Trivial Pursuits Ch. 11

"Alessa, listen. Denny's a good guy. He's one of the most professional, trustworthy, honest lawyers at the firm. I don't think he would do anything horrible to you. He's clearly interested in you. Just go with it and enjoy your evening. A suite, did you say?"

"Yeah, the presidential suite."

"Oh my god, Alessa, you are so lucky. Enjoy it! Now that I know you're safe, I'm not texting you anymore tonight, but I want all the details tomorrow, deal? Have fun, and if he tries to kiss you, let him!" and with laughter echoing through the line, Alessa ended the call, looking at it accusingly before dropping it down on the bed.

She picked up the t-shirt and read it. It was a Stanford rowing shirt with an emblem in the middle. It was well worn and soft from age. She lifted it to her nose and could smell faint whispers of his scent. She pulled it over her head, leaving on her lacy bra and satiny underwear. The shirt was rather large for her, but it was certainly a great deal more comfortable than the dress had been. The gray sweatpants were far too big as well, but the drawstring allowed her to cinch them tightly enough around her waist to keep them up.

When she emerged from the bedroom, Denny was in the kitchen making coffee. "Sorry, they only provide Peet's here," Denny explained.

"Oh, that's okay," she answered, not realizing her own predilection for one brand over the other. For a moment, there was nothing to say, so Alessa made her way out onto the large balcony. The night was getting cooler as it edged toward the late hours, and in only a t-shirt, she felt the chill immediately. But it was helpful to watch the mist roll in and swallow the lights of the surrounding city. Soothing somehow in its mesmerizing encroachment.

"Here," Denny said from behind her.

She turned around to see he had a cup of steaming coffee in each hand and one of the plush throws from inside draped over his arm. "Would you like to stay out here?" he asked as she slid the blanket free and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Maybe for a little while," she answered and took the coffee he offered. "It's kind of nice," she murmured lifting the steaming mug to her face and inhaling the robust aroma.

As they sat in the comfortable deck furniture, she noticed he had removed his bowtie and unbuttoned the collar of his starch-white shirt. He was relaxed despite the formal wear he still wore. And aggravatingly sexy, she realized.

"Thank you, for the clothes I mean."

"I hated to see you change out of that dress, but I'm sure it wasn't as comfortable as it was beautiful."

Alessa smiled into her cup, unable to ignore the pleasure of his praise or the accuracy of his words.

"Where did you find it?"

"Some shop Lou took me to last weekend. My sister came along and we made a day of it."

"Cadence, right?"

She smiled. "Yeah, that's right." They sipped their coffees in the dark, watching the magic of the city's lights mellowed by the pervasive fog.

Eventually, despite the comfortable silence that existed, she braved a question. "Okay, Denny, you have me here. Dinner is finished. I'm in comfortable clothes and have enough coffee to keep me awake for the next seventy-two hours. What did you want to discuss? What...questions do you have?" She assumed it had something serious to do with them and their relationship, or lack thereof. Her stomach was rolling in uncomfortable anticipation, her mind already scrambling to come up with a plan to fence him off.

Denny had waited for nearly two weeks for this moment, when he officially made his exact intentions known to her. His plan was a bold and complicated gambit, but he knew it would be worth it. He knew she was worth it.

"Alessa, I'm sure it won't come as a surprise to you when I tell you I am interested in you. I'm attracted to you. I like you. And I want to be with you," he began honestly. "Will you give me a chance?" He knew what her answer would be, but also knew this was how he had to begin despite her inevitable refusal.

"Be with me?" she was able to ask despite the immediate increase in her heart rate. "What does that even look like?" If she was going to refuse, she needed to know what she was arguing against. "Do you mean casually date? Be girlfriend-boyfriend? A committed, monogamous relationship? Be only sleeping partners? What?"

"C: a committed relationship."

She gave a tight-lipped frown. Objection one. "I don't date. You know that. Why would you ask? You spent seventy-five thousand dollars for a twelve-hour date when it only takes me less than a minute to reject you? I'm sorry to point out the obvious, but you clearly wasted your money," she declared, making his attempt appear more ridiculous to bolster up her reasonable denial. Denny noted she was predictably not even looking at him.

