16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
“Darling,” said Harry, his arm around Alison’s waist as he spun her around the dance floor, “how does it feel to be back?”
“Bizarre,” Alison admitted, her voice low as if everyone in this opulent ballroom might be listening in, and for all she knew, maybe they were.
She and Harry had repaired their friendship the way the oldest of friends always did: without a word, as if the fight had never happened. Instead, after a couple of weeks of leaving her in peace, he’d simply arrived at her home the following Friday, entirely without fanfare, proceeding to cook her dinner and gossip about his week as if nothing had ever happened.
She knew he was sorry for pushing, and he knew she was sorry for pushing back. Ergo: end of the argument. They’d slipped back into their regular habits, with only one notable change: Alison talked about Hope now. Oh, not explicitly, not in the way that Harry really wanted to hear, but she peppered her own tales about her passing weeks in Gold Hill with the cute story Hope told her about a pet sheep she treated, who lived its life like a treasured lap dog, or the one about the young man who’d tearfully asked if she could successfully remove a tumour from his goldfish (unfortunately no, but she did refer him on.)
She told him about the multitude of entanglements within Hope’s group of friends, and the two of them dissected the latest shifts and nuances like it was a soap opera full of their favourite characters. She couldn’t seem to help herself anyway - Hope said; the other day Hope; Hope and I - it seemed to spill out in every other sentence.
Harry was gracious enough to let it slide.
And now here they were, out together, in Melbourne, at a fundraiser of which Alison had once been a key organiser, raising funds to assist women leaving violence. She’d technically not left her seat on the board, still holding minor oversight, and Harry, of course, was both a significant donor and a big part of this social scene in the upper echelons of Melbourne’s wealthy left.
At first, she hadn’t wanted to come. It had been years since she’d attended such an event, sickened by the falsity and pretence she now knew so intimately lurked below the surface of these outwardly socially progressive people. Get enough money in one room and it was all the same: power games, ego, corruption, and a willingness to step on anyone’s back to move up .
But Harry had convinced her. You’re not afraid of these petty little monsters, he promised her, though Alison was far from sure he was correct. Don’t be ashamed, he reminded her. We’re still better, braver, and far far prettier than Simon Hartmann. That was the crux of it, after all. Alison had been on her husband’s arm at these kinds of events for years. Harry was crystal clear that there wasn’t the slightest chance her ex-husband would be there. This, he’d decreed, is your chance to take back the narrative. Walk in, own it all, then walk out knowing you’ve conquered it. It’s for dignity, darling, then you never have to come back.
There was a weird logic to the argument. Alison didn’t want to keep living in fear of bumping into anyone who’d known her in what she now thought of as her previous life. And it was bound to happen some time or other. After all, Gold Hill was a magnet for well-to-do Melburnians on holiday. She didn’t want to have last been seen with her tail between her legs.
And so here she was, on a Saturday night, dressed to the absolute nines, dancing with Harry as though it were five years prior and she’d never left at all. Within even an hour of arriving she realised he was right. She’d already slayed some dragons, engaging in sparkling conversation with women who hadn’t spoken to her in half a decade, who’d never once reached out, despite years of alleged friendship, who’d avoided her like a toxin. Darling, she’d heard over and over again, oh it’s so good to see you. You look gorgeous!
“I’m getting old,” Harry said. “Let’s go prop up the bar, my love. ”
On the way there she was waylaid by another old friend - air kisses, fake feelings, big smiles, no facial lines - and Alison felt a slight sense of euphoria. This was all it was. Not a snake-pit of terror, just a high school lunch yard. Hold your head up, refuse to be afraid, and all that stood before you were a bunch of other frightened children, everyone jostling for position. By the time she made it back to Harry, leaning languidly at the bar with two manhattans, she had a smile on her face.
“It’s good to see you back,” Harry said with deep satisfaction. He gazed out over the dance floor like a conquering hero. Then he paused, his eyes snagging across the room. “Darling,” he said, his tone suddenly careful, “I don’t want to fight with you again, but I’m going to let you know we’re about to have a situation.”
Alison turned to ice. She turned slowly to look where he was watching, filled with a sick sensation, wondering which horror from her past she was about to confront. When she saw what Harry had just seen, she went lightheaded.
It wasn’t Simon. Nor was it any of the other particular demons she had to dread. On the dance floor, in the arms of a tall, tuxedoed, thoroughly handsome man, danced Hope. And oh god, there wasn’t room in Alison’s entire body for this experience because Hope… Hope looked out of this world. Alison had seen her dressed up for a casual weeknight date. She’d seen her looking cute for the pub, for a party, for a walk around the lake. She’d even seen her in the scrubs she wore to work, which, okay, even that had been quite a lot to manage in its own way .
