De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Aaron

  Day One

  I call ten times, getting sent to voicemail each time. I don’t leave a single one. I don’t trust myself not to go on and on and on, saying shit that might not mean a damn thing to her.

  Me: We need to talk.

  Stella: Let it go.

  Three hours later, I send her another message.

  Me: I bought a house today.

  Stella: Don’t you dare.

  Me: Too late. Already did. You know why?

  She doesn’t reply.

  Four hours later, I send her another.

  Me: You can’t ignore me, and then decline my offer on the house.

  Stella: Received another one.

  Me: I’ll kill him with my bare fucking hands, Stella.

  Stella: Was not him. Neighbors daughter bought it.

  Me: Why won’t you fucking pick up your phone?

  Stella: Busy now. Sorry.

  Me: Then when? Huh? When will you talk to me?

  Stella: Let it go.

  Me: Baby, I just want to know why. Was it to hurt him? Newsflash: it boomeranged and crushed my fucking heart.

  Stella: Aaron, please stop.

  Me: Never.

  She doesn’t reply, but I send another one anyway.

  Me: Love doesn’t stop.

  It’s returned undeliverable.

  She blocked me.

  After half a bottle of whiskey, I call Natasha and tell her that I am in love with a girl who won’t talk to me. I don’t go into details, but I do beg her to find out why.

  She doesn’t know a thing about it, but she tells me she’ll try.

  Day Two

  After attempting another message … or twenty, all returned because, no, it wasn’t a nightmare that she blocked me. She, in fact, did block me.

  I call and am sent to voicemail. This time, I do leave a message that is cut off after three minutes. When I call back, it goes directly to voicemail. So, basically, she blocked me there, too.

  I wait outside de la Porte from eleven in the morning until five o’clock in the afternoon when I finally see her walk out.

  She’s in a long-sleeved, gray dress that hits above her knees, six-inch stilettos, and big Marilyn Monroe sunglasses, and it’s eighty-five degrees outside.

  Long sleeves. Eighty-five.

  It hits me.

  Bruises.

  Playing frogger across Park Ave, I hurry toward her. When I get close enough that I know she’ll hear me, I yell, “Stop.”

  Her back straightens, and she stops.

  I walk around in front of her. “If I didn’t bruise you, did he?”

  She lifts her chin. “I told you I fell.”

  “I know you’re lying.”

  She doesn’t reply.

  I nod. “Nice chat, Stella. Now I’m gonna kill him.”

  I step away, and she grabs my arm, pulling me away from the middle of the sidewalk and toward the alleyway, where she immediately drops my hand.

  Her face turns red, her breathing increasing. She doesn’t say a word.

  “Fuck.” I reach for her but then pull my hand back. “He’s a dead man.”

  She shakes her head, and I nod.

  “You remember when Joe Swan pulled my dress up at recess, and you beat him up?”

  “Fuck yes. He deserved it,” I snap.

  “You remember he did it again the next day?”

  “And when I found out, I kicked his ass as soon as I saw him.”

  “And every other time someone messed with me, you”—she pokes me in the chest—“you did that shit, too. I never even got a chance to defend myself. And my dad, anytime I was at the neighborhood playground, and someone messed with Bruno or me, all I had to do was mention his name, and they backed off.”

  I clench my fists. “As it should be.”

  “Wrong. It taught me to be fearless. It taught me to act like a badass when I never was.”

  “People didn’t fuck with you!”

  “Fearless, Aaron, is stupid!”

  I shake my head. “He hurt you, he pays. Maybe he won’t be so fucking fearless anymore.”

  “Missing the point!”

  “Then what’s the point?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m an adult. I’m responsible for my own actions. I’m the one who chose to go there and—”

  “He rape you, Stella?”

  “No! Jesus, Aaron, no!”

  “So, you went over there to break up with him, fucked him, and then me?”

  She looks down. I wish I could see her eyes. I can tell her every fucking thought through them.

  “Wasn’t like it was planned.”

  “You let me eat your pussy after his dick was inside you.”

  She flinches like I hit her.

  “Did you get a good laugh about that? About me eating Elijah’s cum?”

  She shakes her head back and forth. “No!”

  “Makes me fucking sick.”

  “I’m sorry!”

  “Like hell you are,” I huff. “You know what? Maybe I get your fucking point.”

  She takes in a few more deep breaths.

  “The time I kept telling you that you shouldn’t eat three bags full of cotton candy at Coney Island, ’cause you’d get sick. You ate it anyway, and then you got sick. You got so fucking sick that you threw up all afternoon and missed all the rides. Didn’t go on one of them.” I turn and look at the street. “Have you eaten it since?”

  “No.”

  “You still wish you ate three bags?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “But you still fucking want it, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “That’s what loving you feels like. I still fucking want you, but it’ll never happen again.” I look back at her. “How stupid was I?”

  Her lip quivers and, even as pissed as I am at her, I want to comfort her. Hell, I even step toward her and she doesn’t flinch, but fuck that.

  I stop what feels natural.

  “You break my heart, Stella. I love you, and I hate you at the same time.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  “Oh, right. Of course. Elijah.”

