The Frog Prince - 1
On the morning we’re due to fly to Roswell, I call into the office to make some final preparations. Oh, okay, I left it to the last minute to set up a few things and I have to hastily arrange them before we leave.
Fortunately Liz has decided to take the morning off to get ready. In fact, she’s probably at the airport already. I’m glad that she’s not here because if she was, I‘d have to endure a lecture on why it’s bad to leave things to the last minute. Also, I had to arrange a hair appointment for her and I don’t want to let her know about that until the last possible minute.
When I finish up, I check the time and realize that it’s past the time Liz had ordered me to meet her at the airport. I text her to let her know I’ll be late. She’ll be pissed that I’m late, and I don’t want to add inconsiderate to the list. I have to spend the next few days with just her for company after all.
However, while I avoid a scene with Liz, I have to put up with Brian Gladstone instead. When I saw him walking through the office, I ducked my head and tried not to draw his attention but as I stand up to leave, he spots me and comes over to my desk.
“Michael, I thought you were heading down to New Mexico today?”
I pull on my coat and grab my bag. “Yep. In fact, I’m on my way to the airport right now.”
“Isn’t that lucky, so am I. Why don’t I give you a ride?”
Shit. Crap. Fuck.
The last person I want to spend an hour with is this prick, but I have no excuse to turn down his offer. So I end up in the back of a limo with him, silently seething over the fact that while the rest of us have been told to save money, our MD is able to take limos to the airport.
“Is Liz meeting you at the airport?” Brian asks as the car maneuvers through the streets.
“Yes.”
He nods to himself. “Do you know if she’s seeing anybody at the moment?”
“She’s dating, but I don’t think there’s anybody special,” I inform him. It’s a lie. As far as I know, Liz hasn’t been on a date since the broke up but I’m not letting him know that.
Brian gives me a sly look. “Have you ever had a go?”
“Had a go on what?”
“On Liz!” he laughs.
“No. She’s not my type.”
He shrugs. “All cats are black in the dark, my friend.” He smirks then. “Shame they’re not silent though. Liz is a screecher; I thought she’d burst my ear drums. You should give her a go sometime. Bend her over a desk and have at it.”
I shut my eyes in disgust. What the fuck did Liz ever see in this creep?
“Bet it’s been a while since anybody climbed on board HMS Liz, she must be desperate for it by now,” Brian muses, oblivious to my reaction. “Get a couple of glasses of wine into her, tell her she’s beautiful and she’ll be eating out of your hands. Or your pants. It’ll pass the time when you’re in Hicksville.”
I ignore him and eventually he drops the subject and moves onto something else I don’t want to talk to him about. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. I didn’t want him to know about the book deal and I know exactly who told him. Cheers, Jeanne.
“When will we being seeing your little book?”
“I’m not sure. The deadline for my first draft is in six months.”
“I see, well, make sure that it doesn’t interfere with your real job. I’ve seen dozens like you. Somebody strokes their ego and tells them to write a book and they think they’re Hemingway. Just remember who pays your wages, boy.”
Boy? I hate this asshole.
He goes on to list former employees of his who all bombed after being offered book deals. The detail he goes into and the relish with which he tells the tale shows how much satisfaction he sees in other people’s failures.
Well, he’s not going to get any satisfaction from me.
Fortunately his narration is cut short when we arrive at the airport. But there’s still one more booby trap waiting for me. When we step out of the limo, Jeanne steps forward to greet Brian. She must be accompanying him on his junket to Miami. I suppose it’s a bit much to hope their plane crashes; there will be a hundred and so other people on board after all.
“Michael,” she purrs, sounding exactly like the cat that’s got the cream. “Is Liz meeting you here?”
Wouldn’t she like that? To rub it Liz’s face that she’s jet setting off to Miami with Liz’s ex fiancé while Liz is being sent on an assignment to some two-horse town in the desert.
“No, we’re meeting at the gate.”
