What If I Said I Love You?

[Author's note: A prequel of sorts to

Wonderland

. I have a number of precursor stories that never got used... here's one.]

---

WHAT IF I SAID I LOVE YOU

"C'mon, really, which one?" Ellis asks, turning from the mirror to face her husband.

She's holding a black dress in one hand, a grey pencil skirt in the other. On the bed, her husband watches her closely.

"Either."

"Dan, c'mon. Which?"

She holds the dress up to her body again. She's wearing a little lacy black lingerie set and nothing else.

"The dress, with stockings?" she continues, "Or if I put the skirt on, maybe bare legs, the blue top."

"The tight blue top?"

"The tight one, what do you think? Look, it's either evening-wear with the dress, or business-casual with the skirt and top."

Dan gives her a smile, replying, "You always look hot in the skirt."

"Skirt then?"

Ellis steps into it and pulls it up her legs. She turns to face the mirror, tugging the zip up the perfect curve of her bottom, smoothing her hands over her rear, feeling the way the tight material shapes her body.

"I remember the first time I saw you in a skirt like that," Dan murmurs, "I couldn't keep my eyes off you."

Ellis turns back to her husband, suddenly coy in just her bra. "Why?" she asks.

"Something about the way you moved. The way your legs...."

"You mean, like this?"

Ellis steps into her high heels, doing a little twirl, showing off her shapely calves.

"You always were a closer, El," her husband says, getting up from the bed and coming over to her.

"That's why you married me. I closed the deal, right?"

She wraps her arms around his neck, and they kiss.

"You were a gun asset from day one."

"And now?"

He runs his hands down her bare back, seizing her luscious behind with both hands and giving her a squeeze until she yelps playfully.

"Oh, now, you're an absolute weapon."

"I'm gonna close the deal, baby. You don't have anything to worry about."

"There's not a doubt in my mind, El. You're fucking irresistible."

Dan leans in for another kiss. They linger, then she pushes away, breaking off.

"Enough. Shit, you're getting all sorts of ideas. We gotta go. We've got business."

"We've got a little time, El. Enough time for...."

"Really? You gonna use a condom?"

"What?"

"Or you gonna be serving up sloppy seconds? How's that gonna look, babe?"

Dan gives his wife a look, then shakes his head, relinquishing the embrace.

"Yeah, you see. I'm always working. You might be running the show, but don't forget who your closer is."

"Like you'd ever let me," Dan laughs, watching his wife straighten the blue top.

"There, how's that?"

"Lock and load, El. You look a hundred percent."

"Bullshit. I look at least two fifty."

Ellis slinks over to the bed, her hips swaying in her high heels, coming in for one last kiss. Her husband's smile fades.

"I need you to close this," he tells her.

"Don't worry, I will. Mr. H is gonna sign. You turn up for breakfast and he'll have the paperwork. I promise."

"He better."

"He will. Look, it's a good arrangement. He's happy with it, you're happy with it, right?"

"Yeah. It's good."

"He's opened doors, and he's gonna keep opening them. The Sandford opportunity, he'll be begging to invest when I'm done, just like before. We're killers, you and me. We get it done."

"How do you feel though?"

Ellis stepped back, adjusting her skirt again, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. She tucks her long, auburn hair behind an ear and nodded to herself.

"I think one night a month with him is a small price to pay, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, El. You're so good. You got him right in the palm of your hand."

"It's where you want him, right?"

"And he wants you for the whole night this time?"

"It's his stipulation. It's how we close, babe."

Dan shakes his head and replies, "He won't know what's hit him."

"It's the cost of doing business. Tomorrow night, I'm back here and I promise it's gonna be a celebration."

"I can't wait, El. I can't fucking wait."

---

The bar is busy, but Martyn Holt is easy to pick out from the crowd. He isn't especially tall, or even all that good looking, but he's not the middle-aged silver-fox stereotype like the rest of the guys in the bar. His suit is sharper, his hair smarter, his eyes quicker. There's something that he's giving off as he walks that sets him apart. He doesn't need the Rolex on his wrist like the crowd of guys he's weaving through. He wears it not to show he's top dog, but because knowing the proper time is valuable to him.

Dan spots him first and raises a hand. Martyn nods and plots a course towards them.

"He's here. Heads up," Dan mutters under his breath.

Ellis turns to see. Martyn's attention shifts to her, and he smiles. She smiles back.

"Dan, good to see you. Ellis, lovely as always."

