Quentin

He quickly clicked open his seat belt and held out his arms to her, she freed herself of her belt as well and then he was holding her again, he was holding his sheila, she was almost climbing into him trying to get closer and he wasn’t doing anything to discourage her. Christ no.

They sat awkwardly, wrapped around each other as closely as they could, both sighing contentedly.

‘Missed you, sweetheart,’ he whispered in her ear.

‘And I you,’ she replied softly. ‘Oh, Quent,’ she leaned back a little to look at him, ‘I didn’t think you wanted to see me when I was here; I didn’t think you cared…’

‘I care, fuck, I care,’ he ground out right before he captured her mouth with his. He softly sucked, then teased with his tongue, and just like he’d hoped, she gave in to him completely and leaned against him soft and warm and willing, welcoming his kiss and touching his hair. Her fingers found that spot behind his ear that only she knew about, that spot that when she softly rubbed it with her wonderfully sensitive fingertips, he felt himself go all gooey and boneless and relaxed, not a care in the world, just him and his beautiful sheila…

He let go of her lips just to mutter ‘love it when you do that, luvvie, Christ,’ and then he kissed her again with even more passion, his hands roaming over her silk-clad body. The sensation of her in that dress was almost too much to bear and he was rock-hard in an instant, noticing that she wasn’t wearing anything resembling a bra (and where would she have hidden one, under that dress?) and registering how her nipples responded to his touch. He flattened his hand over her breast and rubbed gently, the smoothness of the silk enhancing the feel of her hard nipple nudging against his palm. She moaned softly and moved urgently against him, and he wanted to rip the bloody dress off her and get naked with her, right there in the car.

‘Quent, stop, please,’ she panted in his ear, running her fingers through his hair and hiding her face against his neck.

He relented and pulled her into his lap a little better, holding her like a baby almost, touching her face, marvelling at her beautiful soft skin, her lips, puffy from kissing him, her eyes, with the delicately feathered eyebrows above them, so expressive and sweet… ‘You’ve still got my ring…’ he softly said, touching the chain around her neck. He was very moved by that.

‘Yes… I never took it off… well, I took it off my finger, but I had it with me every day…’ she smiled up to him. ‘Silly me, eh?’

‘Beautiful… not silly… Thought I’d lost you forever… Tazzie…’ he muttered, and kissed her again. Time seemed to run differently in their confined little universe, and Quentin felt such peace, such tranquillity descend in his heart as he sat there whispering sweet nothings to the woman in his arms, and kissing her over and over; he wanted the moment to go on forever. He just knew, with absolute certainty, that he’d marry her one day, and he couldn’t believe how he’d managed to convince himself that he’d be able to live his life with anyone else than her. Christ, they were made for each other, he felt so at home with her, so normal; so down-to-earth, no-bullshit loved, and yet he was so turned on by her, he wanted to root her brains out with just time enough to catch his breath then do it all over again…

‘Wanna go back to Nana with you,’ he whispered to her, ‘wanna live there, together; remember how happy we were?’

She nodded then hesitated.

‘What is it, luvvie?’ he said, softly stroking her cheek.

‘Um… you… aren’t you…’ she stammered, sitting up, apparently losing some of that dreamlike feeling. ‘Um, Miss Manning, I thought you were going out with her; your Mum said the two of you were serious… I talked to her, uh, your Mum I mean, on the phone right before I left for the airport and she said…’

‘Muriel and me are over,’ he interrupted, a little darkly. He remembered all too well how she had exploded when he’d said Tazzie’s name. She’d expected some sort of Barbara Cartland type writer, not a pretty, young, smart author, and she’d immediately laid into him, somehow picking up on the threat this woman represented to her claim on him. And rightly so. She’d been a bloody fury, but the result had not been what she’d been aiming for because Quentin had ended it there and then, decisively and for good.

