The Rich Boy

by Scott, Kylie

  “People will talk,” says Beck in a mocking tone.

  “People always talk. But the point is you should be with your family right now. They need you.”

  Beck nods sharply. “Wait for me in the car.”

  The man doesn’t hesitate, just about-faces and does as told. Suddenly I’m not so sure I know the person whose hand I’m holding.

  Beck scowls at the luxury vehicle in silence.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. Not really knowing what the hell else to say. And even though all I want is to be there for him, there’s an awful, selfish part of me that’s whispering that this is where it all ends. That this fancy black SUV is about to whisk him away forever, before we were ever actually together.

  He looks at me like he’s surprised to see me there. But his grip tightens. I don’t want to let him go either. “Alice.”

  “Hey. Are you all right?”

  “No, not really,” he says. “I want you to come with me.”

  “What?”

  Next he looks at the building, mouth skewed with distaste. “I have to go and you hate this place anyway. You said so. Come with me.”

  “Where to?”

  “Denver, Colorado. It’ll be an adventure.”

  “Beck, you’re going home to bury your father. Do you really think now is the right time for—”

  “We’re in the middle of something here,” he says, clutching my hand to his chest. There’s a manic energy to him now. An edge I haven’t seen before. If the cool and amusing persona is his mask, then this is a big part of what lies beneath. An iron will. I know because he’s currently trying to bend me to it. His grip on my hand and the look in his eye couldn’t be more intense. “Aren’t we?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “I’m not sure when I’ll be able to come back, is the thing. My family is complicated.” He swallows. “Come with me. Please.”

  “What, and just leave everything behind?”

  “Yeah. For a little while, at least,” he says, leaning in close. “Don’t you want to see where this goes?”

  “Beck…”

  “I don’t want to go back on my own.”

  My mind is in chaos. Too many thoughts and feelings and questions. And all I can keep thinking is that I’ve got two loads of laundry to do tomorrow. That I’m due at my parents’ tomorrow night for dinner. That there’s a crushing student debt hanging over my head. So much everyday nonsense. But that nonsense is my life. The mystery that is Beck and the thrill of being with him…it shouldn’t replace the small amount of stability I have here. I know better than to throw caution to the wind and put my life on hold for a guy I just met. Even if I have feelings for him. “I can’t just up and leave for someone I’ve only known for four days, Beck. I’m so sorry for what you’re going through. For losing your father. But I can’t.”

  His face takes on that aloof expression I hate, and he gives my hand a final squeeze. The smile he gives me is all things false in this world. “Sure. I understand.”

  I’ve let him down. Fuck it, I’ve let both of us down. Being an adult sucks. “You better go. They’re waiting.”

  “Let me, um…I’ll walk you to your car first.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Something inside my chest hurts. And it only gets worse when he waits for me to lock myself in my vehicle before giving me another grim smile and tapping his knuckles once on the roof of my old sedan. For a long moment, we just stare at each other. We’re saying goodbye. That’s the truth and it’s fucking awful. I start the car engine and he stands there in the dirty little lot, watching me leave, while I watch him in my rearview mirror. Doing my best to block out the pain and remember every last detail. Everything about him and how being with him made me feel. Going, going, gone.

  There’s something messed up about me watching the sun rise. Given how deeply I appreciate my sleep and that I have no particular spiritual leanings, it just shouldn’t happen. Especially once you factor in my crazy work hours. There is no excuse. Yet here we are.

  I sit on my crappy little patio as the sky turns grey, violet, white, yellow, and orange over Los Angeles. The smog and urban buildup is a nice touch. I have my earbuds in, listening to the small playlist Beck made me. Greta Van Fleet, Billie Holiday, and Taylor Swift on repeat. An awful bottle of white wine sits almost empty at my feet. All in all, the scene is quite pathetic.

  But I made the right choice. Or did I?

