Beautiful Elixir

by Addison Moore

  I simply want her.

  I don’t need anything else, not even the truth.

  Of Trust and Lust

  Kennedy

  If I thought the day started off with a bang—me banging Keith quite literally, in a past tense sort of way—then the afternoon started off with a gradual roar that eventually turned into the deafening sound of everyone I’ve ever known contacting me in some electronic format asking if I’ve seen it—seen them, the solid collection of pornography my life has suddenly morphed into. I want to accomplish many things during my short stint here on the planet, but being the star of a triple X video—an entire series of them— was never one of them.

  Melanie and Reese both offered to come straight home, but I made them promise not to. Reese said she’d be up next Friday and through the weekend. Mel promised she’d do damage control at the sorority and on campus in general, but I’m not too sure what that might entail. People secretly love stuff like this.

  My phone has been buzzing like a scorpion in my pocket until I finally grew tired of fending off the masses and tossed it into my purse. Its only hours, minutes, before my mother finds out. My phone rings in a fit of surprise as Sia belts out Elastic Heart at top volume. I fish it out just to set it to silent and see that it’s Kam.

  I muse over the fact she’s actually calling me for once, and, for a brief fleeting moment, I forget about my bare ass flailing around for the world to see, my inflated grunting to try and show Keith how much he’s able to pleasure me. My biggest lies were always perpetuated when we were beneath the sheets. For a brief moment, I pretend Kam is calling to apologize—to call a truce for all the heartache we’ve caused each other over the last four years. Perhaps she wants to invite me shopping or to lunch like we used to do, but my father’s face comes back to haunt me. That smiling, spray-tanned skin, his perfect denture-white smile. He took a piss all over my mother, and I wasn’t about to let her go it alone, but Kam was more than willing.

  I set the phone to silent without bothering to pick it up. Kamryn can wait. Forever if need be.

  A rustle emits from the doorway as my mother bursts in with her ultra-short tennis skirt, white with a bright green trim, her racket slung victoriously over her shoulder.

  “Brrr!” She gives an exaggerated shiver. “Looks like Mother Nature has found us after all! No getting out of that one.” She places her racket in the hall closet before heading over. My mother is young for her forty-five years, both in spirit and beauty. She’s a blonde this year. Although I’ve seen her every quasi-natural shade under the sun. Last week she threatened to dye her hair pink at the tips, and I solemnly vowed to disown her if she entertained the thought further. We both shared a dark laugh, but I know for a fact we were thinking of Kam. My sister is the one who removed herself from the situation. We never disowned her.

  “What’s all this?” She peeks into one of the grocery bags I set on the counter.

  “Not for you.” I bat her hand away. “I’m cooking dinner tonight.” I pause short of the big reveal. “For Caleb.”

  Her mouth drops open while sucking in a lungful of air. My mother can be a giddy pre-teen of a girl when it comes to the boys in my life. She absolutely loathed Keith and was forever trying to find a more suitable, educated, wealthy replacement. Caleb, in her opinion, is the exact suitable, educated, wealthy man she’s looking for.

  “Relax, we’re having salmon together not conceiving children.”

  She touches her finger to her lips, withholding a smile. “Salmon do like to spawn. Maybe you should take a cue from your dinner.”

  “I’m not taking a cue from my dinner, Mother.” My eyes pull over her features, her up-turned nose that stamps her with that snobby, stereotypical rich-bitch look, her pale, glowing blue eyes. She’s not a bitch, not by a long shot, but cross her, and you’ll know what it means to have a new one torn into you. My mother is my idol, a kickass heroine of her own story, sort of. She’s beautiful, there’s no denying that. My mother should have been a model. She should have carved a way for herself in this world and not played the part of a gold-digging wife—then she never would have found herself with my father in the first place. Of course, that blows Kam and I right out of existence, but, in truth, I would gladly do so just to give my mother the happiness she deserves. Although, oddly, she seems to have found it with Reese’s father, even if she was attracted to his bank account far sooner than she ever was him. They’re happy. I guess at the end of the day that’s what counts.

