by N. K. Smith
Having written that, I will say, she’s outdoing herself this year for my birthday. I think I’d be happier with a stay-in birthday, but the plans have already been made. And Elsie makes a good point when she tells me that the only way to be seen and matter to people is to, well, be seen and matter to people.
But despite this new persona I’m wearing like battle armor, deep inside, I feel like I’m still a big mess. I feel uneasy a lot, but I force it down. Fake it until you make it. I hope this confidence turns real soon because while I feel comfortable around Trent and I can stand my ground a little better with Elsie and my career, I’m almost positive that if I experienced even a little push back on any front, my armor will crack and everyone will see that I’m a trembling disaster inside.
***
There are more people here than I expected. I don’t make the mistake to think they’re all my friends, because let’s face it, I don’t have two hundred friends. No, most of these people just want free booze and to rub elbows with the famous.
“Happy twenty-fifth.”
I recognize Peter’s deep voice as he wishes me a happy birthday. The soft heat of his breath against my ear sends shivers down my body. It’s the most thrilling sensation I’ve experienced in a while.
I turn, slide my arms around his waist and press my cheek into his chest. Thank God for Peter Truelove. He hugs me back and plants a kiss on the top of my head. His scent is better than anything an aromatherapy company could come up with. Just one deep breath of him calms my nerves.
He is exactly what I need right now. I’ve been on edge more than usual, so I went to my doctor the other day and came out with a prescription for lorazepam to help me control my increasing anxiety. I didn’t think I needed it, but Elsie was very convincing. “It’ll make you feel good. Who cares if you’re not agoraphobic or riddled with panic attacks every single day? Just get the pills and take them when you want to feel calm,” she said.
After walking into this big hall that’s been taken over for a celebration of my birth, I feel like I need one. Thankfully for me, the very essence of Peter does what those pills do, only better.
But the embrace can’t last forever. Peter pulls back but keeps an arm around my back as he leads me toward a quieter spot. I’m thankful he chooses to stay next to me and not stand across the little table. “So, how’re things going so far?”
“What? The party?” I ask.
“Yeah. Your crazy blowout. Elsie outdid herself.”
“Totally.”
Peter picks up on my bored tone because he rests his forearms on the tall table and leans toward me with a wry smile playing on his lips. “You sound thrilled.”
Again, I look around and see everyone laughing. It feels like years since I’ve laughed. “Everyone around me is having a great time.”
“But you’re not?”
“Not so far. I mean, I’m not having a horrible time, but, you know . . .”
“I don’t know.” He straightens, then touches the edges of my mouth with the tips of his index fingers. Peter pushes up the corners of my lips until I can see my cheeks appear in my view. “Why don’t you smile much anymore? When we were kids—”
“Shit was easier when we were kids.” I move my head back just enough to let my fake smile fall. He reaches out and cups my cheek. It’s a comfortable casual thing for the both of us since he does it so often.
“You put too much pressure on yourself.”
I take in a deep breath and look from Peter to the crowd around me, all of them here in my honor—or so they say. But they’re not doing much beyond getting drunk and pitching production ideas. Peter has no idea of the amount of pressure I put on myself versus the pressure everyone else puts on me. I’m not sure that I have a clear idea of it, but either way, I don’t want to think about it, so I grab his hand from my face and hold it.
There is something unique about the way his palm feels against mine. I’ve held hands with plenty of guys, but Peter’s feels the best. It’s comforting. I could stay in this spot with our hands connected all evening, and it would be the best birthday ever.
But then I see Shyla hanging on the very edge of Liliana’s group of admirers. I pull my hand away from his. She’s a better version of me. Someone lovable as evidenced by her parents still being a major part of her life and her having enraptured Peter enough to get him to ask her out on a date. I bet he’s never even thought of me like that.
I clear my throat just as Peter begins to reach for my hand again. “I think your date’s looking for you.”