"Can I get you a drink?" Dan asks.

"Vodka soda, splash of lime, please."

"Sure," Dan nods, "Take a seat. El, same again?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Martyn settles onto the seat next to Ellis, setting down his leather briefcase on the floor.

"Long day?" she asks.

"You have no idea. I'm at the business end of two deals, and the guys on the Fulton Heights project have just gotten a sniff of the new rail station being planned. They suddenly think it's worth twice the price."

He shakes his head.

"In ten years," Ellis replies, "When the government finally gets around to it. What're they gonna do? Just hold onto the vacant block for ten years?"

"I know. Some people need to take a basic course in addition and subtraction. But, now they think they're geniuses, sitting on a pot of gold."

"Which pot is that?" Dan asks as he returns, setting down Martyn's vodka soda and a glass of white wine for his wife.

"Fulton," Martyn replies.

"The railway?" Dan snorts, shaking his head. "They got the backing to hold on to the land that long?"

"That's what we were just saying, honey," Ellis chips in.

"Didn't get one for yourself?" Martyn observes.

"Nah, I might split after this one."

He takes the stool on the other side of his wife and picks up his half-empty beer. They make shop-talk, gossiping about land deals, about rumours. Dan is keen to demonstrate to Martyn that he has his ear to the ground. They don't mention the Sandford deal. Dan doesn't want to appear too eager. He downs the last of his drink and stands up.

"Okay, I'll leave you two to it," he says, nodding to Martyn and then leaning towards his wife.

"Have fun, babe," he whispers in her ear, then gives her a kiss on the cheek.

Ellis gives him a little smile, replying, "See you later."

Dan gives her a perfunctory pat on her bottom and pushes his way into the crowd. Ellis watches him go, until he's out of her sight, then she turns back to her companion. He's sipping his drink slowly, watching her. He puts it down on the table.

"So," she begins, "What shall we do now? Back to your place?"

"If you like. Or...."

"Or?"

"Up to you, but there's a gallery opening tonight. They're showing Tomowicz."

"Could do."

"Or we could just go back to mine. But, I thought you might enjoy the art."

"Marty, it's your call. It's always your call."

"But if it was yours, just this once?"

Ellis picks up her glass for a sip. She's stalling, trying to work out the next move. Martyn watches her patiently, giving nothing away.

"He's an abstract impressionist. Terribly underrated," Martyn offers. "I realise it's not Dan's thing, otherwise I'd have invited you both."

Ellis puts her glass down, suddenly coy.

"I'd love to. And that's crap."

"What is?"

"That you'd have invited Dan."

Martyn laughs, "Yes, complete crap."

"Let's do it. Then we can go back to yours."

"Then?"

"Well, Mr. H, you can continue to study art in the privacy of your own room."

"You have a high opinion of yourself."

"So do you."

"Mine is warranted," Martyn rumbles.

He stands up, draining the last of his drink in one mouthful, then offering his hand to Ellis. She puts her hand in his and allows him to lead her through the crowd. She's in front, but his hand is on her hip, his mouth close to her ear in the bustle.

"Yours is warranted too, Ellis. I'm going to enjoy studying you later."

Ellis presses her hand over his.

"I'm going to enjoy being studied," she replies.

Outside, Martyn hails a cab. It's a ten-minute journey across town to a gallery in one of the classier shopping districts. Martyn's clearly expected, and is welcomed in with a smile from the woman checking names on the front door. Ellis drifts in his wake, eyeing the other occupants.

"I feel a bit underdone," she confesses, indicating an elegant older woman in a fur coat.

Martyn is checking in his briefcase at the door.

"You look fine. They," he says, nodding towards the woman, "They don't have to work for a living. We do."

A young man approaches with a tray of champagne flutes. Martyn selects two and passes one to Ellis, chinking glasses.

"Cheers. To a night of cultural delights," he tells her.

They wander through the gallery, viewing the artworks. Martyn makes little comments, but nothing seems to catch his fancy. Ellis sips her champagne awkwardly, casting sidelong glances at the people around them.

"What about this one?"

Her attention shifts to a large square painting. The palette is dominated by reds, splashed angrily across the canvas.

"It's quite, uh, intense," she offers.

"Yes. I was thinking that it looks like a murder scene."

"Really, Martyn? You've seen one?" says a male voice from behind them.

Martyn turns at the interruption, brow furrowed, but then smiles.

"Harvey, how are you? I hadn't expected to find you here."

"I'm not quite sure how to take that."

