by Lane, Arie
While I had planned on spending Christmas here with Aggie, she asked if I minded if she went and spent the holidays with her great nieces. I can’t possibly ask her to stay. I have gotten to spend so many wonderful holidays with her, it was only right that she gets to experience the holidays with the new little ones. Her nephew’s wife had triplet girls earlier in the year and they are each getting ready to walk. I know how much Aggie wants to be there for it, so I bought her plane ticket and told her to stay for as long as she wanted.
I call Dante to ask if he still has that envelope from Bentley. I want to see what the city stamp says for the post office. An hour later, I hear back from him. Apparently he’s been busy entertaining his new beau’s parents and couldn’t step away. I wait on the phone as he grabs the letter and hope that the mark is still legible. A minute later, he jumps back on the line and informs me the post stamp reads Eureka, and then gives a quick goodbye.
Opening my laptop back up, I look to see how far Eureka is from the town the shoot is in. Imagine my surprise when it turns out to be just a mere fifteen miles away. I send a text to Cage and tell him I’ll need a ride from the airport, and to find me a room somewhere in Eureka. He questions why I want to go all the way up there. I don’t want to get my hopes up so I tell him the town just sounds lucky.
When my plane lands, I get off and meet up with Cage, who is already waiting for my bags. “Anything new?” I ask.
“Not much. Jacob has been busy with his family so there hasn’t been much on that front. He said he’d meet up with us here after the new year to continue the search if we don’t find her before then.”
“We’ll find her before then. Did you get me a room in town like I asked?”
“Yeah, that’s an interesting little town you chose. Care to explain why? And what happens if you find Bentley and she still wants to be left alone Tryst. What are you going to do then?”
“Are you shitting me right now?” I ask. “I don’t need to hear that kind of shit, Cage. Why the fuck would she still push me away?”
“I don’t know, man. I just think you should consider it as a possibility. It might be a bad idea to get your hopes so fucking high. She’s already taken off twice. She told you flat out she doesn’t want you to look for her. Yet here you are acting like a puppy searching for its long lost master. She had her reasons, Tristan, and they weren’t all her mother. Just think about that before you decide to throw everything you got into the ring.”
“She’s not a fucking fighter Cage; there’s nothing to throw in. Either she wants me or she doesn’t. But I don’t think she had any good fucking reason other than the sheer amount of fear her mother instilled in her. That bitch is long gone. She’s never coming back, and I’m sure by now Bentley knows that.”
“I know. Just be careful. This need you’ve created for her...it’s fucking consuming you. So just promise me you’ll think about what I said. You can want someone to the point where it’s no longer love and becomes purely obsession. Don’t cross that line, Tristan.”
I nod at him in understanding. He’s right. Bentley is my obsession, but not because I don’t love her. My obsession is my need for her to know happiness. To know what it’s really like to be loved unconditionally. And there it is, my one truth. Bentley is my unconditional. There is nothing in this fucking world she could ever do that will make me stop loving her.
When we reach the quaint town of Eureka, I’m awed to see everything so cheerfully decorated. We pull up to the inn where Cage made accommodations for me. I have a few errands I need to run and before meeting with the photographer tomorrow.
We decide to grab some lunch before checking out the scenery. While heading to some mom and pop joint, I see someone who I could have sworn is Bentley. There is just one problem with that theory: She’s holding onto the arm of a man who could easily be her father. Bentley never struck me as the sugar daddy type, and there is no way in hell she would go around fucking some old bag of skin. No way in fucking hell could anyone convince me of that shit. I try to convince myself that my mind is playing tricks on me, yet I can’t help the nagging sensation inside of me screaming that it’s her.
They enter the same place we’re heading into and I decide to ease my idiotic fears by confirming that it really isn’t Bentley. Walking into the small restaurant, I take a look around for the pair that entered a few moments earlier, but I don’t see them anywhere. Cage takes my cause upon himself, flirting with the hostess before discretely asking about the couple who entered before us. She leads us to a section where we are far enough away to see them, but not hear their conversation.
