The Tempest
Appropriately enough, it was a dark and stormy night.
The wind was raging outside, and the windows of office buildings throughout Century City shivered under its assault. The sea off the distant coast was a wild foamy beast, growling and glistening forebodingly in the darkness. And the firm of Crane, Constable, McNeil, & Montero had just fought off the biggest, toughest, most menacing sonofabitch of a malpractice lawsuit the state of California had seen since 2012.
It was a legal miracle, Lee May thought.
The miracle workers, a.k.a. the firm's partners and employees, had gone through several weeks of sixteen-hour days, work under espresso- high pressure, skipped meals, prolonged tension headaches and seriously shortened tempers, lots of teeth-grinding and nail-biting, and at least four enormous Thai takeout bills, before the verdict finally came in.
When it did, the collective sigh of relief was so potent it activated the temp-sensor AC.
As soon as the judge's visage disappeared from the holoroom, Hannah - who thereby did not have to shut down the business, file for bankruptcy, and spend at least one night in jail - let out a rather scary victory shout and kissed first Tom, then Marty, full on the lips.
Well, they deserved it. Sometimes it's good to have old sly foxes with the right connections on your side, especially if someone really powerful is trying to frame you.
And yet, they won. Somehow. Lee May didn't want to know how many old favors had to be called in nor what the new ones might have entailed. For now, she was just happy that it was a Friday night, and that she and her colleagues weren't spending it in jail.
Amidst the adrenaline rush and the orgy of congratulations, Darwin suggested they moved this party in the making to the local watering hole. Naturally, everyone accepted. Over the previous nerve- wrecking weeks, several little (and sometimes not so little) fights broke out between even the most amicable of colleagues. This would be the perfect opportunity to rejoice, patch up over drinks, and laugh with sheer happiness at the fact they all still had jobs.
Really, it sounded like a great idea.
The bar was at a ten-minute drive from the office. They packed into their respective cars, set their PDAs to a group call, and chatted all the way there. By the time they reached the parking lot, apologies for the general neurotic behaviors were already exchanged, quickly morphing into jokes and friendly teasing, all done in high spirits and light voices.
Lee May could sense that the others shared her frame of mind, strangely raw in its exuberance. Without a doubt, this would be a night of excess -- which was OK, because they certainly earned it.
And so, there was rum. Lots of rum.
There were also impersonations of pirates in old movies, and some rather interesting drinking styles. Lee May didn't know Hannah could do that with a shot glass.
Tom and Marty did a vaguely familiar ditty in Spanish, and then Marty, fueled only by Virgin Marys and Shirley Temples, sang some old song about being champions, my frieeeends. Very loudly and a bit off- key.
It wasn't a karaoke bar.
Hannah drank thirstily and laughed at everything. She planted a loud smooch on Tom again, then told him to go sit on the other side of the table before she decided to take him home for a private celebration. He laughed and obeyed, and Lee May thought to herself that she really needed to chill out because the moment made her uncomfortable.
Silly, really. They're old friends. It's all good. Nothing to worry about.
There was definitely too much rum.
At some point between rounds four and five, Darwin wrapped his tie around his head, stuck a large cocktail umbrella in the knot at the back, and proclaimed himself Chief Sexy Manipulative Bastard, insisting that those words summed him up perfectly. He received cheerful applause, a few whistles, and some bemused looks from the surrounding tables.
The partners were brazenly flirting with the waitresses who flirted right back, but it wasn't until Hannah sloooowly slipped a $50 tip into the back pocket of the bartender's supertight jeans, that Lee May realized this kind of behavior was, apparently, acceptable. She breathed a sigh of relief: up until then, she was feeling alone in her 'we're so getting sued again' concern.
Well, perhaps not alone.
Lukas was drinking, but not much. He did his best to look like he was at the same stage of inebriation as the rest -- tie taken off and stuck nonchalantly into the pocket of the coat hung over his chair, the top few shirt buttons casually undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair mussed up and curling softly as he's been running his fingers through it, his posture laid back and his face bright with laughter at Tom's marathon of politically incorrect jokes -- but his eyes were too clear, and at times when a particularly loud punch line made an occasional head turn in distaste, a brief frown would quickly appear on his face. If you weren't paying attention, it was practically invisible.
But she was always paying attention. She couldn't help it.