‘But then,’ he continued, ‘we never were much to begin with, truth be told. I tried, I really tried to make it work but…’ he softly kissed her nose, ‘reckon I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you, luvvie…’

Tazzie sighed in relief and leaned against his shoulder. ‘Guess it was the same for me and Vince,’ she said pensively. ‘I honestly tried to have a go at it, and he’s a nice guy, really he is, but my heart wasn’t in it…’ She lifted her head and kissed Quentin’s jaw.

They were silent for a while, leaning against each other. Quentin softly stroked her back.

‘So… what do we do now…?’ he asked her, his voice soft and just a little insecure.

Taz sat up and slowly, silently, climbed back into her seat, a thoughtful look upon her face. All of a sudden she jolted.’ Oh my God, Quent, look at the time! We’re going to be so late! I can’t believe… Look!’ She pointed at the clock on the dash, panic in her voice. She opened her little purse and got out a lipstick and a small mirror. ‘Christ, you’ve eaten off all my make-up!’

He grinned and gunned the engine. ‘You’re a stunner anyway, and I promise I’ll get you there on time. Just hold on to your knickers, luvvie!’ And he raced back down towards street level.

Taryn had a terrible time trying to put her make-up and hair back into some semblance of order as Quentin tore through the city like a madman. ‘Quent, be careful,’ she squeaked, ‘if we get caught by the cops…’

‘We’ll be right,’ he said with iron determination, and rounded a corner on two wheels.

‘I’m going to be the winner,’ Tazzie said, making it sound like a warning.

‘That’s the right attitude, sweetheart,’ Quent ground out, teeth clenched, speeding up dangerously to make the green light.

‘No, I mean I know I’m going to be announced the winner… I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone or I’d be beheaded or something, I had to sign a ton of papers… Jesus, Quent!’

‘Fuckin’ ace!’ Quent grinned like a fiend, both for Tazzie and for getting across the road without killing anyone.

‘Yes, but just imagine we’d be caught speeding on our way over… how ridiculous we’d look… And the way you’re driving… ’

‘Luvvie,’ Quentin said, ‘if they see us in a car together I’m sure a speeding ticket will be the least thing they’ll waste their ink on. Look, here we are. Toldya we’d make it on time.’

Tazzie smiled. ‘Cocky bastard,’ she softly said, but to him it sounded like a verbal caress. He grinned again - couldn’t seem to stop grinning now that they were together - slowed down smoothly and stopped in front of a red carpeted entrance. ‘Security’s a lot more relaxed in the literary world,’ he remarked, and got out to open the door for her. There was some sort of valet around to take care of the car, and they made their way in together.

They were shown their places, and the other people at the table (mostly from her US publishing house) stared when they saw the good-looking man in the sharp tuxedo accompanying Taryn. Granted his hair was a little too long, and it was obviously bleached, but he wore it in a neat ponytail with a narrow black ribbon tied into a bow with wide loops.

‘I thought you were bringing Sir Adrian Blakeley?’ An influential non-fiction editor asked, a little disappointed. He prided himself upon being a film buff, but didn’t recognize Quent. His neighbour elbowed him into silence and brought him up to speed, and there was an almost tangible awareness rippling through the room as Quentin’s presence got noted.

Quentin was used to this, but he was happy that this literary lot appeared to be fairly polite. No one came over to talk bloody nonsense or ask for autographs. He smiled at the people at the table, while under the tablecloth his hand found Tazzie’s and squeezed it gently.

He felt her hand squeezing his in response and smiled a little wider, looking at her. She looked bloody amazing in that dress, and he was so absurdly happy at that very moment, he thought he would burst. She had his ring around his neck, she said she’d missed him too… it felt like they were back together, just like that, just a snog and a cuddle and a few whispered words in the car and everything felt like it was fuckin’ A-okay. Amazing. He wondered in silence. His hand was warm with holding hers; it made him think of kissing her again, making love to her… he wanted her in his arms, in his bed, with no one around and no busy schedule to interfere, and he felt his pants grow tight. Fuck, he couldn’t possibly sit here all evening with a massive hard-on, he’d have to get to his feet and applaud and shit when she’d be called to the stage… He frowned and concentrated and thought of cooked endive as hard as he could. A shiver ran across his spine and he felt the edge come off his lust, but his hand holding hers still sent pulsating waves of sensual heat up his arm.

