My expression didn’t falter as I awaited an answer to my question.
“Look, it slipped during our monthly meeting. And I didn’t think it’d be a big deal. He—”
“Didn’t think it’d be a big deal? How the hell does that come up in conversation with a room full of plastic surgeons? Was everyone comparing sex stories about their employees? Were there pie charts? Graphs? A PowerPoint presentation on what their preferred position was?”
“Blue, I’ll find a way to make this up to you.”
I rubbed my temples. “We’d both been so careful keeping this whole…thing we had going quiet. I don’t get it.”
“Baby, please…”
“It’s too late.” I tried to control the tone of my voice as I spoke through gritted teeth. “He quoted the damn handbook to me verbatim. Page, paragraph, and sentence. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was? There was highlighter involved. It was yellow, and there was a lot of it.”
“We’ll get you wasted tonight, so you can let loose and forget all about—”
I was floored. “Alcohol isn’t going to bandage this wound. I lost my job. Don’t you understand? You could’ve warned me this was coming, but you didn’t. You sent me in to be blindly executed by your brother.”
“C’mon. I didn’t want to ruin the mood and tell you this morning. We’d had amazing sex and—”
My eyes bulged. “You’d had amazing sex. The mood was ruined before it even started because I knew I had to fake it…again.”
It was clear he still didn’t get it. Cash blinked as he spoke slowly. “So…are you saying you don’t want to go to dinner?”
For being six-foot two, a lot of information sailed right over Cash’s pretty head. On that particular night, I doubted a butterfly net the size of Los Angeles could’ve helped. Looking into his icy blue eyes wasn’t poetic at all either. They weren’t the windows to his soul. He was far simpler than that. They were the eyes of someone who invested heavy thought into wondering why croutons came in airtight packages and contemplated why sheep didn’t shrink after being in the rain. How that man ever had the smarts to become a plastic surgeon with an award-winning practice perplexed me on a daily basis.
“No! I don’t want to go to dinner! I’m done!” I picked up a throw pillow from an oversized chair near the door and dug my fingers into it. “Now, I see why you were okay with us taking our relationship out of the closet to make it public. There was no reason to hide anymore with Price in the loop on who you were screwing. How far in advance did you know about this?”
“Baby, don’t overreact here.”
“Don’t overreact? For the love of…maybe I do need a drink,” I mumbled under my breath as I hurled the pillow at him. “Are we really having this conversation right now?”
Cash blocked the shot and flashed two rectangular tickets in his jacket pocket. Oblivious to my annoyed tone, he pushed his way into my apartment. “I have reservations to that sensual art show I mentioned.”
I stared at him from the doorway. “I already told you, I don’t like art. Haven’t for a long time.”
“Pfffft. Quit playing hard to get.” He grabbed an apple from the oversized bowl on the counter and sank his teeth into it. A drop of juice dribbled down his chin while he mumbled with a mouthful, “What girl doesn’t like art?”
I ripped the fruit from his hand and threw it in the swing-top garbage can, the lid spinning around repeatedly from the force. “I don’t like glory hole or skin flute art.”
He reached out to touch my arm. “Come on. Don’t do this.”
“Go,” I said.
Again, he paid no attention to my requests as his eyes fixated on the laptop across the room. “What’ve you got there?” He nodded toward the screen.
“It’s nothing,” I replied, reaching to close it. “Another roadblock.”
He grabbed my wrist to stop me and let out a low whistle, pausing long enough to study the obnoxiously bright orange-and-red blocks on the screen. It was about to time out again. “That’s one expensive plane ticket. Do customers get a complimentary blow job with it?”
I ignored his sarcasm. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m driving there.”
“In your POS car? That’s ridiculous. Let me pay for the airfare. I mean, after everything that happened at the office today.”
“I’m not letting you do that.” Being indebted to the fuckstick who couldn’t even lay me off properly, let alone get me off properly, didn’t sound appealing.
“Don’t be silly.” His smile oozed with innocence. “You’d be paying me back in full, every penny. I’ll let you.”