  She shakes her head and walks past me. “I was talking about me. I hate myself more than you ever possibly could.”

  I see Autumn wave to her and let her walk away.

  Day Three

  I didn’t send a fucking undelivered message, leave a message that she wouldn’t get, or go to de la Porte today.

  I’d say that’s progress.

  But it’s not.

  Because now I’ve been standing in front of Autumn’s place in SoHo and relentlessly pounding on the door to her brownstone for the last fifteen minutes, yelling “Hey, Stella.” Neither of them opens the door, but I’ll be damned if I give up.

  “I know she’s in there! I watched you two walk in, laughing! I deserve fucking answers, Stella! Not three-word messages telling me to let it go. I won’t let it fucking go! And I want to! What I don’t want is some bullshit talk about being overprotected by the men who give a shit about you. I don’t want—”

  Autumn opens the door and slips out, closing the door behind her. She shakes her head. “She’s in a bad place right now.”

  “She was just fucking laughing, Autumn. This is a fucking joke to her? To you? I’m not a fucking joke! She and I—”

  “Hey, quiet down over there!”

  I turn around to see a man across the street, flipping me off.

  I give him two fingers back. “Mind your own fucking business!”

  “Okay, let’s try not to offend everyone on the street,” Autumn smirks … fucking smirks.

  “I see. Yeah, I see exactly what the fuck this is. This must be fun for Laverne and Shirley—”

  “You aren’t old enough to even know what that show is.” She chuckles silently.

  “Stella’s dad introduced me to it!”

  “Oh, cool.” She leans casu
ally against the door.

  “No, it’s not fucking cool. Not even the fucking point!”

  “Then, what is the point?”

  “You two probably think it’s real funny that I’m acting like a dick-sick fool. I’m not Lenny or Squiggy. I’m Aaron Esposito. And believe it or not, I could walk across the road and fuck that asshole’s wife if I just wanted a piece of ass. But I don’t!”

  “Watch it, asshole!”

  I turn around and give him the finger while grabbing my junk. “Suck my—”

  “Aaron!”

  I snap around to see her in the doorway. Hair all fucked up and looking like hell. Eyes sunk in with dark circles under them.

  “You look like shit!” I snap at her.

  “At least I showered!” she snaps back.

  Autumn puts a hand on each of our shoulders. “My work here is done. You two are adorable.” Then she slips inside.

  “You can’t do this,” she whisper-hisses at me.

  “Yeah? Well, tell me how to stop.” I turn my back to her because looking at her hurts. “Tell me, and I’ll try my best to do it.” I turn back to see her face when she answers, but I have more questions. “Better yet, tell me you’re sorry. Tell me why. Tell me something so we can move past this.”

  She sits on the top step, elbows on her knees, and her chin on her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “Do you think that makes it better? You’re sorry? Jesus, Stella, give me something more than that.”

  “I went home. I wanted to be alone. So, sleeping with you was not intentional either. You should be sorry too.”

  I feel like I’ve been kicked in the nuts.

  “Yeah, well, which orgasm would you like me to apologize for?”

  She shakes her head and looks down at her yellow Chucks. She starts messing with the laces. “It should have never happened.”

  I sit down next to her, giving her my back. “Well, I’m not sorry.”

  “Not sorry?”

  “No.”

  “You said you let him have me. Tell me, Aaron, why? You said you loved me then. Why did you give me to him? And how the hell does a person give away something that was never theirs? You don’t own me! He doesn’t own me! I have a voice, a choice.”

  I turn when her voice breaks and she stops talking.

  “I never said you didn’t. But what the hell would give you the idea that I’d be okay with fucking you after he did? I specifically asked!”

  “You asked if anything was in my mouth! It wasn’t. I didn’t even kiss him!”

  “My bad. I assume people kiss when they fuck. I didn’t know I needed to specifically ask that nothing was in your vagina. Stupid me. So, was I given a choice?”

  She opens her mouth, but I continue.

  “No, I wasn’t! Then you tell me to leave? Me?” I smash my thumb into my chest. “The man who held you while you slept for nearly a week? The man who didn’t want you to be alone and let you forget all the great times in that house? Me, who you threw up on and bathed you? Me, the man who wouldn’t kiss you until I knew you were done with him, knowing that I would never want to stop once I started! Me, the man who wouldn’t even let you suck his dick because of the shit he said to you, how he degraded you in a text, yet you still go to him?”

  “I needed—”

  “You could beg me to suck my dick, and I’d stamp a big, old, red denied on your forehead, Stella. We could be married for fifty years, and you could take out your fucking teeth and beg to gum my cock. and guess what?”

  She glares at me.

  “Denied!”

  “Fuck you.” She starts to stand when something catches her eyes. An NYPD car.

  I look across the road and see the man in the Mets hat sitting on his stoop.

  “The Mets suck!” I yell over at him.

  “Aaron,” Stella snarls at me.

  The cops get out of the car and walk over to him. He points at me, and they look over.

  “If you don’t let me deal with this and you end up in jail, you deserve it for being an idiot.” Stella smiles her fake as fuck smile at the cops as she stands.

  I stand up. “I don’t need you to play hero.”

