The Story of Lansing Lotte

by L. B. Dunbar

  I held the piece of silver jewelry up as Lansing explained something to me.

  “I am the moon. Trapped in the dark. But you are a star, Lila, shining bright for me. Guiding me.” He kissed my shoulder and I turned to face him.

  “I’ll forever be a Night, Lila,” he continued, “but I’m glad you’re in the heavens with me.”

  “This is too much,” I breathed, still holding the bracelet in my fingers.

  “It’s not enough, actually. When I saw it I thought of that old saying, ‘I’d give you the stars and the moon, if I could.’ Well, I would, Lila. So here they are.”

  He took the bracelet out of my hands and slipped it over my fingers to my wrist. He kissed me slowly as I heard the wheels of a stroller squeak over the hardwood floor.

  “Are you two kissing again?” Fleur sighed in exasperation, and I laughed against Lansing’s mouth.

  “Why do I constantly feel like you’re mommy getting caught kissing Santa under the Christmas tree?” I said quietly.

  “Because you are,” Fleur said, and Lansing and I burst out laughing.

  On Boxing Day, I stood nervously inside the elevator as we slowly climbed to the 56th Floor and Tristan Lyons apartment. Lansing had explained that while the band always spent the holidays with their families, the day after Christmas was for the band. It was their Christmas together. Boxing Day was an English tradition of giving “boxes” filled with money to tradesmen for their services, but Tristan misunderstood the day as boxing with gloves and it became a new tradition amongst the band to spend the day together in a duel of the modern times – video games. Originally, it was a day of software delights and massive amounts of alcohol, but it became a full-scale party as the guys missed girls at these events, or so Lansing told me with a laugh when he invited me yesterday.

  We were silent as the elevator rose until the soft ding signaled the 56th Floor and Lansing gripped my hand. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to comfort me or hold onto me, but his clasp on my fingers was hard. When the doors opened we were overtaken by the sound and immediately my heart pounded under my skin. The room was loud, and crowded, and I sensed I shouldn’t have been there.

  “Shit,” Lansing said under his breath, as he tried to guide me through the crowd to a bar set up in the corner. When we reached the center of the room, the push of people was too great and my hand slipped from Lansing’s. He tried to turn for me, but I walked into someone and bounced back off a solid chest.

  “Josh?” I choked.

  “Lila,” he said, a broad smile stretching across his face. Josh Tucker’s wild waves and glittering eyes proved he’d already had a rough night. He looked well-fucked and stoned, and I was a sweating ball of nerves before him. He surprised me by drawing me into a firm embrace then surprised me further by holding onto me. I hadn’t noticed that Lansing had returned for me and was waiting for Josh to release me. When he continued to hold on, Lansing finally broke in.

  “What the fuck, man? Get off her.”

  Josh pulled back slowly, keeping his arm wrapped around my lower back, despite my attempts to move forward.

  “Lansing Lotte, man, haven’t seen you in while,” Josh slurred, as he tried to fist bump Lansing who didn’t respond.

  “Heard about that girl. Sad business love is, uh?” Josh tried to tease, but the look in Lansing’s eyes showed he found no humor in Josh’s comments. I, on the other hand, had sucked in my breath and was willing Lansing to reach for me. Josh’s grip tightened and he pulled me into his side with a squeeze.

  “I know all about love,” he laughed as he looked down at me. It was obvious by his behavior that he was clearly high. Josh knew nothing of love. How to give it or take it.

  “Let her go,” Lansing said through gritted teeth.

  Josh looked between Lansing and I, and laughed.

  “Relax man. Lila and I go way back. She’s a good girl,” Josh said and surprised me again by kissing my hair like I was a child.

  Thinking of that reminded me of Fleur and panic set in. I didn’t want Josh to even remember that he had a daughter. I didn’t want him anywhere near her. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.

  Sensing my rising fear, Lansing did reach for me, tugging me toward him in a way that I stumbled over my own feet and fell against him. I turned in Lansing’s arms to face Josh, who narrowed his glossy eyes.

  “I see how it is, man. Move on quickly. I get it. Find a distraction,” he snorted. If Lansing hadn’t shoved him; I might have slapped him.

  “That’s enough,” Lansing barked. “Who the fuck let you in here, anyway?” he asked, as he maneuvered me behind him. Josh took a step back with the force of Lansing’s hand and bumped into some girl behind him.

  “Hey,” she yelled until she saw who it was. Instantly, her smile changed into a flirtatious twist and I felt sick. That girl had no idea how callous Josh Tucker could eventually be.

  “No harm, no foul, man,” Josh tried to joke again, as he slipped an arm around the brunette behind him. He was trying to take a step back when Lansing reached forward and grasped Josh’s shirt.

  “I asked you a question. Who let you in?”

  “Easy, man,” Josh teased again. He was larger than Lansing, but his condition made him like a floppy doll as he fell toward Lansing.