He glances up and gives Shyla a wave when he meets her eyes. “She’s not looking for me though. Not really, anyway. She’s looking for me to go hang with her so I can help her get into Liliana’s good graces.”
“Lili doesn’t like her?”
He raises his eyebrow and quirks up the side of his mouth. “Shyla’s polite and kind, and hangs off Lili’s every word. Of course, Lili doesn’t like her.”
“Plus she’s dating you,” I add. I nudge his arm with my shoulder. “Lili never likes anyone you date.”
“Neither do you.” Peter nudges me with his shoulder and gives me a smile.
I roll my eyes. “You know how protective she’s always been of you. I think she had a thing for you for a while.” The words make me feel a bit sick.
Peter shakes his head but isn’t surprised at my revelation. It’s not a revelation at all. Lili was quite blatant about her interest in him before she rocketed into the Hollywood stratosphere. “Lili has always had a thing for the next big thing. I’ve never been big enough for her.”
I think about how well I used innuendo with Trent, which makes me feel brave enough to try a little on Peter. He’s one of my best friends, and since he seems dismissive of Shyla at the moment, she doesn’t factor in, either. “I don’t know, I saw it that one time, and it looked big enough for me.”
His eyes are huge as he just stares at me for a moment. Shame and embarrassment washes over me, and I fight back the urge to just walk away. When I hold my ground, Peter relaxes. He leans down and brings his lips to my ear. “Well, you know, that one time when you saw it? Skinny dipping in cool water didn’t do me any favors. Plus I’m older now, so . . .”
Is this really happening? I lick my lips. Is this flirting? Am I flirting with my best friend? Is he flirting back? Oh, my God, is this us flirting? If it is, I don’t want it to end. “Is that an offer to—”
I’m cut off by the melodic voice of Peter’s girlfriend. “Look who I ran into, Pete!”
I think I see Peter cringe. But I don’t know if it’s because Shyla has arrived and interrupted our first overt attempt at flirting or if it’s because she called him Pete. Either way, he throws on a grand smile to greet his lovely girlfriend. Peter throws out a hand. “So this is the guy I’ve been seeing with my Adra. I’m Peter, man.”
Trent takes his hand. “I know. It’s great to meet you, I’m Trent.”
My heart still thumps from the excitement of what just passed between Peter and me. The simple thought of being with Peter as something more than friends has my head spinning. It takes a bit, but eventually my heart and head slow enough to something like normal. Even though Peter tries to draw me into the discussion with Trent, I stay mute. Peter is a genuine good guy, but I don’t think he’s that interested in lighting, and I can tell that Shyla is bored out of her mind.
It’s not until she snakes her hand around Peter’s that I start to become uneasy. This sort of nervous panic erupts somewhere deep in my mind and causes my heart to race again. Even if he was flirting and participating in innuendo with me just minutes before, Peter’s focus is on her now. He’s touching her now.
When Trent places his hand over mine, I jump.
I feel like I’m sweating. I don’t quite understand what’s going on. I’m dating Trent, so it’s ridiculous to feel so uncomfortable with him in this moment just because Peter is right next to us. It’s not like I’m in love with Peter Truelove. I mean, I
get that I’ve had feelings for him, at least, but he’s just my friend. My oldest, closest friend. The friend who is tall and muscular with dusty brown hair and amazing eyes. My best friend. The only person who has ever made me feel like I’m worth more than anything in the world.
“What’s up, little tree?” Peter smiles at me as he gives my shoulder a little tap. “You look—”
“I need a drink.”
“Little tree. Because of your last name. I like it.” Trent squeezes my hand. “What would you like? Birthday girls should never have to get their own drinks.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. I have to . . . I have to go to the bathroom anyway.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Peter asks again.
