Don't Wanna Try
Chapter 20
“Marshall,” she whispered, shaking his slumbering body.
“What?” he growled, his eyes still closed.
Vanessa stifled a laugh before responding. “It’s time to get up.”
“Give me two more days, please,” he groaned and buried his face under the pillow.
“C’mon,” she urged and shook him with fervor. “Marshall!” she yelped as his arm flew out and brought her crashing down onto the bed.
“What are you gonna give me if I get up?” he asked.
“A happier client?” she ventured.
“Keep trying.”
She pretended to think. “Well, I can’t think of anything else.”
He was about to respond when she interrupted him by wiggling her way out of his grasp and flung her nightgown at him.
“I’m going to go take a shower. You know, start my day. If you’re interested in getting up, feel free to join me,” she teased, fully knowing that his eyes followed her form into the bathroom.
Marshall waited a few seconds before shedding his boxers and rushing to the bathroom to take her up on her irresistible offer.
It occurred to him that she had known he’d come as he found her waiting patiently. They stepped under the hot spray of water together, awkwardly positioning themselves so both parties were relatively comfortable.
He gathered her body closer to his, kissed her wet lips gently, and felt her intensify the kiss as her she allowed his tongue entrance into the warm caverns of her mouth. With a smoothness he hadn’t realized he had, he maneuvered them away from the cascading water and heard her hiss as the cool tile came into contact with her back.
Marshall watched her carefully as he ran his fingertip along her bottom lip.
“You have me wrapped around your finger, you know that?”
“Mhm,” she mumbled as she sucked gently on his extended finger.
He groaned loudly. “Baby, don’t do things like that.”
“Why not?” she asked innocently while teasing his finger with her tongue.
“Because it makes me want to do things like this,” he whispered as he pushed himself deep within the crevice between her thighs.
She moaned low in her throat at the unexpected intrusion. “Maybe that was the point.”
Sometime later, they emerged from the shower with shriveled, rosy skin, but utterly satisfied. Vanessa went to work at the telephone, busily calling and confirming various appointments for Marshall that day, while he put together everything he needed for his lunch meeting.
“Let me use the phone a sec,” he hollered from the bedroom.
“I’m off, now,” she returned.
The phone rang once, twice, and on the third ring Marshall heard a familiar voice that caused him to smile.
“Hey Hailie!”
“Hi, Daddy!”
“I got those plane tickets for you, baby.”
“Yay!” she screamed, and Marshall held the phone away from his ear as she giggled and yelled.
“I’ll come pick you up, how’s that?”
“Sounds perrrrrfect,” she responded happily.
“I’ll see you in a few days.”
“I can’t wait! I gotta go, Mommy’s yelling ‘cause it’s time for school!”
He laughed, “All right, bye baby.”
“Bye Daddy!”
“Are you always so sweet?” Vanessa asked as she leaned against the doorjamb.
“Never,” he replied honestly.
“You’re cute,” she continued. “It’s nice to see a Dad who cares about his children enough to make time for them despite a busy career,” she mumbled slightly, but the pain was evident in her voice.
“Tell me,” he said softly, patting the bed in invitation.
“It’s nothing.”
He decided to go for another approach and stood up to comfort her—and pry some information out of her not-so-eager lips.
“C’mon, tell me what happened,” he asked gently as he ran his hands along her arms. “It’s a long story, and you don’t have the time to hear it right now.”
He glanced at the wall clock, noticing that she was, indeed, correct as he was scheduled to leave in ten minutes.
“I’ll cancel.”
“Don’t,” she said firmly. “You need to go to your meetings. Are we going anywhere tonight?”
“D-12’s show, it isn’t ‘til nine, so we’ll go somewhere nice for dinner.”
She nodded. “You better get going, you never know how NY’s traffic will behave. I already had the limousine pull up so it should be waiting.”
“What are you going to do while I’m gone?”
“I invited all the bellboys up for a little lunch.”
“Excuse me?” he stuttered.
She laughed. “I’ll be at the office, working. I also have to check up on the NYC division of my other boss’ company.”
“What time should we meet back here?”
“Pick a time,” she replied. “You’re busier than I.”
“All right,” he said thoughtfully. “Six? I think I should be done by then.”
“Last meeting’s at four-thirty.”
“Good, I’ll be here, then.”
“That reminds me,” she said and walked out to the main room to retrieve a piece of paper. “Here’s this week’s latest itinerary—at least of all the events I know of and have booked. Let me know if there’s anything I need to add or if things change.”
“No changes that I know of. We’ll be flying back on Thursday afternoon, so make sure nobody tries and schedule a meeting for me here that day. I’ll also be taking off Friday afternoon and a few days the following week.”
“Got it. If you have more definite ideas as to what days you’ll take off next week, let me know. I’ll try and keep next week light, too.”
