Roxanne, p.20
Roxanne., page 20
“Fine. If that’s the way you need to view it, I won’t complain. She’s got two tickets and she’d be delighted to go with you.”
“But why didn’t she call or text me herself? She has my number.” If Tatiana had really wanted to go with me, she could have asked, and as long as I didn’t get the vibe that she wanted it to be a romantic encounter, I’d have probably accepted. When our parents get involved, though, it makes me want to dig my heels in and refuse.
“Because she’s got manners and she doesn’t want to bother you,” he snaps, reaching the end of his patience. “Can you do me this favor, please? I’ll give you a bigger allowance next month.”
Little does Dad know, I’m also nearly out of patience, watching Elise kick her feet in the air as she flips through one of my notebooks that had been sitting on my coffee table. If she had also minded her own business and made an excuse for me, I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.
“Is the allowance a payment for me to be her date? Because if so, it makes me feel like a gigolo having to take her out,” I grit out.
He scoffs. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Stop being so difficult! A gigolo is paid to have sex. I’m just asking you to go with her to the opera.”
“I’m not an escort either.” And right now this is exactly what he’s doing: paying me to take Tatiana out. Like a high-end male escort. And it’s fucking pathetic and disgusting. “Can’t you for once take my side on this?” I ask, despite already knowing the answer. “I’d like to know that you would stick up for me and the little self-respect I now have left.”
“It’s the last time I ask you for such a favor, I swear.” At least for once he sounds sincere. “If her dad asks me something like that again, I’ll advise him to speak to Tatiana and have her deal with you directly.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her,” I tell him. “She can’t always be leveraging your business relationship with her dad to get what she wants.”
“I doubt she’s doing it in bad faith,” he argues. “She’s just shy.”
“Yeah, right…” I roll my eyes at how deluded Dad can be. That’s why Elise can manipulate him so well. Does he truly believe both of these girls are that innocent and with no agenda? “When is the event?”
“Tonight at eight.”
“What?” I glance at my watch immediately. “That’s in like two hours!”
“I know, it’s a bit last minute. But if you had answered your phone then this wouldn’t be a problem,” Dad explains, sounding exasperated. “But I got you a driver.”
“Fine, I’ll call Tatiana and tell her I’m picking her up.” I’m pretty sure she’s already getting ready by now, knowing all too well I wouldn’t decline the invitation coming from my dad.
Dad lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you, son. I truly appreciate it.”
I hang up, heaving a sigh in annoyance while I throw Elise her phone back, which she catches easily. I’m not interested in the opera on the best of days, but now that I’m being forced to go with Tatiana, I’m even less interested. Ugh, what a waste of my time.
I know flower-girl is gonna expect more from me. She always does, but she’s simply as bland to me as a blank page. Still, I’d hate to disappoint her, so when she walks out of the building where she lives, I play my part and smile at her, making a show of looking her over, taking in her dress and the way it flows over her body. I don’t want to be here, but if I’m going to do this favor for my dad, I might as well play the part to the best of my abilities.
No one would ever say that Tatiana wasn’t a beautiful woman, and as she descends the stairs to where I’m waiting outside the car, she’s obviously using that beauty to her full advantage. Looking at me through thick, dark lashes, she smiles gently, just a subtle pull at the corner of her mouth. Her dark brunette hair has been pulled back into a low chignon, with expertly curled pieces pulled loose to accentuate her face.
Tatiana has features that lend themselves more toward cute than stunning, with large, wide eyes and a heart-shaped face, but she definitely knows how to do her makeup to make herself appear older than she is. She’s put aside her normal flowing sundresses for the occasion and is wearing something in ivory. The dress is sleeveless, glimmering when she moves, and ends below her knees, with a slit up the back that is just inches from being problematic. She looks perfect for the occasion, and more mature than I’ve ever seen her.
I’m still not interested, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be nice.
I hold open the door for her as she approaches. “Hey, how are you? I was told you require an escort for the evening.”
