By Trynia Merin
Disclaimer: I don't own KISS, Paul Stanley, or Eric Singer, who are real persons, and this is a work of FICTION, not meant to demean, but written out of admiration. Liz McPherson belongs to Lady M, and is used with her permission. All other characters are my own creation. This is rated R for adult situations and some language, so don't read if you're under 17, you have been warned. This is another Paul Plays the Phantom of the Opera story, but unlike others, you'll be surprised at the ending ok? Enjoy!
***
Chapter
5
Eric Singer sneaked his way backstage after a scene where Christine was offstage, handing a special VIP pass to the security guard present. It was funny trying to get backstage for a change, on the other side of the action. The guard showed him back to Paul's dressing room, where Liz was arranging the changes of costumes.
"Hey Liz, I was wondering if you could do me a favor..."
"Sure, what?" Liz asked. She knew that something had caught his attention to make him come backstage, and it wasn't just Paul.
"I was wondering about the girl playing Christine. She has one hell of a voice and well..."
"You mean Michelle Johnson?" Liz asked. A plan began to form in her mind, and she smiled slightly. Maybe it wouldn't' be so hard to pry Paul from Michelle if she became interested in someone else?
"Interesting name," he commented. "Look, I love the gal's voice. I was wondering if well... there was some way I could get to meet her?"
"Well why don't you send her a note?" Liz asked. "I'm sure she'd be more then happy... she does like blond men..."
"Oh, do tell?" he asked, raising a blond eyebrow. All his hair had grown back in blond waves that were pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.
"I'll let you know where her dressing room is if you like, but she's sort of shy..." said Liz.
"Hmm, where's the nearest florist?" he asked.
"There is one a few blocks from here..." Liz mused. "Say, I could call them for you... and if there is a note you'd like to leave with them... give it to me and I'll have it put with the flowers."
"Thanks Liz, you are the best..." he grinned. "I need some paper..."
"Here you go," she said, pulling open a drawer and tugging out some stationary. Eric began to write a note carefully, and Liz couldn't help but peek at it.
"Eric you don't need to disguise your handwriting. She's not even MET you yet..."
"What does she like?" Eric asked. "I mean what's her favorite music... tell me about her a bit..."
"Well, she loves classical and jazz music, and she's not the biggest fan of rock and roll. But she does like having fun and partying in moderation, and she loves dancing..."
"Good start..." he nodded. "Any particular movies she likes... I want to know EVERYTHING about her..."
"Let me call the florist first, and I'll tell you what I can," Liz grinned. More and more this seemed a definite remedy for the present situation.
***
Paul pulled Michelle over just before the next act, taking her in his arms. She froze a bit, and pushed out of the embrace.
"What gives baby?" he asked, a bit concerned.
"Paul, there's something I have to tell you," Michelle said slowly.
"What?" he asked.
"I can't see you anymore," she said.
"What?" Paul demanded, grasping her arm. "Why not?"
"Because Paul, there's someone ELSE who has loved you secretly for a long time, and me seeing you is keeping that person from revealing her true feelings, and I can't stand in their way..." Michelle said candidly.
"Say WHAT?" Paul exclaimed, his eyebrow rising under the mask of makeup.
"You have a secret admirer, and I had no idea when I went out with you..." Michelle said.
"Who is it?"
"She's very shy, and she wants to meet you later this week," said Michelle. "And she made me promise not to tell you till she had arranged a time to tell you herself how she really feels..."
"Are you sure... about this?" Paul asked.
"You're a wonderful man who gave me a wonderful weekend, and for that I will always be grateful. But we're too much alike to really work. I just think it's better to keep our relationship... professional," Michelle said. "Not without regret..."
"Jeez, you really have thought about this, haven't you?" Paul asked, a bit sad.
"Please don't be angry... but I can't stand in the way of someone else's happiness. What we had was great, but I just don't think that you and me can work. I want someone I can have fun with..."
"Didn't we have fun?" Paul asked.
"Yes, but we're too much alike. I need someone... well, who I can cut loose with, relax a bit. Being with you is wonderful, but I just feel... as if I always have to look up to you. You're a very imposing and stunning man, but there will come a time when flowers and candlelit dinners aren't enough for me. I want someone I can just BE with without him thinking he has to impress me or sweep me off my feet. Sooner or later we'll get on each other's nerves."
"Well, that would be... a problem," he sighed. "Is there nothing I can say to convince you otherwise?"
"Paul, when you're done with Phantom you'll have to go back on tour with KISS... and I know that it's your first love Paul. And my first love is the stage. You need someone who will support you in your career and be there as a cheerleader and a shoulder to cry on. And be able to adapt their life to suit your career. My career is just taking off."
Paul nodded slowly and sighed slowly. Her words were very true, even if they were uncomfortable. Slowly he realized that he wasn't what she needed right now. She knew she was a diversion, and a good one, but it wasn't what he or she needed, especially when this secret admirer peaked his interest.
"You're right," he sighed. "I never intended to stand in the way of your career and I respect your honesty."
"I care about you a lot and I hope we can still be friends..." she said.
"You bet," Paul said, kissing her hand. "Always."
She hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. He kissed her forehead and rubbed her back. Sighing he realized this was for the best.
***
During intermission, Eric Singer happened to notice Paul standing there in full costume, wistfully glancing at the cast. His eyebrows raised a bit in question, and then he caught sight of the leading lady quickly rushing to get into position for the opening scene. She had to pass by where Eric was standing to get to the stairs onstage. Unfortunately she stumbled a bit on the uneven wooden floors and Eric found himself rushing to catch her as she fell.
"Whoops," Eric said, steadying her against him.
"Uh... thank you," Michelle said, glancing up at the stranger with the bluest eyes she had seen in a long time. His hands were strong and steady, and it struck her he wasn't much taller then she, so looking into them was very easy.
"They say break a leg, but I don't think they meant it LITERALLY," Eric Singer joked. "Be careful there, miss... lucky for you I was here..."
"Yes... are you a friend of someone in the cast?" she asked.
"Yeah, sure," he nodded. "I'm a friend of Paul's... my name's Eric Singer..."
"Oh... I'm Michelle... Michelle Johnson..."
"A very big pleasure to meet such a lovely woman like you," he said, taking her hand and giving it a healthy shake. "And I look forward to seeing your perform tonight."
"Miss Johnson we're on in FIVE!" the director clapped his hands. "Chop chop!"
"Break a leg," Eric said, his hand on Michelle's waist. She didn't seem to mind.
"Thank you," she whispered, and he gave her a quick hug.
Pleasantly surprised she rushed onstage, taking a moment to look back at the handsome man with soft blonde hair. He waved and gave her a warm smile. She realized she had only just met him, and she wanted to know more about him. If he was Paul's friend, then maybe Paul could help her get to know him a bit better.
"Hey Paul," Eric called out to him as he caught sight of his friend. "Sorry I couldn't come sooner, but we didn't get out of rehearsal before now..."
"Eric man, good to see you..." Paul said, a bit distractedly.
"Say, I was wondering... the girl who's playing Christine tonight... is she uh... seeing anyone?" Eric asked.
"Huh?" Paul asked. "Are you... interested in her or something?"