“Thanks,” he replied and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll see you at six.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter 21
Vanessa had muddled through her day; she knew the one thing she had to do while in New York, but loathed having to do it. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but it was a necessary evil.
She laid on the now-made bed, sighed, and reached for the telephone to make a call to her mother.
“’ello?”
“Hey, Mom.”
“Oh, hey, honey.”
“I’m in New York.”
“What?” her mother replied with absolute shock. “Why?”
“My new boss is here on business.”
“Oh, oh, I see.”
“I thought I’d swing by the house while I’m here.”
“That okay with your boss?”
“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Tomorrow?” she asked.
“That’ll be wonderful, darling. We can’t wait to see you!”
“I’m sure,” she murmured.
“I’ll have your brother take the day off so we can spend tomorrow visiting and catching up. It’s been so long since we’ve seen you,” her mother reminded her with obvious displeasure.
“You know why.”
“Damned if I don’t, but I don’t agree with what you’re doing. You should be home. Here, with us. Not three thousand miles away!”
“I’m old enough to make my own decisions,” she sighed.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I gotta go, your aunt is callin’ from the bathroom. I’m dying her hair some newfangled color. I think she’s having one of those mid-life crisis’s.”
She forced herself to laugh. “Bye, Mom.”
Although only marginally relieved to have that task out of the way, she dreaded the rehashing she knew was going to happen tomorrow.
Marshall watched her chest rise and fall slowly as she napped; he hated to wake her, but he was pretty sure she’d berate him for not doing so.
“Baby, it’s time to get going,” he whispered.
“Hm?” she murmured. “Oh, I must’ve fallen asleep. What time is it?”
“Five-thirty. I’m a little early.”
“Where are we going?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t really want to go anywhere,” she replied stretching her sleeping limbs out.
“We could eat at the hotel,” he suggested.
“I’d like that. I think I read that they have a little Italian restaurant on the fourth floor.”
“We’ll go there,” he decided.
“Let me brush my hair, and then we’ll go.”
“Is it safe?” she asked him as she came out of the bedroom.
“Safe?”
“For you, I mean. Like you aren’t going to be mauled over by all your fans?”
“It’s early, and this is an upscale hotel. I don’t think there are too many guests here that even know who I am.”
“All right. Just making sure.”
He turned out to be wrong in his assumption that the restaurant would be empty and the only patrons would be adults.
Apparently, there were several tables of young adults, and he quickly slipped on his sunglasses and looked at the ground as they passed the crowded tables to their own.
“We could always leave,” she suggested.
“It’ll be fine. A few fans, there’s no need to leave.”
“All right,” she replied, not convinced, but let the matter rest—for the moment.
The first wave of fans swept the table mere minutes after Marshall’s sunglasses were tucked away. He cursed silently.
“It’s Eminem!” they gushed loudly, garnering the attention of most of the restaurant.
He cast a glance at Vanessa and was surprised to find amusement, rather than annoyance, on her face as he signed autographs and posed for photographs.
His fans finally dispersed as the waiter came to take their orders. With a sigh of relief, Marshall apologized to Vanessa, and the two of them ordered.
“Don’t worry about it,” she reassured him. “It’s very inspiring to see how nicely you treat your fans.”
“They can still be annoying.”
She laughed prettily, the sound tinkling in his ears.
Reluctantly, Marshall asked her a question she had feared he would ask. “So, about that long story.”
“It’s really not that interesting.”
“Vanessa,” he replied sternly. “I asked because I want to know.”
“My father was a very busy man before he died, and rarely spent time with my mother, brother, or myself. He was nice, pleasant, and caring when he was around, which wasn’t often. He was always on business trips or making his pleasure by globetrotting, without the family. We were baggage. Unnecessary baggage to take on his many joyrides. He hurt everyone by constantly not showing up or by picking a client over an anniversary or birthday. My mother was a patient woman, and she was never very forthcoming with how she felt about my father. It was honorable, the way she hid her tears and her pain from her children, but it ate away at her—and at their marriage. They never divorced, but they might as well had.”
His intense gaze urged her to continue.
“Look, my dad was a good man in everyone else’s eyes except for the family he liked to pretend he didn’t have. It’s in the past.”
“Sounds like the past is still your present,” he murmured.
Chapter 22
“Don’t push it,” she warned him and took a sip of water to ease the dryness of her throat.
“Why didn’t they divorce?” he asked quietly.
She hesitated. “They had kids. They had an image to uphold—or rather, he did. We were second class citizens; it didn’t matter to us if we had a father because that’s how life was anyway. He paid the bills, and we lived a grand, luxurious lifestyle because of him, but nothing was ever fulfilling or satisfying. Things came easy, if they were materialistically. Anything involving commitment or emotion just dug the void wider, deeper.”
“They stayed together for you and your brother?”
