Fighting for Arielle (5 page)

Arielle

F
ortunately, Brody is still fast asleep when Macy pulls into my driveway, which is quite a relief.  I did not have to deal with him at all during or after my shower since he fell asleep pretty quickly after our encounter in the bathroom.  

As I check my face in the mirror one last time, I grab my purse off of the
back of the toilet and head toward the door.  “Wish me luck,” I say, bidding Swanks farewell, and I exit the apartment only to find Macy walking toward my front door.  

“Hey hooker!!!
 You look a-freaking-mazing!  Where have you been hiding that figure?”  Macy grabs my hand and spins me around, giving me a once-over with her eyes.  “I knew you must have a hot body since you dance burlesque, but damn girl!  If I were a guy, I’d totally nail you!”

I lean my head back and fan myself with my hand.
 “Macy, I do declare that is the most romantical thing anyone has ever said to me,” I say in my best dramatic Scarlet O’Hara voice.

Laughing, she scolds me, “Don’t expect me to be too
romantical
.  I wouldn’t want you getting a big head and stealing all of the guys away from me.”

I put my hands over my heart and playfully gasp, “Well, I never!”

O
ur laughter continues in the car as we creep along in the perpetual bumper-to-bumper traffic on H1, the route to Waikiki.  We blast a variety of music, but mostly songs worth dancing to.  I’m energized and can almost forget about the emotional black hole that is my apartment.  

M
acy hands the valet of the Diamond Head Grill her keys and winks at him at the same time.  He is pretty cute, and he seems appreciative of the extra attention she gives him.  I walk behind her to the elevator, taking in all of the sights of the ornately decorated and beautiful hotel lobby.  I notice the attention Macy receives in her black, strappy, off-the-shoulder dress and even strappier black heels.  Men’s heads turn from far and wide to gape in appreciation of her physical beauty, and I swear I can hear their thoughts of admiration as we pass.

S
ipping our cocktails at our table, I take in the gorgeous and sweeping view of Waikiki and Diamond Head.  The sweet and icy beverage feels wonderful in my throat and cools me down as I look at the contrasting landscapes outside the window.  I begin to feel strong pangs of hunger move throughout my stomach and wonder why I am so hungry.  

As I am trying to remember when the last time I ate was, our waiter delivers two martinis and sa
ys, “Compliments of the gentlemen at that table over there.”  He points to a small table in the corner with a few men sitting at it.

Responding in unison, Macy and I plaster large, overly grateful smiles on our faces; flip our hair as we turn toward the men; and say, “Thank you.”

Realizing how well-rehearsed we are in responding to what I believe are vapid gestures from men, we look each other in the eye knowingly and giggle like smitten young girls.  

Macy clears her throat and pushes her glass out in front of her.
 “How sweet of them.  A toast!”

“To what?” I ask.

Macy looks up for a moment, then back to me.  “Well since you’re new to the island, and we are new friends, how about to new beginnings?”

Noting how appropriate that sentiment is, I
nod as I raise my glass. “Sounds perfect.  To new beginnings.”
“And a little fun,” Macy adds as we clink our glasses together.

“A LOT of fun,” I return, lifting
my glass in acknowledgement before I take a large drink of a sweet, precisely chilled, and shaken martini.

On what I think is my third
cocktail, our waiter delivers our Caesar salads, and I am fairly certain that if I could fit the entire thing in my mouth in an instant, I would.  The salad is delicious to me, with the perfect lettuce to dressing ratio, which is very important in all salads.

Watching me shovel the tastiest of all rabbit
food into my mouth, Macy asks, “How did you meet Brody, again?”

Tr
ying not to allow the subject matter to take away from the delictibleness of my first course and the fun of our evening thus far, I answer simply, “We went to high school together.”

“Oh, that’s right.
 I remember you telling me that,” she recalls in between bites of her salad.  “And you said he’s on a surface ship of some kind?”  

Trying not to answer with food in my mouth, I give a short, “Mmm hmmm.”
 Swallowing my bite of food, I continue, “They’re in port right now, but he should be in and out pretty soon when RIMPAC, or whatever it is, starts, and then they’re going on an EASTPAC, I think.”

“It’s RIMPAC which stands for
Rim of the Pacific
.  It’s when a bunch of countries get together and have war games.  Honestly, Ari you have a lot to learn about military life, but don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.  I know what it’s like to be lost in all the acronyms and titles and navigate all of the rules,” she assures me as she trades the fork in her hand for a glass.  “Also, EASTPAC stands for
East of the Pacific
.  They usually visit places like San Diego or even join a carrier group.”

“I think I manage fairly well,” I retort.