"Hell yeah. So... is she available..."
"Uh... as a matter of fact she is..." Paul said a bit sadly.
"Good. You think you could uh... help us... get together?" he asked. "I mean I am playing at the Ritz with some friends coming up soon, and if you could get her there... I'd love to see her after my performance..."
"I'll see what I can do, Eric,' Paul said.
"Thanks man," Eric grinned. "See you after the show!"
He moved off after the usher, who helped him back to his private box for the rest of the show. Settling down, he eagerly awaited the next appearance of the dark haired beauty that had snared his interest. He secretly hoped she would get the note and realize who had sent it. Yet, he knew he had to spend more time around her so she could get used to him.
**************
Paul finished his final scene, and wandered offstage slowly to his dressing room. Sighing, he settled behind the makeup table and couldn't help but notice the dozen white roses and the envelope tucked into the stems.
Ripping it open, he read the note inside,
"Mr. Stanley... or
dare I say Paul. Ever since I have
first met you, I have admired your silent strength and courage to perform
before so many. For years, I have
always been struck by how you can give your all to your fans, and can't help
but notice that perhaps you need someone to stand behind you. It can be lonely on the other side of the
stage, and I just want you to know I'll always be there for you when you most
need me..."
"Signed your secret admirer..."
Paul read the note over again, struck by the forwardness of the person. He didn't recognize the handwriting, but it was a curving bubblelike printing much like many girls' handwriting. He noticed the post script that said, "See you onstage and in my dreams..."
Was it an obsessed fan, he wondered? It gave him very few clues as to which it could be, other then a fan. And yet there seemed something vaguely familiar about the words.
As he was reading the note for the third time, he failed to notice Liz slowly entering the room. She saw the flowers and his pensive, puzzled look, and touched his shoulder slowly.
"Paul, are you okay?" she asked.
"Liz, who sent this note?" he asked her.
"Uh... I'm not sure..." she said, puzzled.
"It isn't some obsessed fan is it?" he asked.
"Let me see it," she said, taking it from him. Quickly she read the contents, and felt her face flush, because the sentiment was all too familiar.
"What's wrong?" Paul asked her, noticing her look of shock.
"Nothing. I just don't' think someone who was an obsessed fan would have written this. It's too sincere..."
"Well that's a relief," Paul laughed nervously.
"What's wrong Paul?"
"Michelle said she didn't want to see me anymore," Paul announced.
"Oh... I'm... sorry," Liz said, taking his hand and sitting on a stool next to him. "Tough luck, huh?"
"I thought everything was going great... and then... boom..."
"She dumped you, huh?" asked Liz dryly.
"Yeah, pretty much. Usually I'm the one giving the speech about how I can't see the girl anymore. At least this was over pretty clean and fast...."
"True. And at least she didn't leave you for someone else... did she?"
"Nope. She gave an interesting reason. She said we were too much alike to work out... go figure."
"Well, at least she's not interested in just staying with you for your money... or leading you on... right... I mean she was honest and direct."
"Very. And I respect that, even if I don't like the outcome," Paul sighed.
"Did you maybe think she would be different?" Liz asked him, leaning her head on his shoulder.
"Yeah," Paul sighed, taking her hand that she offered in support. "Maybe..."
"Well it was over pretty quick."
***
At the same time, Michelle grinned as she began a second note in her dressing room, carefully altering her handwriting the best way she could. Luckily, Paul had never really seen her writing anything, and it would be very difficult for him to figure out just WHO sent those notes, or so she hoped. Liz hadn't the nerve to write Paul such a direct note, but the words were the closest that Michelle could think of to express what Liz had revealed.
So happy was she at her little note that she was totally taken aback at the dozen red roses sitting in fresh water on her table. She turned to the makeup girl and asked, "Who are these from?"
"Florist just brought them in," she said. "I put them in water. They're lovely."
"Oh lord Paul, please..." she sighed.
"There's a note with them," the girl said, handing it to her. She saw the name Michelle on the card, in vastly different handwriting from Paul's, thank goodness. Beginning to remove her costume, she opened the card and read the note inside. The handwriting was dynamic, and energetic compared to what she had seen of Paul's. Slowly she read what was scribed in the frantic hand,
"Hey there,
normally musicals aren't my first thing, but you have really gotten me hooked
on this romantic stuff. It blows me
away how you just can sing notes so effortlessly. You make it seem so easy, as if anyone could do what you do. Your voice, well it makes me think of an
angel singing onstage. God this sounds cheesy I know, but it's the truth,
Michelle. Keep making that beautiful
music of the night. Because I'm
admiring you from afar, and I can't wait to get a bit closer..."
Signed, your secret
admirer...."
She smiled warmly, impressed and relieved at the simple honesty and down to earthiness about the note. Whoever wrote it didn't have the same high-strung way with words as the few notes Paul had sent her.
The possibility crossed her mind that it might be Roger, but his handwriting in no way resembled this man's. Still he could have gotten someone else to write it, just like she was doing for Liz.
"I hope it's not Roger," she sighed. Yes it was sweet how he was concerned for her, but at the same time, he wasn't quite what she was looking for in a man. He was a great singer, and good company, but more like a brother, then a love interest. The chemistry wasn't enough to really warrant her wanting to do more then enjoy a movie with him and relax. In contrast, Paul was debonair, handsome and cultured, but she wanted something in between the extreme of comfort and classiness.
It was then she noticed a gold box with a red ribbon on it. Opening it up she noticed another note that said, "Sweets for a sweet girl," and chuckled with a hand to her head. It was in the same hand as the other note, and she realized they were chocolate turtles, her favorite candy next to the treats her mother bought at the Korean food store. Nibbling one she read the note over again then proceeded to hand her costume to the wardrobe girl.
"Damn you are one lucky woman. Those are pretty flowers," she said.
"Any idea who left them... please?"
"Nope," she shook her head. "But I think it's cute..."
***
Eric Singer knocked on the dressing room door, and waited. The makeup girl opened the door, and did a double take at the handsome blonde man standing there. She asked, "Who are you sir?"
"Eric Singer. I'm a friend of Mr. Stanley's... is this Michelle's dressing room? I'd like to say hello... and congratulate her... you see I'm a musician myself... and this is one of the first times I've bothered to see a musical..."
"It is, but I'm afraid she's busy right now..."
"Who is it?" Michelle asked.
"Some man named Eric Singer... he says he's a friend of Paul's..."
"He can come in, I'm decent," she whispered.
"Are you sure..."
"Very sure," she said. "Let him in."
"I have to remind you that Miss Johnson needs her rest and..."
"Kate, don't fuss," Michelle sighed, rolling her eyes. " I'm not a kid..."
"But..."
"I won't keep her THAT long, promise," Eric said. "Now could you please let me in so I can congratulate her on a job well done?"
He bounced a bit impatiently on his foot as he said this, the nervous energy hard to contain. Some people found it off putting for him to be so full of extra movement, as if he were far too hyper. Yet, Michelle found it a bit amusing that Kate her makeup girl was trying to close the door on him.
"Oh gimme a break Kate," Michelle groaned and nudged her assistant out of the way. "Let the poor man IN already!"