Tazzie had picked up on something. Of course she had. She bent towards him and whispered, ‘Everything okay, Quent?’

He nodded and whispered back, ’I was thinking of endive. Can’t stand the stuff,’ and softly rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

She looked at him funny for just an instant, and then he saw understanding dawn in her eyes. She gave him a smile that made his heart stop, squeezed his hand again and softly said, ‘Told you at Ade’s, didn’t I? Some things never change…’

‘Too right,’ he mouthed, but then someone at the table insisted upon them explaining how they knew each other.

‘Um,’ said Tazzie, ‘I know his mother… Quent and I, we ran into each other last week in London, accidentally, and…’

‘Yes, we read that you were in London,’ said the non-fiction editor to Quentin, with just a hint of salaciousness in his voice.

Quentin turned in his chair and stared him down. It wasn’t hard to do, he gave in straight away and studied his glass, reddening slightly, but then Quent felt Tazzie’s hand twitch in his which made him relent. He said, ‘Tazzie was staying over in Australia last year, with my Mum, when I came home to the ranch. That’s how we met… we, uh, sort of kept in touch over time…’ Well, that was a lie… Fuck, he wished Tazzie had just said they were a couple. That they were going out together, that he was her boyfriend. He wanted to be her bloody boyfriend, he wanted it to be out in the open. Fuck.

‘Quentin came to the, um, rescue the very last minute,’ Taz went on, ‘when Adrian had to beg off. I was about to order a taxi.’

‘Yeah, that’s me,’ Quent rumbled, a little discontentedly, ‘I specialize in last minute rescues.’

‘And you just happened to be in New York? How fortuitous!’ This came from a very influential literary scout, whom he’d seen somewhere before. What was her name again? Maria, yeah, that was it, he’d sat next to her at some dinner. Sharp, she was, in kind of a dangerous way, and she had a lot of connections in the entertainment industry.

‘I gathered you were in Los Angeles, filming?’ Maria again.

‘Well, I was,’ said Quent, feeling put on the spot, ‘I mean, I am, but I had to come down for some… personal business. And while I’m here, I might as well help out a mate, hey?’ He looked at Tazzie and smiled again, albeit a little bleakly. Under the table, he pulled her hand onto his leg. He wondered if this Maria had X-ray eyes; she seemed to look right through him and suddenly he was quite convinced that she knew he was holding Tazzie’s hand.

‘It’s so very sweet of Quent that he’s made time for this; he’s extremely busy right now and you have no idea how grateful I am,’ Tazzie told Maria earnestly, and Quent felt her thread her fingers through his. ‘We share a very special… bond,’ she went on, and everybody pricked up his or her ears, ‘a very special friendship.’ Now it was Tazzie’s turn to turn to him and smile, and again he felt it tug at his heart.

‘Yeah,’ he said softly, looking into her eyes, ‘we do.’

And then, the lights were turned down and the programme for the evening started.

Taryn

All the way through the speeches and readings and music, Taz was only aware of one thing. Her hand, in Quentin’s, resting on his knee. The rest of it sort of went by in a softly humming blur.

Then, all of a sudden, her name was called and she got up from the table, made it over to the stage, and she stood blinking momentarily in the harsh lighting. She’d prepared a short acceptance speech and managed to deliver it without too many hesitations once her eyes got used to the light and she could pick out Quentin’s face. He sat there beaming up at her, his teal eyes sparkling, and amongst the sea of faces, his was the only one she really saw.

She received a statuette and a glittery golden cheque representing the quarter of a million dollars that came with the award, and then she was back at her table and the formal charity dinner kicked off.

