The Two Men

Because of Derek's involvement in behind-the-scene orchestrations, and due to last-minute stuff at school with Sophia, they agreed to just meet at the party, on the garden roof-deck of the McCaulay building. The arrangements are a breeze on paper—in actuality, however, the day is one fuck-up after another. The elegant black dress Sophia is supposed to wear to the party, due to a misunderstanding, would not be ready even by afternoon, a problem mitigated only by a replacement: another black dress that would have been very elegant indeed if not for its fabric—a rather flimsy affair through which Sophia's nipples are almost visible. The dress shop's manager, a tall, gaunt woman with short-cropped hair who speaks half her words through her nose, reassures Sophia that the fabric is more than perfect for a night-time party—and sweeping her gaze over Sophia's body—says "it will bring out all your wonderful curves." Sophia is happy to hear this, but late that afternoon, as she tries on the dress, she discovers that, to the "perv-trained" eye (Mr. Frome's eyes, for example), she will look as if totally naked. She shaves off her pubic hair to the smoothness of a baby's butt, and re-tries the dress on: if she doesn't wear anything underneath, and if she'd be careful about the way she moves, nobody would realize she's completely naked underneath that flimsy fabric. Besides, even she could admit the sight of her on the mirror is absolutely breathtaking. "I'd fuck you," she tells her reflection. "I'd fuck you hard."

The party is a short drive downtown and one long ride up an elevator. She has been texting Derek about her arrival, but her husband hasn't been texting back. She thinks of calling him up, but decides against it—he might be neck-deep in "highly critical things" and her phone call might break their momentum, whatever that is. In any case, she thinks maybe Derek's already at the party, just waiting for her. And just as she had imagined, it's a gilded affair. She could recognize faces made familiar by their frequent appearance on TV shows or the local newspaper: isn't that Cathy Grant, host of that late night talk show? Isn't that the famous baseball star? And hey, even Paris Hilton is here, yet everybody behaves as if everything's normal.

Sophia walks aimlessly around the hall, uncertain of where to go. Her eyes search for Derek's face, but the abundance of gilded dresses and black suits makes it an almost impossible task. She finds a corner and attempts to call him up, but his number's unreachable. Men stare at her with more than a casual interest; some smile, but she doesn't smile back, afraid to start a conversation she wouldn't want. A young, beautiful woman in a high-powered party of Who's Who, all alone in a corner—she's a perplexing sight, sending the men within a five-meter radius to wrestle with the age-old question, "Should they or shouldn't they?"

"I can't believe you're here."

She looks up and there, like the sun, is Brad Silverstone, immaculate in his suit, flashing that million-dollar smile.

"Hey," she says, recovering from the shock. "I'm waiting for…someone." She couldn't say "husband" outright—something about Brad's expectant face that discourages her to say so.

"You are," Brad says, "so beautiful. You should be up on some pedestal gracing us with your attention."

Sophia looks at him strangely. "Did someone snatch away Brad Silverstone and replaced him with a replica from the 18th century?"

Brad holds up his hands. "I'm just saying you are s breath-taking to behold."

"Again: 'behold'. Like I'm a work of art or something."

"You are."

"Oh, please," Sophia says, but she's smiling, too. "So is this your party, too?"

"Half of it, yes." Brad looks around. "But we're just really guests here. Someone else is in charge."

That would be Derek, Sophia thinks. She speed-dials Derek's number while Brad is not looking, but his number's still out of reach.

"Would you mind joining me at my table?" Brad says at length. "It gets pretty lonely there."

Sophia hesitates. Derek might turn up any moment now, and she doesn't want him to feel as if she's immediately gotten comfortable with someone at this party. Yet, she can't continue standing here, alone, seemingly available.

"That," Brad says, pointing at a nearby empty table, "is my place. See, it's a stride away."

Sophia lets herself be led away. Brad even pulls out a seat for her like a real gentleman. He sits opposite her and wastes no time. "So. Are you going anywhere later?"

Her eyebrows rise at the question. "We haven't even started, yet, whatever this is."