I don’t want to be a creeper, especially if it isn’t Bentley. I watch as the woman stands up, placed a kiss on the man’s cheek and then heads to the restrooms. Cage catches me staring and turns to see her as well. There no mistaking it; it’s Bentley, and she with this older dude. I can’t fucking wrap my head around it. It just doesn’t make any fucking sense. Why the hell would she be with this fucker when she knows how I feel about her?
Sickened by what we both witnessed, we decide to take the food to go. I don’t waste my time waiting for it though; I take off while leaving Cage behind. I’m going fucking nuts. I want to hurt something. I fucking killed for her, and this is what I get in return? She fucking replaces me with some senior citizen? No fucking way! I should storm back through that fucking door and drag her the hell out here, and see what the fuck is up. But there’s just one problem with that fucking logic. I told myself I did this so she could find happiness, I’d be a fucking hypocrite to try and take that away from her now.
I’m pacing back and forth when Cage exits the building.
“His name is Marco. He used to frequent here often until a month ago. The girl said he had some kind of heart attack and no one had heard from him since until this week,” Cage informs me.
I don’t know why he’s bothering...why the fuck should I care about this dude's story. He’s got my girl hanging on his fucking arm. If he’s looking for sympathy, he’s looking in the wrong fucking direction. If he wasn’t some old man, he’d be picking his fucking teeth up off the floor.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Whoever the fuck he is, he better make her happy. Because if he doesn’t, I’ll tear him the fuck apart.”
“Tryst, you can’t stay here and watch over her. It’s fucking creepy and you’ll be fucking stalking her. She’d never want that and you know it.”
“I know,” I reply while walking back towards the inn. “I just don’t understand. Who the fuck is he? Why would she cross the country to be with this man? Did she know this dude before? Is this the dude Ele thought she was secretly meeting when he took off last year? Jacob said there wasn’t anyone in her fucking life. How can she go from being alone to just up and moving to be with some fucking guy unless she somehow knew him before.”
“Maybe she did. Maybe she knew him before. Give Jacob his name and let him run it, see what he comes back with. He could be something other than a lover, Tryst. I mean think about that for a second. The woman in that restaurant seemed to know him pretty well. She doesn’t recall ever seeing Bentley with him before. And think about the timing Tristan…this dude was in a coma when Bentley took off on Jacob. That doesn’t exactly add up. Make sure you get the whole picture before you go thinking the worst of her. You said so yourself, this isn’t like Bentley. So stop assuming that she’s fucking this dude, because one that’s fucking nasty and two it’s just fucking nasty,” he laughs before shoving my arm, and giving it a punch before walking into the room.
I can’t help but dwell on what he fucking said. What the fuck would she be doing with that guy? He’s old enough to be her fucking father. I keep circling back on that, and then it hits me…
“Son of a bitch!” I say, startling Cage and causing him to drop his food in his lap. I watch him jump up to brush the hot food away from his pants.
“Now what?” he asks, not even trying to mask the aggravation in his voice. Not
that I can blame him. The food is scalding and his crotch is feeling the full effects of that heat.
“That’s it! It has to be! When Darla was tied up she talked about how much she hated the man who ruined her. Dante told me he was some director who killed her acting career after she tried to get pregnant and blackmail him into making her a star. She told me when Bentley was two that he tried to take custody of her. Why the fuck would he try and take custody of a baby if that baby wasn’t his? Mother fucker…I’m betting he’s the reason she came out here. He’s not some guy she’s dating; he’s her father.”
“You can’t be fucking serious. Man this just gets shittier by the minute. You’re telling me all of this time, Bentley has been tortured into believing that neither of her parents gave a shit about her, and now she has to live with being abandoned by her real father. Why would she even give that piece of shit the time of day? He left her behind to be abused by that fucking cunt.”