The newcomer is stocky, taller than them both. Ellis is drawn to his massive hands, the way they make the champagne flute look like a toy in his fingers.

"I didn't know you had an interest in the arts, I meant," Martyn continued.

"Oh, you know. I have many interests. I love things of beauty."

His gaze shifts from Martyn to Ellis. There is a question there in his expression.

"I see you're unaccompanied tonight, Harvey," Martyn says.

"I see you're not."

"Ellis and I have a common interest in the arts."

Harvey's attention shifts to Ellis, and he says, "I'd guess you have a lot of common interests, right?"

Ellis doesn't answer, but it doesn't matter. Harvey's attention returns to Martyn.

"Did you hear about the Raceway?" he asks.

"Yes. Were you looking at it?"

"Was."

"Just missed out?"

Harvey laughs at that, a deep rumbling sound.

"Oh no, missed by a lot. Chinese money, paid over the odds. They're shifting the market."

Martyn nods in agreement, saying, "All out of Hong Kong. They're trying to get their money out before the handover. The British are bad enough, but when the Communists take over, who knows what happens to all that cash?"

"Making life harder for us."

"Might not, in the long run. Might lift the entire market."

"We'll see, I guess. Anyway, just thought I'd say hello. Enjoy your evening."

Harvey lays a subtle emphasis on the word 'enjoy', then nods to them both. Martyn just nods back, then he turns back to Ellis.

"Shall we take a look at the reason we're here?" he asks.

"Is there a reason, or are you just showing off?"

"Oh, you mustn't think that. I genuinely had no idea I'd see anyone I know here. Do you feel like you're on display?"

"Like the art you mean?"

"I suppose."

"Am I to be framed and hung on the wall for viewing?"

"I'm not sure this is the place. They deal in still lifes, not performance pieces."

Martyn's eyes glint mischievously, but then his face softens and he leans closer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't intend to put you on the spot. Harvey's a good sort, really."

Ellis straightens, raising her chin.

"So, shall we view the art or not Mr. H? If that's really what we're here for?"

Martyn offers his arm and Ellis slips hers through his. He leads her to the back of the gallery, to a large piece that occupies most of the back wall.

"The Tomowicz. What are your first impressions?"

Ellis contemplates the canvas, the riot of intersecting splatters overlaid and twining around a set of strong lines in blue and yellow. Her eyes play over the shapes.

"It looks like chaos," she murmurs.

"Yes, it does, doesn't it? They're calling him a Jackson Pollock derivative, but I think they're missing the details entirely. He's of the same school, but he has his own narrative. Have you ever seen Pollock's Blue Poles?"

Ellis shakes her head, her focus still on the painting.

"I was looking at a deal in Western Sydney a few years back, and I had to go down to Canberra, to Parliament House to see the man about the horse. I was standing there in the lobby area and there it was. You've probably seen pictures, but there, in the flesh, seeing the huge expanse of it, it's something else. It dominates. You can see the riot, but also the structure, the energy. It was just me, Blue Poles, and politicians milling around in the background like sheep."

Ellis is watching him now, the way his face lights up as he talks. There is an enthusiasm in his words that very rarely surfaces through the staid, steady control. When he smiles in recollection, she echoes the smile too. Eventually, he looks away from the painting on the wall and their eyes meet. He lapses into silence.

"Tell me something, Ellis. Look at the painting again, and tell me what you see."

Ellis steps closer to the artwork, following the lines. She begins to follow them with her finger in the air, hovering above the paint.

"The lines are the important thing," she states at last, "Among all the spatters and the randomness. They start out here in the corner, far apart, then twine together here."

She points at a point on the picture.

"Then it looks like they're parting, going separate ways, but they come together again here and then they finish down the bottom. They're linked, in perfect circles. It's a story."

Martyn steps in close behind her, his hand settling on her waist. Ellis doesn't pull away, instead she leans back into him subtly, her shoulder blades making contact with his chest.

"Yes, you get it. It's a chart, mapping out the landscape of a relationship between the blue and the yellow. There are trials and tribulations, but it's the story of a navigation through a complex, adversarial landscape."

"To where?"

Martyn points at the interlocked circles, and replies, "To here. Home."

Ellis shifts her hand, placing it over his.

"So, do you think I should buy it?" Martyn asks.

"It's beautiful."

"Would you buy it?"

Ellis' mouth creases in a wry smile, and she says, "Oh no. Dan wouldn't go for something like this."