  “Lansing,” I tried to stop him by laying a hand on his arm.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tristan Lyons deep voice interrupted the stare down between the two men. He was trying to gently coax Lansing off of Josh, who still had a goofy grin on his face. Tristan had Lansing removed from the front of Josh’s shirt when Josh spoke again.

  “Too bad, man, her sister was better,” he smirked at Lansing, regardless of my standing there.

  Lansing lurched forward, as Tristan wrestled him. Caught in between the two, Tristan swore as he struggled until Perkins Vale appeared. Perkins was a large man, bigger than all of them, and his presence had a scary calm.

  “Let’s go, pal,” he said with a firm hand on the back of Josh’s neck. Perk was escorting Josh toward the elevator.

  Lansing stood before me breathing heavily as Tristan examined his face.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Tristan breathed.

  “Nothing,” Lansing responded tugging his shoulders out from under the grasp of his friend. I seemed to be forgotten, for the moment, despite the tension that was just caused over me, and Tristan walked Lansing toward the bar. I wasn’t sure if I should follow or not, but I did, staying a few paces behind until I was intercepted by another unwanted face.

  “Mick?”

  “Lila, good to see you again.” He leaned forward to kiss my cheek. Looking over his shoulder, he did a quick scan of the room before he whispered.

  “So, who are you here for tonight?” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down at me, and it took a moment for me to catch his meaning.

  “I’m…I’m not here for anyone,” I said, trying to find Lansing over Mick’s shoulders.

  “Come on, Lila, this party is a gold mine of opportunity,” he hissed through a false smile, as he nodded his head in the opposite direction of me.

  “I’m not here to take photos tonight,” I said quietly.

  Mick’s head turned toward me.

  “How did you get in?” He knew I had connections to some of the best parties in the business. He’d tried to use me to get invitations for exclusive undercover shots. It’s how I ended up on that bike months ago, in the first place. Mick wanted to score big money.

  “I came with Lansing Lotte,” I said proudly, but my voice faded as I noticed Guinevere DeGrance saunter up to Lansing at the bar. He stood with his side to her as she spoke to him. I had already seen him do two shots, but then he did a third. She continued to talk to him, but Mick drew my attention again.

  “Lansing Lotte? Way to get to the source. I have to thank you for leaving those images of him at the park on my camera. Made myself a pretty penny off that happy family image.”

  I stared at him.

&n
bsp; “What happy family image?”

  “You know,” he laughed softly, “the one of Lansing Lotte and Guinevere DeGrance. Heard they’re the next new “it” couple, what with Arturo King gone, and her so beautiful and sad.”

  “Broken heart recovered by best friend as new lover.” Mick’s hand dramatically splayed through the air like he was drawing out the next new headline.

  “Seen several images of them around town.” He grunted half-heartedly before continuing.

  “Seems kind-of cold hearted if you ask me. I mean, we were almost there, right? It was a gruesome situation, and he’s missing, but not dead. Caught that nice image of him watching the two of them exiting that coffee shop together. Ouch. The pain on his face.” Mick winced.

  “How could you?” I hissed under my breath then cursed myself, knowing I had taken the same shot, but I hadn’t published that photo. I’d kept it. Arturo King was just too sad. Too hurt. I knew that feeling of betrayal without knowing him. I couldn’t do it to him. Something clicked in my mind.

  “Did you say Lansing and Guinevere were seen around town together? Recently?” I questioned, concerned, but trying to disguise the neediness in my voice.

  “Yep. Before Christmas some time. Saw him with that little girl again. Isn’t she your daughter or something?” He pinched his eyebrows at me. “Anyway, he was with her then.”

  I couldn’t respond. I could only stare over Mick’s shoulder as I saw Guinie slip a hand up Lansing’s back and Lansing turn to embrace her. It could have been innocent enough, I tried to reason. It could have been a quick hug between two people who were part of the same friend circle. It could have been a brief holiday greeting. But they held on for too long, and my eyes suddenly met the green eyes of Tristan Lyons. He was watching me as I had watched them. His gorgeous model face expressionless.

  My eyes flicked from Tristan to Lansing and Guinevere, who were still holding each other when I noticed something dangling from Guinie’s wrist. I took a step forward, like being attracted by a magnet. My eyes narrowed as I tried to get a better look.

  Hanging off Guinie’s wrist was a bracelet like mine. It wasn’t exactly the same, but so similar, too similar.

  My eyes met Tristan’s again. His expression softened as he shook his head slowly at me. We had never met, yet we just had a full conversation. It was abundantly clear that I was not part of the group. Would never be part of the inner circle. Would never have a place in the heart of one from the band.

  I spun on my heels and left the party without even excusing myself from Mick’s unwanted company.

  I exited the lobby into a puff of freezing air. It was a momentary relief after the stifling crowd above. As I waited for the taxi the doorman had called on my behalf, I noticed a man looking up at the building. He rolled back on his heels as he craned his neck to look upward. For a moment, I thought he was going to tip his head back enough to fall over. He was facing the dark heavens with his eyes closed when he spoke softly.