Tonight though, Hope was dressed, like Alison was, for an event. Her dress was the kind of gleaming dark blue that looked like the night sky, cut so low down her spine that there was nothing but bare skin, the dress just barely clinging to the curve of her ass. She was being held rather closely by the tuxedo in front of her, but Alison could see the gown was strapless, her gleaming arms bare, her tattoos a bright distraction in a room full of stuffy formality. The dress was full length but as the tuxedo spun her around the floor, the split that allowed her to move showed the entirety of Hope’s right thigh.
Hope looked their way and to Alison’s deep discomfort their eyes met, bang in the middle of Alison being right on death’s door. Hope stopped moving instantly, her face moving rapidly from something that looked like shock, to confusion, to delight. She tugged out of the tuxedo’s arms and, saying something quickly in his ear, she began the walk towards Alison and Harry.
“Oh my fucking Jesus in hell.” Alison heard the words fall out her mouth before she could even draw breath.
“I know, darling,” Harry said with surprising sympathy.
Now that Hope was walking towards them, her eyes locked on Alison, they could see the whole dress. Strapless yes, but also cut almost to her belly button, the swell of both breasts right there for anyone to see - anyone with eyes, anyone with a pulse - anyone who could barely take their eyes off Hope in a plain old grimy t-shirt as it was .
Alison clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached, as this Hope - the one who looked like a star right out of classic Hollywood, the one with the silky glowing expanse of bare skin that Alison was trying desperately not to look at, that she could imagine, vividly, under her lips, her tongue tracing over the curves - reached her and pressed her body right into Alison’s arms.
“Oh my god!” Hope sounded thrilled. She smelled the same, light, fruity, floral, summery, only more. “What are you doing here?” It was so patently, ridiculously the wrong question that Alison would have laughed, if she could, if she wasn’t so afraid it might come out hysterical.
“What are you doing here?” she managed instead. “This was my fundraiser, for years,” she explained.
“We came to conquer, darling,” said Harry, rescuing Alison by pulling Hope away from her and kissing her cheek. “You look beyond gorgeous.”
“As do you,” Hope said, taking in Harry in his tux, then sucking in her lower lip just slightly as she perused Alison who’d chosen, perversely, to arrive like a scarlet woman - in flaming red, cut to slink and slide over her body - because if she had to choose between naive scorned wife and wilfully immoral divorcee she knew where her power lay. “Wow,” Hope said, the word escaping a little breathlessly between her ruby-painted lips. “I just… wow, ” she said again, an expression that was almost pained briefly crumpling her beautiful face. “You don’t play fair,” she finally decreed, before gesturing out to the crowd. “ Way to knock them dead,” she added, approvingly, her eye contact suddenly fleeting.
“What are you doing here?” Alison asked again and Hope blinked.
“Oh,” she said lightly, “I’m on a date. An old friend,” she added and Alison nodded. “He’s a lawyer,” Hope added. “His firm sends everyone, so I’m a plus one.”
Alison felt the same slightly hysterical urge to laugh welling up in her chest. Here was Hope, playing the role of arm candy for a hotshot lawyer. Well, he was certainly getting his money’s worth. Pity for him that this particular arm candy had an eye for the ladies, but no man should ever be that lucky. Alison felt herself literally throb as she dragged her eyes off those exposed, sinful bare curves for about the eight-hundredth time in ninety seconds. God, she had to get out of this situation.
A masculine hand slipped possessively around Hope’s hip and there was the tuxedo. Alison waited for Hope to slip out from his grip, but Hope just turned slightly, tilting her head up and smiling up at her date.
“This is Miles,” she introduced him. “Miles, these are my friends, Alison and Harry.”
The tuxedo - Miles - greeted them both with impeccable manners, but the second he stepped back, that hand was on Hope’s hip again, one thumb absently stroking the curve of her body. Alison wanted to punch him. Hope looked slightly electrified at all the undercurrents in the atmosphere, but she didn’t look remotely unhappy. Alison looked at the man slightly more closely. He was solidly attractive, that artful dark stubble, strong jaw, piercing eyes. Tall, well built. His hands on Hope.
“Can I steal you?” he asked Hope. “Just, you know, the partners,” he apologised sincerely to them all, with a cute roll of his eyes.
“Of course,” Hope said with a smile. “I’ll be back soon,” she promised Alison and Harry. Alison watched as Miles steered her away, those hands on her bare skin where the back of the dress cut away.
“Well that was…” Harry summed up. “Shall I get you another drink, darling?”