‘Let’ me? There was that L-word again. How noble. I tried to mask my disgust, but it became harder with every day spent with him. “You used to sign my pathetic paychecks, meaning you know what my income situation was like. Now, it’s non-existent thanks to Jensen & Jensen. I’ll pass.”
“I have minimal interest.” His voice was gentle as he brushed a lock of hair out of my face. The look behind his eyes was so sweet and sincere, and I wondered how he could even swallow his own lines of steaming bullshit without gagging.
I squinted, and the conversation had plunged to a new low. “We’ve been sleeping together for nearly a year. Suddenly, you have ‘minimal interest’? That’s classy.”
“No.” He laughed. “There’d be minimal interest you owe me. On the credit card. I mean, I might require one or two of those blow jobs I mentioned. You know, as a finder’s fee for helping you out. Maybe you could even toss in a few one-handed massages.”
It was the final straw. “Get out!”
“I’m starting to wonder if you want me to leave.” He scratched his head.
“You think?”
“I get it. You’re stressed out. Probably PMS’ing or something. You did look pretty bloated this morning.”
“Cash!” I growled.
“I’m sayin’, a trip or two to the gym might not hurt.” He hiked his thumb over his shoulder. “Speaking of calorie burn, are you sure you don’t want to blow off some steam in the bedroom with the no pants dance before you take off?”
“Out!” I pointed toward the doorway and stomped my left foot.
“Okay. We’ll talk more when you get back from Steele Town. Do me a favor.”
I glared and didn’t move. Correcting him on the name of the city was pointless.
He reached into his pocket and pulled a silver credit card from his wallet. “Use it. Buy the airline ticket. Hotel stay. Whatever you need. While you’re at it, get some slutty lingerie for when you get back. Crotch-less panties. Flavored whipped cream. Oh! And how about a pair of fuzzy handcuffs! Black ones are preferred. Do you want me to text you a list?”
“I already told you I don’t want your money.” I pushed his hand away. “It’s a slap in the face.”
“Don’t be ashamed of taking my handout, even if it’s a short-term loan.” He grabbed my hand and closed my fingers around it, shushing me.
“Look, we’re done.” I let the tension out of my shoulders. “For good.”
“Sure we are.” He nodded and gave me a look that expressed he didn’t believe me.
“If this card gets used over the next few days,” I raised it up to eye level, “it means I’ve been kidnapped by an unfriendly motorcycle gang of garden gnomes and you should send help, flamethrowers, and Belgian chocolate. That should tell you how serious I am right now.”
“Gotcha. Mini Cash and I will see you as soon as you get back then.” He smirked and turned to walk down the hallway toward the stairs. “Mattress mambo! Don’t forget to buy some of that spicy massage oil I like!” he yelled over his shoulder while doing a fancy dance step.
I slammed the door and wondered if I were finally rid of Cash Jensen. Doubtful. The illusion of a r
elationship wasn’t worth it. Not anymore. Looking down at the card in my hand, I frowned. It was his attempt at keeping his claws dug in while I was gone. Unsure of what to do with it, I put it in my wallet, tucked behind my debit card. That way, it wouldn’t get lost. Why was I so considerate when he was the least of my concerns? I hated my conscience. When I got back, I vowed to mail it back to him, cut it up and bake it into a cake, or send it by courier in a flaming bag of dog crap—on Jensen & Jensen’s dime, of course. After all, I knew the account number by heart. Enduring another conversation in the near future with him sounded as pleasant as getting my lady bits waxed twice in a row without a shot of tequila beforehand.
For the next hour, I mashed clothing and bathroom items into my suitcase, taking my aggression out on Cash. I was pissed. Pissed I didn’t have a job. Pissed my rent was due. Pissed I’d let the situation with Cash excel to where it did.
“Where did I go wrong, huh?” I asked Catzilla as I flopped down on the bed. “Why can’t I have an ordinary life?”
And then I remembered why I couldn’t be normal. Ever. I turned on the TV to an old rerun of my favorite sitcom. Anything to sidetrack me in that moment was welcome. Gonorrhea Guy being absent was an added bonus. For the first time that day, I started to relax.
