Not Sorry

by Erin Lee

  It was just as I stepped out onto the sidewalk that I heard her. “Rob! Wait!”

  She called after me, waving her arm in the air. “You have my bag!” she exclaimed as if this was news or that I was giving it to her without getting my own back.

  “Yep.”

  “How did you find me here?”

  I didn’t bother to answer her. Dumb questions didn’t deserve responses. My mother had taught me that. “A little late? You said six.”

  “You didn’t agree. I didn’t realize this was a date,” she said, reaching for her bag.

  Pulling it into my chest, I reminded her about my wallet.

  “I don’t have time right now. I promise. If you come back, I will give it to you tonight. I’m so late. I should have been out of here by 6:30 at the latest. Please, can I have my bag? I promise I’ll get yours to you tonight.”

  I could have given her shit. Clearly Ms. Thing felt she was too good to run up to her room and grab my things. At the same time, I didn’t have a date tonight and the idea of meeting up with her again sparked something in me. Something I hadn’t felt for a long time.

  “Fine. I’ll be back. When? What’s a good time?” I said, handing her her carry-on.

  “Nine?”

  “It’s a date,” I smirked, knowing full well it’d get under her skin.

  “No. It’s an appointment,” she said, grabbing her bag and skittering quickly down the street in the direction of the convention center.

  ***

  Back on the plane

  Rob

  “What kind of name is Jenner?” A last name? Maybe. But in Beantown we played it straight. At least it suited her. She was from Cali.

  “Rude much? What kind of question is that?”

  I shrugged, “Well, is it Jennifer and you shortened it or something?”

  She wrinkled her nose then scratched her neck. From across poor Tom’s restless nap, she glared at me. “No. It’s just Jenner.”

  “Oh.”

  I had no clue what made me want to keep the conversation going. Whether it was to pass time or because I’d never run into a woman who’d reacted to me this way, I was intrigued. Usually, women were willing to pay me. This one looked like she’d rather jump out of the plane than spend another minute with me. It was hot.

  “Oh,” she said, mirroring me. But then, “What kind of name is Rob?”

  It was like a tennis match. “A solid one.” I didn’t bother to tell her I was technically a third. She didn’t need to know the twisted history of my fucked up family tree or that my biological father’s name was Paul. I wasn’t giving more to her than she was to me. Not yet. I reminded myself of the first module in the class—Guide to Alpha Male—and smirked. If she knew that she’d be hysterical with laughter. But then, she didn’t and would never know the why’s and what for’s. Only Renee and Mom knew that. Not even Rena.

  “Solid like a yawn.”

  Heat prickled at the back of my neck as I stared out the window into the grayish clouds below. Reaching into my front pocket for a piece of gum, I cursed myself for not grabbing it earlier. The worst feeling in the world was my ears popping and I’d always hated heights. Still, looking down was better than looking at Miss Thing. From her plastic face to the overdone flowery scent coming off of her, I was just done.

  “What’s Boston like?”

  I pretended I didn’t hear her. Module Two had been all about acting disinterested. The idea that chicks got off on this shit was still baffling to me. It went along with the whole ‘nice guys finish last’ thing, I supposed. But still. A real girl? That was the type of girl for me. But those didn’t exist. I’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  Present day, Saturday morning

  Jenner

  To my relief, everyone was running late. Panels hadn’t even started by the time I reached the convention center. Grabbing a white, ‘hello, my name is’ sticker, I quickly scrawled my name and company on it in black sharpie marker.

  “Panel number?” a woman with chipped raspberry pink fingernails asked.

  “Empowerment and social media,” I said, praying she wouldn’t make me dig through the carry-on Rob had likely had his paws all over only hours before.

  “Oh. Yes,” she said, pulling her dark, cat-eyed glasses to the edge of her nose. “203 – just down the hall. They’ll be getting started soon.”

  I wanted to bark at her that she should know who I was and that I was the main speaker on the panel. But I was quickly learning that Beantown was nothing like California. Here, people didn’t seem to care about the hustle at all. It was strange, but in an odd way, refreshing. I highly doubted anyone would even notice I’d forgotten setting spray.