She rolls her eyes flirtatiously. “You don’t have to make it sound like you’re babysitting me.”
Then why does it feel that way? But I don’t speak it out loud. “Sorry.”
I slide into the car next to her while she checks the contents of her clutch before touching up her lipstick in a small hand mirror. I can smell her perfume, something rosy, and it makes me want to roll the window down.
Now that I’m alone in the car with her, this is obviously nothing more than the date setup I have imagined it to be in the first place.
Tatiana breaks the silence. “I wanted to go with you specifically, you know. I could have found someone else to take me, but I wanted it to be you.”
I cringe internally. “I’m flattered.” I grasp around in my mind for a new subject. “I didn’t check, this was so last minute for me. What show is it that we’re seeing tonight?”
She brightens at the question, looking for anything to engage with me over. “Anna Bolena. It’s about–”
“The life of Anne Boleyn, I’m familiar.”
She purses her lips at the interruption but shakes it off quickly enough. “Do you like the opera?”
“I appreciate the art form for what it is, but it isn’t anything I’d seek out on my own.”
“I see.” She twists the fabric of her dress in her fingers. “I rather like it.”
I muster up a smile for her. “Then I hope you enjoy yourself tonight.”
She scoots her body infinitesimally closer to me. It’s a big move for the shy girl, so I allow it. I don’t want to crush her spirit. “Oh, I know I will.”
The Dutch National Opera looks much more modern on the outside than it does on the inside; a sprawling white building consisting mostly of mirrors and sitting right on the water. It’s hard to believe that once you enter, you’ll be transported to somewhere dark and intimate to watch the show.
Tatiana is glowing as I take her hand and help her out of the car. She’s more than happy to link our arms together, her tiny hand tipped with seashell-pink nails resting on my upper arm as we walk in together.
From the outside, I’m sure we look like the perfect young couple. All my suits are tailored, and, while I am not a vain man, I cut an impressive enough figure that I’m aware of my charm. Flower-girl is almost bursting with excited energy, and I wonder how she’ll even make it through the show without squealing. She really is thrilled to be on my arm.
Tatiana knows how to carry herself at these events, but I’ve known her for years, and it makes me constantly on alert for her excitement to deflate and be replaced with anxiousness. We decide to spend some time downstairs taking in the incredible architecture and seeing who else is in attendance, and in about ten minutes, we'll go to our private box so she can decompress from all the socializing.
That shyness is something I actually did relate to Tatiana about. Not that I’m shy, but huge crowds and hordes of people are not something I enjoy, so going to our seats early is perfectly fine with me.
Heavy, scarlet curtains, gold accents, and a hushed atmosphere is all just a prelude to the performance. The entire opera house, this one and all others like it, are an ode to the art that they host, and everyone present seems to sense the importance of it all.
I should be more of a fan of opera, since it’s a culmination of music and literature, but it all falls a little short for me. Words on a page are clearer, more concise, and speak to my soul in a way other forms of art simply don't.
“It’s amazing here,” Tatiana says as we stroll arm in arm, her heels silent on the soft carpets that grace the flawless marble floors. “I’m glad you decided to come.”
I want to tell her that I hadn’t had much of a choice, but I refrain. It isn’t her fault our parents are all trying to push us together. Though I suppose Tatiana is a more willing participant than I am.
I hum in agreement, but I’m quickly losing interest in the need to make our appearances among the masses. I want to make our way to the box and await the start of the show.
I start to lead Tatiana in that direction, and she is more than happy to follow, still captivated by everything else around us. We reach the bottom of the tall, curving staircase that would lead us to the next level when I freeze, stopping dead in my tracks. Tatiana jerks backward when she doesn’t notice and continues to walk with my arm in hers.
“What is it?” she asks, surprised, but she might as well have been speaking a foreign language, because I’m not hearing a single one of her words—what must have been a figment of my imagination is descending toward us.