As my eyes started to cross from exhaustion, the memories tried to come flooding back, seeping into my mind. Swells of debilitating anxiety were on the horizon, and fighting back was a chore. But I succeeded. My walls were immediately slammed a mile high to block the waves of my past from crashing into me. I mopped the fragments away and shut the door on the janitorial closet of my head. Squeaky clean again. History was best kept hidden. For good.
The next day, I woke up ten minutes before my alarm screamed for me to get my ass out of bed. I didn’t sleep well. The dark bags complementing my bloodshot eyes were proof exhaustion ruled me. No amount of makeup, even costume, could fix it. I’d spend the rest of the day looking like a second-rate TV zombie.
The nightmares all revolved around Cash dancing in a turquoise, sequined G-string, complete with dramatic pelvic thrusts. His stage was a room full of multi-colored vaginas swinging from the ceiling. From two over-sized loudspeakers, Mambo Number 5 played on repeat in the background. Even in sleep, that man found ways to irritate me. The dream was relentless every time I dozed, so forcing myself to stay awake was the lesser of two evils. All I could do was watch the minutes tick by on the digital clock. Looking back, I’m not sure what I waited for. An apocalypse? Grass to grow? Spontaneous combustion? The world didn’t end. I checked. A lump sat in my stomach like a brick, and it became heavier as the hours crept by. What felt like a death sentence loomed because the place I was headed? It was the equivalent of prison.
My cell began to play the chorus to I’m Too Sexy. Thanks to Cash, it was his signature text message tone. I wasn’t sure whether I was impressed he operated the phone all by himself or annoyed with his song choice. And don’t get me started on how he’d stored his name in my contacts. His argument was if my phone fell into the wrong hands, no one would know it was him if they skimmed our conversations. Personally, I think he thought he was clever. I reached over to the nightstand and unplugged it from the charger. With one eye open, I knew I wasn’t in the mood for whatever he had to say.
CREAM
You awake, baby?
No.
I thought of something else for you to pick up at the sex shop.
Still not awake.
Three little dots appeared, letting me know he was forming a reply. They disappeared, showed up again, and vanished once more. Then, nothing. I’m not sure what I expected from someone who called himself CREAM to maintain anonymity. It stood for Cash Rules Everything Around Me. I never vocalized it, but I’d assumed his self-proclaimed name had to do with jizz until he’d explained it. Either way was less than heartfelt.
It was dark outside. Even the sky wasn’t willing to cooperate yet. No rising and definitely no shining. At four-thirty, I finally stood up and went through the motions of getting ready. My concentration level was at a big, fat zero. I made tea without remembering to heat the water, and I poured milk directly in the box of cereal instead of into a bowl. Oops. I tried to brush my teeth with hair gel, a combination I don’t recommend. Of course, it was after I emptied the dishwasher by loading plates and bowls into the oven. Don’t worry. It wasn’t on. But for the record, don’t try it. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, Steele Falls had a vice-like hold on me, even from nearly a thousand miles away. I hoped it wasn’t setting a precedence for the days to come.
Pacing my apartment and biting my nails didn’t make me feel any better either. All it did was prolong the inevitable and leave me in desperate need of a manicure. The jury hadn’t come to a decision on whether I tried to talk myself into going or bagging the entire trip. Hiding from reality sounded as good as a vacation to Maui right about then. Deep down, I knew drinking a Mai Tai with a cute little umbrella wasn’t in the cards for me. Nope! There was only one solution to my problems. Step one: Putting on my big girl pants. Step two: Pushing the pedal to the metal.
There was nothing left for me to do except feed Catzilla and leave. Trying to execute that action was worse than anticipating a root canal. The single brick in my gut had morphed into what felt like The Great Wall of China. I filled up Catzilla’s feeder to the brim while she watched, ensuring I did it correctly. I’m guessing I passed her test. She cocked her head to the right and looked up at me with inquisitive gray eyes, meowing before she wove her way through my legs in a figure-eight pattern.