"Not his thing? What does her prefer?"

"Signed team jerseys, each in their own frame. He's not a patron of the arts."

"And yet his wife has a fine eye for it."

"I suppose I do."

"If you're happy with this, I'll buy it. I'll hang it at home, and you can see it whenever you like."

Ellis turns in his grasp to look up at him, laughing.

"So, I can start collecting pieces, can I?" she asks.

"If you have an interest. We can find places for them, I'm sure."

"And Dan's none the wiser."

"As you said, it's not your husband's thing. But, if it's yours then why should you sacrifice something that makes you happy?"

"I... uh, I don't know."

"I'll have a word out the front, before Harvey moves in and tries to one-up me. Then, are you hungry?"

"Yes. But don't you want to take me back to your place?"

"Do you really want to? Or, shall I take you to dinner?"

Ellis hesitates for a moment, but then replies, "Yes, I'd like that."

"Then you can decide what happens next."

He gives her a little squeeze but before she can clarify his meaning, he's striding back to the front desk to work out the purchase details. Ellis is left on her own, her eyes following the journey in the painting again, down to the entwined circles. She wraps her arms around herself.

Martyn hails another cab, but it's a short hop this time. They are disgorged on the curb in front of a restaurant she's never seen before.

"Here, I thought this might be fun," Martyn tells her.

"What kind of food is it?"

"Japanese. They've just opened, and I guarantee you've seen nothing like it."

"Japanese? What do they serve?"

Martyn's eyes widen and his voice drops, like he's divulging a shocking secret.

"Raw fish. It's called sushi."

"I'm not sure...."

"Just, please, indulge me. I had the same reaction but, like I said, there's nothing like it."

"What do we do? Do we have to, uh, slice the fish?"

"No, come and see. It's really quite amazing."

Ellis allows Martyn to lead her into the restaurant. The waiter seats them at a little table and Martyn orders. As the waiter departs, Ellis leans over to him.

"You look like you know what you're doing," she mutters.

"Ah, that's the art. Even if you've no idea, you never show it. You should have learned that by now. You're both very good."

"At property."

"At most things, I'd imagine. You project an air of competence."

Ellis wrinkles her nose.

"You don't agree?" Martyn asks.

"Your friend Harvey, he saw through everything in the gallery. He knows what's going on."

"And does that bother you?"

"I don't know. Maybe it does. It doesn't show us in a good light, does it?"

"Us? Which us?"

"You and I. Dan and I. Both."

"I disagree."

"How?"

"Start with me. Do you think it harms my reputation to have a beautiful, smart woman on my arm around town?"

"I don't know. Does it?"

"The beautiful, maybe. Richard Scott is fond of bimbos, and it does lend itself to a stereotype. But, the smart is the important thing. Harvey knows who you are, he knows you're not eye candy, and yet you're still attending events with me."

"So, that's good for your reputation."

"It's good for my reputation."

"And your reputation matters a lot to you."

"It does. A reputation opens doors, smooths the way."

"And I boost that reputation, hanging off your arm."

Ellis is matter-of-fact about it, but there's an edge to her tone. Martyn picks up his chopsticks and splits them, rubbing them against each other.

"You make it sound transactional," he says.

"It is though, isn't it. What about my reputation? Or Dan's? He's allowed his own wife to go off with another man."

"How much of a problem do you think that is for you both? Is it a problem?"

"It's a problem, yes."

Martyn's watching her closely now.

"Why, Ellis?"

"What do you think people think about Dan when they see us together?"

"Shall I tell you?"

"How? How do you know?"

"Because it comes up in conversation."

"And what do they say?"

"It may surprise you."

"Try me."

Martyn places his chopsticks down carefully. At that moment, the waiter returns with a plate. Arranged in neat rows are thin slices of salmon and tuna, and a dollop of wasabi on the side. He positions it on the table between them. Martyn looks up.

"Thank you," he tells the waiter.

The waiter retreats. Ellis doesn't pick up her chopsticks. She's uninterested in the food. She's waiting for Martyn's response.

"Seeing you with me sends a message to everyone we deal with," Martyn continues in a low voice.

"That I'm easy?" Ellis bristles.

"No. It tells everyone that you're closers. You get the deal done, you're hungry. Loaning yourself out to me once a month shows everyone you're serious. When I back the Sandford deal, they'll see you getting what you want."

Martyn pours a little soy sauce into a shallow dish. Carefully, he scoops up a little wasabi and blends it into the dark liquid.