However, Lukas must have looked sufficiently relaxed to the others, because Lee May was the only one repeatedly reminded to drink up: she was accused of nursing her fifth while everyone else seemed to be on the seventh round already. Privately, she thanked her genes for a metabolism of high alcohol tolerance; publicly, she rolled her eyes at the Chief's suggestion to prove that she was relaxed by releasing the inner Lee May.
Which, unsurprisingly, translated into: take off a certain undergarment, jump on the table, and wave it over your head like a flag.
That kind of logic was employed by certain establishments that used to advertise "open pole" nights to her college friends, inviting them to let off some steam and bare it all on the weekends -- and provide free entertainment for the club that thus didn't need to hire strippers. Ah, the things women sometimes mistook for liberation.
But Darwin was persistent.
"C'mon. Just do it. Oh, I bet you don't know how to, 's that it? Nah, of course you do. I forget, you know everything. You're just too chicken to have some good time, let loose, set yourself free..."
"Not gonna happen, Bastard."
"Hey! That's Chief Bastard to you! But you can call me Sexy."
"Still not gonna happen."
He got serious. Pleading-serious. Make that pleading-drunk-serious, slurring and nodding slightly as he spoke, his head wobbly on his neck. The cocktail umbrella now tilted at a 60-degree angle made him look... well, completely pathetic.
"Lee May, I'll never ask anything of you again. Just please, please, PLEASE, give me a single glimmer of hope for humanity. Prove to me that at least one beautiful blonde in this cruel world is not a cold heartless bitch -- "
"Hey!"
" -- and take off your bra. Please? That shirt's loose enough, I KNOW you can pull it out of your sleeve. Will you? Will you please?"
He was wide-eyed and ridiculously earnest now, looking like a boy whose birthday party just went downhill and who was now begging the magician for another trick, to make him look cool in front of other kids.
It was sad. But not sad enough.
"I can't."
"You mean you won't."
His pout was ridiculous. Why not give him a crumb, she thought - maybe he'll stop whining.
"I mean, I can't." Pause to fish out a cherry from her glass. "I'm not wearing one."
Lee May popped the cherry into her mouth and chewed slowly. She refused to think whether she just said what she said to get a rise out of Darwin, or to provoke that look of shock on Lukas's face, quickly replaced by an embarrassed grin.
He was paying attention to her too. Dammit, it shouldn't feel so good - and she'd had that talk with herself already.
Darwin's silent stare lasted long enough for Marty and Tom to take notice, although they were still giggling at Hannah. She'd spilled her drink and was now trying to catch the barkeep's eye with some very inventive chair-acrobatics.
Lee May swallowed the cherry and smirked at Darwin's still stunned expression. She was waiting for him to whistle. Or shout out something unsuitably religious. Or call for another round, hell-bent on a mission to get her sufficiently drunk to check personally whether she told him the truth.
But he just stared at her. And then he looked at Lukas.
"How d'you do that?"
Shit.
"Wha.. what? What do I...?"
She wouldn't let herself glance at him, as she already knew he had that deer-in-headlights look on his face. (What a strange expression; wonder where it came from? Oh, who cares?!)
Darwin kept talking as if Lukas hadn't spoken at all.
"Is it just the pretty boy thing? You know - tall, dark, handsome? Can't be, because then Tom would have had her like that," his fingers made a sharp noise in front of Lukas's face and she winced, "but she wants you. You're the only reason I can think of for her not to wear a bra to work, or even just say she isn't wearing one. So how the fuck do you do it?"
Lee May suddenly became aware of a new tone in Darwin's voice: menace, cold and relentless and deceptively light, a strand of venom smoothly woven into his drunken slur. She wondered why she hadn't noticed it before.
And she shouldn't have had that last drink.
Lukas tried to laugh. "You're not making any sense right now, man." Even to her, the sentence sounded like an excuse, an evasion, and she braced herself for the counter-attack.
But Darwin was apparently doing a monologue. Which was, actually, just as scary.
"Maybe it's you and not Tom because you have that idealistic vibe, you know? All passionate about the cause. Believing in the right thing, saying the right thing, always wanting to do the right thing -- all that pious shit." He turned to her again. "'S that what gets you hot, Lee May?"
