25. Phallic Monuments

25

PHALLIC MONUMENTS

DARREN

“ D arren, help me with this,” Evangeline calls frantically from the bedroom, holding a long pearl necklace in her hand. “I can’t get the clasp,” she explains as soon as I enter the bedroom.

“Where did you get these?” I ask, admiring the necklace in my hands.

“I bought them, instead of a car,” she teases, and I smile.

She holds her hair out of the way as I lay the necklace against her chest and then work the clasp at the back clumsily. I watch as she waits nervously for me to finish, checking the time on her phone every few seconds.

“My fingers are too big. Hang on, I think I’ve got it,” I reassure as the necklace falls into place and the long single strand sways down her bare back. I can’t help but run my knuckles down her spine as I look at her in the mirror. She meets my gaze and holds it for a second.

I open my mouth but what comes out is, “This is quite a dress,” instead of what I want to say. I place a kiss on her bare shoulder, admiring the way the back of her dress is open and barely covers the top of her tailbone. She looks elegant and confident, fitting into her role better than I have ever imagined.

She grabs her gloves from the back of the chair. “We’re going to be late.” She rushes out of the room and down the stairs. I follow dutifully. Bailey waits at the curb with the sedan, and we duck inside.

It’s early evening, and as we get closer to the National Mall, the color of the sky deepens to a midnight blue, the buildings lighting up. She crosses her legs, looking out the window, and she shakes her foot with a nervous fervor.

I place my hand on her thigh. “Everything’s going to be fine,” I reassure her.

“It’s the first event I’ve put on as chairwoman and I want it to be perfect.”

“You don’t have anything to prove.” I give her leg a squeeze.

“Of course I do!” she says with exasperation. “Have you seen the sky? The weather wasn’t calling for rain and yet”—she tosses a hand towards the window—“it very much looks like rain.”

“Is this an outdoor event?”

“It’s on the rooftop terrace.”

“Certainly, you have a contingency plan.”

“Of course, Darren, but the point of having it on the terrace is the view of the National Mall.” As if this should be obvious.

“And the National Mall will convince people to donate?”

“Don’t be a smartass.” She playfully smacks my arm. “It can’t help but inspire people to dig a little deeper into their pockets, right? That’s what I was going for anyway.”

“You’re very cute when you’re nervous.” I hold onto her chin.

“I’m glad you think so because when I’m nervous I have to pee, and this dress is not conducive to peeing,” she sighs.

“Relax,” I find the slit in her dress and run my hand along her bare leg, causing goosebumps to form in my wake. Her reaction to my touch is always a turn on.

She sighs heavily but places her hand on top of mine, stopping my progress before I reach the edge of her panties. “This dress is also not conducive to car sex,” she explains, causing me to pout. “Besides, we’re here.”

I look out the window as we pull along the circular drive of the National Museum of American History, a large rectangular stone building with a flat roof. The stone front is lit up and welcoming.

The rooftop has a perfect view of the Washington Monument, which glows like a beacon in the distance. I shove my hands in my pockets as I look out over the National Mall, and it’s not the rich history that distracts me, but rather the conversation with my grandfather that I can’t seem to pause in my head.

Evangeline gives me a peck on the cheek, and I give her a weak smile back. “Sorry, I’ll be back. I have to check on the auction and make sure the food is here,” she apologizes, and I give her a weak smile.

“Is everything okay?” she asks. Her hand lingers on my arm.

“Go, go. I won’t get into too much trouble,” I tease, and she gives me a warning glance before she heads in the direction of Bethany, who seems to have just arrived. The two of them link arms and rush off.

I turn back to the Washington Monument, admiring the towering obelisk that was built to honor George Washington after the Revolutionary War, and is still the tallest man-made masonry structure to this day. A waiter glides by with a tray of champagne, and I manage to snatch one before he disappears as the space begins to fill up with Washington’s fattest wallets. I smile as I watch impressed faces admiring flower arrangements and place settings, details that escaped me until now.

My wife did all this. I reach out and touch the pale blue linen draped over a nearby table. It’s not just the linen or the flowers, or even the champagne—it’s the care and the foresight into putting together an event that will no doubt change people’s lives for the better.

“Have you ever wondered if the other founding fathers made Washington’s monument look like a giant dick because they were jealous of his popularity?” Alistair ruins my thoughts as he appears out of nowhere.

“For one, the founding fathers didn’t design the monument and no, I have never thought about whether it was designed to look phallic as a fuck you.”

Alistair quirks his mouth and I turn back to the monument that is now looking more phallic by the minute thanks to him.

“Your sister’s not here with you, is she?” I ask.

“Oh God no,” he replies. “She’s been evading my parents lately because they’ve been trying to marry her off to some prince in Belgium.” He waves his hand.