"Thanks," Eric said, as Michelle opened the door and ushered him in. He folded his hands, trying to stop from fidgeting in his burst of nervous energy.
"Come in..." Michelle said. "So... you liked the show?"
"Are you kidding, it was awesome. I mean musicals aren't my thing normally. But hey when I see a good performance I can't help but tell the lovely lady all about how I enjoyed it..." he said rapidly, then took a breath to think about what to say next.
"Did you get a chance to see Paul?" she asked.
"He's kinda preoccupied," Eric shrugged. "Do mind if we just... uh talk for a few minutes?"
"Sure," Michelle shrugged. "So you and Paul are friends..."
"Alone?" he asked, looking at Kate pointedly. She glanced at Michelle who nodded her head that it was okay for her to leave. Shaking her head, she closed the door behind them.
"I know we only just met, but I just had to say you're one talented singer," Eric repeated quickly. "And I just wanted to let you know that."
"You said you were friends with Paul," she repeated again. "You don't live in New York normally do you?"
"I'm passing through. Actually I'm in a band with Alice Cooper..."
"Alice... Cooper," she said, and flushed with embarrassment. "Right... would he be... the man that wrote... School's Out for Summer?"
"Right," he nodded. Eric's voice trailed off, and he hesitated telling her about his time in KISS. After all, he wanted the girl to know HIM as an individual, and not just as a former bandmate of Paul's. Chances were that since she was new to KISS, she might not be aware he was even in the band.
"You're a musician like Paul. What instrument?"
"Drummer," he said casually. "And I sing backup vocals."
"I'm sorry, I have to tell you right now that I'm not normally into rock and roll..." she blushed. "I hope that doesn't offend you in any way..."
"Well I was the one who told you I wasn't normally into musicals," he laughed, settling on a stool. "But hey, you pretty much won me over with this one... even though I gotta admit certain things about this story get on my nerves..."
"Such as?"
"Well Christine. I mean the phantom pretty much gives her music lessons in private, and that girl just runs off with some handsome pretty face instead of looking past his appearance. Pretty damn shallow if you ask me. But hey, I guess some women are suckers for the romantic stuff..."
"It's not normally a guy play," she laughed. "I have to agree with you there. The original novel goes VERY differently from the play... but what can you expect with Andrew Lloyd Weber? It's like Walt Disney. They sometimes sanitize and water things down to a common denominator..."
"Like N'sync?" he joked.
"Don't get me started about Lip Synch," she held up a hand. Eric grinned. His eyes fell on the flowers, and he tossed his head over in their direction.
"I guess I'm not the only admirer," he winked. "Those are some nice flowers you got there, missy. From your boyfriend?"
"No, no boyfriend," she said quickly. "Just some fan..."
"Awful nice fan," he teased her.
"Want some chocolate?" she asked, and pushed the turtles next to him. "I have to watch my weight."
"Why? You've got a nice figure," Eric said with a smile. "Diets are overrated if you ask me..."
He snagged the box of turtles and bit into one eagerly. She pointed to her face and indicated he had some chocolate on his angular cheek. He rubbed the wrong side, and she reached over with a Kleenex to wipe the residual chocolate of. For a moment, he closed his eyes, enjoying the soft touch of it to his face as she wiped it away.
His cell phone rang, and Eric apologized. "Excuse me... hello? Can I call you back later..."
"Who is it?" she asked.
"Guys from Alice Cooper. Reminding me about the concert Saturday night..." Eric rolled his eyes. "As if I didn't have ENOUGH babysitters... excuse me... look it's my night off... yes Dave I know... look, just let them know I GOT a room already okay. It's my week off okay... yes I'll be playing a few gigs on my own..."
Michelle waited patiently while he wrapped up his conversation. Finally he clicked off the phone and said, "I'm sorry but I gotta split. Band manager called a last minute meeting... even though it's my WEEK off..."
"Thanks for stopping by," she said as he got up to leave. "Will you be stopping by again?"
"I'll drop by from time to time," he winked. "See you, and GREAT job again, Hon..."
***
Monday came and went, followed by Tuesday and Wednesday. Other performances whizzed by, and eventually the lead for Christine took her place back, leaving Michelle free time on her hands. She occupied it with occasional forays into Greenwich Village or a shift at Stardust. Despite the fact she was getting reasonable compensation from Phantom, she still benefited from the money from her primary job.
The notes from her secret admirer continued, and she used them as suitable inspiration to compose her own notes to Paul on Liz' behalf.
They grew increasingly more interesting. Whoever this guy was, he certainly knew details about her few would know. The list of suspects grew, and she couldn't help but think it was Roger after all. All these thoughts followed her to work the next day when she reported to the lunch shift at Stardust, and happened to be waiting on a few new customers. She had a senior couple with two kids, and a few younger people.
"Dear... could you please replace this food?" asked the woman half of the couple.
"Yes, is anything the matter?" she asked.
"The fries are not crispy," she said. "Would you mind terribly?"
"I'll bring you some fresh ones," Michelle smiled and took the lady's plate.
"Excuse me... girl, but this burger is rare..." the man said.
"I'll ask them to grill it a bit longer," Michelle said, taking the plate from the older gentleman as well. She marched back to the kitchen, glancing at her watch. It was close to two thirty, and she hadn't had lunch yet.
"Hey Charlie, could you get me another burger and some fries?" she asked the cook.
"Sure thing... burger's too rare?"
"Yes," she nodded.
"Okay I'll replace it with this one..."
"Thanks," she said.
"Table 2 needs a waitress... Michelle could you take it please?" her supervisor asked.
"Okay," she sighed.
"Over there..." he said, and pointed to the new person sitting at a table near the first one. This time his long blond hair hung lose about his shoulders and he wore a comfortable T-shirt and jeans along with a casual windbreaker.
"Ah," she nodded. "Sure..."
Slowly she walked over to his table, where he was perusing the menu. Putting on her most formal voice she said, "Can I offer you a drink while you're waiting sir?"
"Sure, I'll have some coffee... black, no cream, with some sugar," he said with a smile.
"Be right back," she nodded. Eric winked at her and she rushed off to get his coffee. She set a fresh cup before Eric and then rushed back to the kitchen to check if the burgers and fries were ready. Pulling out a copy of the Village Voice, he began to read it.
"That's the first... oriental I've seen in a place like this," the woman said in a hushed voice.
"Don't they usually work in Chinese restaurants, gramps?" the boy asked. Eric's ears perked up, and he slowly raised his newspaper, and peered over it.
"Yeah, sonny, that's right," he said. "And there are more and more of them each year coming over into America. Turns out they're taking a lot of jobs over that most other people wouldn't want to do..."
"The poor dears, I hate to think of them making such horribly low wages..." the elderly woman mumbled.
"I wonder why they have one working here," muttered the older man. "Figures it was just a matter of time before they have some chink working in a place with normal Americans..."
Eric flinched. Had he heard what he just thought he did? Just then Michelle returned with the two platters and set them down before the man and his wife.
"Here you are, one bacon double cheeseburger for you sir, and one order of fries for your lovely wife..."
"You speak English very well," the woman said with a sweet yet patronizing smile.
"I should hope so," she joked. "I was born here..."