“Sure, but do you even know the difference between an officer and an enlisted sailor?” she asks, eyebrows raised, before she takes a swallow from her cocktail.

I put my fork down and think about my military knowledge.
 “Isn’t it self-explanatory?”

“In a way, but there are rules for the service members regarding fraternization
, and what uniforms to wear in what season, depending on your installation.  Did you know that if you’re on base when they play the National Anthem in the morning, you have to stop your car and wait?  If not, you can get a ticket.”

I’m a little surprised by that rule.
 “For real?  I guess I never really thought all of the rules pertained to me since I’m not in the service.”

“Trust me, servicemen, especially officer
s, are judged by their behavior- in and out of uniform -who they’re friends with, and even how their wives act.”

I try not to appear surprised or even a little offended by that rule.
 I don’t really understand why service members are defined and judged by the actions and company of their spouses.  

“Harsh.”

“Insanely so.”

I can tell by Macy’s face that she agrees with me, but only to a degree.
 

I pause for a moment to take in the seriousness of this new information, when I realize the mood has shifted and not for the better.
 

“Macy, you’re kind of killing my buzz here, and I’ve been looking forward to getting one all
stinking week.”

“Are you calling me a buzzkill?” Macy asks as she chews on a bite of
a roll.

I purse my lips and tilt my head as I reach for my cocktail.
 “If the shoe fits.”

In a playful fit she says, “I SO am not
, and I’m going to make you eat your words, hooker.”

 
Macy gets the waiter’s attention and orders more alcoholic beverages as well as some fruity shots.

After eating
what I truly believe to be the most delicious macadamia nut encrusted lamb chops in the universe, I am stuffed.  My stomach is full, my cheeks are warm from cocktails, and I am feeling pretty bold.  

Thinking of how I not only need to burn some serious calories, but also that I have a lot of energy, I decide our night should continue.
 

“I think I’m in the mood for some dancing.”

Surprised, Macy lifts her eyebrows and squeals, “Really?”

“Absolutely!
 I am a dancer after all, and it’s been a long time since I’ve schooled people on the dance floor,” I tease her with a fake confidence.

“EEEEEEEE!!!!” Macy hops up and down in her seat from excitement.
 “This is going to be the best night EVER!”

I can feel a little of my old self peeking through the cracks of the shell of a person I have become
, and it is relieving.  

“You are with me, you know.
 I don’t allow my friends to have anything but the best night ever.  In fact, I originally set the standard for which you can claim a night has been the best,” I goad her. “And then I raise the bar every time.”

We finish our meal and pick
up Macy’s car from the valet.  We head to a club where Macy insists we will have an awesome time dancing and drinking.  I watch the reflections of street lamps and car lights pass over the car window and think to myself that this is the best time I’ve had in a really long time.  I am so happy I agreed to go out with Macy tonight, and I am a little proud of myself for my suggestion of going out to dance.  I think this might shape up to truly be one of the best nights ever for me.

McCrary

I
am so relieved that this week is over so I can get out for some much needed down time.  I’ve had a few major cases I’ve been working on and after going through much of the discovery documents, I realize the massive scope of the work I have ahead of me.  Today, I paused my research long enough to run a few miles, shower, and come out to wish one of my buddies farewell before he transfers to DC.

We are at a bar in Waikiki that I haven’t been to before.
 I generally opt for smaller places, but this one isn’t too bad.   At least we have a table to the side of the bar and not too close to the loud dance floor.  

I leave my seat to grab a beer from the bar, and I see a silhouette very much like the one I’ve seen every time I’ve closed my eyes since last Friday night.
 I think I am probably just wanting to see it so much, my brain is willing my eyes to do so.  This time, it’s draped in shiny blue fabric that hugs the curvaceous perfection about which I’ve fantasized running my hands all over.  As I near the silhouette and it comes more into focus, I see it adorned with long, sweeping, chestnut colored hair.  Fixing my eyes on the profile of her face and inspecting all of her features, I confirm that I am indeed feasting my eyes on the dancer named Marta.  

I know
more than likely that Marta is not her real name, but I have only been introduced to her as Marta, so that’s the name I moan during my fantasies about her.  I find it interesting, or perhaps very lucky, that for two weekends in a row, we happen to be in the same place at the same time.   

I look beyond her to learn more of the company she’s keeping
, and I see that she is standing next to another woman with golden hair that’s straighter and a bit shorter than Marta’s.  She is also very attractive with long legs and perfectly proportioned facial features, but lacks the same ample bosom and curved hips as my fantasy woman.  