“Partially. It didn’t matter to my father. He had a wife who said nothing, did even less, and acquiesced to all his needs. He had affairs that everyone knew about, as he was never too secretive about his many mistresses. It was great for him, you see. Whenever there was a corporate event, he could take the family out and about, show them off like his latest assets. If there was a tropical island beckoning to him, he could shack up with some bikini blonde and enjoy his time there without whining children or a neglected wife.”
“I’m sorry,” Marshall said sincerely.
“When I was fourteen, my father decided it was time to pick up his slack, and start to act like a father.”
“It’s good he realized it…”
“No, he didn’t, not really. I… I could sing,” she whispered.
“Sing?”
“My father was a major link in the music industry chain. And he knew that my voice would grab him gold.”
“He was? Who was your father?”
“Mark Wilson,” she cast her eyes downward, unable to meet his gaze.
“The Mark Wilson?”
“Yes, the Mark Wilson,” she mimicked bitterly.
“He’s—”
“One of the legendary movers and shakers of the music industry.”
“Why are you ashamed of him? I mean, damn! Mark Wilson…”
“Because Mark Wilson was a business man first, sex addict second, and father last. Let me finish, let me explain to you why I hate the entertainment industry.”
“All right,” he conceded. “Go on.”
“I was only fourteen when he mixed me up in that world. You know what it’s like—it’s grueling. Terrible. And I hated singing. It didn’t matter whether or not my voice was good or not, but I detested doing it for anything other than my pleasure. I liked to sing in the shower, not into a microphone or on stage in front of thousands.”
“Fourteen is pretty common.”
“Fourteen is too young.”
“I think a lot of the execs would disagree.”
“That’s why they’re execs making big bucks off of other people’s fatigue.”
“I’m an executive,” he reminded her tersely.
“You’re an exception?” she half-asked, half-stated. “Marshall, you work both sides of the coin. If you look at most of the artists you have signed to your label, most of them are not minors. Things get too rough for kids.”
“What happened to you?”
“My father took me to a studio to get professional photographs done for my portfolio; I hated having my picture taken, but he threatened awful, nasty little things if I didn’t comply. I had nobody who could tell him no and reinforce it. My mother was a waste.”
She closed her eyes, letting the memories she’d kept buried for so long sweep over her. Only when she felt Marshall’s hand cover hers did she reopen her eyes.
“My father received a phone call and claimed it was urgent; it wasn’t, he needed to get off and his latest mistress was fully willing to comply for an impromptu fuck session at a nearby motel. He told me I had better do whatever the photographer asked me to do. He wanted the pictures to be perfect.”
“What a bastard…”
“Remember that I was young, foolish, and still vied for my father’s long-absent attention. It was strange having his sudden attention, but I wanted to keep it so I was willing to do what he asked of me. So, when the photographer showed me what I was supposed to wear, I didn’t make that much of a fuss. They were tight and showed everything. It was the second most degrading experience of my life. I was fourteen. I barely had anything to show, but it was disgusting. I felt like a whore.”
“Vanessa,” Marshall said gently, squeezing her hand.
“I can’t do this. Not here…not now,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Let’s go back upstairs,” he suggested and left a few bills on the table to pay for the food they would not eat.
They sat on the loveseat in the main room, her head in his lap as she struggled to gather her strength.
“You can do it,” he urged. “Baby, you’re stronger than you think.” Marshall stroked her hair, fingering the strands between his fingers.
“He raped me. The bastard raped me. I didn’t just feel like a whore, I was one.”
Marshall knew this was coming, had tried to prepare himself for her words to confirm what he thought, but to hear it—the hitch in her voice, the tears that were wetting his pants, and the shaking of her body—with such pain, such anger, but utter helplessness, caused his heart to constrict in agony and his stomach to tighten in revulsion.
He could not remember when he’d ever wanted someone’s heart on a platter so much before. The anger that coursed through him was palpable; his blood pumped furiously as his heart beat rapidly as he felt the rage manifest and swell within his body.
“I’ll kill him,” Marshall said deadpan. The fury was white hot, sparking as his hands clenched into fists, his uneven nails biting into his skin.
“He’s in jail,” she managed to choke out. “He did it with another girl. I don’t even want to think about how many he’s done it to… But this girl was smart, smarter than I was. She also had a father who believed her; an honest, loving father who filed charges the second his daughter burst into tears when he’d come to pick her up from the photo-shoot. He’s in jail for life because other witnesses came forward with similar stories and accounts.”
“Did you testify against him?” he asked, desperately trying to contain his rage.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I couldn’t.”
“I’m so sorry, baby… He should be dead. Jail is too good for him.”
“I don’t care… as long as he’s not out there ruining other little girls’ lives.”
He lifted her into his arms, hugging her tightly, squeezing the breath out of her. They clung to each other as tears fell from both their eyes.Author: zines@aol.com
These stories are for entertainment purposes only. They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character. No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.