“That’s… so far away,” I observe.

“I think that’s the point,” Alistair asserts, raising an eyebrow and then resting his elbows casually on the table.

“Please tell me you have Macallan.” He bats his eyes at the bartender as if this will magically produce what he wants.

She eyes him wearily and produces two glasses of amber liquid. Alistair takes a sip and makes a disgruntled face. “So that’s a no,” he says.

“It’s a charity function, what did you expect?” I take a healthy sip of my drink until I’ve finished the whole glass.

I order another. Alistair refuses.

“Caroline and Remington have been on a tear,” Alistair complains, but I tune him out as I watch Evangeline work the room. Her back is to me while she talks animatedly to a group, the string of pearls swaying down her bare back.

I finish off the drink and pull at the collar of my shirt, loosening the bowtie just enough to breathe freely. Not just because she’s the most beautiful woman in the room; it’s how she manages to captivate everyone in her presence—as if she’s always belonged.

I used to think that was a bad thing, getting comfortable in this life with its pretentious chokehold on anyone within the circle, but not anymore. It’s not this life that has a chokehold on me, it’s her.

“And Remington invites my boss over for dinner as if that’s normal,” Alistair continues, and I shake my head.

“Excuse me,” I apologize and hear him call after me as I make my way over to Evangeline.

When I approach, I place my hand on the small of her back, and then discreetly wrap the strand of pearls around my fist, feeling the familiar pull in my stomach.

She sucks in a breath, and I can feel the goosebumps form on her back.

I’m incorrigible, thinking of fucking my wife while she shmoozes with Catharina Hale, an heiress by marriage and a known philanthropist, but I can’t help it.

“I was very impressed with your story,” I overhear her say to Evangeline. “I’d love to take a tour of Compton House when the renovations are complete,” Catharina says.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I apologize.

“Darren,” Catharina says, extending her hand for me to take.

Reluctantly, I let go of the pearls to shake her hand. “Nice to see you again,” I reply.

“We’re hoping to have the renovations completed before the end of the year and start taking in more women and children. Capacity will be increased by at least ten more units,” Evangeline explains with pride.

“Impressive,” Catharina acknowledges.

“I’ve been thinking of doing the same thing with a property I own in Arizona,” Evangeline announces.

“Oh?” This is the first I’ve heard of it, but we’ve had little time for conversations lately.

“Yes,” Evangeline continues. “I inherited my grandparents’ home”—she tilts her head ever so slightly in my direction with a smile—“and I’d love to do something useful with it.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. If you’re able to pull off an event like this, then there’s no telling what else you could do,” Catharina compliments.

“Well, the planning committee put this together. There is a group of wonderful volunteers that did all this.” Evangeline gestures around to the terrace that is filled with elegantly decorated tables, flowers, and bistro lights that glow like fireflies in the ever-darkening night.

“I’d love to learn more. Perhaps we can meet sometime next week?” Catharina requests. “I’ll be in touch.”

She waves to someone in the distance and excuses herself. Evangeline turns to me with a girlish smile on her face.

“When did you decide what you wanted to do with the house?”

“Just now,” she explains. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about it since I saw all the work that was being done to Compton House, and it got me thinking. The Mirabella Mitchell House has a really nice ring to it—Mirabella House for short.”

“After your grandmother,” I smile and tug her closer to me so I can kiss her temple. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

“Me too,” she frowns. “Have you been drinking?”

“It’s a party.” Her smile returns but only slightly. “If I haven’t told you how proud I am of you, just know that I am. This is,”—I pause—“very impressive.”

Evangeline looks over my shoulder and I track her gaze to see Rebecca Langley moving through the crowd, but thankfully I don’t see her husband with her.

“I need to,” she starts to say, about to follow her, but then a group of women walk towards us preventing her from leaving.

“Thank you so much for inviting us,” one of the women says. She looks at Evangeline’s dress and then around the room. “Are you sure we should be here though? I just can’t help feeling like we don’t really fit in.”

Evangeline takes her hand. “You helped bring this event to life. If anything, you belong here more than anyone. I want you to enjoy the evening and don’t ever think you don’t belong because I want you here.”

“Thank you,” the woman says, “for everything.” Their attention is diverted as they spot one of the more popular attendees of the night, an Irish actor.

I hook my thumb in his direction. “Finn McCarthy?” I raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t he star in and direct that movie?” I inquire, suddenly interested.

“I think so, yeah. I didn’t know you liked romance movies.”

“I have a variety of tastes,” I answer, feeling a bit unsteady on my feet. Admittedly, I shouldn’t have downed both glasses in quick succession.

“Didn’t have anything to do with it being R rated, about an older woman and a younger man?”

