by Kim Karr
Walking briskly through the cool night air, I arrive at the restaurant just a few minutes after seven. I look around but I don’t see Christine anywhere. I inquire with the hostess and she leads me to a room on the other side of the restaurant. I spot her immediately. She’s seated in a secluded quiet booth in the corner. When I approach, she smiles and stands to greet me.
“Ben.” She sighs.
“Hey there gorgeous. Sorry I’m late,” I say, laying on the charm in the way I know she likes.
“It’s so good to see you.” She hugs me. She pulls back to look at me again and then draws me in a little too close, for a little too long.
I finally break free and give her the once over like she’s giving me. The only difference is my examination doesn’t last long and is much less obvious. She’s around my sister’s age, attractive with long hair and dark eyes, but looks older. She’s wearing a short dress with a low neckline, not the same kind of casual I went for. I notice two glasses of wine and sushi already on the table.
“I thought we would celebrate your return and I ordered us some food. I haven’t eaten all day and I needed something to hold me over.”
It’s just like old times and I can’t help but give her a big grin. We spend the next thirty minutes talking about what happened to me. I keep to the basics—where I lived and what I did while I was in New York City, avoiding any other details since a gag order prevents me from discussing the case. We consume two bottles of wine in no time and when she prompts me to finish off the last of the sushi, I do. The waiter had approached us a few times to see if we were ready to order dinner, but Christine dismissed him each time with a simple wave of her hand. Finally, she beckons him to our table and I think she’s ready. Not only am I starving, but ordering also puts me one step closer to ending this night. However, when he approaches she only orders another bottle of wine. I don’t say anything. She’s running the show and she knows it. I’m used to this. Every after hours meeting I ever had with her was always on her timetable and always involved at least one bottle of wine.
“Sir, are you ready to order?” the waiter asks, after pouring the new bottle of wine. I glance across the table directing the question to her.
“Give us thirty minutes of uninterrupted time, please. We have business to discuss.”
After one more glass, I am seriously buzzed and I haven’t even gotten to the reason I called her. Wanting to get it out there, I interrupt her chatter as she tells me about management structure changes and circulation issues at the paper. I clear my throat, hoping to sound a little more professional than I feel at this moment. “Christine, I asked to meet with you because I really need a job and I was wondering if you could help me out.”
Suddenly the restaurant seems very quiet. She takes another sip of her wine. “Oh.”
“Yes, I’d love my old job back.”
She stretches out her arms and swirls the liquid in the glass she’s holding while making a face as if in deep thought. She really does enjoy putting on a show. When she sets her glass down and leans forward slightly, I avert my eyes to avoid seeing the tops of her breasts. But when her cool hand covers mine, I can’t stop myself from flinching. Her fingers stroke my skin, soft, slow. This whole charade literally makes my skin crawl. Some might call it sexual harassment. Me, I see it like it is—an older woman looking for attention. I was always good at giving her just enough. But tonight, walking the line seems more difficult.
“We might be able to work something out,” she says.
I look anywhere but at her. “Work something out how?”
She clears her throat. “Listen Ben I’m not going to beat around the bush. I want the article you wrote before everything happened.”
I guess the cougar wants my piece, not me. Although I’m not sure I should be shocked by this turn of events. After a beat, I answer. “Come on, Christine. You know I killed that story a long time ago.”
“Yes, I do. But you wrote it with intentions to publish. Didn’t you?”
I raise my brows. “Of course I did. Why do you want it now?”
“Do you really need to ask? It’s breaking news. Front-page news, even. It was the catalyst behind everything that has happened.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Ben. No more games. You and I both know what happened. I’ve been around this business too long.”
“Well, I don’t have it.” The muscles in my jaw tighten. All I want is to put that part of my life behind me and move forward. “That story is old news. You know I’m good at my job. I can help increase the paper’s circulation. You know I can.”
Her stare is relentless.
My wasted brain assesses the situation, but there’s no way out of this that will end well. I need some time to think. I set my glass down and decide I’ll hit the restroom. But my shaky fingers let go too early and the goblet tumbles over, spilling the wine everywhere. I grab my napkin and quickly start wiping it up. Her hand covers mine and she leaves it there.
“Christine, what are you doing?” I mutter with my voice a little strained.
She looks at me, and her eyes narrow.
“What?” I ask.
“Dammit, Ben! You worked for me. You owe me. Give me something.”
“I owe you? Like you said, you know how this business works. No one owes anyone anything.” I sit up straight and look across the table into her eyes. Now she looks really pissed. What the fuck? Her lips curl and her nostrils flare in the most unsightly way. She reminds me of one of my mother’s friends, one that I’ve never cared much for. The thought makes me wince. The waiter comes to the table to take our order, but he receives another wave of the hand. This one more exaggerated as Christine barks, “Our check. Now.”
He sputters but doesn’t dare speak.
My stomach lurches and I make a gagging noise. She shoots me an annoyed look.
“Excuse me.” I stand up and race to the bathroom. Fuck, I feel sick. I make it to the bathroom and puke my guts out. A cold sweat coats my body. Not sure if it was the sushi, my nerves, or the wine, but all I know is I have to get out of here. I trudge back to the table but remain standing next to her.