  What I should do, is call a friend and talk it out. That’s what a normal person would do. Only, Natasha who used to work at the bar moved to New York, and with the time difference she’ll already be at work. And Hanae, my roommate from college who is now living in San Diego, has bad insomnia. So if she’s actually asleep there’s no way I’m going to risk waking her. Mrs. Flores next door is seventy-eight and also needs her sleep. Same goes for my sister-in-law with a small child. I am all alone with my wallowing in self-pity.

  It’s too bad that I only have a handful of options. But, the thing is, I’m a bit of a shitty friend. I never set out to be, yet somehow I just let it happen. Over the last year or so I’ve become awful at keeping in touch with people and showing up to things. Friends from high school and college have all sort of drifted away. Reaching out now in my time of melodrama feels off. Maybe it’s what Beck and I had in common: we’re both a bit lost and alone when it comes to living our lives right now. I could call Mom. She wouldn’t mind. But what if she decides to be sensible and say that pining for someone you’ve only known for four days is stupid? No, thank you. I’m in need of empathy, not admonition.

  I hope he’s okay. Both of my parents are still alive. The idea of one of them passing is horrible. Of someone who’s been such a huge part of your life being gone. Then there’s the whole part where he’d said he wanted to steer clear of his family for the foreseeable future. Now he’s going to have to deal with the loss of his father and all of them en masse. Poor Beck.

  I swill down the last of the wine, wincing because it’s not only warm but acidic and generally disgusting. Damn me and my cheap alcohol. However, it was the only thing I had in the apartment. Stupid to be lonely when you live in a city surrounded by millions. Makes no sense at all. But I miss him. Dumbass feelings.

  Guess I might as well put my half-drunk ass to bed. Get up later and do laundry and get some groceries and go through the motions of my normal life. Because that’s what I’m back to…normal. The word never felt so small and sad.

  Back at work, Rob is infuriated by his latest busboy’s desertion. I try to explain about the deceased father and everything, but it doesn’t help. Rob keeps right on yelling. The man is a bag of dicks. Anyway. Pretty sure Beck isn’t coming back anytime soon and doesn’t need the job or the money. Not after seeing the luxury vehicle and the dude in the slick suit taking his orders.

  What was with that and who the hell is he? These are both questions I’d dearly love to have answered. Though the likelihood of this happening is low. Google could possibly answer these questions if only I knew his last name. Since he was working for cash under the table, not even Rob can tell me, if he were so inclined.

  Beck and I never really discussed family or finances. Not in depth. Though you don’t normally get into personal shit like that within the first few days of knowing someone. It takes time to build trust. And we had plenty of other things to talk about. But maybe he really is a single man with a fortune. How bizarre. My parents are both schoolteachers. That’s how they met and fell in love. We were okay, but not rich or anything. Any knowledge of how the other half lives is restricted to TV and the internet. I can’t imagine the Beck I knew collecting dirty glasses and mopping the floor being waited on hand and foot. It just does not compute.

  Two and a half days since he left and my heart is still hung over. I want to see him again. Best not to hold out hope, though. It just leads to further harm.

  Meanwhile, work sucks. It’s twice as busy now that we have to clear tables as well as take orders. Kari
is also being even more useless than normal and half her customers move to my side. But more importantly, Beck’s absence feels huge. My whole world is smaller and less special somehow. No sharing smiles with him. No listening for his voice among all of the noise. No end of the night/early morning walks on the beach, dancing, or eating at the diner. Without him here, I feel like I’m back to just going through the motions. Not even wearing my favorite navy boho-style shirt is helping.

  I need to get a life. That is the big ugly truth. The hole inside of me can’t be filled with love interests or other distractions. My happiness is my own job. I just need to figure out where to start.

  Halfway through the night, a big dude in a black suit sits at one of the tables. He puts down some money and gives me a bland impersonal smile. “Diet Coke. Keep the change.”

  “You only want the soda?”

  His hands rest on the table in front of him, fingers laced. “That’s right.”