“Yeah, just . . .” Just kind of, sort of in love with my best friend in the world. Just kind of, sort of, having a casual semi-romance with a gaffer from my current movie. Just watching the guy I realized I love holding hands with a woman who looks so much like me online bloggers mis-tag us in captions all the time. Shit. My voice quivers, just like it feels like every part of my body and being is doing right now. Peter’s looking at me. He knows something’s off now, so I have to respond. “Have to pee.”
I try to put a reassuring expression on my face as I leave the table, but I’m not sure it convinced anyone. Well, at least not Peter. He knows me too well. On the way to the bathroom, which is the only place I can think of going to get away from everyone, I stop at the open bar for some whiskey. I down it fast.
The rest room has a placard on the door stating it’s a “Powder Room” rather than a plain old bathroom. I push open the door and am thankful that not many people are in here.
I’m just about to go hide in a stall when I hear, “Adra, sweets, come over here!”
I twirl on my toe, but I can’t see Elsie, so I walk to the little sitting room around the corner. I see her and another fortyish woman with fake blonde hair. They are so blitzed that they have perma-grins on their faces.
“Adra. Adra sweets. Adra honey. Come sit down, baby girl.”
As soon as I do, Elsie holds a golden tube to me. Cocaine is spread all over the glass tabletop. I’d be shocked if I hadn’t already seen this set up a million times before. “Come on, sweets, have a little birthday bump.”
“Oh, you must, you must!” the other woman says and claps her hands. “Birthday bump, birthday bump!”
“You look pitiful, my dear,” Elsie says. “Come on, let me show you how to not give a shit about getting older.”
My age isn’t the reason I feel down, but I don’t say so. Everything slows down in this moment. Here I am, sitting at a table full of coke with my manager and some other woman egging me on, acting as if this is some kind of sorority challenge of who can do the most shots.
I know that this is it. This is the moment I have to choose. Do I keep playing roulette with my emotions, risking it all for the hopes of a high pay off, or do I take the sure bet of numbing them all with this beautiful, white crystal powder lying before me? When I think back on the past few months, the ups and downs seem monumental. It feels like I’ve been all over the place, and I’m so tired of it. That night when I did coke with Elsie, I felt confident. It wasn’t just me pretending to be confident. It wasn’t just me trying on a personality and making it fit. I was confident. That’s what I want. I don’t to struggle to be confident; I just want to be it.
I don’t want to be dating Trent but in love with Peter. I don’t want Peter to be dating Shyla and finally flirting with me. None of this is how it should be, and I’m so tired of thinking about it all the time. If I just do this line, I know that every thought will come together into one, and everything will be clear. I’ll know exactly who I am and what I want. No more guessing or confusing myself. I’ll be with Trent, and Peter will be with Shyla.
On the other hand, I could walk away right now. I could leave Elsie and that woman and the coke right here, go splash some cold water on my face and get a fucking hold on myself.
But in the end, it seems like there’s only one option. I take the tube, hold it to my nose, and lower myself down to the table without thinking.
Chapter 19
Life is great, except for when it’s not, but I’ve found a way in which I don’t even have to pay attention to those parts of life. If only I could stay high permanently. Luckily for me, I live in LA where drugs are plentiful, and I don’t even have to leave my house to get them. Sometimes I do, just for the distraction, but all I really have to do is make a phone call and drugs are delivered quicker than Chinese food. This beautiful little facet of being a celebrity with connections make it so easy to be as high as I want whenever I want.
***
I don’t know why I didn’t go back and tell Peter I’m kind of in love with him; I don’t know why I went into that bathroom and did a line with Elsie, but now that I have, I constantly want to do more. I know it’s stupid to say I’m in control when I’m high, but it feels that way. I feel like the world is mine to create. In reality, I realize I’m not creating anything, and once the high has worn off, I’m shown how much I haven’t done.
Two weeks have already passed since my birthday, and I have nothing to show for it. I haven’t ditched Trent in order to pursue something with Peter. Instead, I’ve allowed our relationship to progress the way it had been. On cocaine, I can compartmentalize everything.