“That’s just it though. He didn’t, at least not at first. When he tried to take custody of her, Darla flipped the fuck out. She cut the brake lines on his car. Only he wasn’t he one driving, his wife was. She murdered his wife, but there wasn’t enough evidence to prove it was her. Darla told me how he still tried to interfere, and how each time he did she made sure to hurt Bentley, making each instance worse until he finally stayed away.”
“Why not go to the police? He was a grown fucking man, Tristan. He should have protected her.”
“Darla said he tried a few times. Apparently that bitch had a lot of connections. Darla wasn’t exactly a pushover. She’s from a very wealthy family, and knew a lot of powerful people. She retained those connections even after she walked away from her family’s influence.”
“So what? You think Bentley is here to make up for lost time?” he asks.
“Wouldn’t you? If you just found out that you had family out there, that they once gave a shit, and that they were sick. You said he was in a coma. If she knew that, no way would she not come. She would never miss the chance to see him. I mean...wouldn’t you want to get to know what you missed out on? When I found out I had family on my mother’s side, a part of me couldn’t wait to get to know them. I can understand that need. She’s always longed to feel like she belonged somewhere.”
“I guess that makes sense. So how do you want to do this? You can’t just go back to that restaurant and just confront her. She’d kick your ass for disregarding her wishes. You need to tread lightly here, Tristan, especially if you’re right and she did come out here for family. Right now you’re still speculating. We don’t know who he is.”
Cage is right. I’d probably end up like one of those poor bastards in her books if I stormed in there demanding answers. I’m not sure how to proceed though. I just know I’m not returning home without knowing where her heart lies. In truth, I don’t know if I’ll be leaving at all. If she says she still loves me, yet insists on staying, I won’t be walking away.
I decide to take it one day at a time, starting with the photo shoot. I want to know who the author is behind this cover. Rumor has it she has a new book releasing. If this is for her cover, I’ll be making damn sure I get the job.
I call Sarah, the photographer. She is reluctant to tell me who the contract is for, but eventually, I wear her down. I’m right; it is for Bentley. Sarah doesn’t know our history so I make a convincing argument that I really need this. It’s amazing what a bit of sweet talking and a little harmless flirting will get you.
Sarah promises to pay special attention to the details of my shoot. She believes she knows what Bentley wants and she’ll make sure to deliver. This job is as good as in the bag. That is as long as Bentley doesn’t reject it, which I seriously doubt she will.
I send Jacob a message letting him know I found her, and caught him up on all of the sordid details. He confirms my suspicions by finding the court documents showing one Marco Linzetti vs. Darla Celeste in a custody battle. It shows that the case was dropped shortly after Bentley’s second birthday. There are also records of a paternity test proving that Marco is Bentley’s father.
Jacob looked even further into Marco and confirmed that his wife Wendy died under suspicious circumstances. He also found that Marco’s recent disappearance and reappearance is due to a cardiac arrest and a subsequent coma. His medical records show that he was released from a private facility just this past week, after waking from the coma.
Bentley recently filed a change of address for a location just north of town on a secluded strip of beach property. Again, records show the property had belonged to Marco until recently. Paperwork was filed around the same time Bentley took off that show her with new ownership of the property as well as several others that belonged to Marco. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Marco was setting his affairs in order, and I can’t help but wonder if the old man is dying.
I decide to check the property out after the shoot tomorrow. For tonight, I’m going to get some rest and find something on which to beat my pent up frustration.
Bentley
It’s after noon by the time I saunter down the steps. Marco informs me that I will have several designers at the house tomorrow morning for a dress fitting. It seems that is annual Christmas masquerade wasn’t deterred by his recent coma, and I will need to be dressed appropriately for the occasion. I’d much rather sit in my room catching up on some reading instead of parading around in a ball gown and frilly mask, but apparently that isn’t an option.