Alison looked down and realised she’d drained her entire glass in the last two minutes.
“Yes, please.”
She tried not to watch, she really did, but the thing was, the naive thing was, she’d thought Hope was gay. But when the tuxedo pulled Hope back out on the dance floor to sway to a slow song, she watched the way Hope leaned into him, the way he pulled her tight, his pelvis pressed firmly into hers in a way that was incredibly, explicitly unmistakable, the way her lashes flicked up to him and she said something so clearly flirtatious, making him lean down to whisper in her ear something that made her bite her lip. His fingers were stroking her skin now, her bare, vulnerable, exposed back and Hope didn’t stop him.
A date. Hope was on a date. An old friend, she’d said. This didn’t look anything like just friends. Alison looked away. Of course she was on a date . Hope was gorgeous, Hope was single, Hope was, as Alison knew, filled with her own desire, desire that she’d once upon a time directed at Alison. Alison had firmly deflected it away and now all that heat was going elsewhere, because Hope was on a date.
Alison really didn’t have to watch though. She spun away, as Harry returned with another drink and the two of them retreated to the other end of the ballroom. Harry didn’t say a word - god, he was a good friend - but his eyes drove her nuts with the sympathy in them. He distracted her, guided her into conversations with more dragons to slay and Alison forced herself to remember why she was here. It wasn’t to moon over pretty hipster vets from Gold Hill.
An hour passed, easily, Alison doing her job to perfection, both laughing carelessly with old foes in her scarlet dress, and chatting up donors, insinuating strongly that she would find herself deeply impressed by the size of their contributions, while somewhere in this room, Hope was also schmoozing, or perhaps whispering heated promises into the ear of a handsome stranger, who knew?
The next time she saw Hope, she was coming to say goodbye. Eyes sparkling, skin gleaming, lips parted .
“God, Ali,” she said, her tone low, “that dress is… I’m almost afraid to look at you.”
Alison felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She hadn’t seen this version of Hope since the night of their date. Hope was radiating sensuality like a beacon, every part of her lit up, and she wasn’t remotely hiding the lust in her voice. She wondered if Hope could see the outline of her nipples through the red satin, the way they’d leapt up, hard and needy from the way Hope was looking at her. She felt reckless.
“Coming from you,” she drawled, letting her eyes drink deeply of the view of Hope’s cleavage, before letting her gaze slowly track back up to Hope’s face. Hope was breathing a little faster, her eyes startled, her tongue darting out to moisten her lip. Alison found it in herself to smirk and she made herself roll her eyes. “I think you lied about your date being a friend though.”
Hope bit her lip now, her lashes low as a sinful smile escaped. She considered Alison for a moment, trying to gauge her. Then she leaned in close, her lips almost touching Alison’s ear.
“He is a friend,” she said. “But sometimes, I fuck my friends.”
Alison shivered and she knew full well that Hope felt it. Hope placed both her hands on Alison’s hips like she was memorising the shape of her body, then she pressed a soft kiss to her cheek .
“Goodnight, Alison.” She flicked her lashes up and met Alison’s eyes, a full blaze of heat burning her to cinders where she stood. And then she left.
Alison had a hotel room that night, several floors above the ballroom. She wondered if Hope did too, if it was right here, in this building, that Hope was being fucked right now. She hoped not. It felt too much to think they were both staying in the same hotel and Hope had chosen to leave with someone else.
That was stupid though. Alison had made clear she was unavailable. Miles though? Miles was available. He got to slip his big hands around Hope’s small hips, touch her skin, walk her right out of that ballroom and peel her out of that dress.
Alison slipped between her sheets and tried not to think about it. And then, she thought about it. Were they somewhere in this hotel? What was happening right now? Hope would be naked, her head tilted back, her legs wrapped around his hips, or draped up over his shoulders. Hope didn’t seem like the type to put up with bad sex. Maybe right now, she was dripping wet, a tongue slowly driving her wild, her cries heady in the night as she begged for more.
Alison thought of the lust in Hope’s eyes in the ballroom, the almost agonised flicker down Alison’s body, the want Hope still clearly felt for her. She imagined knocking on the door of that hotel room right now. Would Hope like that? A hard masculine body on one side, Alison’s soft curves pressed up against her on the other? Alison was pretty sure she would. She wouldn’t even hate seeing Hope getting fucked, not if it was Alison’s mouth she was moaning into, Alison’s hands cupping those breasts, her eyes gazing into Alison’s as she dissolved into desperate trembling pleasure - oh fuck, Alison came hard against her fingers as she imagined it.
She stared up at the ceiling for a long time afterwards. This, she reflected, was becoming rather a habit.