t want to risk closing her eyes…just in case.

But now she felt like she was feeling too much. She wanted to mute the voices in her head and to numb the feelings in her weary body and her broken heart. In that second, what people called an act of selfishness, she thought of as an act of selflessness. Cat climbed into the bathtub with the sleeping pills in one hand and a shard of glass in the other. Once she was comfortable, she popped them in her mouth one at a time and waited for the cold breeze of death to take her away.

* * * *

He rolled to the left side of the bed, but no one was there. His hand felt the cold, empty space his wife had left there, and in his heart. But it was his fault. He couldn’t give Ava what she wanted the most. He used to be able to command, had the entire world at his feet, but all he had now was a rat-infested motel.

Ethan groaned when his phone rang. But he had to look on the bright side—at least his phone wasn’t cancelled. The old man seemed to still want to keep the communication lines open. But when Ethan answered, it wasn’t his father but his uncle, Harry.

“Hello? What? What do you mean?” The questions flew out of his lips without pause, voicing the thoughts and fears racing through him.

Ethan jumped off the bed and hunted for the only set of clothes the building manager at his apartment had let him take. He ran out of his motel room, only to be reminded that he didn’t own a car anymore. He ran towards the road, hoping to catch a cab—a cab that he wouldn’t be able to afford. He heard someone call him from behind and, when he turned, the motel owner was coming after him with a baseball bat.

Ethan jumped into the first cab that pulled up and gave the driver the address. He couldn’t think of how he was going to pay him; he could only hope Harry would take care of it. Right now, the only thing he would think about was what his uncle had told him. Harry’s words echoed in his ears. “Your father is dead.”

He sat at the bar; his eyes glued on the bronze beauty. Her skin was like a mocha latte and her full lips gleamed from the almost-pink gloss. He could almost taste them. He couldn’t see her eyes because her head was bent over a stack of papers she had on her table. But he had a full view of her hair—thick, curly, and forced into a death grip at the back of her head. Her beige business suit and the lack of color in anything she wore told him she was business oriented, a career woman who didn’t have time for fairytales. She was serious and would want to be treated as an equal.

He smiled, knowing that she was the perfect description of a one-night stand. But part of him wanted to set her free…he wanted to release her hair, to let it loose and see how wild it made her look. Usually, he was confident in approaching a woman but something about this one made him hesitate. He started to stand up but sat back down. The aura around her said fuck off.

“Don’t try it,” the barman warned.

“Why?” He smiled at his friend, amused by the concern in his eyes.

“Don’t try it, Rich.” Sam shook his head. “She has a habit of castrating every man that tries to approach her. Sometimes I think I should put a sign at her table— ‘Beware.’”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Rich laughed at his over-dramatization. “She just needs someone to thaw her out.”

“I guess you’re the guy?”

“I’m the guy.”

“You are one of my closest friends and the owner of this restaurant. Before you venture into the dragon-lady’s cave, could you leave a piece of paper that says the restaurant is mine upon your untimely death?”

“Yeah right.” Rich cleared his throat and stood up. He slowly closed the gap between him and the beauty but, before he was even close to the table, her hand raised to stop him. He froze and looked around and caught Sam’s broad grin, with a smug ‘I-told-you-so’ expression. He wasn’t going to fail, was determined to leave her table with a number and his balls intact.

“I—”

“I said no,” she spat out without even looking up at him.

“I just wanted to ask if you need another table...” he started and, when she didn’t cut him off, he went on, “I can see you’re pretty busy and you have a lot of stuff on that one table. I thought you might want another one. I’ll bring it to you, of course.”

He felt his breath hitch as her head raised slowly. He stared into her distant eyes and felt like he was swimming in a pool of honey. Although there was a hard set to her face and jaw, her eyes sold her out. She was kind, sweet even. He wondered why she hid all that behind a wall.

“I never thought about that,” she said as she looked around her workspace. “I guess I could use some more room.”

“You might even be able to make room for a plate of food,” Rich added with his best smile.

“I guess I should eat something,” she said, seeming a bit lost. “I swear that was my intention when I walked in here. But I got lost in all of this.”

“I’ll bring you the table and call a waiter for you,” Rich offered and walked away.

* * * *

Catalella watched the man as he walked past her toward a waiter. The first things she had seen when she looked up at the strange man were two beautiful aqua blue eyes and a killer smile. She was glad he was gone because she didn’t know how long she could pretend that he didn’t affect her in any way. There was an aura of confidence about him that she liked. His six-foot three frame was padded with muscle. She couldn’t see much from all the clothing draped over him, so she let her imagination fill in the rest. But what she could see was his taut, broad chest, and how his jeans hugged the muscles in his thighs, and she liked it. Physically he was delicious, and if she was the person, she used to be she wouldn’t have let a second pass before she praised his beauty.