I’m told everyone will be in formal attire and no one will be allowed to enter without both an invitation and a mask. Apparently, high society also calls for completely anonymity. Since he’s over the moon about my attending, I suppose I can suffer through the night. Besides if I hate it, I can always slip away once the party begins.
Today is going to be a busy afternoon; Marco has several things he insists must be done today, starting with lunch. There’s a darling little restaurant in town that serves authentic Italian, or so I’m told. It’s Marco’s favorite eatery and he insists that we go there for lunch. I haven’t had time to become familiar with any of the places in town so his recommendation sounds mouth watering. Once in town, we pull up to a building that looks like it was shipped straight from some old world village. Stepping inside is like walking into a charming Italian inn. I’m instantly hit with the smell of garlic and fresh bread, which makes both my mouth water and my stomach grumble.
Marco is going on about how amazing all of the food is, and insists that I let him order for me. He swears I will love the dish that he has in mind. I prefer to choose my own meals, but eventually relent and excuse myself to go wash up. When I return to the table, I find him really distracted. I try to pry whatever is on his mind out of him, but he is intent on keeping me in the dark. All I know is something happened from the time we sat down to lunch, and the time it took me to get back from washing my hands. Looking around the restaurant, I search for any signs of what may have changed his demeanor.
After lunch I’m told we will be shopping for “sparkling accessories” as he puts it. I tell Marco that I rarely wear jewelry and I’m not a flashy kind of girl, but he isn’t hearing it. He said it’s customary, and that as a hostess, I’m expected to look regal and refined. Neither of those words are words I would use to describe myself. I prefer to be conservative and modest. This party is already tearing me away from my comfort zone, and it’s very possible I’ll be drunk before the end of the night.
After another ten minutes of useless protests, we arrive at a very upscale jewelry store filled with breathtaking jewels. Marco, who I learned is a fashion aficionado, decides that my dress needs to be either lavender or a light blue to complement my eyes. Therefore, my jewelry should be a mix of aquamarines, tanzanite and diamonds. Looking at some of the price tags, I hope these pieces are for loan like they do for red carpet events, but that would be hoping for too much.
As he looks through the pieces, a ring catches my eye. I’ve seen something very sim
ilar to it back home. It is an absolutely gorgeous ring. The diamond gives an illusion that its depth has a much farther reach than it really does. I’m in absolute awe; it is simply perfect...well...almost. It is missing the intricate detailing of the one back home. Otherwise, it would be the most stunning engagement ring.
My father finds my nearly drooling as he finishes making his purchases. “That’s quite a beautiful ring. It would be a spectacular sight on your finger, Bambina. It’s truly a shame that your fondest asshat has moved on, as surely he would grace your lovely fingers with such a beautiful bauble,” he quips.
I think the jewelry is getting to his head because we’ve already had this conversation. “I told you Marco, Tristan’s moved on. I’m sure by now he’s happily in love and settling down with her, and no I don’t go stalk his Facebook to confirm it. I promised myself I would let him go and I am,” I say while heading for the door and effectively ending this conversation.
I can’t think about Tristan right now or what he is doing. It’ll just drag me down a long depressing road that I’m not sure I can handle. I don’t want to think of him and his new woman trimming their tree together or shopping for that perfect present. I’m already trying to fight off the depression I feel during this time of year, and refuse to let my thoughts drag me any further down.
We ride home in relative silence and I excuse myself once we get back. I don’t even stay to look at what my father purchased. His words got the best of me and I’d rather not have any witnesses as I wallow in self pity.
As soon as I get to my room, I pull my phone out and started pounding away at the keys. I need a friend, but more than anything I need confirmation of my biggest fear. I don’t want the details; I just want to know that he’s happy. I know if that’s all I’m asking, that it will be all that Dante tells me. He knows me inside and out, and he knows if I need to hear something specific not to overindulge me. I just hope that after all of this time he doesn’t hate me.