  She looks up at me. “Because you need to prove to yourself that you can handle it? Heads-up”—she looks away, crossing her arms and rubbing her hands up and down them—“doesn’t always work out the way you plan.”

  She steps down the three concrete steps as they walk across the road. “Hi, officers. What seems to be the problem?”

  “Had a complaint about a disgruntled male.” He nods toward me, and I push up off the steps and walk down. “I’m assuming that’s you?”

  “Well, it’s not me.” She smiles, and he looks back at her, looking a little longer than he should. Then he smirks.

  “Hey, I know you.”

  “Gino McCarty’s daughter.” Stella shrugs. “Can never just skate under the radar with that name hanging over my head, huh?”

  “Who?”

  I’m taking some sick pleasure in this shit.

  “My father—”

  “Shit, now I know who you are.” The cop laughs. “The Staten Island Starlet.”

  “Huh?” she asks.

  He ignores her and calls over his shoulder to his partner, “Hey, Mario, it’s the Staten Island Starlet.”

  “No shit?” Mario hurries across the road. “Man, we gotta get a picture. My kid loves you.”

  “I’m sorry. I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

  “No way.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “It’s on the YousTube.”

  “Mario,” the younger cop sighs, “it’s just YouTube.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. It’s gone virus.” Mario waves off his partner.

  “Viral,” he corrects him.

  “Gotta tell ya, we’d just been free of that damn song for a year. Old lady called and told me the youngest was singing it again. Almost didn’t go home. Damn song.” He snickers as he thumbs through his phone. “It’s all over The Twitter, too.”

  “Just Twitter.” His partner shakes his head.

  “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re—”

  “It’s here, right here. Funniest thing I ever heard.”

  When he taps the screen, and I hear Stella singing, I watch her cover her mouth when he holds it up so she can see it. I want to laugh.

  “I was telling the wife yous must’ve been drunk, but she didn’t think so. Thought yous was just happy.”

  I sigh. “It’s just simply Stella.”

  “I’ve got to get this off of here?” She shakes her head.

  Mario doesn’t even register that Stella is about ready to freak out. “She likes the bag, too. Wants a Moana birthday party and that bag. You get it in the city?”

  “She made it. Stella’s a designer.” God, how the fuck am I even standing here right now, wanting to see her smile when she doesn’t want a fucking thing to do with me?

  “Aw, so you sell ’em on the EZon store?”

  “The what?” I ask.

  “EZon, that damn site. The wife is always bidding on shit she don’t need.”

  “eBay.” His partner rolls his eyes.

  When the next video starts, Stella snatches the phone from Mario. “Oh no, no, no, no. I’m going to kill them. With my bare hands. Strangle them. Wait till they’re asleep and smother them with—”

  “She’s joking,” I tell the two NYPD officers who Stella just threatened to kill Ox’s boys in front of.

  “Like hell I am.” She shoves the phone at me. “Get it off.”

  “Yeah, I don’t need my girl shaking her tail feathers to that damn song.” Mario chuckles.

  When Stella starts to shake her ass on the phone, I tilt my head.

  “Yeah, that’s sexy as hell.” The young cop smirks.

  “Which is why my kid don’t need to see it.” Mario laughs.

  I hit stop then hand it back to Mario.

  “Aaron, please,” Stella b
egs.

  My chest burns. “I’ll look into it.”

  Mario hands me his phone. “Take a pic of the Starlet and me for my kid?”

  “Her name is Stella McCarty. Her father was Gino McCarty.” I smile at him, not her, as I take the phone.

  “Gino? NYPD?”

  I nod.

  He looks at Stella. “We lost a good man.”

  She smiles sadly. “We did.”

  I take off my Yankees ballcap that’s covering my fucked-up mess of hair, step forward, and then put it on her head. Then I pull my shades out of my front pocket and hand them to her.

  She puts them on. “Do I look okay?”

  “Yeah, Stella, you look beautiful.” I snap the pic then hand him the phone. “Mario, I’m the reason you were called here. Am I getting a ticket?”

  “How about we call it even? Maybe to make it look good, we put yous in the back of the car and drop you around the corner, so the neighbor doesn’t think we’s given special treatment to the Starlet?”

  “That would be great. Thank you.”

  I start to walk across the road but stop when she yells my name.

  I look back.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I nod then look away.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Stella

  Me: I’m sorry for all of it.

  Aaron: Stop apologizing for what happened and apologize for why you did it. Until you understand, I sure as hell won’t be able to.

  Me: Okay.

  Aaron: Can we talk, Stella. Really talk?

  Me: Yeah.

  Aaron: When?

  Me: I’m flying out Monday, so maybe Sunday if you’re free.

  Aaron: I’d ask where you’re going, but I don’t have to. You should have never come back.

  Me: Some things, I can’t take back. But this I can.

  Aaron: Come over now. Let’s talk.

  Me: Natasha, Autumn, and I have plans tonight.

  Aaron: Tomorrow then.

  Me: I have plans.

  Aaron: Tell me you’re not seeing that fuck.

  Me: See you Sunday.

  Aaron: If you see him, you don’t get to see me. Do you understand? Make a choice.

  Me: I choose me.