Her stare is unrelenting. The candlelight reflects red on her skin, making her look even angrier. I bow my head and tuck my hands in my pants pockets and try to sound contrite. “Christine, I’m sorry, but I have to leave. I feel really sick.”
Her lips purse in silent rebuke as her glance sweeps me from head to toe before she waves her hand toward the door.
I manage to keep my voice even as I say, “Goodnight, Christine. Think about what I said.”
There’s no response as I turn to walk away. I don’t even care how much the fucking cab costs me because there is no way I can walk home.
“Taxi!” I yell, as soon as my feet hit the pavement.
The road is dark and the streets are bustling with people milling about as I sit in the back seat and close my eyes to block it all out. I wish I could just wake up from this nightmare of a life I’m leading.
When I finally unlock my door, I go straight to bed. The room spins with reflected images from outside onto the ceiling. Again blonde hair morphs into red and pearls turn into twinkling green emeralds across my mind’s eye before there is darkness.
Chapter 6
Sail
I spent the morning on the bathroom floor dry heaving for hours before I felt well enough to make my way back to the bed, where I can’t even pull my shit together long enough to get up for a cup of coffee. Around five, I grab my phone and notice I have a message from Christine. I’m shocked when I listen to it. “Ben, it’s Christine. I thought over what you said yesterday and of course I have a position for you. You start Monday, nine a.m. sharp. See you then. Toodles.”
Fuck me—I didn’t give in and she’s still giving me a job. I instantly feel better. My life is turning around. I can feel it. I head down to Four & Twenty Blackbirds to grab a drink, a sandwich, and a slice of pie with a feeling of h
opefulness I haven’t felt in a while. The chick who’s usually behind the counter isn’t there, but then again it’s later than I usually come in. She’s probably already off work. I order my stuff and sit at my regular booth near the window.
“You do that a lot,” a raspy voice says.
At the sound, I look up to see counter girl with her apron off but grasped tightly in her hands.
“What do I do a lot?” I ask her.
“Stare out the window and just look at the people walking by.” She takes a seat across from me.
“They’re interesting to watch.” I point out the window at an older man walking his dog. “See him?”
She nods.
“He’s trying to get his dog to listen to him. He thinks he’s training the dog, but really the dog is training him.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I can see that.” Then she points to a woman with a young boy. “What about her?”
I offer her a big grin. “Oh, that’s easy. Her son wants a toy and she has somewhere to be so she’s telling herself she’s compromising but really she’s bribing.”
She nods again. “Fascinating.”
We go through a couple more rounds and she gets the idea and begins trying it on her own.
That gives me a chance to take a good look at her. She’s cute with dark brown hair and freckles. I’d guess her age at no older than twenty-four. She has an innocence about her that reminds me of Dahl when she was younger.
“I’m Ben.” I reach my hand out.
“Ruby,” she smiles.
“Nice to meet you, Ruby.”
She blushes and I laugh. I haven’t met someone like her in a long time. We talk for about an hour before she looks at her watch. “It’s getting late. I should probably be going.”
I stand up and shove my hands in my pockets. I don’t try to dissuade her or ask her out. “Yeah, me too. I’ll see you around.” I extend my hand again.
Her grip is weak. She’s timid. And she’s blushing again. After spending the past sixty minutes talking to her, I realize she’s not as similar to Dahlia as I first thought. But that’s okay. She was refreshing to talk to. Even though she seems like a nice girl, any kind of romantic entanglement is the farthest thing from my mind right now. I’m not looking for a love interest—girlfriend or otherwise.
“Yeah, see you around.” She smiles.
I’m thinking about heading over to Beck’s as I leave the coffee shop but decide I’ve had enough to drink for a while, and need to be clear headed for my new job on Monday.
***
I could always schmooze a congressman’s wife, a publicist’s sister, even a former teacher’s husband, with a few carefully crafted words. Well-rehearsed flirtation is what Dahl used to call it when she heard me in action. When there was a story, I knew how to set about getting it. It was my calling. I can only hope it still is.
After a week of training for this fucktastic job, I’m finally on my own. Taking in a deep breath, I tell myself I can do this. I can get the story, regardless of what type of story it is. Today should be like going after any other piece—but I know it really won’t be.
I button the last two buttons of my shirt and comb my fingers through my wet hair without glancing in the mirror. I shaved for work today, something I rarely do. The worn leather of my messenger bag in my hand makes me smile. It was the one thing I searched for in the boxes of my stuff that my mom had stored in her attic when I first returned from New York City. I grab it and sling it over my shoulder before walking out the door of the fleabag hotel that has become my home. I decided to stay here until I figure out what’s permanent in my life. But I know I’m stuck here at least until after the trial. Once it ends, I’ll be able to decide if I’m staying in California or heading back to New York City. Who knows, I may even go back to Australia.