But life had forced her to change. She was done with men, and the only ones she had patience with were the ones with the last name Ross. Her father and her brother were the only men she needed in her life. Sure, they wouldn’t be able to give her the intimacy she needed but she could depend on them. At this point in her life, what she needed most was a pillar of strength and not a whirlwind romance.

She watched him as he walked back to her table. His smile was as wide as that of a Cheshire cat. He was planning something, and she knew his type of guy. But, unlucky for him, he didn’t know the kind of girl she had been forced to become. Her break up with Michael Mathews had taught her a thing or two about being skeptical about every man she met.

“Over here,” he said, as Catalella focused on the authoritative vibe he gave off as he instructed the waiter where to put the extra table.

Once she had arranged everything in her new space and placed her lunch order, Catalella went back to her work. Her cold demeanor had protected her and not let her down so far. It didn’t matter that he made her tingle in all the right places, or that she could barely catch her breath under the intensity of his gaze. Catalella wasn’t about to let him in only for him to destroy her on his way out.

She heard a chair being dragged towards her and lifted her head as he sat opposite her. There were two tables between them, but that wasn’t enough of a distance.

“Thank you,” she said in a dismissive tone, hoping that he would leave her alone. But he didn’t. He sat there staring at her, with a smile and a quizzical look in his eyes.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and flashed his dazzling smile.

A trademark, Catalella thought. I bet that’s how he gets all the ladies.

She pushed her papers aside when her plate of salad arrived. All she wanted to do was to sink her teeth into a big, juicy steak. But she couldn’t risk soiling all her papers—they were the only copies. Plus, she needed her daily intake of greens for her nutritious diet. Catalella was determined not to let any form of sickness or disease claim her body ever again. She hated how weak she felt when she had leukemia. She didn’t leave anything to chance these days—a headache had her seeing a neurologist, she admitted herself into hospital when she got a cough or flu, she dared the Manhattan traffic by taking her own car so that she wouldn’t be exposed to secondary smoke, and she had a nutritionist on speed dial. She hated everything that had to do with the hospital, but it was a necessary evil if she wanted to stay alive.

“The usual, sir?” she heard the waiter ask.

The usual? Here I thought that I was their most loyal customer. This guy even has a usual. But having a usual made him a creature of habit. Safe, predictable, and maybe, just maybe, the kind of guy she needed. But she didn’t recall ever seeing him in this restaurant before. Since she started her job a year ago, De Alma had been her go to restaurant.

“Would you like anything else?” It wasn’t until she was looking deep into the aqua blues that she noticed she was staring. Catalella could hear a hint of humor in his tone. It was obvious that he had noticed her ogling him.

“A glass of water,” she smiled weakly at the waiter.

“Do you only eat salads?” She felt herself grow hot under the collar from the way he studied her body. What exactly was he looking for? “You’re very curvaceous for someone who only eats salads.”

The desire that burned bright in his eyes was obvious, and the change in his tone only expressed what his eyes said he was feeling.

“I don’t want to get sauce all over my papers,” she said as she gestured towards them.

“Oh.”

“Is there something that you need?” Go away. Go away.

“Food and your company.” He smiled at her, his eyes finally leaving her stack of papers.

“I really want to be alone.”

“Why?”

“Honestly, I don’t see how it is any of your business.” She wanted to take back her words when the friendly expression on his face disappeared and hostility replaced it.

“Ice queen,” he muttered.

“Excuse me, what did you say?” Catalella pushed her plate aside and her arms crossed over her chest, ready for a battle of words. He wasn’t going to insult her and get away with it.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He smirked. “Let me rephrase that. Is there anyone who can stand being in your presence for more than a second? Do you know anyone who isn’t affected by your venomous tongue?”

Catalella grinned back despite her exasperation. She wasn’t going to let him know how his words cut deep into her. Ice Queen—she’d heard that before. People in the office referred to her as the African-Latin-American Hitler. According to them there was a bad mix in the test tube she had come from that made her sour inside and out. She had heard every single possible joke thrown her way and she never let anyone see how they hurt.

She attempted to frame a response, but instinct had already clicked in, and the words flew out of their own accord. “No, I don’t have anyone not blood-related to me that can stand my venomous tongue. But I had a husband, and he didn’t leave me because I was an Ice Queen but because I kept on ‘almost’ dying. When he saw I wasn’t dying soon enough he decided to divorce me.”

Shit! Did that come out of my mouth? Catalella cursed herself as the man’s stoic look turned to one of pity. She hated being pitied. She had seen how people looked at her and hovered over her when she was sick and had promised herself that she wouldn’t be the subject of such an emotion ever again.

Catalella stood, gathered her things, and looked around the room for the waiter who had served her. But, although he took a step forward when she called him, he stopped.

“It’s all right. Your lunch is on me,” the man said, his voice flat and his face expressionless.

“I can pay for my own meal.” She tried calling for the waiter again, but he didn’t move.

“Don’t be stubborn. I’ll pay for it.” The frustration was back in his voice and, oddly enough, she was relieved.

“Fine, suit yourself.”