I
am embroiled in an inner battle, trying to decide whether or not I should disturb them, but before I realize it, my body is pre-empting my thoughts and moving me toward her.  I wonder if she will even remember me since she probably chats with many people before and after shows.

I walk up behind her, but with
in her peripheral vision as to not startle her by being directly behind her.  Not quite knowing what to say, “Well hello there,” spurts out of my mouth.

She looks up and around, searching for the source of the greeting.
 When her eyes settle in on mine, I see recognition spread across her face.  She smiles bigger and more beautifully than I remember.  

“Well, hello, yourself,” she says in her voice that warms my heart.

I bend my head down closer to her since it’s loud in here and she’s several inches shorter than me.  I take advantage of the closeness and inhale her scent of flowers and fruit and her, which drives me wild.  

“Am I interrupting?”

She looks up at me with ease and excitement in her eyes.  “Of course not!”

Feeling the need to explain my presence, I say, “I was at the bar grabbing a beer
, and I thought it was you I saw over here.  Being the big fan of yours that I am, I thought I might come say ‘Hi.’”

She watches my hand as I nervously run it over my hair.
 I don’t really know why I do it since it’s been years since I’ve had a haircut where my hair has been longer than an inch or two, but nervous habits die hard.  

“That’s so sweet of you!” she gushes. “Sit down.
 Stay awhile.”  She gestures to the chair to her right.

As I sit, I look over to her blonde friend who is shifting her eyes back and forth between Marta and me.
 Putting out my hand, I introduce myself to her.  “Hi, I’m Mick.”

Her eyes grow wider,
she smiles as if she knows something I don’t, and introduces herself. “I’m Macy.  Nice to meet you, Mick.”

“Mick and Macy,” Marta interrupts, “That sounds like the perfect title to a sitcom.
 ‘Mick and Macy fight crime and fight the urge to deliver dialog other than awful one-liners,’” she says, lowering her voice as if she were a voice-over on a commercial.

I laugh as I find her impression delightful.
 I add, “Mick, Macy, and Marta.  M & M & M.”

Macy furrows her brow, looking to Marta in confusion. “Who-”

Marta interrupts Macy by leaning in and whispering something which, judging by the look on Macy’s face, must be amusing.  Macy smiles wide and sits up a little straighter.  Being the logical man that I am, and having spent a good amount of time interviewing people in my day, I can tell Marta just informed her friend Macy about her stage name.  I make it my goal to find out her real name tonight, but continue to play along with the stage name.

“So, how long have you known my friend Marta here?”
Macy asks.  She leans over the table, and if I were to move my gaze down just a little, I would be able to see down her dress to her cleavage, but I remain on my best behavior.  Macy looks at me with a devious grin.  I match her body position, keeping my eyes locked on hers.  

“We go waaay back.
”

Macy
raises a suspicious eyebrow, moves her eyes over to Marta, then back to me as she smirks.  “I bet you do.”

Marta, having been silent but smiling this whole time
, speaks.  “Soooo…what brings you to this fine establishment, Mick?”

With ease, I disconnect my gaze from Macy’s and return it to Marta’s deep, green eyes.
 

“Have you not been receiving my letters?
 I’m stalking you.”

Marta smiles at me
.  Without missing a beat, she has a rebuttal.  

“I must have missed that memo.
 Well, you’re not a very good stalker if I haven’t received your letters containing cryptic messages made from letters clipped from magazines.”

I sit up, angling my body more toward the hot brunette to my left.
 

“My apologies.
 I am new to this stalking thing.” I shake my head as if in shame.  

Marta shakes her head slowly, feigning disappointment, and presses her lips together.
 “Perhaps you should find a new line of work.”

“There goes my plan for a good nest egg,” I say in quick succession.
 

Remembering the original question, I answer, “Actually one of my buddies is transferring off of the island next week, so we are out celebrating and bidding him farewell.”

Marta steals a sip from her glass sitting on the table.  “That’s awesome.  Don’t let me keep you from them.”

I look over to the guys who are looking back at me with questioning looks on their faces and wave them off.
 “Oh, they’ll be fine without me for a little bit.  Plus, I’m one less person to buy for when someone buys a round.  Speaking of, can I get you ladies a drink?”

Marta answers quickly, but sweetly.
 “Sure, I’ll have a Jager bomb and she’ll have a Jack and Coke.”

I rise out of my chair to go to the bar.
 “Consider it done.”

Marta t
ouches the back of my arm.  Her hand is actually quite cold, but the sensation of her touch is warm and exhilarating, just as it was last weekend.  

“Hey, tell your buddies to come over here,” she says as she moves her hand away to her drink.
 “The more the merrier, I always say.”

