by T L Bradford
“Of course, I’ll get your visitor pass.”
“OMG, you are the best twin ever.”
“I know.”
“So, tell me, what’s wrong between you and Noah.”
“What?”
“You are avoiding conversation about him. There must be something up.” The line goes dead while I try to figure out how to tell her.
“I knew it. My twin sense was ringing. It was telling me there was something wrong. What happened?”
“Seriously, Chloe, that shit is getting scary. How do you do that?”
“Never mind, talk to me. Are you guys still together?”
I’d been holding it together well for the past few hours but talking to her has brought the whole nightmare back. I breakdown and tell her. “No.”
I explain everything that has happened. It helps to talk freely with someone about what’s been going on.
“It’s still fresh. My best advice to you would be to let things cool down for a while. Emotions are raw. Anything you say now would only make it worse.”
“I want him back, Chloe. I think I made a mistake.” I whimper softly.
“I know it’s hard to hear, but since you guys have been together, I see almost all the sacrifices coming from your end. I see you being the one fighting for this relationship and Noah taking advantage of that. I think Noah loves you, but he must come at this equally with you. He’s still holding back.”
“I finally told him I loved him…he didn’t say it back.”
“Oh, Josh…I’m so sorry.”
“I wanted us to come out together. It’s been so hard hiding all the time. We lie to everyone we know. I can’t do this anymore.”
“If he can’t commit to you, then he’s just a coward. He probably was never going to have you guys be a public couple. You’re worth more than that. You don’t need to settle. He’s lost the best thing that ever happened to him, and now he has to live with the consequences.”
“When is your next break, Chloe? When can you get out here?”
“A few weeks.”
“I’ll book your ticket.”
The next two weeks are torture. Noah’s been coming over, calling and texting me. I refuse to answer. I stay strong. I meant it when I said I want to know that I am his only choice.
By the third week, he backs off. We haven’t spoken to each other since that night. I have only seen him in passing around the set. I have moved out of our dressing room and into Ash’s. The worst part is we have the inevitable breakup scene to shoot for Jace and Max. I’ve spent the past week mentally preparing, but nothing seems to work. It’s going to be an emotionally raw run through. Noah and I no longer run lines together so the scene will be shot with no preparation.
When I arrive on set, he is already there. He is talking with Marty over the fine points. I wait until he is done before I go over. We are given our cues and in our most professional manner, begin the shoot. Noah holds over-long stares at me and looks like he is ready to break. I find the strength in me I never knew I had and push forward.
What strikes me about the script is how closely it matched our own fight just a few weeks ago. I’m beginning to think Olive has it right and the writers do have mics hooked up around our offices and homes recording what we say and do. So much of the script is so on the nose it hits nerves with both of us.
We are both emotional wrecks by the time we finish. I am drained and heartbroken. Marty walks over to us afterward and congratulates us on our gut-wrenching performance. If only he knew how much of it wasn’t acting.
One good thing came out of it. It was a cathartic cleansing. It felt final. We were officially over, and the only thing left to do now is move on.
Later that same day in our dressing room, Ash asks me how I’m holding up. I’m tired and distraught but also feeling clearer headed. It feels like a heavyweight has lifted off my shoulders.
“We’re all going out to karaoke tonight. Come out with us. We all miss you.”
“I don’t know Ash; I’m really not up to it. I don’t think I would make good company right now.”
“Bullshit. The only way to get over a bad breakup is to get out of the house and start living again.” When I roll my eyes and don’t respond, he throws in an incentive. “Look, if you go out with us tonight, I promise not to bother you about it again for at least the next few weeks. How’s that sound?”
“Ash…”
“Come on. I can’t handle all these girls by myself. I mean, I know I’m a pimp and all, but even I have my limits.” Ash has a half-smile.
“Augh…fine. But you have to drive. My piece of shit car can barely get down the road.”
“Wow, that’s right, huh? You’re not rolling in the Jeep anymore. When are you getting a new ride?”
“I’m looking. I’m also on the lookout for a new place, so if you hear about something, let me know. A roommate would be great. My uh…credit ain’t so good.”
“Sure, thing, man. I’ll come by around 7, sound okay?”
“Yes.”
Time to dip my toe back into the land of the living.
As it turns out a night with my friends was just what the heartbreak doctor ordered. I have a blast at Karaoke with my Young Americans crew. Three drinks in, and I get the courage to step up on stage and sing my first song. I choose a classic Eagles song Heartache Tonight. It’s down and dirty and exactly what my drunk ass needs right now.
Olive does her best rendition of Britney Spears with Hit Me Baby One More Time. Gemma and Ash opt for a duet and pull out Summer Lovin’ from the old Grease soundtrack. I must admit they are cute as hell up there doing a choreographed routine. Not to be outdone, Sarita pokes me in the side and asks me if I want to do a duet with her as well. “Only if you find a good song. No cheesy crap. My heart can’t take it.”
Never one to empathize with anyone, Sarita chooses the most cheesetastic song she can find, Islands in the Stream by Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers. I love it. To my surprise, Sarita has a beautiful singing voice. I stand there, gaping at her in amazement. She gets a secret smile on her face.