"I know you don't date. But I'm still trying to figure out why. Because when we talked the other night, you stated you had thought there was nothing to sex, that it was all some falsehood built up to lead people on. But you know better than that now, don't you?" he asked with a drop in his voice, challenging her to deny his claim.

"Do I?" she asked, turning to him. It was a mistake, she realized, as she felt her body respond to the sensual and daring look in his eyes. She looked away again, afraid of showing her vulnerability.

"Yes. You do." But even not looking in his eyes, she still reacted to his voice.

There was silence as Alessa struggled with the truth and hope and past.

"Fine. You kissed me. I enjoyed it. But that doesn't mean I am able to get into a relationship with you right now." Objection two. "After all, things are finally starting to go so well at work, I'm working so much, as are you, that I don't have time for dating."

Denny answered calmly, as though her protest was needless. "Our schedules are so similar that we should be able to spend enough of our free time to make it work. After all, since we're cognizant of the obstacle lack of time will be, we can knowingly work around it."

Objection three. "It isn't good policy to date coworkers."

"Maybe not encouraged, but with full disclosure at HR, there isn't any rule against it."

Objection four. "You're my supervisor. How am I supposed to advance when I report to you? It will look like bias. And how do I know that any promotion I get is based on my merit and not because you feel obligated or like you have to bribe me with it?"

"Your work, as you have stated numerous times before, is good enough to stand on its own. And the decision for your advancement isn't mine alone. The senior partners are the ones that ultimately decide how high you go. I merely report the good work you already do."

She bluffed the last objection she could scrounge up. "And if I merely don't want to date you?" she boldly asked, her voice tinged with the slightest amount of anger.

Denny was silent until she turned his way. Catching her eyes, he leaned forward and murmured, "Like I said, we both know that isn't true. I know for certain you are very," and his eyes dropped to her parting mouth, "very interested in me. So it makes me wonder why you keep shutting me out. Why can't you move past what happened to you when you were just a kid now that you know how good it could be with me?"

"I've moved past it," she argued with a frown. "I never think about that stuff. Not until you remind me," she accused.

"Sweetheart, ignoring it isn't the same as healing from it," he stated gently.

"But I've already tried," she informed him tersely looking away again and scowling. "And it didn't work. That's why I ignore it."

Denny frowned. "What do you mean?"

Her lips were pursed angrily together. At length, she huffed, rolling her eyes up to watch the low-flying clouds illuminated by the lights of the city drift by. She knew if she was going to convince him to leave her alone, she was going to have to give him the whole truth.

"In college. This guy, he kept asking me out. But I knew where it would end, knew it wouldn't be worth the effort. But, I don't know, I was attracted to him, I guess. He was smart and funny and so damn persistent. So I went on a few dates with him. To the movies. And bowling. And then somehow we ended up back at his place, crappy little dingy apartment. And we were on his couch, making out. And it was getting exciting, and I thought this was it. This was going to be different. That I'd finally get what I wanted. And then..." but she couldn't continue, a knot of acid twisting her stomach tight as the same panic from all those years ago threatened to come back up her throat.

Denny waited until it was clear she needed prodding. "Yes?" he said softly. "What happened?"

"His hands went down my pants, and suddenly I was fifteen again, and all I could feel was the sickening pain and disappointment. And it made me feel so detached from him. Like my boyfriend in high school," she stated angrily, the strain of holding back tears in her voice. "I'd let him put his dick in my body and not a week later he was saying the most horrible things about me. I let a stranger have sex with me. And I was about to let it happen again, so I panicked. I thought I was going to be sick and so I started shoving him off me, freaking out like a nut case. I ran out of his apartment so fast." She sounded forlorn and dejected. Defeated. "He tried to talk to me a few days later, but I just said I wasn't interested. He tried a few times after that, but I kept blowing him off until he finally got the picture and left me alone."

Denny ached to hold her, but was wise enough to realize at the moment she needed space. Especially given her history of panicking. "So you see, useless. Don't waste your time on me." She turned to look him square in the eye, her expression solemn and unwavering. But also tragic and lost. And he wanted nothing more than to be her hero in that moment.