I feel both relieved and happy that she wants me to spend more time with her, but I wonder if she’s just being polite.
 I don’t let myself dwell on that for long though.  Even if her motivation is out of politeness, I welcome any extra time to stare at her body and hear her voice.

I
come back from the bar, drinks in hand, and already my friends have swarmed who are easily the two hottest girls in the place.  I guess it didn’t take long for them to further investigate who I was sitting with and attempt to answer their questions.  Marta seems unaffected by all of them, exchanging pleasantries and giving warm smiles to my friends, but not with the same strength as she was before.  

Placing the drinks down on the table, I see one of my buddies staring straight at Marta’s cleavage.
 The sight of this makes me feel the build-up of what I can only interpret as jealousy mixed with some protectiveness.  I know it’s hard for any man not to look at woman’s chest, especially one as hot as Marta, but I feel like she deserves better than to just be the object of someone’s wandering eyes.  She is someone to be revered and appreciated.  I’ve never had a jealous bone in my body, yet for some reason, I am a little bothered by other men looking at Marta in that way.  A passing thought enters my head saying that someone who protects her should be me, but that makes no sense to me since I’ve only uttered a handful of sentences to her.

Interrupting the ogling session, I sit to disrupt the line of sight from my buddy to Marta’s chest and get her attention.
 

“You two have developed quite a fan club.”

I see the same smile I was aching to come to back to widen across the face of the woman whom I’ve been inexplicably longing for, and I just want to pull her into my arms and see if her lips taste as sweet as they sound.  I know that would be a bit forward, thus I opt instead to continue to imagine the taste and settle on just enjoying the sound.

“Jack and Coke for you,”
I say, reaching beyond Marta to hand the appropriate glass to Macy.  I look back to Marta. “And a Jager bomb for you?”  I offer the other glass to her.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she responds, taking the glass from my hand.
 “Cheers,” she says in appreciation as we clink our glasses together.  

Seeing her juicy lips on the glass
causes my brain to go into overdrive, with my previous thoughts about her lips becoming more explicit.  I think of placing her mouth on mine and tasting every bit of it- exploring each inch slowly and completely.

“You look amazing tonight, but I’m sure you already know that.”  I let slip out
of my mouth.

Blushing a little she dismisses the compliment, looks toward her lap, and responds, “Oh.
 Yeah...  I’ve had this dress for a while and needed a place to wear it.  Tonight is the perfect occasion.”

I look at the dress again and appreciate how it hugs her so nicely.
 “Ah.  Well, it looks great on you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say.” She looks down to her drink as she stirs it with her s
traw.  “So you speak Spanish?”

I place my beer on the table and look to her.
 

“Yes I do.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she recalls as she gestures
duh
.  “We talked about that.  Any other languages?”

Trying to sound passive, I say simply, “Italian and French.”

Her eyes widen some and she seems intrigued.  “Really?  That’s very interesting.  So, you have all of the romantic languages down, huh?”  She nudges my arm.  

I try not to bring a lot of attention to the fact that I’ve lived
so many places, causing me to take up several other languages.  

I shrug.
 “I guess so.”  

Marta looks into my eyes and gives me a sweet smile.
 

“
Comment allez, vous, Mick?
”

Somewhat surprised, I ask, “
Parlez-vous Francais?
”

“
Oui
.” She adds, “But not all that well.  Again...the whole southern thing.”

I tap her cheek playfully with my finger.
 “
C’est mignon
.”

She chuckles and hunches her shoulders slightly in an adorable, shy way.
 

“That’s sweet of you to say that it’s cute, but my French teachers think otherwise.”

“I will have to respectfully disagree with them.  Who are they?  I will tell them to their face.”  I look around the room searching for people who aren’t there.

“Ha!
 Unless you enjoy traveling through small Texas towns with maybe five stoplights, then I’m afraid you will not really have a chance.  But that’s okay.  I like your opinion better, so we’ll just stick with that one.”  Marta takes another swallow of her drink and begins stirring it with her straw again.

Her use of
we
causes my heart to stir a little.  I also want to hear her say other things highlighting stuff
we
could do.  I wish I could learn everything there is to know about her right now.  

In my search for my clues about Marta, I ask, “Texas, huh?
 What brings you to Hawaii?”

She opens her mouth to answer, but before she does, she claps her hands in excitement.
 “Is this Kajagoogoo?  Holy moly cow, I LOVE this song!  It is one of my most favorite 80’s songs in the history of 80’s songs!”

I bask in her energy and excitement.
 I know she has to be a good ten years younger than me, so I don’t really know why or how she has such an appreciation for 80’s music.