by Claire Adams
Suddenly, a loud buzzing sound filled the air as the blare of my alarm clock destroyed the wonderful dream.
As I turned off the offensive noise, I came to the realization that I wasn't with Ethan: I was back in my crappy, new apartment. In fact, I hadn’t seen Ethan (or Mick, for that matter) since that fateful night. It was hard to believe it had been nearly a month since my photoshoot for Speed Magazine. So much happened in that time, it was hard to wrap my brain around it.
I'd ridden the cab from Beverly Hills to the bus station and bought a ticket back home. When I called my parents’ house from the station and asked them to come pick me up, my mother instantly started crying.
"We missed you so much." She hugged me so tight I could hardly breathe. She pounced on me the second I walked through the front door of my childhood home with Dad trailing behind me.
"I missed you, too, Mom," I said, and my own voice was choked with emotion.
"We're just glad to know you're okay."
"I sent you letters over the years, and I called every Christmas and every Mother's Day and Father's Day," I pointed out.
"I know, and it was great to hear from you, but you never really know if your child is safe and sound until you can look them in the face. God, sweetie, you've gotten so thin. Let me make you something to eat."
Mom turned to the refrigerator and started pulling out ingredients.
"I'm fine, Mom. I'm a professional model. If I put on weight, it will ruin my career."
I told them then about my life in L.A., the jobs I'd had, and my big break modeling for the cover of Speed Magazine. My father was particularly impressed and wanted to know every detail about the bike. I left out the part about Ethan and going to his mansion that night. Finally, I told them about Mick and our big break-up. My father was livid.
"That no good son-of-a-bitch. I told you that piece of shit was no good from the start. I told you not to keep seeing him, that he would take advantage of you. Then, you had to go and run off to L.A. with him. If he were here, I'd kick his ass."
"Calm down, Joe," my mother Sharon said. "It's not our place to I-told-you-so the girl. We're her family. It's our job to support her in this difficult time and welcome her home. I'm just grateful things weren't worse, and I'm so happy that she's home now."
Mom started talking then about fixing up my room and how great it would be having me back again. I hated to break her heart, but I had to interrupt. "I'm not moving back to stay."
"What do you mean? Of course, you are. You just said you can't go back to that apartment with Mick and that you never want to see him again."
"Yes, I did. But I also told you that I just had my big break modeling for the cover of Speed Magazine. When that issue comes out next month, everyone will see it. I'll be the talk of L.A. Who knows what kind of job offers I'll get from this and where it will take my career. If I want to take advantage of every opportunity, I'll need to be where the action is: in L.A."
"Can't you stay here until then?" Mom was sulking, and the food she was frying in a skillet on the stove started to burn. Quickly, she turned her attention to it and started frantically stirring.
I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and kissed the top of her graying head. "Oh, Mom. I love you and Dad. That's why I wanted to come see you, but this is just a visit. I love my life in L.A., too, and I want to return to it. I love the city, and the atmosphere, and the climate, and the people. I love the crowds, the culture, and the sunshine. I think I was meant to be an L.A. girl all my life, but I never realized it until I got there. It was the one thing Mick did right.
“It took a few years, but I finally got my big break in my career, and it was everything I wanted it to be. I felt like a star, and I want more of it. Many models go their entire careers without an opportunity like this, and I don't want to waste it. I'm going back."
I could see that my parents wanted to argue, but thankfully, they didn't. I ended up staying with them for an entire week, and it was just what I needed to recharge my batteries and invigorate my soul. I got to see my brothers and sisters and my new niece and nephews that I hadn't even met yet. I got to revisit long-lost friends and walk down memory lane.
In the end, it was obvious that I had outgrown the sleepy little town where I grew up. I craved the excitement of L.A., the night life, and the glamour.
True, I had never wanted it while in the middle of it, but still it had been there, lighting up the city and giving it an energy that penetrated all things. Now, when my cover came out next month, I might even actually be part of the heart of that glamour – I sure hoped so. It was the one thing I wanted more than anything.