Lee May's head was spinning now, and that was bad. A glance at Hannah told her not to expect help from that side -- her boss was still trying to flag down the bartender. On the other end of the table, Tom and Marty were now sitting like thieves, listening quietly, probably wishing they had some popcorn to go with the show.
She had no control over this, she realized, and her stomach tightened into a ball of lead.
Lukas's voice had turned considerably colder. "I think you had enough, Darwin."
"Aw, come on. Don't act so coy; everybody knows what's going on. Right?" His upper body turned in a semi-circle and swayed dangerously, but the bastard -- no, the Chief Bastard -- somehow managed to stay in his seat. He looked at the other two men, whose eyebrows were now raised in amusement, knowing little smiles badly hidden on their faces. "I mean, it's so fucking obvious. The way you two look at each other..."
Marty cleared his throat and said something to Tom that started with "Anyway...", but Darwin didn't take the hint. Maybe it wasn't a hint. Maybe they're letting this happen, enjoying it too much. And oh, Lee May had to say something. Anything.
"You're drunk." Well, that was original.
"Hey, in vino veritas, my fair braless lady. I'm just saying what everybody here is thinking." At the corner of her eye, Lee May saw Hannah finally turning back to the table. "I mean, the only thing we don't really know is whether you're already doing it -- "
"What the hell's up, people?" Hannah's voice sounded jovial and light; she was still oblivious to the hell Darwin was successfully raising. Oh, please, please, let her see what's going on.
" -- or maybe you're just prepping the field, you know, talking about stuff to bring you closer, make you feel less rotten about it -- "
"Whatcha talking about, D?" Yes, Hannah had caught on. Her voice was still friendly and mellow, as if she were addressing a blubbering fool (which would make it easier to dismiss his words later -- smart move, boss), but Lee May could sense the hidden spine of metal under the velvet. She hoped she wasn't mistaken.
" -- him telling you how he doesn't really love his wife anymore -- "
"Darwin..." An unmistakable glint of steel, there.
" -- and you telling him how very hard it is to be so perfect -- "
"That's enough, Darwin." Hannah had firmly put her hand on his shoulder -- but the alcoholic daze must have been too thick, or his menace too sharp, for him to shut.the.fuck.up -
" -- so perfectly programmed by the nice genetic engineers that made you - "
"DARWIN!"
Hannah could only be ignored for so long.
This time, for Lee May, it was too long.
She didn't look at Lukas, but in the corner of her eye she caught his quick look of disbelief, then astonishment, even as the others cleared their throats and nervously looked elsewhere.
They weren't surprised.
Because they knew already.
Oh.
Her head was suddenly swimming, disoriented by the vacuum of silence at the table.
Darwin frowned, looked around as if awoken from a dream, said, "What?" and buried his nose in his drink.
Marty sighed. "Darwin, congratulations. You've just been upgraded from an ass to a superass." Then Tom was agreeing, and Hannah was saying something, their voices angry yet somehow careful as they delivered dismissive phrases; and maybe there was a hint of fear there too (they were afraid she might sue? -- oh, if that ain't the joke of the year), but it was just too much.
She got up, took her coat, said something very civil (like "I think I've celebrated enough for tonight"), and walked towards the exit.
Behind her, she thought she heard Tom say to Lukas, "You didn't know?"
She was getting her PDA and heading out the door when Hannah caught up with her. Apologetic eyes, warm grip on her elbow, concern on the woman's face.
Except she was too fucking late.
"Lee May, I didn't tell..."
"It's OK."
"He didn't mean to..."
"It's OK."
"This is not going to affect your..."
"It's OK, Hannah. Really. I just... need to go now."
The senior partner obviously wanted to say more, but she also must have been sober enough to see something in Lee May's eyes that convinced her not to push it. She squeezed her elbow again, said "see you Monday" and "call me if you..." and let go.
There was some commotion in the back of the bar, but she was already out the door and wouldn't look back.
Lee May thought she would just run to her car and head home, but the charged humidity that met her outside stopped her in her tracks. The rain on her face felt good, cold and brisk and refreshing. There was a nosebleed-thick scent of electricity in the air, intoxicating and heavy, and she turned to face the storm, walking into the tumultuous darkness laced with rain. The deafening whistle-hum the wind made in her ears was comforting, and so was the assault of specks of cool water on her face -- sensations overwhelming her, distracting her, postponing the tears. She had to get herself home for that.