Brad laughs. He's impregnable to verbal acid right now. "I'm just saying. I've been to a lot of these parties. They quickly get old. We can leave this place now, if you want. I'm just trying to make sure tonight would not be one of those nights…"

Like that terrible night at Fastidio's, is what Sophia's thinks. But even before she could reply, a hand rests on her shoulder. It's Derek, dark bags under his eyes but nevertheless pleased to find his wife socializing like a pro. He slumps on the seat beside her. Derek kisses her fully on the mouth long enough for Brad to spill his whisky.

Derek turns to him with his head angled as if trying to figure out who he is. "Hey, are you alright?"

"Uhh, yeah, sorry." A passing server deftly comes to Brad's rescue, quickly cleaning up the little mess. Brad tries to find a hint of irony on Derek's face, but finding none, he makes that famous fake laugh. "I'm sorry," he says. He thinks of an excuse for the spillage but all he could think of is I'm dying to kiss that very same mouth!

"Must be the oyster," Derek offers. "Do you have a headache? Are you feeling dizzy? Anything else weird?"

Yeah. Seeing you kiss Sophia so hungrily is what's weird. "Uhh, no. I'm okay, really."

Derek's gaze ping-pongs from Sophia's face to that of Brad. "You two already know each other?"

Brad appears on the verge of speaking, but Sophia says, "Brad's one of my students."

"Oh, that's great!" Derek says, but then something clicks in his mind and his face freezes. His head is turned as if trying to put something in place. "Brad? You're not 'THE' Brad Silverstone, are you?"

"Unfortunately, I am," offering his hand.

Derek's handshake could crush stones. "Glad to finally meet you." His hand stops in mid-shake. Very slowly, he turns to Sophia. "He is that Brad, right?"

Sophia makes that cute, little smile and nods, hoping to death Brad—who is staring at both of them with his mouth half-open—doesn't glean anything from this exchange.

"Well," Derek says, recovering. But the dark around his eyes seems to darken even more into an actual scowl. "Nice to finally meet the Brad Silverstone. Your Dad couldn't stop talking about you."

"In positive terms, I hope."

"Of course! He keeps talking about the 'Silverstone Empire 2.0' with you at the helm. He has very high hopes for you, Brad."

Sophia can't decide if Derek is just trying to be chatty to make up for that slice of awkwardness back there, or if he's immediately going for the jugular. Derek pulls out his wallet and hands Brad one of his fancy business cards and says, "I'm not sure if you know, but I'm handling the big merger. The reason why we're having this party."

Brad takes the card and looks at it and looks at Sophia and mutters, "Derek Masterson." He nods; it's his turn to connect the dots. "Glad to finally meet you, Mister Masterson. Miss Masterson always talked about you."

Derek laughs. "My wife talks about you, she also talks about me. Ain't she such an adorable woman? We can't love her enough, can we?"

Sophia looks down at her plate and squirms in her seat. Warmth suddenly washes over her face and she's acutely aware she's blushing.

Derek turns to her. "Darling, you didn't tell me Brad Silverstone is such a good-looking kid. If I were a young woman, I'd definitely bang him, pardon my French."

Brad Silverstone's jaws drop, yet that fake smile stays fixed on his face. He gazes at the spectacle before him, trying his outward best to appear clueless about the whole thing. Meanwhile, Derek gulps down his champagne and asks for another one, then another one. Before long, the edges have dulled. Bolstered by the warmth of liquor down his throat, Derek starts seeing things in black and white. "And speaking of the merger," he half-slurs, "Is there a good chance your dad puts down his signature by next week?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The signature. For the merger. You've got your Dad's ear, right? Can you, for the sake of my wife—"

"Derek!" rage makes Sophia's voice quake. "Stop it."

"—ask your Dad to consider the proposal in a brand new light?"

"Uhh, I'm not sure," Brad says, feeling greater discomfort by the second. "I'm not exactly in the loop when it comes to this thing."

"But you can put in a good word, right? Whisper to his ears? Influence him?"

