Брайан Фриман - Alter Ego

The next time she looked Casperson’s way, he was staring back at her. She felt his eyes all the way inside her body. Her reaction was raw and physical, and she had to remind herself who he was and what he’d done and why she was there. His gaze didn’t let go of her. The gaffer felt it, and he melted away like a cub making way for a lion. Casperson came toward her, leaving the men to watch him go. People saw them nearing each other. She was aware of smirks and whispers around her. They all knew she was the chosen one. She knew it, too.

“I remember you,” he said with a slight question mark in his voice. He took her hand and cupped it in his. His palm was warm.

“Cat, as in meow,” she replied. She hoped he’d forgotten how immature and foolish she’d been at the earlier party, when she’d fallen all over him. She didn’t want him thinking about her as young. She wanted him to think of her as prey.

“Of course. I saw you the other night. I didn’t think it was possible for you to be more gorgeous than you were then, but you’ve done it.”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t ask for a compliment in return. Dean Casperson didn’t need to be reminded how attractive he was.

“I don’t believe you told me who you are and what you do,” he went on.

“I write for a local magazine in Duluth,” she lied.

“And how is it that you’re here at the party?”

“I met someone from the crew at a local bar. He called himself a best boy, whatever that is. Between you and me, he was really only a so-so boy, if you know what I mean.”

Casperson’s mouth formed a grin. “Well, that’s what distinguishes the men from the boys.”

“You are so right.”

“Would you like to dance, Cat?” Casperson asked. “I feel like dancing.”

She hesitated, wondering if her inexperience and high heels would betray her. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Not to worry. I’m good enough for both of us.”

He led her onto the small dance floor, where the others gave them room. More knowing glances and whispers passed through the crowd. Casperson shot a look at the guitarist in the band, and as if they’d used a secret code, the band switched songs. They played “What a Wonderful World.” The music had a sad, mournful quality, as if this were the last day on earth. Maybe that was the way Casperson wanted her to feel.

He was right about his dancing. He made it easy to follow him. Without knowing any steps, she found herself turning in his arms, going where he nudged her to go. Everyone was watching them. She hoped that Curt had kept Jungle Jack far away, where he wouldn’t see Cat and Casperson together.

“You move very well,” Casperson told her.

“That’s all you.”

He knew that was true, but he smiled anyway. She felt small and light in his arms, and he made her a little dizzy. She tried not to think about where she was and what she was doing. The only thing she knew was that his fingers were pressed firmly on the bare skin at the small of her back.

“So you write,” he said.

“Yes.”

“What do you write?”

“It’s not exciting. New restaurants, upcoming events, that kind of thing.”

“Have you thought about acting? You have the looks for it.”

“I don’t think I could ever do that,” Cat said. “I’m sure it’s way too hard.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s really not.”

“I’m sure it’s impossible to break in.”

“Not when you know the right people,” Casperson said.

They kept dancing. The slow song ended and blended without a pause into something with a salsa beat. Casperson switched his movements effortlessly, and Cat tried to keep up, but she felt awkward on the dance floor. Casperson seemed amused by her lack of grace. He let half the song go by, then took her hand and guided her away. Others in the crowd filled the space they’d left behind.

Everyone stayed away from them. The crew. The money men. The staff. Security. They all knew what was going on.

Cat fanned herself. “It’s warm.”

“Too many people here,” Casperson said.

“That’s true.”

“Would you like to get some air?”

“It’s cold, and it’s snowing,” Cat replied, smiling.

“Well, I have a waterfront cottage a few steps away. There’s wine, fresh air, and a fireplace.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Come on, then.”

He guided her to the glass door that led outside. Cat found herself on the balcony, looking down at the trees and the lakeshore. Someone had built a campfire in the snow that looked oddly appropriate and inviting in the winter. There were a handful of people in silhouette around it, laughing and drinking. The wind sang an ominous song, and the snow refused to let up. It landed on her skin like little needles. She heard the rhythmic thump of the waves.

“I don’t think I can walk in these heels,” Cat said.

“Do you trust me?”

She blinked. “Of course. You’re Dean Casperson.”

He literally swept her off her feet. One moment she was standing on the balcony, the next she was in his arms. He carried her as if she weighed nothing. He made his way effortlessly to the path and through the trees to a two-story cottage not far away. With a tap of his foot, he kicked open the door and carried her over the threshold and set her down.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Wow,” she said.

Music already played from hidden speakers, a low piano solo so clear and perfect that she thought he must have a pianist in the cottage. The gas fireplace was already lit. That was the only light in the room. The white wine was in an ice bucket with two crystal glasses next to it on a wet bar. This had all been planned. A girl was going to come here with him this evening, and whatever was going to happen was going to happen. If not to her, then to someone else.

She didn’t have much time to think. Her gaze explored the room quickly. The fireplace was surrounded by flagstone that took up the entire wall. Among the stone shelves near the glow of the fire was a large flat-screen television. The picture window had no ledge and looked out on the lake. There were two leather chairs and a table with a lamp, but the lamp was turned off. A plush red sofa waited for them with multicolored pillows and a chaise. It had plenty of room for two. Beyond the sofa, a doorway led into the full kitchen. The bedrooms were upstairs, but she didn’t think they’d make it that far.

She thought: Where?

She had only seconds to decide. She sat down on the sofa and kept looking around the room.

“Would you like a drink, Cat?” Casperson asked. “Trust me, the wine is superb. It’s one of my favorites from a little winery outside Lyon.”

“Actually, could you get me some water first? I’m really dry.”

He smiled at her. “Of course.”

Casperson turned around and disappeared into the kitchen. Cat moved fast. She grabbed her purse and took out her phone and tapped out a quick text to Serena. Then she leaped off the sofa and endured five seconds of interminable hesitation as she tried to decide the best place in the room. Not the floor. Not the windows. Not the table. She ran to the television and propped her phone against it, with the black case covering up everything except the camera. She didn’t have time to go back and check the angle; she had to hope that it was right and that there was enough light from the fire. She already could hear the refrigerator door closing. She ran back and settled down on the sofa just as Casperson loomed in the doorway again. He handed her a small open bottle of Fiji water.

“Here you go,” he said.

“Thank you, Dean.”

She held the bottle, which was almost impossible because her fingers were shaking so hard. The reality of everything, of where she was, of what she was doing, of what was about to happen, crashed down on her. She’d planned it all out, but now she didn’t know if she could do it. She wanted to run. Her throat felt tight. She drank half the water with one thirsty swallow and gave him a nervous little smile. Then, trying to hide her fear, she finished the bottle and put it on the floor.