“Oh, the poet,” the figment says, her voice all smoke and sultriness when she lays her eyes on me.
“Roxanne?” I can’t stop myself from gaping as she makes her way down the stairs in her long lace black gown. It perfectly fits her wonderful hips and waist, hugging her curves lovingly, to the point that I’m ridiculously jealous of the pieces of fabric. Her blonde hair is brushed up in a high chignon like a fifties diva, exposing her delicate, pale neck, her lips just as red as the first time I’d seen her. She’s such a vision. But I try to brush those thoughts away, focusing myself on some normal subject that doesn't reveal my shock.
“You, um, you also like opera?” I ask, immediately chastising myself internally for the inane question. I focus on keeping my posture straight and my attitude nonchalant.
The look on her face is curious, with just a dash of amusement. “Sometimes. And you?”
“It’s alright,” I answer, wishing I’m half as eloquent when I speak as when I write. “I came here with a friend who does, though. Roxanne, this is Tatiana, a friend of the family.”
“Oh, you came with a friend?” Roxanne asks, surprised. Or maybe just feigning it as she secretly revels in my effort at hiding the impact she has on me. Still, I watch her size Tatiana up like an opponent in the arena of battle, all while Tatiana is oblivious, just smiling her sweet innocent smile. “Me too,” she continues. “What a coincidence.”
I raise my brows. “Karl again?”
“No, actually.” She gives me nothing but a side smile, lowering her chin so she’s looking up at me through her lashes. “His name’s Charlie.”
“Who’s he?” I ask, but Roxanne has turned her attention to Tatiana, greeting her kindly, despite the tension I’m sure I see in her shoulders.
I admire her ability to seem aloof, but then she takes one step closer toward me and bends just enough to reach my ear. “He’s a very interesting man who enjoys opera fiercely,” she whispers. And I’ve got no idea how or why, but my heart tightens upon hearing this. How is it that she continues to make me feel this way even when telling me she’s with another man?
Before I can formulate another sentence, an older man comes down the marble stairs behind Roxanne. He’s tall, but lanky, with thinning hair and a confident expression. The man looks familiar, but not in any way I can place. He pays Tatiana and I no attention, his heated gaze fully fixed on Roxanne.
“Ah, here you are, my dear. I thought that you had gone and abandoned me,” the man jokes, and Roxanne looks over her shoulder at him with clear fondness, but at least she shows none of the attraction to him that he obviously feels for her.
The man comes up beside Roxanne and snakes his arm around her waist, one long-fingered hand possessively on her hip. I clench my jaw, forcing my eyes off where he is touching her and back to Roxanne’s face. She looks at me curiously, until she seems to realize what it is that is bothering me.
Instead of brushing him off, she tilts her head in my direction, and introduces me.
“Charlie, this is Andries, a friend and a talented poet,” she says, and despite the fact that she used that dreaded word, friend, I feel a rush of warmth in my chest at her recognition of my poetry. Did she really think I was talented? Does that mean she read the poems I sent her?
“Oh Andries, how nice to see you again!” Charlie exclaims, seeming to recognize me before I did him. He must be my dad’s age, or even older, and watching him paw at Roxanne makes me incredibly uncomfortable.
Then it clicks into place. I recognize him because he is one of my dad’s clients. Of course, everyone seems to know Dad. I reach out my hand and he takes it enthusiastically, shaking my hand as if he had no idea how much I disliked him at this moment.
“You know each other?” Roxanne squeaks, looking between the two of us. Now I'm the one reveling in her astonishment.
“Yes, I know his dad very well,” Charlie tells her as we smile at each other. “A brilliant young man if I recall. Are you enjoying business school?”
I freeze, looking at Roxanne, who only tilts her head slightly at the mention of business school. She knows I’m actually in the English program, but the last thing I need is my secret getting outed because she accidentally speaks up in front of Charlie. Thank God, she gives me no indication of telling on me. “It’s great, yeah…”
Charlie sighs wistfully. “Oh, to be young and back in university. I’m sure your parents are very proud. Roxanne just said you write poetry too? Is that a hobby of yours?”