"I'm not sure," Brad Silverstone stammers, throwing glances at Sophia while trying to hold Derek's attention. "Dad makes his own decisions. Especially with ones that define our future."

"Exactly," Derek stomps his glass a little too loudly on the table. "You are the future. You have a say."

"Derek, stop!" Sophia is beet-red. "Brad, I'm sorry, but—"

"Why, Darling?" Derek coos. "We're just talking shop."

"You're getting out of line!"

"We're just having a friendly conversation here."

"It's okay, Sophia," Brad says, his voice never losing its cool. "I completely understand what Mister Masterson needs." He turns to Derek. "In fact, sir, I'll see what I can do. I will speak to my Dad."

This seems to stun Derek. He stares at Brad for what seems eons, then his mouth slightly curls in a smile. "Why, thank you, Brad. You're such a nice fellow. Isn't he a nice fellow, Darling? Now I see why you kept screaming out Brad's name here…"

Sophia bolts up, stands. "I'm not sitting here to listen to this." Then she storms out, the bewildered crowd parting in her path. She's always running away, when all she ever wants is to be captured completely. In the ladies room, she stares at the tears-drenched face, which only makes her cry even more. She doesn't even know why—she just feels so disappointed in Derek, who behaved completely like an ass tonight. Yet, she knows Derek didn't say anything that isn't true. She just doesn't like her feelings—conflicted, hopelessly tangled up in the nooks and crevices of her heart—fleshed out so casually in front of her. And was Derek really that drunk, after only three or four glasses of champagne? The creeping suspicion that her husband was just acting out to say what he wants to say—using the universal excuse of drunkenness—infuriates and baffles her even more. Why does he have to do that in the first place? Where is that mean streak coming from? Jealousy? Repressed rage?

The door behind her opens and Sophia opens her bag and pretends to be busily looking for something.

"I'm sorry about that," a voice says, and it's Brad, a beacon of calm in the mirror.

"Let's not even go there."

Brad's mirror reflection shrugs. "I know about the merger. It's a huge deal. I know your husband's probably too stressed out to care about being nice and polite."

"You should not say things you don't mean."

"Sophia," Brad walks to her, never losing his gaze at her reflection. "I meant every word I said. I'll help you out. I'll help your husband. I've read the proposal. It's good. It has weight in its own right. And like gravity, all it needs is a little push."

Sophia couldn't help but giggle. "Are we quoting the Dark Knight here now?"

"Actually, it's from the Joker." He smiles. He rests a hand on her hip and Sophia gasps. Their eyes lock in the mirror. So subtly—almost imperceptibly—his gaze shifts from her eyes to her lips, and she gets it, she senses what he wants. Because she wants it, too. She wants it so badly she could choke on it. What's more, she isn't wearing anything underneath this dress. She acutely feels she's getting wet down there, and quickly. Standing, she shifts from one leg to the other, intimately feeling the squishy wetness of her pussy lips lapping at each other. But right when he starts saying, "There is something I have to tell you—" The door flies open and in come two elderly women, who eye Brad from head to toe. "What are you doing here, young man? This is for the ladies."

Brad instantly disengages and profusely apologizes. In a second, he's gone, leaving Sophia to the judgment of the two ladies, who proceed in gossiping about their friends.

The world seems different after she emerges from the ladies room. The party has formed in clusters, but even then she quickly spots Brad's broad shoulders in a huddle with a group of bankers. Brad sees her and waves a hand, but Derek appears from a corner and is instantly beside her.

"Oh here you are. We're going home." Derek takes her arm a bit too roughly and half-drags her out to the lobby. In the elevator, no one speaks for a while. It takes Sophia a moment before she realizes where she's in: the same elevator where that kiss happened.

"He likes you, I sense it," Derek grumbles. "And you like him, too."

"I don't—"

"It's okay, Darling." Derek throws his hands in the air, expressing utter resignation. "We have no choice but make the best out of this little situation."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Trust me, my dear wife," says Derek, looking straight at her, slurring out the words in a way that doesn't inspire trust. "I have a fucking plan."