"Uh huh," the man muttered under his breath. "Hey, I asked for a cheeseburger, without bacon... I'm going to have to ask you to take this back..."
"Sir I distinctly remember you asking for a cheeseburger..." she said slowly, "With bacon and... It's right here on my order sheet..."
"No I said HOLD the BACON," the man annunciated as if talking to a two-year-old.
"I'm sorry sir, I'll bring it back..." she said, taking the plate again. Eric rolled his eyes and sighed.
"She might speak English, but she probably can't write it," the man muttered as Michelle disappeared yet again into the kitchen.
"Dear, please, she speaks it VERY well."
"Yeah, but who knows what next. I mean god, they just think they can waltz in and take ANY job they want. I tell you they're everywhere I turn around," he muttered.
"I thought you told me most of them couldn't speak English," said the little girl. Eric sighed and sipped his coffee.
"And didn't you say they took jobs that most 'mericans wouldn't take?" the boy asked. "Like Chinese restaurants, and engineering... and working on the railroads in the old west..."
"Jobs that rightfully belong to US Americans," the man said. "They should be kissing our hands and FEET for letting them come over here... and why I can't get decent service here is BEYOND me..."
"Grammy I spilled my iced tea," the girl said.
"Just leave it. Let the girl clean it up," the man said. "At least she can do SOMETHING right... that isn't so complicated..."
"But aren't some engineers?" the girl asked.
"That's their secret plan. Soon they'll be taking EVERYTHING over," he muttered. "Like those damn nips and gooks... buying Rockefeller center..."
Eric felt at his wits end. In front of children too! Just then Michelle again returned and set the man's order before him.
"Girl, I want some more coffee," he said abruptly. "Now..."
"I'll be with you in a moment," she said, turning to Eric. "I just need to get this customer's order and I'll be right back..."
"I want it now, girl," he said, snapping his fingers and pointing to the tabletop. "Riiigght now..."
She had just turned around to Eric's table, and was about to take his order. "I'll be with you in a moment sir... I haven't gotten this man's order yet..."
"Do I have to SPELL it out for you?" he asked angrily. "I'm only asking for a cup of coffee. So just do your JOB and get it for me... please?"
"Excuse me," she said to Eric. "I'll be right with you..."
She headed off to get the coffee from the station nearby, and as she walked past the man, Eric noticed he stuck his foot out when she came back with the hot pot. She tripped, spilling half the pot on the table and the food.
"I'm so sorry!" she said, grabbing her towel and trying to mop it up as it dribbled all over the table and into the man's lap. The kids shrieked and laughed.
"Now see what you've done?" the man demanded. "Can't you stupid gooks get ANYTHING right?"
"Harold!" the woman gasped.
"Stupid chink!" the boy laughed.
"Excuse me sir?" Michelle asked.
"I said can't you do anything right?" the man asked, banging his fist on the table. "Do I stutter?"
"Excuse me sir, if you have a problem," Michelle said, her blood boiling. "I suggest you refrain from using such language... It may be my job to serve you, but I cannot condone such racial slurs..."
"I can't BELIEVE you're speaking to me like that! Where's the manager!"
Eric threw down his newspaper and stood up. "I suggest you apologize to the lady then, maybe for using a word that shouldn't be repeated in the English language?"
"Who the hell are you?" the man yelled at Eric.
"You're setting a FINE example to your kids," Eric said sarcastically. "Have any other choice words to teach those children? I thought the civil rights movement had happened in the sixties!"
"Keep out of this, you punk," the man snapped. "Get a HAIRCUT and GET A REAL JOB!"
Michelle glanced at Eric, helplessly. She held up a finger to her lips, but Eric moved over and tried to help her wipe up the coffee. "Excuse me while I clean up your mess... because obviously she wouldn't have MADE it if you hadn't TRIPPED her..."
"It's people like HER that..."
"No it's people like YOU that make American's like me sick," Eric snapped. "And now you've got these children saying the same stuff you're spouting. Considering WE were all IMMIGRANTS if you go back FAR enough... hell this whole freaking ISLAND belonged to the NATIVE AMERICANS!"
"Eric... please..." Michelle said. "It's okay...."
"No it's NOT okay," Eric said, taking her hand. "I want these people to know they're out of line...and I won't stand by with someone throwing racial slurs. This is the 21st century, mister!"
Too shocked to speak, the man's face flushed red. By this time, her friend had gotten the manager and brought him over.
"Is everything all right here?" the manager asked the patron.
"Your service stinks," the man snapped. "This clumsy... person spilled coffee all over..."
"He's the one that tripped her to begin with," Eric said angrily. "And he had the nerve to use a racial slur at one of your employees..."
"Is that right, Michelle?" the manager asked calmly. He was about six foot four, and clearly African American.
"Yes," she nodded.
"You'd believe one of them over me," he laughed.
"Excuse me, but that man DID call her a gook and a chink," someone said, lifting their hand. It was another older man, whom Shelly often saw in the establishment. "Clear as day."
"Sir, we have every intention of serving our patrons well," the manager said clearly to the first customer. "But we also have the right to refuse service to patrons that become disruptive or present a danger to our employees..."
"I can't BELIEVE this!" the man shouted.
"Believe it," Eric said.
"This long haired PUNK says something smart and you believe HIM over me," he threw his hands up. "What is this country coming too! Why don't you get a HAIRCUT shorty! And get a REAL job like a good decent young American man..."
"I am a good decent American man," Eric said. "And if you're going to call her names, you might as well call me a hebe or a kyke, along with the rest of your other collection of pet names for the rest of us who don't fit your limited view of what it is to BE American."
"You don't LOOK Jewish," the man snorted.
"That's the point exactly, Archie Bunker," Eric scoffed. "Skin color or race or creed doesn't matter. And you should remember that when your ancestors came over on the mayflower or whatever ship they ended up coming here on! From EUROPE!"
"I am going to have to ask you to leave, sir," Michelle's manager said to the patron and his family. "If you can't act in a civil and pleasant manner."
"I'm getting OUT of this damn place," the man snapped, and threw down his napkin. "Lorraine, let's GO..."
"Harold, you should really not lose your temper..."
"After I gave my damn LIFE to this damn country this is how they thank me... 1 damn year in 'nam..."
"Harold let's GO," she urged, jumping up and taking his hand. She motioned the grandkids to follow, and they sheepishly exited the restaurant.
Eric reached down and offered his hand to Michelle, who was still mopping up coffee, "C'mon let me help you Hon.."
She took his offered hand and he pulled her to her feet. Her eyes were wide as saucers as she regarded him. The manager turned to the other patrons and said, "Shows over folks..."
"I'm sorry," Michelle said to him.
"No it's all right. Are you okay?" he asked.
"I guess..."
"Why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off. You look like you could use it. Spend some time with your boyfriend," the manager smiled.
"But he's not..."
"C'mon, I'll wait for you," Eric offered.
"But my shift..."
"Can wait," the manager said. "Go get your stuff and get out of here. You have the rest of the day off... Shelly."
"Go on and get your stuff, I'll be here when you get back," Eric urged her. He sat down and finished his coffee. The manager came and sat down at the same table, opposite him.
"Sir, I wanted to thank you for your honesty," the manager, named D'Shawn said to him. "And you sir," he said turning to the other patron who sat nearby.