It was funny, though. Even as I said that to my old friend from high school, my mind popped up an image of Ethan. Maybe there was something else I longed for in L.A., too.
After the week visiting my parents, I took the bus back and started getting my life put back together. I'd earned enough money from the Speed Magazine shoot to get myself an apartment and a less-than-decent car. The beat-up Toyota looked like crap, but it got me where I needed to go.
I bought some used furniture for my new place and a brand-new bed that wouldn't be tainted with any bad memories. Mick kept calling me on my cell, begging me to forgive him and take him back. After a while, he gave up and started leaving messages saying that he wanted to be friends and would I like to come pick up any of my stuff he had carefully set aside. Eventually, he gave up on that and left a final message telling me to go fuck myself and that he'd left all my shit outside, so if I didn't come get it, the bums would carry it off.
I knew the keepsakes I had from my grandmother would be in those boxes and pictures of my family I'd never be able to replace, so I'd better rescue them while I still could.
I didn't want or need anything else from the life I'd spent with Mick. They were all wasted years to me now and I was ready to move on to a new and fabulous future as an independent woman.
The only regret I had was that I hadn't seen or spoken to Ethan. I missed him, not to mention the fabulous things he did to my body, but I knew things were best left forgotten between us.
He was a notorious bachelor, and I wanted more than that from a man. I wanted the same old dream I'd always wanted: to get married and travel the world with my husband. Ethan could never give me that, and I would only get hurt if I tried to make our night together anything more than it was: a one-night stand.
Grabbing my purse, I headed out the door. First, I'd stop by Mick's and get my things. Then I had a modeling job for an advertising circular. It was a small-paying gig, but it would allow me to pay next month's rent without having to dig into the savings account I had opened with what was left of my paycheck from the motorcycle shoot. Soon, I wouldn't have to worry about things like that. Soon, I would be a star.
Chapter Twelve
Ethan
"Fuck me like a dirty girl. A really dirty girl," Angela gasped and moaned, placing my hand on her ass and begging me to spank her like I usually did.
I had her bent over my desk and was tugging on her ponytail while I fucked her from behind, but she just wasn't doing it for me like she used to. Only by closing my eyes and imagining Kayla was I able to bring myself to climax, but I didn't want to do it inside of another woman. It just seemed wrong, even though Kayla and I weren't in a relationship. In fact, I hadn't seen or heard from her since I woke up alone the morning after her photoshoot.
So, just as I was about to come, I pulled out of Angela's sloppy cunt and shot my load all over her ass.
"Yeah, baby. Now I really am a dirty girl," Angela moaned and started rubbing my jizz into her skin like lotion. It disgusted me, and I had to turn away so she wouldn't see.
"Get dressed. I've got an appointment with Keith in just a few minutes," I said, desperate to get her off my desk.
I should have ended things with her long ago, but when Kayla disappeared the way she had, I was looking for someone, anyone, to fill the emptiness I was suddenly feeling. I'd n
ever been so hung up on a woman. The night we spent together was incredible, and when I awoke the next morning, I was actually looking forward to spending the entire day with her.
I'd planned it all out in my mind. First, I'd serve her a delicious breakfast in bed, then we'd fuck in the shower and get dressed. I'd take her riding on the pair of bikes I kept at home and show her the most beautiful parts of the city. Then, a romantic picnic at my favorite, secret hide-a-way where I'd fuck her out in the tall grass.
To top off the day, I'd take her shopping on Rodeo Drive and buy her an elegant evening gown and maybe some jewels to go with it. Show her what it was like to be treated right. Then we'd have dinner at the best restaurant in town. I'd take her home with me and we'd spent the whole night fucking just like we had the night before. I'd make her body come in ways she never knew her body could. It would be a magical day shared just between the two of us.