“Shame,” Jeanne smiles. She links her arm through Brian and gives him a sultry smile. “Did you congratulate Michael on his book deal?”
“Of course.”
Jeanne reaches out and pulls on my arm. “Why don’t we all have a drink and we can talk about it?”
I take a step back, out of Jeanne’s reach. “I should go and check in. Don’t want to miss my flight. See you next week.” I grab my bag and make my way through the crowds as fast as I can to get away from the gruesome twosome.
I go through security, grab a sandwich and a magazine, then head towards the gate as they start boarding. Liz is there, talking on the phone. As they’re boarding the plane, I bypass her and go straight for the plane. She arrives a minute later and I make a show of flicking through a magazine and making it look like I’ve been here for ages.
“No!” She’s steamed. If looks could kill… “How did you get in here? You weren’t even outside.”
“I got here when you were yakking on the phone.”
My response infuriates her and she flops onto the seat beside me.
This was going to be a long week.
***
I have never been so glad to see the inside of a motel room as the one in Roswell. Six hours with just Liz Parker for company is about five and a half hours too much.
She’s just so irritating, you know? She takes everything so seriously and keeps trying to have conversations with me. I’m not much of a conversationalist at the best of times and making small talk always seems so pointless to me. You’d think that after working together for a year now, Liz would have picked up on that point, her being such a great observer of people and all – but no, all day long she kept trying to get me to talk.
All I want to do now is crash in front of the TV, maybe order a pizza and a cold beer and just relax. Unfortunately, me and Liz have plans to eat dinner at a diner in town that Max Evans likes to frequent. The idea is that we’ll eavesdrop on the local gossip and maybe even see the man himself in action. Liz has informed me that according to the
Lonely Planet, or whatever guide she was reading, the Crashdown Café serves really good food. The siren call of greasy fried food on the magazine’s dime is just about the only thing that’s going to get me out of this room tonight to spend even more time with Liz.
I forgo the temptation of the bed, find a decent metal station, turn it up loud and take a long shower. By the time Liz comes knocking insistently on the motel room door, I’m feeling more refreshed and alive than I did when we checked in.
As usual, Liz is dressed like a librarian; blouse buttoned all the way up, hair in a bun, unflattering pants and granny shoes on her feet. (Do you see what three years working on a women’s magazine has turned me into?) I don’t get it. We’re not in the office, or the 1950s. We’re in a small town in the desert — you’d think she’d opt for something a little more casual or let her hair down or something. She’s actually pretty hot, when she’s not being annoying, but she’s the only woman I’ve ever met who tries to play down her looks. She ‘wants to be judged on her talents or some sort of bullshit like that.
The Crashdown is only a few blocks from the motel, and as the evening is dry and warm, we decide to walk there.
Although the diner is packed there’s no sign of our quarry which means that Liz and I are left to entertain each other. I’ve mentioned before that we don’t get on all that well, right? You know, she wasn’t always this boring. That asshole did a real number on her. I wish she’d realize that just because Gladstone is a prick doesn’t mean she has to become a nun. If she’d just relax, she might be a little more fun to be around.
After we exhaust the usual topics of conversation, talk turns to work.
“So what’s the plan?” Liz asks.
“We’re meeting those girls tomorrow and we talk to them. One of them offered to take us to a bar he hangs out in tomorrow night so we can see him in action.” I shrug. It’s not like we can plan this to the letter, there’s no way that Max Evans is going to cooperate. We have to play it by ear.
Of course this doesn’t satisfy Liz. “That’s it? That’s the plan?” she shrieks.
I knew she’d find something to bitch about. “What?”
She shakes her head. “We hope that we run into him? That’s your plan?”
“Oh, I have more,” I inform her. “We go to the bar with these girls, they introduce you to Max. He takes you to a dark alley or wherever he does his business, and checks your pipes with his plunger. Hopefully, while he’s doing that he removes the stick from your ass. Then you go home and write up the Max Evans experience.”
“You are such an ass,” she hisses furiously and storms out of the diner.