  ***

  Two hours later

  I yawned as Lydia Harbuck, president and CEO of Wild Chicks, Inc. drowned on and on about the importance of making an impression and how her $3,000 exclusive class could be the trick in turning a business’ profits for the better. The convention, for all it had promised to be, was turning out to be a letdown. So far, I’d learned exactly nothing and hadn’t had a chance to rub with any important elbows. I was getting hungry.

  I looked down at my phone to check the time and even considered digging through my bag for the break schedule. But with a tribe of hungry girl bosses on every side of me, I figured I better wait. I’d learned long ago how petty people could be and if I didn’t play the game, I’d get to deal with the consequences later. It was just how it was with this kind of networking.

  Nodding along, I pretended to take notes while daydreaming of my stupid dream. Why, of all people in the world, I’d dreamed of banging Rob was a giant mystery. I reasoned with myself that the dream was nothing of significance. For as hot as it had been, it was entirely unrealistic. For starters, I wasn’t that needy. I’d been what my mother described as ‘fiercely independent’ my entire life. She’d always made jokes about how I came out of the womb punching and hadn’t stopped. I liked that story and it was entirely symbolic of how I dealt with life: You can’t get the ass you sit on. Under no circumstance would I ever play slave to Rob or any man at all. I hadn’t done it with my fiancé and I wouldn’t start now. Still, the idea of him coming direct to my hotel room later tonight had my stomach jumping. And I hated myself for it. I knew better, was better, and frankly, could probably use some of Lydia’s advice. Focus, Jenner. You’ve come too far. Besides, you’re too old for flings. Yep. It’d be a fun time but then what? No thanks. “Make me a slave to your desires?” What the hell was that? You need more sleep. Less booze too.

  8:15 pm, Saturday night

  I wasn’t seeing things right. I couldn’t be. We’d agreed on nine. There was no way Rob was already here, waiting in the front foyer on that hideous couch flipping through a magazine as if he could actually read. What the hell?

  For a moment, I considered sneaking past him. If I turned myself around, I might even be able to make it back to my room without him seeing me. So much for the trashy hotel bar. I had planned to knock a few shots down just to make the whole encounter easier. Something deep inside told me this wasn’t going to be a quickie visit where I’d hand him his wallet and he’d be gone. But then, it could be. It wasn’t like I couldn’t sneak right back up there and bring it down to him – seeing as he’d insisted on coming nearly an hour early.

  I looked down at my frumpy clothes. Only minutes after I’d returned to my hotel room had I slipped into my favorite Pink sweats and brushed my hair out – throwing it into a lazy bun. I had planned to practice my speech before taking a shower. I would have been ready for him. But now?

  “Well if it isn’t the Princess Jenner. You look – lovely?”

  “Why are you here? We said nine.”

  “Gas isn’t free. And traffic’s wicked bad this time of night. It’s Saturday.”

  “And?”

  He stared at me like I was supposed to care what day of the week it was or know anything about Saturday nights in Beantown.

  “A
nd?”

  “Just came for my wallet,” he said, smirking.

  “Sure. Early. Can’t take you up there. I have company. I’ll bring it right down,” I said, smirking right back.

  “Bullshit.”

  I spun around, putting my index finger over my lips. The man had no manners. What if someone had heard him?

  “Don’t swear! It’s rude!”

  “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he said, smiling and pulling his hoodie over his head. All dressed up and nowhere to be? You aren’t staying, buddy. My eyes moved from his lips to his biceps as I swear he flexed it and flashed me an even wider smile. Ink from a tattoo I couldn’t quite make out winked at me. I hated ink – too permanent. Nothing any idiot would commit to in their twenties would ever matter at sixty. He had no brain at all. I decided to ignore his second curse. I wasn’t biting. Besides, I wanted to know why he was so sure there wasn’t a man in my room. Or better, why he seemed so smug about it.

  “And what do you mean? It’s true. There’s a man in my room right now. I came down for ice.”