  “I was sort of hoping you and I could go out to dinner since Chuck is out of town but hey, you with the Ferrari-driving boy next door?” She snaps off the tip of the French baguette sticking out of the bag and takes a quick nibble. “I most certainly approve.” She spins, causing her tennis shoes to squeak against the wood floors, her skirt fans out like a flower. “I’ll be taking a nice, long bubble bath. If you’re smart, you’ll be doing the same at his place. Baths are always more fun with two!” Her phone rings before her laughter can fully infiltrate the room. Her head inches back as she inspects the screen. “It’s your father.”

  We exchange a quick deer-in-the-headlights glance with her probably thinking the worst has happened to Kamryn and me knowing that the worst has happened to me and now my father is about to unceremoniously inform her of it. He’s always the first to rip a bandage off a wound, usually reopening the injury and causing a hell of a lot of damage along the way.

  My chin bucks high in the air as I brace myself for the inevitable blood bath.

  “What?” She jumps back. More shoe squeaking ensues. Her horrified eyes rise to meet mine. Her jaw contorts in all sorts of angry positions. “Oh my, fuck!”

  My stomach clenches.

  One thing about my mother, she does not entertain expletives. She may have grown up hard, on the wrong side of Neiman Marcus, but she doesn’t willfully let an offensive word fly—unless, of course, something is very fucking wrong.

  “Holy shit,” she says it dazed, her hand touching her forehead. “All right. I will.” She hangs up in haste. Her pale eyes lock over mine, her face serious as stone, but I can see the rage, the anger, the disappointment bubbling in her blood long before she bats a lash.

  She knows.

  * * *

  After expertly avoiding nearly every question under the sun with my mother, I head next door. The autumn air swirls beneath my dress as I give a brisk knock over Caleb’s front door. My arms are full of groceries, so I ring the bell with my nose. I’m sure he meant to take me out to dinner, but, with my newfound notoriety, the hostile public eye is the last place I want to be. I give a quick kick with my foot before readjusting the bags with my knee. This is technically the house Reese’s father and Warren’s father bought for their wedding, but the wedding never happened, heck, the engagement never happened. Reese found love with someone other than Warren. And Warren fell into bed with everyone else. My lips clamp tight at the memory of all the things Reese had to endure just as the door swings wide open.

  There he is, Caleb McCarthy with his tie loosened, jacket off, sleeves rolled up with a beer in one hand. King of Swoon, Reese and I used to call him back in the day. There is something naturally seductive about Caleb in general. Whether it’s clothes on or off, Caleb was the boy to watch—still is.

  “Hey, beautiful.” His eyes brighten as if someone just lifted the dim switch. A sweeping heat drifts through me when he calls me that. “I was just about to text you.” He holds out his beer like an apology before setting it down. “Let me help you with those.” He takes the sacks from me and nods me toward the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink? Cold or hot, I’ll make it any way you want it.”

  “I’m good.” I lead the way, taking in the Nicolson’s taste in décor. The home was purchased furnished. Mostly it’s cabin chic knickknacks, a chandelier made of antlers, lots of dark logs lining the walls. It’s odd knowing Caleb had nothing to do with the room fixtures or decor as if this were some elaborate stage, we were the actors in some
terrifying play—a Greek tragedy.

  A carved bear stands erect in the corner holding out a wooden sign with a Bible verse.

  Caleb flicks a finger at it. “It’s pretty amazing right? I’m betting Gavin made it.”

  “I bet you’re right. He’s sort of our lumberjack slash artisan on the hill. So what do you do? You like to whittle away at anything when you’re all alone?” I give a glance to his crotch without meaning to. Oh, hell, I meant it.

  I make myself at home by pulling out the groceries and plucking a pan from under the island. Contrary to popular belief, I know my way around the kitchen. I’ll have a gourmet meal whipped up in no time before I break the news that I don’t have a dime to pay him for representing me. Although I’m sure Caleb will accept payment in far more interesting ways. I smirk at the idea. I’m not my mother—at least not in that respect.