Ok, maybe that wasn’t the nicest thing to say, but it needed to be said. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t mention she’d have to get her hair cut.
After Liz ditches me, and stiffs me with the bill for dinner I might add, I decide to take a walk around town. I’m pretty steamed at her and I want to walk off that anger. I don’t want to lose any sleep tonight over Liz Parker.
Liz’s attitude towards me really grates. She looks down her nose at me because she’s Ivy League educated and I have a High School diploma. Like I can’t read or write just because I didn’t pay thirty thousand a year to have some snob tell me how to. She treats me like I’m a teenager doing an internship instead of a professional. I’ve even seen her proofread my copy after I’ve submitted it.
Of course, she’s expecting this assignment to be a disaster just because I’m the one who’s been organizing it. She thinks that everything has to be planned to the last dot on the ‘i’. She doesn’t get that some things have to develop and play out naturally. We’ll get our story on Max Evans, of that I’m sure.
After a while, my thoughts turn away from Liz and I begin to notice the streets around me. Roswell is an eclectic place and it’s amusing to see how it’s embraced the alien lore. It even has alien head street lamps. As a writer, this kind of stuff can be very inspiring.
So there I am, walking down the street playing spot-the-little-green-men when suddenly it starts to rain men’s clothes. Seriously, shirts and socks and sweaters shower down on my head. I look upwards, just in time to see a large pile of shoes being hurled from a window above me.
I duck out of the way to avoid being hit by a pair of Timberlands. A cop materializes beside me and shakes his head at the scene. “Guess she did hear,” he says to me in a conspiring way. Like I’m supposed to know what he’s talking about.
“Guess so,” I respond with a shrug.
He steps out into the street, cups his mouth and shouts up. “Deluca, get your ass down here and clean this mess up before I write you up for littering.”
An armful of jeans pause in the window three floors up. “You better talk to Billy Darden, AKA ‘the jackass’, it’s his stuff.”
“The jackass is in Dallas and you’re the one throwing his clothes out on the street, otherwise, I’d be happy to throw the book at him. When he comes back, I’ll even find something to book him on if you want. But this stuff can’t stay here.”
“Fine,” the voice huffs. The jeans disappear back inside the apartment and two minutes later, a hot little blonde walks out of the building. She’s as pissed as hell and the cop looks like he’s regretting making her come down but she just ignores him and he slithers away as fast as he appeared.
I had intended to just observe the scene play out because it has given me an idea for something I’m working on. However as soon as the blonde appeared, my side project was completely forgotten about and I had another project in mind.
“Need some help?” I offer.
She scowls at me, her eyes flashing dangerously. “No thank you, I do not need any more help from a walking penis.”
I laugh at the nickname and a thought strikes me. The cop called her Deluca. Could this be the famous Maria Deluca? According to maxevanssucks.com, Maria Deluca is the only woman who has been able to resist the charms of Max Evans. She’s their idol. I think I need to get to know this woman a little better. Maybe I won’t have to send Liz to the mountain after all.
I hold up my hands in surrender, “All I’m offering is to help you carry this trash to the dumpster over there.” I gesture with my head to a dumpster down the block.
Her eyes light up and she smirks. “Thanks; that would be great.”
Together we gather up the strewn about clothes and shoes and cart them to the dumpster. I assume, because it has been left on the street, that it’s due for collection in the morning so this Darden asshole is going to lose a couple of thousand dollars worth of really nice shoes and clothes.
“What did he do?” I ask as Blondie throws the last of the shoes into the dumpster.
“Two Dallas U students who posted pictures on facebook,” she says bitterly. She thumps her hand against the lid of the dumpster. “I thought I could trust him. I thought he was different. Turns out he’s just a frog.”
I raise my eyebrow at the epithet; it seems such a mild insult for her. “A frog?”
“Yeah, a frog. You know how they say that you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince? I thought he was a prince. Shows you how dumb I am.”
“You’re not dumb,” I say. “He’s the one who’s missing a few brain cells. If I had a girl like you at home, there’s no way I’d cheat.”