  “No bucket? No room service? For a first class Boss Lady, you really do slum it.”

  I wanted to kill him. I spun around and headed straight for the elevator, leaving him no time to reason with me at all. He could figure his wallet out. Hell, I’d mail it back to him. It probably only had lint in it.

  Rob

  There was nothing sexier than a stuck up bitch caught off guard out of her heels and designer clothes. It was just the way it was. With her hair and a bun and her make-up scrubbed off, Jenner cleaned up perfectly. Fuck, now that’s a dime I could take to the gym.

  For a second, I considered marching out the door. I could replace my wallet and its contents. I knew enough about women to know they were turned off by a man chasing them. But watching her wiggle down the hall in a huff had me certain that the night wasn’t quite over yet. I had two choices: Wait in the bar – where she was clearly headed. Or, convince the chick at the desk—that wouldn’t be hard—that I was Mr. Swinson and needed a replacement key. For most guys? That might be hard. But I’d done it before. Hell, it was what I did for a living.

  The number of women with rape fantasies, or better, surprise deliveries, never failed to amaze me. I knew the ins and outs of the swankiest hotels in the city. This one, not so much. But they all worked the same. And, I was sure, the security here would be even worse. With my plan set in place, I walked out to the street to collect my thoughts. She had ten minutes. I was coming right up. First class visit and all…

  ***

  Everything happens for a reason. I knew it was a cliché but it was impossible not to believe it after my experiences with Renee and my mother. While we’d lived a life that was rough, we’d always managed to stick together. And every year, after Mom managed to scrap together Christmases worth remembering, she’d sit down and tell us how everything had fallen into place just the way Santa’d ordered. It was beginning to feel that way with Jenner. With the make-up off and the brief but constant meet ups, something about the girl from California was starting to add up. If everything happened for a reason, I wasn’t going to argue. I was going to follow it up. I owed it to myself. Fuck knew, I’d been through enough.

  What was the worst she could do to me? Shoot me down? One call to Dukes for Dinner and I’d have my pick. It was pathetic, I knew, but I often used the clients for company when I got lonely too. No, I couldn’t talk to them about my family or why I was seriously considering a move across the country, but I could kill time without being stuck in my head. That was worth something. And at $200 an hour, I could make up the money I needed to buy Mom time with Renee. As long as the caretakers kept coming, they’d be okay for another few months. Things would work out eventually. That part, I knew. It was just a matter of living in the moment for now while I took the time to do the research and make the calls. With a light schedule, I had plenty of time ahead to get it worked out. Even my clients at the gym were winding down. And timing was everything.

  Back on the plane

  Jenner

  What kind of prick ignores a person when they ask a sincere question? I hated him even more. Between insulting my name and snarking at me about his, the guy was impossible. I’d asked him about Boston and had been met with crickets. He was cold. Nothing like the guys in California. I wondered if this was a sign of things to come.

  It didn’t matter what he thought Boston was like. I had a feeling he didn’t travel in the same circles as I would anyway. It wasn’t like I’d ever have to see him again. A quick plane ride and I could forever give Rob whatever-his-last-name-was the kiss off. The second I landed, I vowed, someone was getting their ass chewed about the ticket mix-up. People in first class would never act this way.

  I didn’t want to think about landing either. I had too much shit to do and was already beginning to dread the whole adventure. The idea of listening to Lydia drone on and on about how to be successful was about as appealing as spending another four hours listening to Tom snore. Any minute, I was sure, the old man would start to drool. The second I got to the hotel, I decided, I’d take the world’s longest shower.

  “Drinks? Peanuts?”

  A stewardess bumped my elbow as she pulled the cart back to address passengers in the row behind us. Was this how it worked in coach? Did they serve from the back forward? I winced at the ‘pop!’ of the Sprite can as I turned to my left to catch a glimpse of her pouring it into a tiny plastic cup. I had no idea if I could even get alcohol here and decided to pass the whole situation up. I could eat later too. I wasn’t going to be the person who tried to order wine as Rob laughed at me about how coach worked and reminded me I wasn’t in Hollywood anymore. No thanks.