"I get SICK of people like that... especially when they repeat that crap to kids..." Eric grumbled, dumping more sugar into his coffee.
"Wish more people would get sick like you did, sir," D'Shawn nodded. "Now do me a favor and take her somewhere nice where she can forget about jerks like that..."
"I will," Eric nodded.
"You're okay..." he laughed. Michelle returned, with her purse in hand, still wearing her uniform.
"Ready to go?" Eric asked her.
"Yes," she nodded. "Sir, are you sure you don't need me?"
"Get out of here you guys," he laughed. "It's okay."
Eric offered his arm to Michelle, who slipped her arm through his. Together they exited Stardust, and went onto the hustle and bustle of the street.
***
"Do you mind if we stop by my place so I can get changed?" Michelle asked Eric.
"Sure," he nodded.
They reached the five-floor walkup brownstone, and Eric waited as she fished out her keys and unlocked the outer door. He opened it while she collected her purse and they entered. Five flights later she came to her landing and unlocked her apartment door. Eric commented, "reminds me of some of the places I lived in a while back..."
"Just a little place I call home," she joked, and pushed open the door. Eric followed her into the modest bedroom to the immediate left of the small hallway, taking a mental survey of the place while she flipped lights on. He closed the door behind them and locked it carefully.
"Sit down and I'll just slip into something more comfortable," she said. "Help yourself to a soda or beer in the fridge..."
"Thanks," he nodded. She turned on the television with the remote, and headed back into the bedroom. Furniture was an amalgam of used yet somewhat matching pieces, in floral design. Brown curtains covered the windows, flanking venetian blinds. He noticed a few paintings up here and there, and wandered over into the kitchen nook to fish himself out a soda. A second door next to the first was perhaps another bathroom or a bedroom, and a third was a bathroom if the first was not, by process of elimination.
"You want anything?" he called.
"A diet whatever!" she called back.
"Diet coke ok?" he asked. His eyes fell upon the door, open a bit, and he noticed movement in a mirror that reflects through the ajar door. Quickly he walked over and peered, despite his better judgement. All he could make out was the movement from an antique mirror stationed opposite the door and the silhouette of her body as clothes dropped off of it. Eric turned away and rushed back to flop down on the couch.
A few minutes later she emerged in a comfortable T-shirt with a small red glittered star on the front, and jeans with faint bleach streaks horizontally running across the legs.
"Much better," Eric smiled. "Now you look VERY comfortable if I do say so myself..."
"You can say so," she chuckled. "Now, I have all this time on my hands... and how should I spend it..."
She settled next to him on the sofa, and accepted the diet soda he handed her. Lifting his can he said, "Let's toast..."
"What to?" she asked.
"To the first successful embarrassment of a bigot between Singer and Johnson," he joked.
"Here here," she said. "Say, thanks for sticking up for me back there... you didn't have to."
"Someone did," he chuckled. He noticed a white envelope tucked into her purse and asked, "Is that another letter from your secret admirer?"
"Oh stop..."
"Paul mentioned that she's been getting similar letters," Eric commented, leaning back and resting his feet on the coffee table. "Is it okay to do that?"
"Sure. Why do you mention that?"
"Seems like there is more then one secret admirer sending them. You wouldn't happen to know why would you?"
"Uh no..."
"C'mon, if there's some wonderfully twisted plot going on you KNOW I'd love to be part of it," Eric rubbed his hands together. "You can't help wonder why..."
"All right..." she said. "Thing is, that I've been writing love letters to Paul..."
"Huh?"
"It's not what you think. They aren't for me, they're for Paul's secret admirer..."
"Oh... do tell," Eric grinned. "And this would be WHO?"
"Swear to me you won't tell..."
"Cross my heart and hope to die," Eric promised.
"Hold out your pinky," she said.
"Ooh this is serious... the old pinky swear," he joked. Interlinking pinkie fingers, they tugged playfully.
"Swear you wont' tell Paul..."
"Sure," he nodded. They tugged their pinkies apart and both shared a laugh. She whispered into his ear, and Eric slowly widened his eyes.
"No way... really?"
"Yes way. And I've been writing them over the past week..."
"Hmm, I have an idea... you game?" Eric asked.
"Sure..."
"I'm playing with some buddies at the Ritz... and that would be the perfect place to execute plan matchmaker," Eric said. "Now... what I need you to do is to get this secret admirer to go to the club with you..."
"And you want me to write in my love letter to Paul that he should join us?"
"Uh huh... and I'll make up some story about getting him there because I'm playing and he'll HAVE to go..." said Eric.
"But if he sees us there..."
"He won't. Leave that part to me. Just get her there... I don't' care WHAT you have to do, if you have to drag her kicking and screaming..."
"She'll be there," she said.
"Now... I was also wondering if you'd like to be part of a special something else I've been dying to do..." Eric winked.
"And what would THAT be?" she asked.
"You can get into his dressing room right?" he asked.
"What do you have in mind..."
Eric smiled devilishly, and rubbed his hands together with glee. He snickered, "You're going to love this..."
***
Chapter
6
Paul wandered down the halls to his dressing room that morning, seeing nobody else about. He started to unlock the door, only to find the key was stuck. He called out, "Cheryl, my key's stuck... what's up?"
"I don't know Mr. Stanley... "
"Can you give me a hand?" he asked. She moved over and tried the key herself. With a few turns and jiggling, it finally clicked.
"Great, thanks," Paul said. He unlocked the door and opened it. Suddenly a spew of balloons drifted out into the hall, showering Paul in a multicolored rain of round objects.
"What the hell?" Paul got out before the entire hall filled with balloons floating and tumbling everywhere.
"Yikes!" Cheryl cried. Battering his way through the mess, Paul wedged his way in, and noticed balloons EVERYWHERE. The entire dressing room was filled with them, or as many as could be tossed in to waist height. Most of them had moved into the hallway by now.
"When I get the dumb ass who did this..." Paul fumed. However Cheryl couldn't help but laugh out loud at how silly he looked wading in balloons.
"Someone has a FUNNY sense of humor," she giggled.
"Jeez, I guess someone's getting me back for the itching powder in their costume... or the nail polish on their soap..." Paul couldn't help but chuckle himself. "If I didn't know any better, I would say it had Eric Singer written all over it... but he's not been here for a whole week..."
"Well I do recall seeing someone resembling your friend in here last afternoon and evening..." said Cheryl. "But he was in the company of Miss Johnson..."
"Oh really?" Paul chuckled. "That stinker..."
He glanced around the room, expecting some other prank, but saw nothing else amiss or out of place. Cheryl coughed and said," Mr. Stanley, this note arrived for you..."
"In the room?" he asked.
"No, it arrived at the box office. It's addressed to you..."
"Thanks," he said. "And could you see about someone clearing these out of here before the rehearsal?" he asked, pointing to the balloons.
"Sure," she nodded. He opened the note and read its contents with an amused smile.
"Dear Paul,
I suppose by now you are
dying to know who I am. Well I don't plan to keep you waiting much longer. You see I'm a bit shy, and I would like to
meet you once and for all. How does
dinner at the Ritz sound? I hear your
friend Eric Singer is playing there tonight.