Kind of in love with my best friend? Coke lets me fold that up and tuck it away some little lockbox in the back of a dark closet in my mind.
Don’t feel like anyone loves me? Coke reminds me that I don’t need love.
Only sort of interested in the guy I’m dating? Coke blurs the lines until he’s the most fascinating person in the world and together we’re the greatest thing ever.
But now, everything is blurry, and I get the feeling I’m missing things. Somehow, I wind up at Trent’s apartment. I have no idea why I let him convince me to come here. We’ve been seeing each other for a while, but I always take him back to my house. Today he said wanted to show me his place, so I had my security service send a guy to accompany me. I’m not worried about Trent, but it’s not like he lives in the Hills or anything. Crime is all around his sketchy neighborhood, and I’m not going to become a statistic, so my guard waits outside in the hallway of the apartment building.
Trent wants to gives me a tour of his place, but I excuse myself to freshen up in his bathroom. It’s small and cramped, and I can’t believe people live like this. I’m aware that there are people who have it far worse, but one thing I’ve never had to deal is poverty. I’m sure if you asked them, my parents would claim they were destitute before I came along and provided their bread and butter, but that’s the closest I’ve come to a low class life.
But that’s also as close as I want to be. A few years of hardship made my parents assholes. At least Trent is kind.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t see my reflection; I see weariness. There are no bags under my eyes, but they aren’t sparkling either. They’re dull, and there’s only one way to fix it, so I take out the little vial from my bag and look around for a spot to do a line.
Trent’s vanity is too small and I’m not going to snort coke off a toilet lid, so I get down on my hands and knees and prepare a line on the cheap molded plastic edge of his tub.
Elsie had been right when she described what it feels like when cocaine hits your brain. It’s like fireworks, a grand symphony, and a loud movie premiere all at once. It’s like the whole world looking at me, waving at me, chanting my name, sending thoughts of love and adoration through time and space to encompass me in a blanket of comfort.
I haven’t done nearly enough, but Trent is waiting and the sooner I get out of this dank bathroom, the sooner I can get home and take another hit.
When I get back out to the main room of Trent’s tiny apartment, he takes my hand, and I assume he’s going to lead me to the bedroom. The chemicals racing through my body give me jittery, jum
py energy, but they also make it easier to get what I want, and sometimes I don’t want to be taken to a bedroom and draped across a bed. Sometimes I don’t want soft kisses and trailing lips. Sometimes I just want to be picked up and nailed against the front door.
Another unexpected yet exciting side effect of the cocaine is an increased sexual courage, so, as Trent tugs me by my arm, I dig my heels in and tug back. He stops, and his eyes twinkle in question. I lick my lips as I shake my head. Dropping his hand, I back up to the front door, and beckon him with one finger to follow me. When he’s in front of me, I start peeling open his button-down shirt and place fine little kisses on his body as I sink to my knees.
“Don’t you want to—”
I look up and smile. “I want the bodyguard outside to hear you pound me into the door. I want your neighbors to come out into the hallway see what’s going on.” There is more I could say, but I don’t. I unbuckle his belt, unzip his jeans, and free the part of him I’m interested in.
Part of the bliss of being high is not caring if I’m in control. Being confident is better than being in control. And to be honest, it feels good. So as I have sex—or more accurately, get fucked—by this beautiful specimen of a man, my brain goes on vacation, and all my worries melt away.
But the worries don’t stay away forever. By the end of it, I can tell my body is satisfied, but all I can think about is another line.
Chapter 20
It’s been weeks since I’ve opened up this journal file. When I look back, all I did was complain or bitch or whine, and now I don’t have so much to bitch about. Plus, who has the time? And I just don’t give a shit any more.
***
We’re down to the final weeks of shooting for Outside the Club, and as reserved as I was to do it, I’m now convinced the Lenny Waters’s magic is in this movie. It’s going to be a big hit, not only with audiences but with critics, too.