  “The only thing I whittle away is time.” He pulls another pan out and glides a thin stream of olive oil across the bottom. It all feels so natural with him. Like we’re not playing house, like we’re really sharing one life. Caleb has always been the one person I seemed to click with. Keith and I were nothing but a burst of angry breakups and makeups, lots of jealousy and cheating, (his end), and lots of boneheaded forgiveness on my part. In truth, Keith was a stand-in for something I craved but could never really have, and now I’m looking right at him—Caleb, the juicy steak ready to satisfy my anemic hunger.

  “I do like long walks where I can clear my head,” he finally confesses.

  “So you’re a hiker.” I jump, forcing my ponytail to swing behind me—a move my mother would approve of. She always did say men prefer younger women, that young is all a state of mind, age is just a number, and all that other bullshit old people feed themselves like hard medicine crushed in applesauce. Ponytails certainly fit the age bracket in which she’d like me to project. She’s probably right, though. Another thing about my mother, no matter how shallow, how superficial the world may peg her, she’s often right about a lot of things when it comes to men.

  I rinse the pink fish and slosh it into the sizzling pan, pretending its Keith. Although Keith and I were done before we ever hit the fire.

  “So it’s out now.” I wash my hands with lots of soap under a boiling faucet. “Can you cook your hands in hot water? I think I’m cooking mine.” I snap the water off and tap my fingers over a dishtowel until they stop prickling. “My video debut is official,” I continue. “All my friends think it’s the bomb. Do people still say that anymore? Anyway, it sort of is—the dirty bomb. That’s the real reason I’ve dusted off an old euphemism, so I can over use it the right way.” I give a little wink.

  Caleb hasn’t stopped tracking me with his gaze, those floating owl clock eyes that have the uncanny ability to follow me around the room without him having to turn his head. A part of me still can’t believe he’s here. Caleb is larger than life. Those dimples of his just waiting for my touch, that wide, warm chest begging me to press myself against it. God almighty, have I missed this man.

  “I’m sorry, Ken.”

  “Don’t be. Unless of course you’re the one who uploaded them. If so, you should literally be crawling for forgiveness. I have a very nasty plan of retribution to set in motion for that person—Keith.” His name comes out in hardly a whisper. It’s like spewing a demon’s name in the presence of a god, you just don’t do it.

  “No.” He shakes his head. His eyes squint with regret at the idea. “Don’t do that. No reason to add fuel to the fire. I’ve already contacted his attorney.”

  “What?” A wave of shock tingles through my limbs. “So he’s lawyered up?” A happy bark of a laugh escapes me. The thought of Keith writhing in agony fessing up to his parents, his phony of a mother who of course would insist they hire only the best! I almost want to laugh. I have the best, and the best is Caleb.

  “Yes.” He takes a careful step toward me. The definition in his face cuts in deeper, created by the shadows of the overhead lights. “Kennedy, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this.” His Adam’s apple rises and falls. My feet feel as if they’re floating. I’m not certain what’s going to come from his lips, but it feels as if the trajectory of the last few weeks has been ramping up this entire time, building to something unbelievably horrific. “The attorney he hired is a man named David Stokes.” He nods as if it should ring a bell. “You know who that is, right?”

  “David Stokes?” I breathe his name with a sigh of relief. “No, can’t say that I do. For a second there I thought you were going to say Peter Slade.” I fan myself with the spatula before flipping the fish and turning down the flame. “You might want to stir the green beans,” I say, plucking a wooden spoon from a ceramic jar and doing it myself.

  “Kennedy,” Caleb whispers my name from behind, so dangerously close it sears my neck like a warning. He reaches over and turns the stove down before slowly spinning me into him. He drills into me with his sorrowful gaze, his eyes a midnight blue as if in mourning. “David Stokes is your father’s partner.” His voice is somber and quietly sweet. “Trust me, this is just as damning.”

  A slap of numbness rides through me before dissipating as quick as it came.