They were quiet a moment as he studied her stoic profile. As it was the earliest hour of the morning, she was becoming too cold to stay there comfortably any longer, and with the anxiety and stress of their discussion, Alessa was visibly shivering.

Denny stood and reached out his hand. "Let's go in," he suggested gently. She rose, but didn't take his proffered hand and instead walked stiffly inside, carrying the tension from the balcony with her like a fallen hero's cloak. Silently, he followed her in and sat opposite her on the couch. She had curled herself into a large, over-stuffed, leather arm chair, the thick throw still wrapped protectively around her, her knees tucked up to her chest. She didn't seem to acknowledge his presence as she sat mutely, vibrating from the increasing pressure of feeling caged.

"Alessa, talk to me, Sweetheart."

"What do you want me to say, Denny!" she exploded, though it shouldn't have been surprising. "What do you want from me? I told you, this is pointless. This is a waste of your time."

"I just want to help," he stated softly, defending his push into her discomfort.

"You think you can fix me? You think I'm broken? You think because I can't let a man touch me that there is something wrong with me? I'm not broken. I'm strong enough to get back up when I get knocked down. But I'm also smart enough to not get knocked down a second time. Smart enough to not let a guy sweep me off my feet with a little romanticism. Or to think attraction equals love. I'm not going to become dependent on someone only to be abandoned years late after sacrificing my career and my heart." She ranted, now unable to stop. "I refuse to allow myself to become so damaged and heartbroken that I'll be prey for any loser that comes by, because I'll just be so damn thankful for the slightest bit of attention. I'm not broken. I'm smart." Tears had begun to fill her eyes and her chest was heaving in her rage.

Denny realized Alessa was speaking from experience. But he knew it wasn't just her own experience, so it must have been...

"You're talking about your mom, aren't you?" he prodded gently.

Hot tears were falling down her disgruntled face. She swiped them away angrily. She wanted to deny it, but her mother was living proof that falling in love was a bad idea, and her own limited experience seemed to confirm it.

The final objection. "Fine. Yes. My mother was completely broken when my father left us. My poor, stupid mother was so devastated, now raising me by herself she was thankful when my creep of a stepfather came along and showed her the slightest bit of interest." Her anger was growing.

Denny pressed, like a hound on the scent of its prey. "Why a creep?"

But she only continued to wipe away her tears, wiping her leaking nose over the back of her arm. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she growled stubbornly.

"That seems to be your choice phrase about any topic that is personal," Denny observed.

"And that's my right. I don't want to tell you every sad, little detail of my life. You have no right to make me feel so miserable and pathetic, so I'm not going to tell you."

Denny's brow creased, not understanding. "I don't want to make you feel pathetic."

"Well, how do you expect me to feel when I tell you I'm lame because I haven't had sex since high school because the very thought of it sends me into a panic attack?"

Denny opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off, tears streaming angrily now.

"How do you expect me to feel when I admit my father left me, and the only way I could win time with him was if I won my races? How do you think I feel when I tell you that after I found my perverted stepfather had hidden an old cell phone in the bathroom with the video recording that I had to start showering and changing in the dark, scouring every possible hiding place for a hidden camera? How the fuck do you expect me to feel, Denny, when you make me tell you every little horrible thing about myself?"

She sobbed into her arms hugging her bent-up knees. Her shoulders were shaking, and her cries were destroying his heart.

"Alessa," he groaned, and then crossed the space to sit on the very edge of her chair. He wrapped her in his arms, and for a second his body absorbed her misery, but then she wrenched herself from him and hopped over the armrest and out of the chair, the throw falling to the floor.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed, still bating furiously at the fallen tears. "Leave me alone!" she commanded again when he stood.

"Alessa," he said gently, hoping he could calm her down. "I'm sorry this is painful. It's not my intent to hurt you. But this is good. We need to discuss this," he insisted, still in his soft manner.

"What do you care?" she sobbed, still unable to curtail her tears.

"I care," he asserted solemnly. "And this is exactly why we are here, because this," he said with a gesture of his hand to her, "is robbing you of a life you deserve."

"Who are you to decide what my life should be like?"