I also would love to hear him, and it would be the perfect place for
us..."
"Please be there by
six thirty... can't wait to see you and reveal all that's going on in my
head...
"Sincerely your secret
admirer..."
P.S. I've been waiting for
this a LONG time...
For a moment, Paul wondered if this was one of Eric's practical jokes. Had HE been the secret admirer, making Paul think it was a girl? He wouldn't put it past Eric to be so ridiculous. Either way he'd get to the bottom of this. Also, it struck him as interesting that Michelle had been seen with Eric yesterday. For all he knew she was probably the person who helped him blow up all those balloons.
"That munchkin is a bad influence on her," he chuckled. He had to admit that it was good that Michelle seemed to be spending time with him, but he wondered if Eric would get dumped soon afterwards when she learned more about him. Yet, hadn't she said that he and she were too much alike, whereas Eric was far different from the more straight-laced Michelle? And could she possibly know who the secret admirer was?
If Eric WAS seeing Michelle she'd be there, and most likely the secret admirer. Either way he had to get to the bottom of this plot once and for all.
***
"Hey Liz, you want to go out with me tonight?" Michelle asked.
"Huh?" Liz asked.
"Hey girl, I thought it would be great to see Eric Singer play at the Ritz. You know for a ladies night out?"
"I don't really feel in the mood," Liz sighed.
"Oh come ON!" she said. "Don't you think you owe it to yourself to go? I've invited some other girls in the production! You HAVE to go!"
"I guess," Liz sighed.
"By the way, Paul might be going," Michelle winked.
"That's exactly why I might not want to go... seeing him there... it's just so hard..."
"Nonsense girl. I just happened to casually mention he MIGHT be there. And anyway, why put your life on hold?"
"He has a secret admirer," Liz despaired. "And he's told me all about those notes..."
"There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for it... and I think a night out is precisely what you need to get your mind off of it," said Michelle. "For all we know it could be some fan..."
"That's what worries me!" she said.
"Don't worry about it. Paul is convinced it's a prank..."
"You mean like the balloons that he found in his dressing room?" Liz chuckled despite her black mood. Michelle grinned. Slowly Liz started to smile and said, "He's convinced Eric Singer was behind that..."
"Well you never know... from what Paul told me about Eric and his practical jokes..."
"He's dead meat," Liz said firmly.
"Hey, who knows if it was him. I'm sure I can sneak backstage and ASK him... VERRY nicely if you would like me to..." Michelle winked.
"You like him, don't you?" Liz asked her.
"I can't tell a lie. The guy is hot... but he hasn't made a move..."
"Just be patient..." Liz said. "And anyway, you haven't heard him play yet..."
"Then we HAVE to go," she said. "So I can find out once and for all if he's behind the love notes..."
"Okay, you've got a deal," Liz said.
***
Nervously Liz adjusted her dress in front of Michelle's mirror. The evening gown was gold lame, and tied behind the neck with a V shaped front that showed off Liz cleavage in a flattering and tasteful manner. Along with that, she wore sandals and a black wrap.
"Looking good, girl," Michelle grinned. She wore a silk minidress with an oriental buttoned collar; made of silk, short sleeved. Dragons and phoenixes decorated it, and her hair was pinned back in a bun with a few strands hanging down around to frame her face. It was held in place with two sticks on either side, small gold charms hanging from the end of each. Along with that, she wore shoes with a stack heel and a strap that fastened around her ankles.
"Thanks, you too," Liz smiled. "I'm glad you like the dress I designed for you..."
"You're a natural," said Michelle. "Wish I was that good with fashions..."
"Oh pooh," Liz threw down her hand. "WE all can't be good in EVERYTHING... so are we ready to go?"
"Sounds like you're warming up to the idea of a ladies night out after all," Michelle smiled.
"You bet. If Paul IS there I'll show him I can have FUN with or without him," Liz said.
"And maybe he'll see what a lovely and attractive woman you are," said Michelle. "Who knows?"
"If only," she sighed as they walked out of the apartment and walked downstairs to the street below. A taxi pulled up, and they both climbed inside.
"Where to?" the man asked in a thick Indian accent.
"The Ritz," said Michelle.
"And step on it!" Liz added with a giggle. Nodding he pulled out quickly, sending both women back into their seats. It wasn't long before they wound their way through Manhattan, and stopped before the swanky hotel awning. They rearranged their short skirts and emerged from the taxi; ready to take on the evening that awaited them.
***
Shortly after their cab arrived, Paul pulled up in his rented Mercedes. He handed the keys to the valet, along with a fifty-dollar bill. He straightened his tie and pulled the white scarf around his neck as he unbuttoned his coat. Taking a deep breath he entered the sumptuous lobby and strode over to the elevator. Around him men in suits and women in evening gowns of every color and style clustered, headed to the same destination he assumed.
He didn't notice that two familiar women had already boarded the elevator to his left, riding to the top floor. Wedging himself with the rest of the patrons, he soon rode up to the top floor where the nightclub was situated.
Once at the Matre D's station he asked, "Reservation under Stanley?"
"Yes, we've been expecting you. Right this way sir... and I'll just take your coat..."
"Thank you," Paul said. "I hope you have a private table, a bit out of the way..."
"I have the best seat in the house, just for you and your date," the man said.
"Date?" he asked.
"Yes, the young lady who said she'd be joining you, correct?" he asked.
"Uh... sure," Paul nodded, following the young waiter who immediately stepped up.
"This way sir..." the man said, leading him to a table down near the small club stage in front. It was set back from the dance floor a bit, illuminated by the small lamp on the table. Long red cloths decked each table, flanked by rich plush chairs and set with decorative napkins and champagne glasses.
"I'll be right back," Paul said. "Where's the restrooms?"
"Right that way... I'll make sure that the rest of your party is ready to join you if they arrive when you return..."
"Thanks," Paul said, heading off to the gent's room. Across the varnished dance floor, two women sat at another such table. They each spoke their orders to their waitresses.
"I'll have a Mai-tai," said Liz.
"And I'll have a glass of Merlot," said Michelle.
"Excellent ladies, I'll be right back," she nodded.
"Excuse me, when does the entertainment start?" Michelle asked.
"They go on in a few minutes," said the waitress with a smile. "I'll come back with your drinks and then you can order your appetizer..."
"Man this is going to cost a pretty penny," Michelle sighed.
"I'm sure it will be okay if we just ordered salad," Liz whistled, looking at the prices. It cost at least fifty dollars for steak dinner, and a salad was at least ten. A dinner salad.
Just then the Matre'D came over to their table, and said, "Excuse me ladies, but this table is reserved..."
"What?" Liz asked. "But we had a reservation."
"We'll be seating you over here," said the man. "Right this way..."
"But..."
"Oh let's not mess with it," Michelle said. "C'mon..."
They sat down at another table, and noticed that the chairs were tipped. Liz sat down first, and then Michelle sat opposite. Their waitress set both drinks down at their new table, and Liz put her handbag under her chair.
It was then that Michelle suddenly said, "Excuse me I'll just go to the ladies room...'
"I'll come with you..."
"Oh no, just wait here..." said Michelle. "I might be a while..."
"Will you be okay?"