Lee May was a good girl. Good girls fall apart responsibly.
She thought the storm might have called her name, but she kept walking. She wouldn't turn, not for anything in the world, she wouldn't look back at that place and that mess and that sordid, ugly, hideous, humiliating moment of...
"Lee May!" The touch on her shoulder was all care and tenderness, but it still made her jump and wildly swirl around.
He followed her.
He looked just like she'd imagine him to look following someone troubled into the rain: brow wrinkled in concern and sympathy, hair darkened by the glaze of water, unbuttoned coat tightly closed over his chest with one arm, eyes peering carefully into her face, his other arm still reaching out to her as if afraid she might topple over.
And now he was going to ask, "Are you all right?"
She stared back at him, and then she laughed.
It was a shrill, unhealthy sound, like choking on the storm. He wrapped both his arms around himself as the coat was trying to escape his grasp, and he kept standing there. Waiting for her to finish.
Gotta respect the intelligence of a man who stays out of a woman's hysterical fit.
"Oh, Lukas. Could you be any more predictable?" A beat. The wind danced around them like a court jester, pulling at sleeves, reaching into pockets and pant legs, cold and ruthless in its mockery.
He blinked at her. "What?"
"You're doing exactly what they thought you would. Following me out here, asking if I'm OK, next you'll be offering to drive me home -- which, by the way, I can do myself; I'm not that drunk." Her words swished through the air like a double-edged sword, but the sheet of rain between them somehow stayed intact, impervious to her bitterness.
He licked a drop of rain off his upper lip. "Lee May..."
"Not to mention that you're confirming everything our drunk colleague had just said about us." He froze and looked at her then, his mouth first forming a slight 'o' of inquiry, then a tight line of understanding - or indignation, she couldn't quite tell.
And suddenly she was very, very tired. "On Monday, when we walk back into that office, the people we have to work with will look at us with Darwin's words in mind."
"Lee May..."
"They'll all believe that the reason why I couldn't simply put him in his place, as I usually do, is because he was onto something - "
"That doesn't mean - "
" -- and your current gentlemanly behavior is solid proof that he was right."
Another beat. The wind madly shook at her hair, pulling at the roots.
"Well, I don't care what they - "
"Go back inside, Lukas."
Sigh, frustration, more confusion. Men were always slower on the intake in these situations. Why's that, she wondered? "Look, I just don't think - "
"I said: go back inside."
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It was an endearing gesture. If she squinted, she could have pictured the boy he must have been, once, long ago...
She hated how easily such thoughts came to her.
"What will you do?"
Lee May began to chuckle, then decided against it because the tears felt too close. "I'm going to go home and drink a lot of water to get this Caribbean poison out of my system. Then I'll get some much needed sleep. You should do the same. And now, please, go back inside."
But he was still standing there and looking at her, and those unspoken things - so cruelly uncovered minutes ago by the person least entitled to mention them -- they were now trickling into the black and silver of the misty air. Spilling out of their eyes, filling up the tender silence of the rainy night, getting tangled into the threads of wind and water between them. Creating a web, a trellis, a fabric of the undeniable connection they both felt, and it was thick as honey and intricate as snowflakes and tender as skin, and oh, she had to go. She had to go right away.
"Good night, Lukas." She was careful not to touch him as she walked past.
Her eyes stayed focused ahead all the way to her car, but as she was turning the corner to get out of the parking lot, she saw him slowly heading back into the bar.
She would not feel disappointed that he obeyed. That he listened to reason and logic and common sense. That he didn't follow her instead, bent on doing something impractical, romantic, and utterly stupid.
She would not feel broken. She would not.
Not yet.
The highway was clear this time of night, and Lee May always liked to drive the car herself down the smooth stretch of the open road: going above the speed limit of the traffic grid, sliding gently around the curves, zigzagging along the deserted highway, feeling daring and free and in control of her life with both hands firmly on the steering wheel.
But tonight her hands were shaking, her eyes felt murky, there was a hard lump of salt in her throat, and the empty road had turned into an asphalt sculpture of loneliness, staring at her under cold yellow lights. And so, with a sob, she switched on the autodrive, folded her arms over the wheel, lowered her face into its kindly dark circle, and wept.
The car took her home.