  But drinks and the chance for a handful of peanuts must wake people the hell up. Because no sooner had I decided I’d rather starve than Tom was sitting straight up, popping down his tray like the shiny bag of peanuts was his only shot at a meal for a week.

  “And you, Sir?” the stewardess asked, ignoring me all together.

  “Coke. Diet,” Rob said, totally interrupting Tom.

  “Same,” Tom said, high fiving Rob like they were long lost fraternity brothers.

  The stewardess nodded, smiling at me, “And you, Miss.”

  “Priss,” Rob mumbled.

  Dick. I hated him. He reminded me of a fifth grade boy snapping a girl’s bra in school for attention. He wasn’t going to get it. No way. The audacity of it! To him, I was a stranger. There was nothing familiar about him and the idea that he’d be so bold – well, I hated him. “He means, Princess,” I said. It’s soda, not Coke. Why do you people call it that? Soda! “And I’ll take a Coke too. Regular. I don’t need to diet.”

  It wasn’t true. And there was no way I was drinking the crap. But Rob didn’t need to know that. I ignored his fit of laughs as he reached across Tom’s tray to grab his shot glass, all the while praying he chocked.

  For what she lacked in her ability to apply a smooth layer of foundation, the stewardess made up for twice in speed and proficiency. In thirty seconds more, she was off to the row in front of us – her ass in my face. Leaning into Tom, I wanted to scream.

  My throat closed. My head spun. And, the second I could, I scrambled to the overhead to grab my carry-on. I needed my Xanax. A plane was no place for a panic attack. But like it or not, seated with two clowns in a crowded cabin, I was heading for one. I had to hedge it off.

  Rob

  The drama queen jumped up, nearly spilling Tom’s Coke. Likely fishing around for a ready-to-go $80 lip gloss run, she pulled up the hatch to the carry-on stow. Tom dug his elbow into me, doing his best to make rom for Her Highness as she messed around in the cabin. For a moment, I was envious of the guy six rows back stuck next to the screaming kid. Beantown could not come fast enough. If Renee wasn’t so sick, she’d be on her own. I was tired.

  I stared out the window, trying to ignore the diva as she got the stewardess’s attention and begged for a bottle of water. A
pparently, a Coke was not enough. We were high enough now that I couldn’t see through the clouds to the world below. In a way, it was a relief. Even sharing a row with Miss Thing was better than what was coming for me on the ground. I only had a week to figure out what to do with my sister.

  I could put her in a home. I mean, it was the obvious thing. It was what everyone was telling me to do and probably something that should have been done a long time ago. Why Mom had ever dragged her to Cali was something I’d never understand. Sure, the day center she spent most of her time at was good, but we had that stuff back home.

  I could also move. I mean, the money was good in Cali. Miss Thing could probably hedge me off to the names of some well-off clients. It wasn’t like my trainer’s certificate wouldn’t work there either. A state fee or something and I’d probably be good to go. But I was sentimental too.

  The idea of leaving New England at all made my stomach flip worse than any takeoff or landing. Worse than the shitfit Princess was starting to pitch.

  “I’m not kidding. I can’t breathe. I’m dying!”

  “No. You’re okay. It’s just being afraid to fly. My wife got like that all the time. Drink the water. It will help. Don’t think about it,” Tom offered.

  “No. It’s not that. I can’t breathe. I’m having a heart attack,” Princess said, sucking long stretches of water and even patting her face with it.

  Jesus. Does this happen in first class? It reminded me of the panic attacks Mom had every time we drove by the lakes where Renee almost drowned. She was ten. I was five. But the memory of it was the first I had - my mother pulling her from the lake and beating her chest to bring the life back. Things had never changed since that day. Renee had struggled with a developmental delay, but worse, depression. And, after a torturous few years in middle and then high school, Mom had finally pulled her out all together. There was just no way my sister would graduate under those conditions. Even special education classes couldn’t protect her from the types of kids—like Jenner—who mocked her and picked at her. The only thing that had worked for Mom was distraction.