“It was done very artistically. And older women are more Alistair’s style.” I wink.

“You went together to see it, didn’t you?”

“No, that would be weird. We rented it, like self-respecting pervs,” I say pointedly.

“Darren, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been off lately.” She gives me a look of concern.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

She eyes me critically as if she can see right through my bullshit, but right now is not the time.

“So, those were the volunteers?” I change the subject.

“Yes, and they’re residents of Compton House. Organizing an event this size is something they can put on their resume.”

“You continue to surprise me,” I entreat.

“Good surprise?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow.

I nod, leaning down to kiss her.

“Speaking of surprises,” she says, and I’m getting a hint of an ominous tone. “One of the auction prizes had to drop out, and I volunteered you.”

“How can an auction prize drop out?” I ask curiously.

“Well, this year we’re auctioning off people,” she explains, and I quirk a skeptical eyebrow. “Like lunch with a famous actor.”

“Ah, well, you’ll have to explain to me how you wrangled Finn McCarthy into that,” I say, although when Evangeline wants something, she somehow manages to get it.

“His public image needed an overhaul and being associated with a charity is the perfect way to do that. Not to mention his starting bid is a pretty penny,” she gloats.

“Wait, you volunteered me?” I ask, skeptically.

“Yes, we’re calling it ‘drinks with a reformed playboy’,” she laughs.

“You’re not serious,” I challenge.

She giggles and it sounds like a symphony of clinking glasses.

“Of course not. It’s an hour of your time to help some lucky kid with rich parents to prep for the Bar exam,” she explains. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it sooner but you were so busy and…”

“It’s fine,” I soothe. “But people will bid on this?” I raise an eyebrow. “What’s my starting bid?” I inquire, and she starts to walk through the crowded room. “Less than Finn McCarthy?” I follow, and she pinches her fingers together by way of measurement.

“I don’t know why anyone would want to have lunch with a famous actor anyway,” I say indignantly.

“Well, your ad was pretty popular… until Finn’s movie came out,” she trails off.

“He stole my thunder,” I grumble.

We stop in front of a glass window that reflects a view of the city, but more importantly her, and God I am so enamored that I forget she is auctioning me off like a prized pig.

I tap the glass. “What’s in here?” I inquire innocently as I plan a way to steal her away from the event so that I can have a few moments with her alone.

She smiles, and I imagine she’s thinking about last year’s charity event just as I am, where I fucked her in the coat check room.

“It’s an equipment room for the sound system,” she explains with a wicked glint in her eyes.

I let my hand drop down her back to the curve of her ass and she sighs into my ear. “The auction starts soon,” she announces, and I groan.

“I can be quick, you know that.” I lift my eyebrows.

“I don’t think that’s something to brag about.”

“I like to call it being efficient.” I laugh, and see the resolve in her eyes as she glances towards the one-way glass.

I see Rausch’s reflection as he enters the gala, my smile fades to a glower. “You didn’t tell me Rausch was attending.”

“What’s going on with the two of you?” she demands.

I don’t want to ruin this night for her, so I say, “Nothing.” But with Rausch in attendance, I don’t know how long I can keep my tongue.

She forces me to look at her. “Why don’t I believe you?”

I don’t get a chance to answer her because Alistair barges between us, holding his phone to his chest. “Do you know how to negotiate a hostage situation?”

“What?”

“Penelope says she’s being held hostage by some visiting Emir at Blair House,”

“Penelope?” Evangeline asks.

“My monster of a sister,” Alistair explains with an eye roll.

“I didn’t know you had a sister. You’ve never mentioned her,” she says.

“I try not to,” he grouses. “She’s been away at boarding school and now she’s back home getting kidnapped, no doubt to get attention.”

“Um, that—that sounds serious,” Evangeline frets, looking between us with wide eyes.

“Not likely. She exaggerates, but you know, just in case, I need you to negotiate her release if it’s real.” He looks pointedly at me.

“Why me?”

“You’re in politics,” he replies as if it should be obvious.

“I’m running for Congress. I’m not a hostage negotiator,” I exclaim.

“Same thing,” Alistair says, holding the phone out to me while I shake my head and back away.

“Take it,” he demands with a whisper-shout through gritted teeth.

“I’m not talking to some Saudi Prince,” I whisper-shout back, looking at the phone as if it’s a live bomb.

“You two are clearly busy, and I need to get the auction started. I hope you get your sister back,” she calls over her shoulder as she disappears into the crowd.

“You and your sister are cock-blockers!” I exclaim.

“Alistair!” I hear Penelope yell through the phone, and he presses it back to his ear. “You can blame Darren if you become a concubine,” he barks angrily as he walks away from me.