“Uh, yeah, something like that. A hobby,” I answer, ready to change the topic. Roxanne gives me a curious look, but still doesn’t say anything, thankfully.
A bell tolls over the sound system, letting us know that it’s time to find our seats and wait for the show to start. It’s both a blessing, because I don’t have to answer any more of Charlie's questions, but it also feels like a curse having to leave Roxanne behind. More than anything, I wish it was just the two of us heading to my loge together, but we are both beholden to other people for the night.
“Come on,” Tatianna says softly, tugging on my arm. “Let’s go. I don’t want to miss anything.”
Reluctantly, I let myself be led away, but not without a curt goodbye to Charlie and a look filled with longing at Roxanne over my shoulder as I walk away. I have no idea how I’ll make it through the rest of the night knowing she is here with someone else. But I bet it’ll certainly drive me mad.
As the lights lower and the music begins, everything fades to silence, all ears focused on the performance. I’d have been too, even if opera isn’t my forte, if it hadn’t been for Roxanne.
I can only hope Tatiana is oblivious because otherwise, I can’t imagine that she won’t be offended by how easily my attention is being snatched away from her. Thankfully, she seems occupied enough by the performance that she doesn’t look over at me too much.
A few minutes earlier, while we were settling into the loge, she had asked me about Roxanne, but once I had mentioned that I knew her from a shared interest in literature, Tatiana had quickly lost interest.
I, on the other hand, can’t shut down my interest no matter how hard I try. It doesn’t help that, if I squint, I can see Roxanne and Charlie in their loge, sitting much too close together for my sanity.
When Tatiana takes her opera glasses off her face for a moment, laying them on the edge of the box in front of us, I pick them for a quick glance at the other couple. I can feel Tatiana watching me, but I hope she can’t tell exactly where I’m looking.
I regret my decision within seconds, at first appreciating how beautiful Roxanne is, but then feeling sick to my stomach when I watch Charlie run his hand up her lace-clad leg to her thigh. I clench the opera glasses so hard that I can feel the metal of them biting into my skin, and still I can’t look away until I hear a small, “Could I have my glasses back?” from Tatiana.
Ashamed, I hand them back to her and give her a brief pat on the shoulder when she looks at me with her eyebrows drawn together in worry. Tatiana watches me for a few more moments before raising the glasses back to her face and returning her attention back to the opera.
I try to do the same, but no matter how hard I try to give all my attention to the singers on stage and the soaring notes pouring from their mouths, my eyes continue to drift back to the darkened loge where I know Charlie and Roxanne reside. Sitting close, touching, whispering in each other's ears… I’m consumed with frustrated anger. First Karl and now Charlie–how many “friends” does Roxanne even have?
On one hand, I get it. She’s a captivating woman who stands out from the crowd. Mature, gorgeous, and interesting enough to hold a conversation with anyone she meets, so it’s no wonder she keeps being asked to be the plus one at so many events. On the other hand, why does she keep accepting if she isn’t emotionally involved with any of these men? Is she that desperate for company or entertainment? Because I can be that man for her, and between us, it’d be real. Authentic. Not some fake date for appearances.
I’m ready to crawl out of my skin when the lights come up to indicate the break in the show. Tatiana stands slowly, and I know I’ll hate myself later for what I’m about to do, but I have to have some space to breathe if I’m going to continue being the appropriate companion for her, even if I’m about to hurt her feelings right now.
“Tatiana, I’m going to go get some air. Will you be alright by yourself for a few minutes?”
She looks surprised, and then disappointed, looking at the ground as she speaks. “I suppose so. I just don’t enjoy being around these huge crowds without you.”
I hesitate. “Do you want me to bring something back for you, so you can stay here?”