The food looked beautiful and tasted vile. It was either over- or undercooked, and Tazzie actually discerned some endive in there somewhere. She giggled and poked Quent in the side, pointing at the offensive veggie. He shuddered privately, which she picked up on quite clearly – it was like a nasty brown-purple curl in her tummy. He picked at his food wistfully and quietly hooked a foot around her calf, now that he couldn’t hold her hand. ‘Can we get a pizza or something on the way back to yours, you think?’ he whispered in her ear.

She nodded, and they shared a smile. Tazzie felt that her whole table, and probably the whole gathering, was watching her and Quent, was watching how closely together they sat. She felt like every time he whispered in her ear, the notion of them having an affair was growing stronger. Camera’s flashed when he leaned towards her, when she smiled at him.

It was so difficult to sort out what she felt. She was still desperately in love with him, yes, that went without saying. She wanted him, she wanted to make love to him, and that distracting heat between their bodies was still there, stronger than ever. And he looked so fantastic. If she were completely honest with herself, she’d prefer him in his faded jeans and old flannies, his hair back to his natural chestnut. But what she felt for him went way beyond how he looked, it was something deep inside her and it was about something deep inside him. She only had one enormous hurdle to take.

She wasn’t sure if she could trust him.

She wasn’t sure if he would not turn around and disappear out of her life again, soon as she’d given him her heart a second time, to pursue whatever next grabbed his fancy. She knew, she so clearly remembered his brother Martin warning her, telling her about his erratic behaviour, last year, back at Nana… And she’d experienced it first hand. One moment he was there, laying his heart at her feet, the next moment he was flying to the other side of the world and the only way to stay with him would be to run after him, because nothing or nobody would change his mind, nor his itinerary. It just was Quent’s way or no way at all, and Taryn wasn’t at all certain she could do that. She wanted to have a say in her life, she didn’t want it spent in pursuit of her partner’s dream; no, worse, in pursuit of her partner, who was in pursuit of his dream. If they couldn’t find a way to make a dream to pursue together, it would never, ever work.

As her thoughts tumbled over one another, and her whole leg seemed to get hijacked by both of Quentin’s feet, the evening progressed. A band came on, and somebody sang. She was asked to dance by the chairman of the committee (an elderly gentleman of British descent who was a fair way towards being in his cups) and had to disentangle herself from Quent in an elegant manner, quickly find her shoe, abandoned under the table earlier, with one questing foot without making a total arse of herself, and get through a slow dance without stepping on the chairman’s toes or having him grope her bum.

She did a creditable job on all three accounts, and slowly, slowly, the evening wound down and there were talks of after-parties. Of course, as she was the winner and had the most interesting date, invitations inundated her table. She leaned against Quent’s shoulder for a bit, and softly said to him: ‘I think we’ll have to go to the Random House party, at least for a little while. It is sort of not done to decline an invite to the RH party...’

‘Will they have anything to eat, you think?’ Quent whispered back. ‘I’m not picky; I just want some tucker. I don’t care if you want to drag me around New York for the rest of the night, just make sure I get a feed, hey?’

Tazzie grinned. ‘They’ll have some sophisticated finger food stuff I’m sure.’

‘No beer and pizza?’ Quent sounded disappointed.

‘I doubt that,’ said Taz, enjoying his mischief-laden eyes. ‘What?’ she softly asked him as he stared at her with a goofy smile on his face.

‘No... nothin’...’ he said, ‘Just that you look really nice, and I wish I could stay longer.’

‘When do you have to get back?’

‘Tomorrow, in the course of the morning...’ He helped her out of her chair and walked her to the exit. They were stopped several times by people who congratulated Taz, and she quietly filled Quent in on who was who.

‘I need to read more,’ Quentin muttered as they finally reached the red carpet and walked back to where their SUV was parked along the curb. ‘I thought I’d read a lot, for my roles and stuff, but you know, I need to get more lit under my belt. Christ I feel bloody ignorant. Most of those blokes I’d never even heard of. Oh, look, here’s the journos. Just keep your face still or you’ll look like a nutter in the paper,’ he said to her out of the side of his mouth, which made her want to laugh out loud.