I'd woken up to find she was gone. I drove by her old apartment, but it was obvious from the way Mick was pacing outside yelling at her through his cell phone that she wasn't home. I thought about calling her myself, but I wasn't going to stoop to doing the same thing Mick was doing. She had my number, and she knew where I worked. If Kayla wanted to get a hold of me, she would. The next move was entirely up to her. Only, the next move never came.
Frustrated and alone, I let Angela service me in the way she always had. She had a talented tongue and a decent body, but my enthusiasm just wasn't in it. Every time I wanted to come, I had to close my eyes and think of Kayla. I knew it wasn't fair to Angela, but if Kayla wasn't going to contact me, what else could I do?
"Mr. Colson, Keith Wilkes is here to see you, sir," Angela's voice echoed through the intercom. I startled to realize I hadn't even noticed her leave my office to return to her desk.
"Great. Send him in," I said and moments later, Keith swept through the door with his usual, charming good looks.
"We're ready for the launch. The All-American is available for purchase at all of our retail outlets and the issue of Speed Magazine hits the stands Friday morning. I've got you scheduled for press interviews all that day, and then that evening will be our party celebrating the launch of our newest and greatest motorcycle yet."
"Great job, Keith. You worked your ass off on this one, and I appreciate it. You'll find a bonus on your paycheck this month to prove it."
"Good," he joked, and we shot the bull for a little while, discussing various details about his life and then big the launch campaign. He really was the best of the best.
"Well, it's going to be one hell of a party. Who are you taking as your date this year?" he wanted to know.
"I'm not sure I'll take anybody. These things always get splashed all over the tabloids, and then I get plagued by paparazzi wanting to know if the date I brought is my new girlfriend. I tried that once, and it wasn't for me. Never again. I'll just show up stag. I'm sure you've invited plenty of eligible young models for me to hit on all night long."
It was no secret that I went for the model type, and every aspiring star out there was always trying to hook up with me, hoping it would advance her career by landing her a spot on the cover of my magazine. Unfortunately for them, I didn't trade favors that way; but they didn't need to know that until after I'd come.
"Oh yes, there'll be tons of models there for you to choose from. Speaking of which, I sent an invitation to the launch party to that girl who did the cover shoot, what's her name? Karla Bran?"
"Kayla Brandt," I corrected him.
"Yeah, her. Well, the invitation came back as a wrong address. Can you have Angela dig up her number out of her file and give her call? It would look good for the press if she was at the launch party."
"Sure, will do," I said. A few minutes later, Keith left, closing my office door behind him. I picked up the phone and immediately dialed Kayla myself. I'd been looking for an excuse to call her for the past month that wouldn't make me seem needy or weak, and this was it.
"Hello," I heard her sweet voice and my heart leapt in my chest, only to fall again as I realized it wasn't her, just her answering machine. "You've reached Kayla Brandt. Please leave a message at the beep."
"It's Ethan Colson. We're having a party to celebrate the launch of the All-American on Friday, and as the cover girl of our magazine, it's important that you be there. Contact me at my office for details. Goodbye."
I sounded curt and businesslike. I had wanted to sound confident and strong, instead I realized that I came off as dismissive and apathetic. Shit. Would she even call me back after a message like that? I sure as hell hoped so. I missed her more than I could say — more than I'd ever missed anyone.
Chapter Thirteen
Kayla
I was exhausted by the time I got home at the end of the day. Twelve hours on my feet, posing in skimpy outfits with five inch heels that pinched my toes. The end results were well worth it, though. The digital proofs I got to see looked fantastic and were just what the director wanted. They'd make an excellent addition to my growing résumé of experience. Plus, I walked out with a hefty bonus in addition to my promised paycheck.
When I got to my crappy car, I was disappointed to see that it was full of the boxes I had picked up from Mick's place before work. For a brief moment in time, I'd forgotten they were there and wiped out the awful memory of our morning encounter.