"Just enjoy your drink," Michelle winked. She rose and wandered away toward the ladies room. Leaving Liz puzzled and flustered to stare at her drink. Sighing she took a sip.
Paul returned from the restroom and stopped short when he saw the lovely woman sitting there at his table. For a moment he didn't recognize her, the light had dimmed. Other patrons had taken their seats, and the spotlight fell on the small stage.
"Is this seat taken?" he asked, and sat down.
"Uh no," she said. Just then she looked up and gasped. "Paul... what are you doing here..."
"Liz?" Paul gasped, suddenly recognizing her. "Are you..."
"Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce for you this evening's entertainment, Mr. Eric Singer and friends!" said the announcer, cutting off Paul and Liz's next statements. Flustered, they exchanged glances of mutual confusion. Paul recognized Bob and Bruce Kulick both playing guitars, along with Eric on drums and two others on keyboard and bass. Eric broke into song and Liz sipped a big mouthful of Mai tai to wash down her nervousness.
***
Michelle had taken the same table she had before, and watched Paul and Liz in interest. They seemed so nervous, she sighed. What would it take them to get the clue? Anxiously she glanced onstage and saw Eric suddenly motion to his guitarist.
"We've got some GREAT looking couples here tonight," Eric said through the microphone. "And some lovely ladies. In fact I'm going to ask one of them to come down RIGHT now and sing a song for us..."
Paul sighed and looked to Liz, realizing how sensuous her neck appeared under that pearl choker. Why hadn't he noticed before how lovely she was? Loath to interrupt Eric he remained silent.
Suddenly a spotlight beamed on Michelle, sitting alone, and she held up her hand to stop from being blinded. Eric pointed with his drumstick and said, "We've got us a lovely young rising star here. Straight from her debut on Phantom of the Opera, may I introduce Miss Michelle Johnson!"
"I'm going to kill him," Michelle muttered.
"I'm going to ask her to come down here and sing a song. From that very show. C'mon down honey to the front... I'm sure you know the way..."
A security guard leapt offstage and playfully took her hand. He conducted her onstage and maneuvered her before the microphone. She stood and gasped away her stage fright, and glared daggers at Eric. "What am I going to SING?" she demanded.
"That's all I ask of you," said Eric in a whisper. He signaled to Bob, who punched the button of a CD player piped through the sound system. Paul started when she began to sing along with the track.
"So... it's been you... all this time?" Paul asked Liz. "You're the one... who Michelle told me about..."
"I... yes..." she nodded.
"And you sent me those letters... you're the secret admirer..."
"I sent you letters?" she asked.
"Liz..." he asked.
"I never sent you any notes," she said quickly.
"But the note here said that all would be revealed..."
"Paul, I thought Michelle would have told you that I..." she stopped.
"Told me what?" Paul asked, surprised.
"How I feel about you how I..."
"But you didn't send me those notes?" he asked, astonished.
"I never wrote you any notes..."
"Then if you didn't... who?"
"Michelle asked me here for a ladies night out and I had no idea you'd be here..."
"Then you didn't come to meet me here?" he asked. "Wait... MICHELLE asked you to come here?"
"Yes!" Liz said.
"Wait a minute... look at this handwriting... does it look FAMILIAR?" Paul asked her.
"IT looks like hers," Liz said slowly.
"That little... sneak," Paul shook his head.
"But when she told me she couldn't stand in the way of you and me..."
"Say WHAT?" he asked.
"Paul... I..."
"You said you and me?" Paul asked slowly.
"I..."
"Liz... you distinctly said you and me in the same sentence. I want to know what is going on here, and I want to know now..."
"I can't tell you here," she said, her voice cracking.
"Then I suggest we go somewhere more private and discuss this. You and I seem to have a lot we need to get straightened out..."
"But I came here with Michelle..." she said, and then glanced at the stage where Michelle was finishing the song. She smiled and waved at Paul and Liz.
"I think she's suitably occupied, don't you?" Paul asked, and took Liz hand. "Now let's get out of here... I'll deal with them later..."
"Don't be angry at them..."
"Come on, I have my car waiting. We'll go to my place and talk..." Paul said. Her heart pounding, she took Paul's arm and let him lead her out of the restaurant. He stopped for a moment and dropped a fifty-dollar bill to cover the drinks before they left.
Michelle had no sooner finished her song then she saw them leave. Concerned, she glanced back at Eric, and he nodded and gave her the OK sign. She looked at him, and he announced, "Well that was wonderful Hon! Give the lady a hand!"
Everyone in the club applauded, and she bowed as if onstage at the Majestic. Eric got up from behind his drumset and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He whispered, "Don't worry, I think it's working. Why don't you go back to your table and enjoy the rest of the show? I'll be down to keep you company when we have a break ok?"
"Sure, but what if..."
"It will be okay..." he whispered, hot breath on her ear. She nodded and went back to the table from where she came to await the end of his first set.
***
In Paul's apartment, Liz paced back and forth. Paul had taken her coat, and moved over to the winerack. He broke the silence by asking, "You want a drink?"
"No," Liz said softly.
"I need one," Paul said. "And I think you do too, missy."
She waited tensely as he poured two glasses of wine, and brought them into the sitting room. Her back turned to him as she wandered over to the sliding glass door that led to his patio. Normally it would be a romantic view up so high, the lights of the buildings lining Central Park a forest of twinkling lights in a square of blackish green. When she felt Paul's hand on her shoulder she flinched and spun around.
"Easy, shh... here's some wine."
Shyly she took it from him, and waited to see the look on his face. He was serious, his expression pensive, and she was afraid to say another word. He walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Beckoning to her he said, "Liz, come in here please and sit down."
"Paul... before you say anything... I had no idea Michelle was sending you those secret admirer notes..."
"You didn't?" Paul asked.
"No... And if I had know it would get you angry..."
"Liz, PLEASE come in here and sit down," said Paul. "I need to talk to you. And I think you have a lot of explaining to do..."
She sighed and walked into the sitting room and sat down next to Paul, with six inches between them. He took a sip of wine and folded his knees, loosening his tie a bit. She coughed and sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, clearing her throat as she sipped her own wine.
"Now, care to tell me just WHAT you said to Michelle? Were you responsible for her dumping me?"
"Yes... I mean no... I mean..."
"I think you are. And I think there's a LOT more going on here then you or I am aware of."
"You have no idea," she sighed.
"What was that?' Paul asked, voice low.
"Please don't be mad Paul... I simply told her... that it pained me to see her dating you..."
"Why Liz, why?" he asked.
"Because... I didn't think you two belonged together..."
"So let me get this straight. She dumps me and then starts sending me secret admirer notes and you have NO idea she's doing this... and then you conveniently show up at the same time as I do for Eric's concert?"
"I had no idea."
"Liz, I don't like dancing around like this. If you DO know something you owe it to me to tell me damn it!"
"You think I do?" she blurted out. "Paul, you sound like you're ACCUSING me of somehow... HIDING something... when it's not like that at all!"
"Well you WERE," he protested. "Weren't you?"
"All I did wrong was love you, that's it! That's what I told her Paul!" Liz said through tears. "She did the rest! And I told Eric too..."
"Liz..." Paul sighed. "You..."