I was messing around on my first song, but after hearing Sarita, I decide it’s time to up my game. It’s her turn to take a step back when she hears me accompany on the Kenny Rogers part. I shock her with my talent. Knowing what we are both working with, Sarita and I go on to tear the place down with our version of the song.
When we get back to the table, Olive says, “Bless my country heart. I’ve never been so moved. Screw #JAX, long live, #MAXANDRA!” Sarita and I high-five and scour the book for our next duet extravaganza.
As the evening wears down and we are saying our goodbye’s, I look around at my friends and realize how truly blessed I am to have them. For the past few hours, Noah had not even entered my mind. I was genuinely happy. Tonight was proof that I could go on without him and be perfectly fine.
Before Gemma, Ash and I head off in his SUV, Sarita comes by and gives me a big one-armed hug and a peck on the cheek. Then, she heads off and drives away with Olive. Gemma and Ash both turn around to the back seat and give me a questioning look.
“What?” I say.
“That’s the nicest I’ve ever seen her with anyone,” Ash says.
“She pities me, that’s all. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“No…Sarita doesn’t do pity.”
“Thanks, guys, for inviting me. I actually had a pretty good time.” I want to turn the conversation.
“No problem, man, I knew you would. And how could you have been holding out on us with those pipes! Where did you learn to sing like that?”
“Natural talent, baby.”
“Yep. The old Josh is back!” Gemma says.
Chloe comes bouncing toward me, her dark brown ponytail bobbing with every step. I pick her up and swing her around in my arms.
“I missed you so much,” I say, as I hug her tight. She smells like fresh strawberries and cream.
“I missed you too!” she
says, squeezing me tight. We are at LAX, and I’m excited to have Chloe here for an entire week. This is her first trip out to California, and I want to make it special. I know she’s starving, so the first place I take her to is Chipotle.
We gab over lunch and talk about her nursing classes, the family, and a potential new boyfriend on the horizon.
“Where did you meet this guy?” I ask.
“Strangely enough, he’s a friend of Archer’s.”
“Has he got a name? Do I know him?”
“His name is Danny and no; I’d never date anyone you would ever know.”
“Ouch.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Has the family met him?
“No, not yet.”
“You got a picture of him? Let me get my phone so that I can take a snapshot. I’ll run it through criminal databases when we get home.”
“Knock it off. He’s a sweet guy. I like him.” She shows me a picture of Danny from her cell. He looks to be around our age, tall, with a warm caramel skin tone and dark, tight, coily hair in a faded cut and a goatee.
“He’s really good-looking.”
“Hey, hands off my man.” She whips the phone back.
“No guarantees.” I tease her right back.
“You think mom and dad will care?”
“What, that you’re dating a black guy?
“Yeah.”
“Please, they have a son who was dicking another dude. I hardly think this will rock the boat.”
“How’s that going, anyway? Have you spoken to him?”
“No, it’s weird, though. I still live in the guesthouse so I can see when he’s home. I’ve been trying to find a new place, but LA is unforgiving in the real estate department. Even with my salary, I’ll need a roommate with good credit to get a decent place in town.”
“Is Noah still hanging with that guy Kai?”
“I think so. I haven’t seen him over at the house or anything, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they were. I’ve been thinking about it, and…maybe, they are a better fit than we ever were.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“No,” I state flatly and with a half-smile.
“No more talk of that guy, whatever his name is, this entire week. It’s going just to be you and me and the Pacific Coast Highway!”
“Chloe?”
“Yeah?”
“Have I told you how much I love you?”
“No need, I already know wonder-twin.”
I rent a mustang for the week, and we hit all the major LA locales. I get the whole “YA” squad to come with us. Yeah, we’ve adopted a shorter moniker. Olive says it sounds cooler. Chloe blends in instantly with the gang. Her and Olive were made to be besties.
Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, Hollywood Walk of Fame, Disneyland, Universal Studios, Venice Beach and the Santa Monica Pier are all on our hit list of places to visit. Driving down Pacific Coast Highway, Chloe insists on playing Randy Newman’s I love LA on repeat. Even cooler than cool Sarita is having a good time, putting away her phone and joining us having fun.
The entire week is a mash-up of touring, eating, drinking, and every vice we can think of. I’m having the time of my life living carefree. We decide to give Dante’s Inferno another chance and head out dancing one night. Chloe’s eyes pop, seeing the scandalous behavior. “Holy crap, if Zach and Xander could only see us now!” she squeals, then she grabs a random guy and heads out on the dance floor.
“Hey, I’m telling Danny!” I joke.
“What happens in Dante’s, stays in Dante’s,” she admonishes.
“Spoken like a true Angelino,” I say. Olive is already out on the floor, and Gemma and Ash are off in their own world like usual.
“This feels familiar,” Sarita says next to me.
“What’s that?”
“You and me sitting awkwardly in a booth at Dante’s. Been there. Done that. Had the orgasm.”
“Jesus, Sarita, I’ve wanted to apologize for that. It was uncalled for. We should never have played you like that. I’m so sorry and embarrassed.”