  “Okay,” I say it slow, trying to ingest the idea. “My father’s firm is one of the best in the country, but doesn’t this fall in line with unprofessional conduct or break some kind of code of ethics?” That curdling anger that I only reserved for my cheat of a father floats to the surface, rising behind my eyes until all I see is red.

  “No, actually, it doesn’t. In fact, your father had to clear it. Look, I just wanted to give you all the facts, no surprises. I’m your attorney. They’re insistent he had nothing to do with the upload.” He swallows hard. A sign of more bad news to come. “Keith says this is some kind of a set up. That you’ve done all this to make him look bad.”

  “Ha!” An angry caw of a laugh escapes me. Most people whine or cry, but I only seem to know anger and rage—vindictive laughter in lieu of the real thing. My mother taught me those very attributes while she underwent her own grueling public scandal, her walking-through-hellfire-barefoot divorce. She says my father took her to the cleaners, but, really, she walked away as penniless as the day she arrived, plus one out of two daughters in tow. “You don’t believe him do you?” I force myself to sound as incredulous as possible. When your ethos are all jacked up, you tend to lose a little credibility when you need it most. “Why? Why would I destroy my own life to make him look bad? He’s delirious!” I wield the spatula like a weapon, and Caleb gently removes it from my hand. His dimples press in as if suddenly this were funny.

  “Are you hungry?” The warmth from his body floats to mine, and desperately I want to press against him, let him sear over me, let him keep me safe.

  “No.”

  “Let’s grab something to drink and sit by the fire.” He switches off the stove and coaxes me toward the living room.

  Caleb pours us each an enormous glass of dark red merlot—red as the blood I’d love to drain from Keith Stearns’ body—and then after that my father’s.

  “I can’t believe my dad.” I shake my head. “I take that back. I very much believe him.” Another less sturdy laugh squawks from me. “He’s been resentful ever since I took my mother’s side in the divorce. About six months into the action, he called and left a message on my phone, called me a lying little rat for testifying against him in family court. All I was doing was telling what I knew. Turns out my father was the lying little rat. He’s not even with the whore who broke up our family. He found another twenty-something and knocked that one up. She took off with their kid and married someone richer.” I roll my eyes at this protégé of my mother actually doing the smart thing and ditching Peter Slade before he could destroy her.

  “I’m sorry.” Caleb starts a fire that lights up the entire room. The house is very cabin-esque constructed entirely of full, fat logs, large round river stones climb over the fireplace and mantle. The first thing
my mother did when she moved next door was strip the place of any trace of Reese’s poor dead mother. It broke my heart to see Reese watch as my own mother dismantled her life one piece of furniture at a time. My mother was going through an art deco phase at the moment, so the entire place looks like it’s set in the future. Here it’s warm and cozy. A part of me never wants to leave.

  “Don’t apologize,” I say as he sits so close our thighs touch. It feels surreal like this with him as if in my madness I’ve manufactured him out of sheer necessity. “Just pull me out of this, Caleb. I want the world to know what a snake both Keith and my father are for taking on something so disturbing. I’m fucking the guy in those videos for Pete’s sake!” I cover my eyes a moment as if it could somehow hide my shame. “The entire school knows, my friends, his perverted friends, and now my own parents are free to see what sexual shenanigans I’ve been up to for the last few years. I might vomit, literally.”

  “Please try not to.” He gives a lazy smile before rolling my knuckles over his mouth. “Nobody is suing anybody yet. Let’s try to think this through before we move one inch.”

  “In the meantime, my pink parts are on parade for all to see.” My face heats with embarrassment. I can’t remember the last time something made me blush, and, ironically, my discomfort has nothing to do with the thought of countless friends and family gawking at my privates (I seriously doubt my parents would venture there)—it has everything to do with Caleb seeing me exposed like that, seeing me act out my pleasure in ways that I’ve only ever wanted to do with him. I suppose if I told him I thought about him during all those dynamic erotic exposes, it might sicken him even further. Did you enjoy Rough and Rowdy Anal? Guess what? It was you I pictured slamming up against me!