I saw Trent last Sunday. I took a bus out to Laguna and we met at the beach. We surfed all morning and then I took him out to lunch. He looks good. He seems to be doing really well. He asked me to help him—he wants to start competing. We discussed the commitment needed to compete and he seems to have it. I know he’s been up before dawn for months and out there conquering wave after wave. He wants me to talk to Serena—to convince her to take him to Hawaii to get the feel of it. He’s planning to go to college in Hawaii and wants to compete in the Pipe Masters. I told him I would try. I also promised that Sundays at the beach would be our thing from now on, but I’d need a few weeks to get a car first. He wanted to give me mine back, but no way was I taking it from him. I know how much he loves it.
Making that phone call to Serena was tough but last night I finally did it. She answered on the first ring. We’d been communicating through Trent since I left for Australia, but hadn’t actually talked in over six months. She asked how I was and I told her the truth—that I was a far cry from getting my shit together but I was much better than the last time she’d seen me. I didn’t bring up Jason. I didn’t have to. Trent told me his father was coming around more and that his mother seemed happier—so I decided to just accept it. In the end, the conversation went extremely well. Turns out, she thinks surfing is helping to keep Trent on course and has already arranged for the two of them to go to Hawaii at the end of the month. I was glad to see her on board, but honestly didn’t expect anything different. After all, she is just like our mother.
Glancing at my watch, I realize I have to jet. Today I have my first official interview. I’ve spent the week learning the ropes, the ins and outs of the job. And I’ve hated every fucking minute of every day. But I still show up, nod my head, and wait for the day to end. Truth is, it pays well and I need the money. I tried to discuss my new position with Christine, but she won’t answer my calls and her secretary just tells me she’s not available. I know her game—she wants what I don’t have to give. So I suck it up and march forward because a job’s a job.
I make one stop by Four & Twenty Blackbirds for my morning cup and as usual I’m greeted by Ruby’s effervescent smile. She’s so grateful that I introduced her to Beck that she now considers me a friend. Turned out her douchebag ex-boyfriend broke up with her a few months ago for another chick but refused to move out. Ruby’s a nice girl, but a little naïve and I can see how she could easily be someone’s doormat. At first when she told me her story all I could think was I wasn’t looking to be her girlfriend—that I’m not someone’s shoulder to cry on. But she looked really down in the dumps. So I grabbed Beck and we paid the douchebag ex-boyfriend a visit when I knew she was working. With just a little coercion he agreed to move out.
On my morning coffee stop the next day I invited her along with me to Beck’s after work that night. I didn’t want her to be there when the dickface moved out. She agreed and she and Beck hit it off immediately. They talked nonstop while I drank my beer and tuned them out. When I was ready to head home, Beck said he’d see to it that she got home safely. He did all right. And they’ve been together ever since. Apparently now I’m a matchmaker—fuck me.
Handsome palm trees loom over the cab as I ride over to the Montage Beverly Hills. I fucking hate having to take a taxi to move around town. I hope to get a new set of wheels over the weekend. I’m actually thinking about a bike. Why not?
Rows of sycamore trees, manicured topiaries, and sculpted metal benches line the driveway. I’ll give it to them—the place has charm. The lobby is simply decorated, but carries such an air of sophistication that even I wouldn’t mind sitting down and having a drink. The elevators are nestled in the corner and I ride one to the tenth floor. The hallways are so nicely decorated that for a minute I forget I’m actually in a hotel.
The door swings open and my muscles tense—fuck, I don’t know if I can do this. But I take a deep breath and then realize my interviewee is standing in front of me. I’m surprised she doesn’t have an assistant doing her dirty work. She’s a little skinnier than she looks in the magazines. A little too skinny. The hotel robe she’s wearing hangs off her and her hair looks like she has
n’t brushed it yet today. Yeah, she’s a disheveled mess. I’d be willing to bet that blow is her drug of choice. I worked with people like her for two years. Looking closely into her eyes, I’m pretty sure she’s straight right now or I’d be gone.
She pats her hair and then tucks a piece behind her ear. “You must be Ben Covington from the LA Times.”
“I am indeed.” I grin at her.
“I’m Sloan Bennett.” She looks down at herself and tugs at her robe to straighten it.
“I didn’t doubt that for a second. Your beauty speaks for itself.” I extend my hand to greet her. “Pleased to meet you.” I make sure the charm is on full force as I try to take this job seriously.
She rubs away some black splotches from under her eyes. “I’m so sorry I’m not dressed. In all honesty I was expecting a Dominick Dunne type, not . . .” She clears her throat. “Never mind. Come on in.”
I laugh and flash her another smile. She leads me to the suite’s main area. The room is large and spacious. Modern chairs and sofas done in monotone colors cluster around a large wooden table.
“Please sit down. Can I get you something to drink?” she asks casually.
I sink back on one of the black cushions of the sofa and open my briefcase to remove my list of questions. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
I look over the list I wrote in my small notebook.
Questions for Sloan Bennett
How did she and Tike meet
Who is designing her gown
Will the vows be traditional or hand written
Who is attending
Where will it be held
She pours herself a glass of white wine out of a crystal decanter from the bar in the corner and has a seat very close to me. She sets her glass down and reaches across me to grab a pack of cigarettes off the table. “So, Ben, how does a guy like you get a job like this?” she asks tapping on the pack.