  “This is a fifty-dollar bill.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Okay, then.”

  I fetch him his drink while he plays with his cell. And that’s it. He sits there sipping his diet soda. After an hour is up, he orders another, leaving a second fifty-dollar bill on the table. The process is repeated. Aside from his excessive tipping, there’s a strange formality to the man. I don’t know how else to describe him. But the night is busy and I don’t have time to think about it. Though he keeps watching me. Which is more than a little creepy.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can get you?” I ask, upon delivering his third diet soda of the night.

  “There is something I’d like to discuss when you take your break.” A statement like this deserves red lights and warning bells.

  “I’m in a relationship,” I lie.

  “Nothing like that,” he says in a rush. “Beck asked me to pass on a message to you.”

  My heart stutters. “Beck?”

  “Yes.” The man’s brows rise. “You are Alice, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am. And I already had my break earlier.” As per usual, I spent said break hiding out in the lady’s bathroom sitting in a locked stall (with the toilet seat down). It’s the one place I can usually rest my feet uninterrupted for five solid minutes. “What’s the message?”

  “That I’m here in case you change your mind.”

  Huh. “That’s what he said? That’s everything?”

  “Yes, miss,” says the big buff man. “My name is Smith and I’ll be in the bar every night between eight and two for the next week. Then I’ll wait out in the parking lot to ensure you get to your vehicle safely. Those were my instructions.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “And should you decide to change your mind, I’m to get you to Denver.”

  Someone calls for me, but I ignore them. “Is he all right?”

  “I can’t say, miss.”

  “Well, who is he?” I ask. “I mean…this is a lot. It’s not exactly normal behavior, if you know what I mean?”

  “I know what you mean,” he says. “But I can’t answer that question either, sorry.”

  “Are you also supposed to be tipping me this much?”

  His smile is more genuine this time. “Your time is valuable and I’m instructed to cover those costs.”

  “Okay.” This is all well beyond my range of experience. Someone is yelling “waitress” on repeat, but I need a minute. Possibly two. “Are you a friend or an employee or what, exactly?”

  “A driver, miss.”

  “So this isn’t all some weird involved human trafficking setup, then?” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but I don’t know. It made sense for a second inside my head. And you can’t be too careful.

  Smith’s eyes widen. “No, it’s not. You’re welcome to photograph both me and my vehicle and send them to a friend or family member, if you like. We could even go by a store and purchase a Taser and pepper spray if it would make you feel safer.”

  “That’s very considerate of you.”

  A nod.

  Now Rob is yelling at me too. Something about getting my fat ass back to work. I hold up a hand, needing another moment to sort out my life. As I see it, the main points regarding arguments for and against going with Smith include: My job is shit. My apartment isn’t much better. In fact, nothing is keeping me in LA right now, when you get down to it. It’s not like my family rely on me for anything.

  “Have they had the funeral yet? Was it hard on Beck? Was he close with his father?” I clamp my mouth shut, then finally manage to ask the only question that matters. “Do you think it would help, if I was there?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Before I do anything, further proof is required. “Can you get him on the phone, please?”

  The big man presses some buttons and, sure enough, Beck appears on screen. Instantly I move closer. Still, his voice is hard to hear over the music. “What’s up, Smith? Is she okay?”

  “She’d like to talk to you, sir.” He angles the cell my way, not letting me hold it. Guess he’s tetchy with his belongings. Or maybe he’s keeping an ear out for further instructions.

  Beck smiles. But it’s a tired, weary one. “Wife. Get on the plane.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.”

  “No. But I’d like to be. That’d be fun. Or you could be the boss of me. Whatever.” His gaze shifts to something off screen for a moment and his smile dims further. Dark circles linger under his eyes. “Wish you were here.”

  “Me too.”

  “Here’s your chance then,” he says. “You want to be with me and I want to be with you. Enough excuses. Take the leap, Alice. Promise I won’t let you fall.”

  I sigh. It’s so damn tempting.