He'd set the boxes outside of our apartment building by the dumpster, but my name was clearly emblazoned across them with a bold Sharpie pen, so I knew they were mine. Some homeless people were already digging through them and they ran off with a plastic garbage bag full of my clothes before I could stop them.
"It doesn't matter. They need the clothes more than I do," I muttered aloud as I searched for the boxes that really mattered to me, the ones full of my photo albums and memorabilia.
"Want some help carrying that to your car?" a familiar voice said, and I whipped around to face Mick.
"No, thanks. I can take care of myself." I hefted the heavy box and started carrying it across the parking lot to my car just to prove it.
"Yeah, I see that. Looks like you've managed to do just fine yourself. Got yourself a car and a place to live, all thanks to the job I got for you. You wouldn't have anything it weren't for me, you slutty tramp; but you keep telling everybody how fine you’re doing and see if anyone believes your lies. Aren't you going to ask how I'm doing without you?"
"No, Mick. I don't care how you're doing without me." We got to my car, and he tried to block me from being able to get to my trunk. He was already drunk, though, even at that hour of the morning, and I pushed past him easily. I put the box next to the others I'd already loaded in the trunk, since my backseat was already full, and slammed the lid shut.
Turning on him, I said angrily, "I stopped caring about you the moment I found you cheating on me with my best friend. I have a feeling you stopped caring about me long before that. It's been years since you treated me the way a real boyfriend should. It just took me long time to realize it. Now leave me alone. I never want to see you or my former best friend again."
"It's funny you mention Samantha because she's doing alright, too. In fact, she's moved in with me. Out with the old and tired, and in with the new and exciting. She turns me on in ways you never could, and she brings home way better money than you ever did from her tips at the bar."
"I'm glad. I hope you two are very happy together. I can't think of two people who deserve each other more," I said with a hostile edge even Mick couldn't miss.
"I'll give you what you deserve, you fucking bitch." He grabbed me hard on the arms and tried to kiss me. I kicked him in the balls with all my strength, and he doubled over in half, letting me go instantly before he puked on his own shoes. I jumped in my car, locked the door, and fumbled for my keys, shaking all over. He was shouting at obscenities at me as I started the engine and drove quickly away.
I was still rattled from the encounter by the time I got to the photoshoot, but I was a pr
ofessional and they never knew. After a little while, I was able to immerse myself in the process and forget all about Mick and the ugly encounter — until I was once again faced with the boxes filling my backseat and trunk.
I lugged them into my apartment one by one and left them stacked in my living room. Then, I crashed into bed and just slept. It had been an exhausting day and I just couldn't face them.
The next morning, I awoke feeling refreshed, and after a hearty cup of coffee, I was ready to take them on. Going through the boxes one by one was strangely therapeutic. Dressed in jean shorts and a turquoise blue tank top, with my hair piled high on my head in a sloppy bun, I dug into the boxes like an archeologist on a site, exploring objects I hadn't seen in weeks, sometimes months, some of them even years.
There was the lease from our first apartment together when we had just moved to L.A. I was a kid of 18 back then and believed every wild tale he told me about how easy it would be to make all our dreams come true in the City of Angels. There was the dress I wore to my first modeling job. Too bad the bums didn't take it; talk about ugly! I had learned to dress much better since those days and could actually afford to buy decent brands now that Mick wasn't draining all my savings.
Here was the cheap ring he had given me after our first big fight. I had thought it was beautiful and had forgiven him instantly, then a week later it turned my finger green and I had to take it off. I was too sentimental about the gift, though, and refused to throw it away. Instead, I kept it in this jewelry box. I was over such delusions of love now and had no trouble throwing the cheap trinket straight into the garbage can, along with all the other crap that reminded me of him.
Very few of the memories from my years with Mick were good, but many of them were bad. I was surprised to see just how much of a struggle life with him had been. It was easy to be blind to the misery when I was stuck living in it every day, but with a little time and distance, I had finally gained some perspective and I could truthfully say I was glad to be done with him.