He sighed before replying. "You're right, I can't tell you how to live your life, but as someone who cares about you, I'd hope you could trust me to help you where I can."

"You don't care about me. You just want to fuck me," she accused coldly through her tears.

His stomach tensed at the accusation. He looked her squarely in the eyes. "I may want to do every last dirty thing in the book to you, but that doesn't mean that I don't care for you. Deeply."

Despite her crying state, his answer caused her insides to liquefy and her breathing to stall. But she recovered in the next moment and turned her face away, wrapping her arms about her protectively as her jaw clenched in irritation. They stood that way for some minutes while she calmed down and stemmed the last of her tears. She was still breathing heavily, a hiccup every once in a while.

At length, Denny tried once more to approach her. She tensed up, but didn't move away when he slipped an arm behind her. "Come on, Sweetheart, let's sit on the couch." He guided her back to where he had been sitting earlier, picking up the throw on the way. He sat down and pulled her with him and then wrapped her up in the blanket. Alessa was tired, her rant and the late hour leaving her drained despite the coffee, and surely that was why she allowed him to pull her into him, his arm wrapping around her as she laid her head against his chest.

For nearly a quarter of an hour, Denny simply held her, his hand soothingly running up and down her back. Alessa had closed her eyes and was nearly asleep when a low rumble came from his chest as he started speaking.

"Alessa, Sweetheart, I want you to listen to me and just think about what I'm saying. Don't speak, just listen. Okay?" There was a pause and then she nodded her head against his chest.

"What I'm asking of you, what I want," he was silent as he tried to fully empathize with how she must have felt, "I understand it can be scary, to completely challenge your beliefs, to become more intimate with someone than you have ever been. I understand that, and I don't want you to think I don't care or can't respect that.

"And you were right, I do want you. I want to screw you until we can't walk straight. But sex isn't all I want from you. It isn't everything. But that's exactly what is holding you back, this fear of intimacy. Don't you see that? It keeps you from any type of relationship, not just a sexual one. And that's not healthy." He felt her stiffen as if she were about to argue.

"You can't go through your whole life avoiding relationships. You can't live on work alone. It isn't healthy. Don't you see that? I mean, think about how you treat your body. With a balanced diet. Not just vegetables, not just meat, not just carbs or fat. But all of it, in a healthy balance. Your body needs it all, just like your spirit needs it all. You need work, yes, but you also need friends and hobbies. And you need love. Otherwise, you'll starve."

Fear was seizing her insides, and she felt that old, trapped sensation creep back into her. "Denny, I don't think I can do that," she whispered.

"I know," he responded with a sadness in his voice, his lips dropping down to the top of her head. "Alessa, I..." he took a deep breath, "I care about you, and because I care about you, I want to help you. I want to teach you how to be in a relationship, how to care for someone, to be cared for by someone."

"But how? I've already tried. I've already told you how I panicked. I don't even know that I want you to do anything," she confessed miserably.

"You don't want to be afraid anymore, do you? Now that you know what it could be like?" he questioned, testing her for courage.

He felt her tighten up against him, burying herself a little more into his side. "I honestly don't know," she answered softly. "I thought I was fine. I was satisfied with my life. Until you."

He chuckled at the morose tone of her voice. "Sorry to rock your boat." And then he kissed her on top of the head. "Actually, I take that back. I'm not sorry. If you give me this chance, I'll be forever grateful."

"How?" she asked again

It took Denny several moments before he answered her. "You lie, do you know that?," he asked casually as if he had not just insulted her.

"What?" she asked tersely, sitting up away from him so she could frown. "I most certainly do not."

He chuckled and reached out a hand to cup her disgruntled face. "You most certainly do. You, Sweetheart, are a walking contradiction. Don't you know that? You are beautiful, dress well, take care of your body. Why? To be attractive. But what happens when you actually attract attention? You hide behind an ice wall of unavailability.

"Take tonight, for instance. You put on a convincing front; you were poised and clever and oh so alluring, but you didn't feel it, did you? You smiled standing in front of that crowd, but inside, you wanted to be a million miles from that room. You fake confidence like a hooker fakes an orgasm. It's a pretty, decorative balloon, filled with emptiness.