"I love you," she sobbed, tears pouring down her cheeks. "I always have... ever since I first met you... and I never told you because I didn't know if you felt the same..."
"You... love me?" Paul asked, putting down his wineglass.
"Yes!" she sniffed, wiping away the mascara that was beginning to run.
"Why didn't you TELL me?" Paul asked.
"Because we had such a good friendship. And I didn't want to ruin it... and after the way things have been going with your love life..."
"So all this time you've loved me?" Paul repeated, in shock. "And I never knew..."
"Now you do..." she sobbed. "That's why it hurt me to see you with Michelle..."
"Liz... I don't know what to say," Paul sighed, closing his eyes.
"If you want me to leave now, I'll go," she said, getting up from the sofa. "Obviously you're angry about this... and I don't want to hurt you anymore..."
Paul watched her as she rose from the sofa and started to grab her purse. Before she could exit the living room he leapt up from the sofa and grabbed her arm. "Liz!" he said. "Don't go!"
She turned, tears blurring her vision, and unable to look him in the eyes. Seizing her chin gently he turned her face toward his and said, "Liz, look at me..."
"I can't..."
"No, LOOK at me... please..." he pleaded. She let him tilt her face up and look into his eyes. When their gazes met, he realized how beautiful her eyes were, a clear cerulean blue. Filled with love for him. How could he be so blind?
"Shh... Come here..." he whispered, wiping away her tears with a finger. She sobbed and fell into his arms, burying her head in his shoulder.
"I love you so much Paul," she sobbed. "Oh god... if you only KNEW how much..."
He stroked her back, hugging her close as he rocked her against him. "Shh... Easy now... it's okay... shh... please don't cry... please..."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you... and I can't bear to think you wouldn't feel the same... but I had to tell you or it would kill me..." she sobbed.
"Liz," he whispered, kissing her forehead. He pulled her gently away, and tilted her chin to look him in the eyes again. IN his arms, she felt so good, and he loved the feel of her warm body pressed to his. With the back of his hand he stroked her soft silky skin, and ran a finger over her lips to silence her next words. Seizing his hand, she kissed it hard.
"Hey," he whispered. "Isn't that the WRONG place?"
"I..." she said, and let his hand go.
"Look at me... RIGHT here..." he pointed to his eyes.
"Are... you angry..." she asked, lip quivering.
"No..." he whispered. "We've always been friends... right? Always had truth between us?"
"Yes Paul, always."
"Then... you really DO love me?"
"Yes," she nodded.
"Then I guess there's only one answer," he said. "To this problem..."
"P...problem?" she stammered, a fresh crop of tears filling her eyes.
Paul suddenly slipped his hand under her chin, and pressed his lips to hers in one fluid movement. His arms folded her close to his body, and Liz gasped in surprise. Soft lips claimed hers and she moaned in ecstasy as her every dream came true in that instant. Paul moaned as she suddenly build up the courage to throw her arms around his neck and deepen the kiss. Slipping his tongue into her mouth he teased it apart and tasted her for the first time.
Liz moaned and arched against him, loving the feel of his hands on her body. She ran her own fingers down his back and massaged it, then ran them up to plunge into his hair. She loosened it from its ponytail and felt each curl.
They parted, each panting as their hearts pounded, eyes locked. Paul saw her eyes half shut, her lips parted in bliss. He realized he had no need to seduce or charm this woman, for she already loved him. And the kiss told him so.
"Paul..."
"Liz..." he whispered. "Whoa..."
"I..."
"Shh," he whispered. "I think I know the answer. And I'm not sure yet...but I think we should find out together..."
Impatient for his answer she asked, "Do you... love me?"
Paul smiled slowly and whispered, "I think I do... but I just want to make sure... baby... and this will take some getting used to...after all you only just told me now... and I think we should make absolutely sure don't you?"
"Yes," she nodded. "OH yes..."
"Come with me," Paul whispered, taking her hand. He led her towards his bedroom, and she felt her pulse quickening. Stopping he turned her around and slowly kissed her again. This time they both fell into the kiss, gripping each other close with a passion that would no longer be denied.
"Oh yes... I am DEFINATELY becoming sure of this," he breathed, intoxicated by her kiss and her scent. He nosed into her hair, licking her earlobe. She nibbled his neck, and slipped her hands under his jacket. Quickly he pulled it off, and tossed it over a chair. Then he unfastened her hairclip, letting her hair fall in a shower of gold around her shoulders. Liz smiled and stroked his cheeks, before leaning up to kiss him again.
He gently reached to unzip her dress. Pushing the straps off her shoulders he tugged it to her waist, and took a moment to feast his eyes on more skin, golden tan. She wore a lacey black bra, classy and pretty, not cheap and tacky. She let him push the dress the rest of the way down before she reached up to unbutton his shirt and pull it out of his pants.
"Go on..." he whispered. "I know you want this... and I want this too... show me how you love me..."
"Oh yes Paul..." she whispered, and pushed his shirt off his arms. He quickly shed the shirt and undershirt and pulled her into his arms. Close to his chest, he hugged her, and she listened to his heartbeat.
"Mm you feel so good baby," he purred.
"So do you, love," she whispered, her voice sweet to his ears. Leaning down he picked her up in his arms, and she gasped with surprise as he carried her into his bedroom. Gently he lay her on the bed, and flopped down next to her.
Rolling her over he kissed her softly, and reached around to unfasten her bra. Soon the rest of their clothes merged on the floor, and they were beneath the sheets, kissing and touching each other's bodies for the first time. He loved the feel of her hands on his body, each caress worth more then gold itself. How could he have ever doubted that love could exist?
"Do you want me?" Paul asked her, as he kissed down her belly, and stopped between her trembling knees.
"Oh yes... more then anything..."
"Then you have me... baby..." he purred, and tasted her sweet passion for him. Liz arched her back and screamed as he brought her to a swift climax. Moving up he kissed her again, and then pressed her under his strong body. She was so soft and inviting.
Then he turned out the light, and caressed her soft breasts, kissing each one. He became accustomed to her tastes and scents, burning each memory into his mind. This night would be the most special, he promised. For this woman he didn't have to impress, only be who he was. She lay back, eyes full of love and passion as he prepared to enter her and bring her to the next stage of bliss.
Opening herself to him, she gasped deeply as he slipped inside, to judge her reaction. There was a slight resistance, and Paul opened his eyes in shock.
"You... are..."
"Yes," she nodded.
"Oh god," he whispered.
"Please... it's for you and you alone," she whispered. Paul wiped away a tear and pushed gently in, taking his time so the pain would be minimized. She cried out at the sudden entry, as he filled her empty soul. When she stopped shivering he pushed past the resistance, and stopped, body locked to hers.
"Let me love you now," he whispered.
"Please..." she whispered. He began to move, and saw her eyes half-shut in contentment. She soon rose to meet him, and together they traveled to that place between heaven and sheer delight that few couples could claim. The passion built to a warm glow that exploded between them both.
"Paul!" she screamed, reaching her climax. Soon after her he reached his, and let his desire flow between them both. As the radiance faded to a slow hum, he kissed her and held her close.
"I do love you Liz," he whispered. And she smiled and knew he really did.
***