“Don’t sweat it. What’s done is done.” She acts like a total boss.
“Can I make it up to you?”
She looks me up and down. “I guess you’ll do. My options are pretty limited tonight.” She’s teasing me with her flippant attitude. I slide out of the booth and walk over to her side and offer my hand. She politely accepts.
I make a path to the floor, and we begin swaying to the beat. This time Sarita is dressed in a clingy, forest green colored, satin dress. It perfectly complements her green eyes. Her long hair is swept into a French roll so that I can see her face fully. She has applied a light green shadow to her eyes and wing-tipped her eyeliner. She looks ravishing. Her pert, red, heart-shaped mouth parts slightly when she looks up at me. As we dance, she places her hands on my shoulders. I then put my hands around her waist gently. Her waist is so tiny almost my entire hand spans the width of it.
We stare into each other’s eyes the entire song. When the song ends, we continue to stand there holding each other, not breaking the connection. I see her skin flush red. Cool as a cucumber Sarita is affected by me. I feel it too. I’ve been attracted to her from day one, but her chilly demeanor has always put me off. Lately, though, the ice queen has been thawing. It’s an even more attractive look on her.
When Chloe and I get back to the guesthouse early in the morning, she mentions Sarita.
“Josh, I think she likes you.”
“You don’t know Sarita. She’s not one to wear her heart on her sleeve.”
“I’m telling you, as a female, I have an intuition about these things, and I’m telling you, I think she’s into you for real.”
“No, Sarita plays the game. She doesn’t get her heart caught up in random guys. Especially ones with no status, no credentials and no credit.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.”
As I get ready to go to bed, I see an envelope has been shoved up under the door. I go to pick it up. It’s from Noah. I wait until Chloe goes to bed, then I open the letter.
Babe,
Things are so up in the air between us. I wanted to make sure you knew that you still have a home here with me. I don’t know what your plans are going forward, but you are welcome to stay in the guesthouse for as long as you like.
I see Chloe is here, please tell her I said hi and that I miss her. I miss you too.
Noah
“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard Olive,” Sarita says tiredly.
“Why not? I could design it!” Olive says excitedly. “It could have YA on the back in fake diamond studs, and Young Americans printed on the front in small letters here.” She indicates a spot over her heart. “We can take selfies and call ourselves the “YA Posse!”
“I think not.”
“Why do you always have to be such a party pooper?”
Sarita barely acknowledges Olive’s diss.
“We’ll look like a cheerleading dance squad that’s why,” Ash says. Rarely is he in agreement with Sarita. Ash and Sarita lean over for a high-five.
“Fine!” Olive says, then leans back to pout against the common room couch. It seems our little crew has been picking up attention from the paparazzi. We’re being branded the new “Brat Pack” around LA.
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but I saw Noah and Kai out last night,” Ash says. My ears perk up, but I try not to look like I’m interested in what they have to say.
“Really? Where?” Olive asks, forgetting her former bad mood in a second.
“That new eatery over on Acadia; what’s the name?” Ash says.
“Dilettante,” Sarita chimes in.
“That’s it!”
It’s been just over two months since Noah, and I broke up. I’m not surprised he’s starting to move on. I wish I never had to know about it. Whenever I do happen to see Noah, he and Kai are always together. I do my best to p
ut it out of my mind.
I’m adjusting to my new routine. I still don’t have a new car, but Ash picks me up most days, and we carpool in together, or I catch a ride with Sarita. My friends have been there to support me for the past couple of months. I don’t know what I would have done without them. The most unexpected person to step up has been Sarita. She has proven herself to be a great friend and partner in crime as well.
Lately, we’ve been hanging out independently of the others. It turns out that Sarita is a great cook. She came over last week and made a Stir Fry and won-ton feast that would rival any restaurant. Tonight, she’s coming over for 80s movie night. Guess who else has a penchant for John Hughes movies and synth soundtracks?
We sit up and laugh our asses off at the utterly inane plot devices in every movie, yet love every single second of it.
“I never realized just how incredibly racist Sixteen Candles was growing up,” I say.
“Tell me about it. All through grade school, my poor brother was nicknamed Long Duk Dong.”
“What was it like growing up in a multi-cultural house?” I ask her.
“My father is a famous Hollywood plastic surgeon, and my mother is a plastic surgeon’s wife. Here’s the thing about being rich; at some point, your own color ceases to matter because it’s all about the green.”
I stare at her for a moment. She is looking comfortable in her own skin. She’s not decked out in her usual designer clothes; she’s in a pair of comfy Lululemon yoga pants and a tank top. Her hair is up in a loose top knot, and she has barely any makeup on. Her natural appeal comes shining through. “Sarita, drop the act for a moment okay.”
“What act?”
“The one you always put on when you’re feeling vulnerable.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is the real me.”
She turns her gaze away from me and back to the TV. A petulant look has replaced her former soft expression. “There’s something I’ve learned about you over time, and you know what that is?”
“What?” She’s still not looking at me.
“Sarita Chan is not a bougie, spoiled, princess, brat.” She hasn’t turned her head, so I end up talking to her profile.