Most of the time she was a good listener. And she served as a great obstacle to trip over when she wanted attention at an inopportune moment. That morning, she was too busy to sprain my ankle or break my foot, much to my disappointment. With a robust purr, she flopped onto her side, pointed one foot straight up at the ceiling, and began gnawing her asshole.
“Tell me how you really feel about me leaving.” I sighed. “Trust me, I have the same sentiments.”
With as much bravery as I could muster, I grabbed both my jacket and tote bag, pushing my squeaky-wheeled suitcase to the doorway. I gave the room one last glance over before I slid the spare key under the mat, in case I needed Justine to stop by and check on the feline butt muncher. “See you in a few days, Catzilla.”
* * *
The side streets were open, and every damn light was green, all in my favor on the way to the freeway. It was evident the travel gods hated me. Every other person I knew would be annoyed to be stuck in gridlock, but not this girl. I was the exception to the rule. Blue was my name, and procrastination was my game. I sucked at it.
A depressing song crept through the speakers about regret and mistakes. The sorrowful lyrics were too much, and I hurried to find a local morning show. Whiny co-hosts spewed news about a recent earthquake across the country, the stock market rising, and Charles, a two-headed bull born in Spain. All of it was far more welcome than getting sucked down the rabbit hole of music.
It took over eleven hours of cruising through foreign highways, which included three breaks at dingy rest stops, two wrong turns, and a partridge in a pear tree…I mean a heartburn-inducing gut bomb of a cheeseburger from a place called The Triple B—Boberto’s Burger Bungalow. There was entirely too much time to think as I choked down soggy fries while I drove. I had been so good at using work to focus my attention elsewhere. Without it, I was lost. The monotone GPS wasn’t the greatest conversationalist either. It sunk in—I was all alone. Even an occasional glance toward the ocean didn’t give me a sense of peace.
The sun was setting by the time I’d reached the outskirts of Grays Harbor County, a rare sight that late in the year. It was five-thirty in the evening, and dread puddled in my stomach, surrounding the brick and burger like a moat. A U-turn sounded as tempting as a sip of water to a dying man in the desert. Yet, I was strong and didn
’t give in to temptation.
I maneuvered through the familiar ess-curves in the valley, my hands easily predicting each turn while my eyes scoped out various landmarks—all of them still present and all of them still exactly the same. None of it mattered though; I still felt like a stranger as I headed toward the sleepy town half an hour later. I’d outgrown the space since I’d been gone. Everything felt so small, so limiting. Wide-open cow pasture after vegetable farm after abandoned field cemented it in my head. I had zero regrets.
I was only a quarter mile away from the edge of Steele Falls and a few miles off the 101 when I heard a distinct sputter. It quickly morphed into a repetitive clunking sound as my car slowed to a stop on the side of the road. As a finishing act, a plume of steam poured from under the hood with a hiss. I prayed there wouldn’t be an encore.
There were no other cars in sight when I looked in the rearview mirror. It was nothing but endless fields, cow pies, and me. A shitty situation. Literally. All I could do was sit there and watch in disbelief before I rested my head on the faux leather of the steering wheel. “No.” I groaned, which quickly turned into a whine that could rival one of a six-year old having their favorite toy taken away. My worst nightmare had come true—a common theme in the past twenty-four hours. Steele Falls had taken me prisoner once again. Hello, invisible shackles and orange jumper. Oh, how I’ve missed you.
I got out of the car and leaned against the door, taking in a breath of fresh sea air. The soothing breeze blowing in from the ocean used to help me calm down. That day, it wasn’t consoling a damn bit. “You won, Steele Falls. I’m here,” I muttered under my breath and slapped my hands against my outer thighs. Then, I remembered I had AAA. The figurative life preserver would save me! Dialing the 1-800 number on my cell phone revealed another disappointment as I held it high over my head, searching. Failing. A bold red X blinked in the corner and taunted me. I’d forgotten there were few cell towers around before crossing into the sad excuse for city limits. It was my shithouse luck.
Blue Page 5