‘Shh!’ Quentin hissed, ‘just smile, all right? Keep your face still, I’m not kidding.’ He grabbed her and pulled her close, and took the time to pose for the camera’s. The journalists started to shout questions across:

‘Quentin, Quentin, are you and Taryn a couple? How long have you known each other? Is it serious? Will you get married?’

‘Listen, guys,’ Quentin said calmly, ‘this is Taryn Archer, and she’s just won the APA, all right? Why don’t you ask her about that.’

Taz couldn’t help it; she was a little frightened of the vehemence of the media squad as they immediately fired the same type of questions at her. She snuck up to Quentin a little closer, and felt his arm around her pull her in protectively.

‘Just say something, luvvie,’ he softly said to her, ‘it’s the only way they’ll relent. You need to give them something.’

‘But what? I don’t know what to say,’ Tazzie muttered, but then she took a deep breath and addressed them: ‘Quentin and I are good friends... we met last year when I was staying over at the family farm, in Australia... at the invitation of his mother...’ She smiled again as the camera’s flashed once more, and refused to say anything else, especially when she noticed Quentin stiffen beside her. Not only his muscles tensed up, but something inside him seemed to clam up as well. She felt a wave of anxiety and... what was it, disappointment? ...come off him that was so strong it sort of scared her. Had she said something wrong? She’d spoken the truth, hadn’t she, and she’d kept to the story they had told to the people at their table earlier. She knew how touchy Quent could be when the media printed stuff about him that wasn’t true...

She looked up to his face and whispered, ‘...can we get in the car now, you think?’

He didn’t say anything, just nodded, walked her over, and helped her inside. There was something in his expression that had Tazzie worried immensely, and as he drove away, she mustered up the courage to ask him, ‘Quent, have I said something wrong? Did I say the wrong thing just now, with the press? Um...’

He looked at her for a sec, his face intense and brooding. ‘No... no you said everything right... No it’s just that I thought... Fuck, Taz, I dunno what I thought...’ He shook his head and some of the tension seemed to dissipate.

‘No, go on, tell me,’ she softly said, putting a hand on his knee.

‘Reckon I hoped you’d say we’re... you know... that we’re back together, um, you and me,’ he rumbled softly.

‘Oh...’ said Taz, feeling small and really confused. ‘Well... are we? I’m, uh, not sure that we should... you know... rush into... I dunno, Quent, I just stuck to the story you were telling earlier, because I didn’t want to be the cause of anything bad being written about you. And really, it isn’t something one would just blurt out to the press without discussing it beforehand, is it? I’m sorry but... I think you and I...we should first... sort out what we have, um... you know?’

‘Yeah,’ sighed Quent, ‘Reckon you’re right. Reckon I was just expecting you’d take the opportunity to... you know, couple of girls I went out with couldn’t wait to announce we were going out together, even if we weren’t... I suppose I’ve gotten used to that sort of stuff. And now that I’m with the only woman of whom I’d actually welcome it... Ah, fuck, Taz, forget I said anything, all right? I’m just...’ he shook his head and refused to continue.

Tazzie felt a little sad when they arrived at the Random Hose party, and were ushered inside. She still couldn’t sort out her feelings for Quentin: she loved him, and she didn’t think she could actually live without him, but at the same time she feared the power he would have over her once she gave him her heart again. She’d been so, so miserable when it had gone wrong the first time... Yet here he was, at her side, and he’d made such an effort to be with her tonight... What was she to do? She could say to him: yes, we’re back together again, but then she’d be off on her promotion tour and he’d be back in Los Angeles working on his film, and they’d never see each other anyway. So what was the point, really?

She sighed as her thoughts went this way and that, and she just knew that this could not be resolved on the spot. She’d have to think about it carefully, and so would Quent. He was famous for rushing into things after all, and who’d say what he’d be feeling like tomorrow?

Chapter Eight

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