  “I’m sorry, I have to go. Things are happening here.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re safe with Smith. I promise.” And he’s gone.

  The screen blanks before returning to a close-up picture of a Persian cat. Smith turns the cell over, expression set in stone. I would not have picked him as a cat lover.

  But the important thing here is that Beck is going through a tough time and wants me with him. That’s the clincher. He also asked me if I wanted an adventure and the truth is I do. I really do. I’d even go so far as to say I’m due one.

  Not sure there’s actually any argument for the con side.

  “One moment, please,” I tell Smith before heading toward the bar. I slap my apron, pen, and order pad on the counter. “I quit, Rob. You’re such an utter cock-splash. I don’t want to work for you anymore. Haven’t for a while now.”

  A red flush emerges beneath his white skin and Rob stammers something unintelligible before working his way up to shouting abusive words at me. He’s not even original. You could read any of these insults on a bathroom door. Meanwhile, Phil the dickhead sits at a table with an odious smile on his face when he sees me coming his way. The man looks directly at my tits and licks his lips. He’s so gross. Seriously.

  “Excuse me. I just need to borrow this for a minute,” I tell a dude at a table nearby as I pick up his glass of beer. With a polite smile, I pour the cold liquid into Phil’s lap. It feels good. Really good. Then he’s yelling too. Other people, however, are laughing and clapping. Maybe they think it’s a show or something. Whatever. I’m done.

  “Thanks, buddy,” I say to the guy whose beer I liberated and slap down one of Smith’s fifties on his table. “Next round’s on me.”

  “Ready, miss?” Smith asks.

  “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Nice Taser,” says Beck, standing outside the hangar, hands in the pockets of his black suit trousers. His dark shoes are shiny, his button-down is white, and his black tie has been pulled askew. His hair is still a bit long, but artfully styled. In fancy clothes with the tattoo covered, the overall effect of him is quite different. A little intimidating, even. “Used it on anyone yet?”

  “Not yet
.”

  “No?” he asks. “Well, the day is still young and you haven’t met my family.”

  Carefully, I finish descending the stairs of the very shiny private jet with Taser in hand. Smith insisted I have one so I’d feel secure. I may have briefly had second thoughts after he still refused to give me Beck’s last name since he didn’t have permission to disclose same. And why the hell is his identity such a mystery? Anyway, in my black jeans with a matching T-shirt and cardigan, I feel decidedly underdressed. But then being in Beck’s general vicinity I feel like I’m a nonentity. His face is made for billboards and the silver screen. I should be asking for his autograph, not contemplating whether or not flying halfway across the country officially makes me his girlfriend. And yet here we are.

  “How are you?” I ask.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Are you really? Because it’s okay not to be.”

  He does a one-shoulder shrug and stares at me. With his pale face and subdued gaze, he looks as if something or someone has been sucking the life out of him. About what you’d expect from a person dealing with a death in the family. I want to take up sword and shield to protect him. Ride in on a white stallion like a kick-ass princess, et cetera. But I can’t guard him from this pain.

  “I’m better now you’re here,” he says softly.

  And I’m beyond happy to see him. I am. Though a lot has happened since my resignation yesterday and today’s arrival in Colorado.

  Smith had been keen to leave last night, or early this morning, but there’d been a couple of things I needed to do. Given I had no idea how long this adventure would last, or quite where it would take me, I needed stuff. Clothes, cosmetics, the usual. Along with the chance to wrap my head around what was happening. My potted plant, Gretchen, needed to be placed under the care of Mrs. Flores and then I had to call my parents and do some explaining. Their reactions to me leaving my job (permanently) and California (temporarily) were not encouraging. But I’m a grown-ass woman and my decisions are my own. There’s also been some dwelling on my part over what Beck’s lies of omission about his life actually mean. If they matter. If he owed me the truth about his background sooner. Even though, at the end of the day, we haven’t known each other very long, I choose to take a leap of faith and get on the plane.