“Sure,” she smiles wryly. “Listen, Billy has a bottle of rare single malt that he’s been keeping for a special occasion. Want to come up for a drink and celebrate all the new closet space I’ve gained?”
“I’d love to.”
Just like that, I’m in.
I follow her up to her apartment on the top floor. She produces the bottle of whiskey and pours two glasses. And when I say two glasses, I mean two glasses full, as in, right to the top.
“I’m Michael, by the way,” I say when she hands me the glass.
“Cheers, Michael,” she toasts, chinking her glass off mine so hard that drink sloshes onto the floor. “I’m Maria.”
She shrugs at the mess she made and throws back a mouthful, neat. I don’t know how her mouth isn’t burning after it. She disappears into the kitchen and I take advantage of her absence to throw half the contents of my glass out the open window.
When Maria comes back, she has a large black trash bag in her hand and begins to go around the room, alternately throwing items carelessly into the sack and drinking. I pick up a framed photograph of her and a guy; both of them are smiling and look very much in love. He looks like a loser, how a guy like him got somebody like Maria and two Dallas U co-eds to sleep with him, I don’t know.
“Is this him?” I ask.
Maria nods and holds out the sack for me to throw the picture into.
“You’re too good for him,” I tell her.
She snorts derisively. “Yeah, probably, but it still hurts like hell.” She drops the bag and puts the glass down on the table and leaves the room.
This time when she comes back, she’s carrying a beautiful wooden guitar. Ah, he’s a musician. Explains a lot.
Maria raises the guitar above her head as if about to smash it off the floor. She stands in the pose for a minute before slowly lowering the guitar to the ground.
She turns to me with tears in her eyes. “It took me ages to save up enough money to buy this guitar for him. If I smash it he won’t care, he didn’t even care enough to take it on tour with him.”
“You could smash up another guitar and pretend it’s that one, and then when he’s gone you can keep it for yourself. Or sell it,” I suggest.
“Good idea,” Maria nods and places the instrument carefully against a wall before rejoining me by the window. “I just want to hurt him as much as he hurt me, you know?”
I move in close to her, so that our bodies are touching and lick my lips. “I know,” I say, my voice deliberately husky.
She takes the bait, rising up on her toes so that she can kiss me. Her hands slide up my shirt front and loop around my neck. I pull her closer and deepen the kiss. It’s hot and steamy and full of rage. She moans in my mouth.
Slowly, without breaking the kiss, I maneuver us towards the couch and pull her onto my lap. I tear my mouth away from hers and begin to pepper her neck with kisses as my hands slip under her t-shirt and begin to caress the smooth skin beneath. Her fingers dig into my scalp as she holds my head close, wanting more of me and I’m only too happy to comply.
Then, just as fast as she kissed me, she’s pushing me away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she pants as she detangles herself from me. “I’m sorry. This is… I’m angry at Billy and I’m a little bit drunk and I’m sorry.”
I edge closer to her, catching her hand in mine. “It’s ok, Maria.” I press a kiss just below her ear.
She shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry. I think you should go before we do something we’ll regret in the morning.”
I pull away slightly but continue to hold her. “I won’t regret it.”
“I would. I’m sorry, Michael, but I don’t think this is a good idea.”
Damn it. I cover up my disappointment and nod in agreement. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You should go,” Maria decides. She seems pretty definite about it and I know my chance is gone. For now.
I stand up and pull my wallet from my pocket. From it, I hand her one of my cards. “I’ll be in town for a few days so if you need any more help with anything, or even just to talk, give me a call.”
She nods. “I will.”
“Want me to take that bag out to the dumpster?” I volunteer pointing to the garbage sack of items she had gathered up.
Maria gives me a small, sad smile. “Sure. And thanks, Michael, you’re a great guy.”
So, with a dose of blue balls for company, I head back to the motel. I check in on Liz to make sure she got back ok – I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, because then I’d really have to hear about it.
***