Catalella cradled her files and papers in her arm as she pulled her bag over her shoulder. He watched as she stood up but followed her to the front door and held it open for her, all the while avoiding her gaze. She had gotten used to men not looking her in the eye. He grabbed her arm as she stepped out then said, “I’m sorry you were married to your husband.”

No one was sorrier than she was.

* * * *

“Struck out?” Rich stared at the bartender, unsure of what his reaction should be.

It was obvious that he had hurt her with his words. I’m sorry you were married to your husband… What the hell was that? He had set out to thaw out the ice princess, but her chill had seeped into his heart.

“She’s damaged goods,” he said as he sat down at the bar. “She needs the sort of guy that I’m not.”

“What do you mean?”

Rich shrugged his shoulders and stared down at the food he was served. He knew he was going to see her again, but he had to make sure their next encounter was pleasant.

* * * *

Another solitary bedtime, a long sleep with nobody in her bed except for herself and a pile of air… Catalella pulled the covers to her chest as she stared at the white ceiling above her. She looked to her side and was pleased that sleeping alone didn’t have as much of an effect on her anymore. But it didn’t keep her from feeling lonely, especially not tonight with the strange man intruding in her mind and making sleep impossible. She took one of her pillows and cuddled it as she begged for sleep to come and take her before she succumbed to the ache of knowing that hers was the only heartbeat, she would hear that night.

* * * *

“Now I know I’ve seen everything.”

Catalella sat up when her assistant, Darcy’s, voice pierced her thoughts.

“What did you say?”

Catalella fussed with the papers in front of her. She didn’t know what they were for. Her thoughts of the guy from De Alma had occupied her mind for the better part of the week. There was nothing she would have liked more than to get rid of him, but not even her work was helping. She looked around her desk and wondered where the mountain of paperwork had come from.

“Catalella Ross, daydreaming when she has the biggest account yet at her fingertips.” Darcy barked out a laugh and took a seat across from her. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Catalella mumbled as she flipped through the files, trying to establish some order on her desk. When Darcy didn’t speak again, she looked up. Panic was evident in Darcy’s eyes. She saw that look in her family’s eyes when she said she had a headache or when she was under the weather. Catalella wasn’t allowed to wallow in her thoughts without anyone getting the wrong idea. “I’m not sick, Darcy. You can breathe now.”

Darcy took an exaggerated deep breath and the smile settled back on her lips. “Let me guess—man trouble. Did you hear me?”

Catalella stared at her friend slash assistant slash tormentor and wondered if she should tell her about the guy at the restaurant. Darcy would obviously blow it out of proportion, but this mystery man might help reduce her tormentor’s insistence that she meet someone new.

“There is this guy—”

“I knew it.” Darcy cut her off and jumped to her feet, doing a victory dance.

“I haven’t even finished my story and you’re already rejoicing.” It was hard for Catalella to hide the amusement from her tone. But she needed a reason to smile occasionally and Darcy’s joy was her reason for the moment.

“You are totally missing the point,” Darcy squealed.

“What is the point?” Catalella rested her elbow on her desk and her chin in her palm.

“The point is, sweetheart,” Darcy took a seat and reached her hand out to touch Catalella, “you put yourself out there.”

“He called me an Ice Queen, paid for my lunch and I left.”

She saw the pained expression on Darcy’s face. “Baby steps. Right now, let’s celebrate the little victories. You let a man pay for your food and that, in my book, is a date.” With a frown she added: “Even though you probably said something that made him feel less like a man.”

“I did not.” Catalella defended herself. Sure, she shared more information about herself than was necessary. But she didn’t offend him in any way. So why haven’t you gone back to the restaurant?

“You met him at De Alma?” From the look on Darcy’s face, Catalella could see the wheels spinning in her head. She was up to something.

“I’m afraid to ask what you’re up to.”

“Today is Friday, so I am going to show you what the living does on Friday nights.” Darcy stood up and cradled her files to her chest, a cheeky smile on her face. She looked like a little girl who had a secret and wouldn’t tell.

“Darcy—” Catalella called before the girl exited her office. “Before I told you about the guy, you asked me if I heard about something. What is it?”

“Uhm mm…” Darcy’s brow creased. “I wasn’t snooping by the way.”

“Of course!” Catalella said in disbelief.

“I saw a memo circulating amongst the partners.” She swallowed hard and Catalella became more alert. It was bad news and she had to prepare herself for the blow. “Michael Mathews is being recruited into the firm as a junior partner.”

“Sorry…what?”

“I’ll meet you at your place at around eight,” Darcy said before she ran off.

Catalella felt like she was back at the apartment she’d shared with her husband four years before. She stood there, hearing all the reasons he had to leave her. Her chest tightened as the all too familiar pain slammed back into her. She felt as if she was suffocating and for a second, she thought she would swoon. She hadn’t seen Michael since that day. Any correspondence between them during the divorce was done through their lawyers. Now he was about to invade her domain, her sanctuary.