  “Looks like a party up there.”

  I turned to look back over my shoulder and scaled the building’s exterior. There was no way to tell a party raged on the upper floor of the historical complex.

  The man swayed a bit as I returned my gaze to him. When he looked over at me, his eyes were glassy in the darkness. A deep brown of liquid danger radiated from them; I should have been afraid. I would have been afraid, if I hadn’t recognized the face, despite the longer hair to his neck and the heavier scruff on his jaw. Arturo King was outside the building and he looked stoned.

  I was trying to fidget for my phone in my pocket, wondering if I could text without looking. My mind raced with the mundane. Swipe to turn on. Enter pass code. Click on messenger app. It wasn’t going to work. I had all good intentions to notify Lansing, regardless of my feelings toward him at the moment, but I wasn’t about to pull out my phone and frighten an already spooked–looking Arturo.

  He narrowed his eyes as he glared at me from head to toes. In another place, under different circumstances, I might have felt undressed by that look. I might have wanted to rip my own clothes off and let him have me, but I didn’t feel that way toward Arturo King. No, my body and my heart belonged to a man above us in the building, holding onto that man’s fiancée.

  “I know you,” he slurred softly. I wondered, for the briefest of moments, why I was the only one not stoned or drunk. I could have used a stiff drink.

  “I’m Lila,” I said, stepping toward him, reaching out my hand to shake his. If I thought he looked spooked a moment ago, he was downright frightened suddenly. He took a step back from my approach. I thought it odd, and noticed that both his hands remained in his jacket. He hadn’t even attempted to respond to me. He simply stared at my outstretched hand. I saw him swallow hard, closing his eyes momentarily, before opening them and looking at me. He swayed backward again and I reached for him.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, but he flinched away from me.

  I didn’t know him, but I recognized pain when I saw it. I had seen him on the street, full of hurt and questions watching Lansing and Guinevere exit that coffee house together. But the pain, there was something more, something deeper. It was the pain of a man deeply hurt. It was as if I had physically violated him by wanting to shake his hand. His eyes met mine and I knew he was trying to tell me something, but I didn’t know what it was.

  My taxi pulled up and I made a move to walk around Arturo. His body followed mine, but he didn’t move from his spot on the sidewalk. I had just opened the door to the yellow car when he spoke again.

  “I apologize. It was nice to meet you, Lila. I’ve seen you all over the city. Your father was a great man.”

  I turned to look at him and his expression softened. He looked at me with sympathy, as if he somehow understood me instead of the other way around. I glanced back up at the building windows then looked at Arturo King. My heart sank into my stomach. Perhaps without actually meeting one another, we did understand each other.

  I was pressed back to back into another person who crumbled, “Get the fuck off me.”

  Shifting slowly to lay flat on my back, my head throbbed with the motion. I turned to find myself lying next to Tristan Lyons. If I had the energy, I would have sat bolt upright, demanding to know how he and I were in bed together, but I couldn’t move. I felt like I’d been plowed over with a garbage truck. My body was sluggish, my mouth a cottony mess, and the pain in my temples unbearable.

  “What the fuck happened?” I sighed as it hurt to talk.

  “You drank too much,” Tristan muttered into the pillow he laid face first against. His back was still to me as he had shifted onto his stomach. I noticed that he was shirtless and under the covers, while I was fully clothed and on top of them.

  “How did I end up here?” I whispered, trying to focus on his ceiling and make the world stop moving.

  “I tried to prevent you from a huge mistake,” Tristan mumbled again into the pillow under his face.

  “What did I do?” my voice groaned, like I’d smoked a whole box of cigarettes. My mouth even tasted like I might have.

  “You were hitting on Guinevere.”

  My head rolled further on the pillow with a snail’s speed.

  “No,” I groaned with hesitation.

  “No,” Tristan replied in seriousness. “But you might have, if I didn’t see the look from that girl.”

  “What girl?”

  “The one who left you here.”

  “Lila?” I tried to sit up, but my body resisted and I fell back.

  “Is that her name? I couldn’t understand it as you moaned and muttered it all night long,” Tristan snorted.

  “You just said I hit on Guinevere.”

  “You didn’t hit on Guinie. You two had a fight. Something about the girl whose name I couldn’t get out of you coherently.”

  “Fuck. What did I do?” I moaned, closing my eyes.

  “Did you sleep with Guinie?” Tristan asked, his voice a little cl
earer.

  I lay perfectly still, afraid to answer.

  “Fuck,” Tristan muttered under his breath. My silence must have answered his question.

  “Who else knows?” he asked next.

  “Lila,” I whispered.

  “Double fuck.”

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” I groaned again, as I tried to roll my head on the pillow and swing my feet off the bed.

  “No rush, dude. Lila isn’t going anywhere. I saw the way she looked at you. It’s the way they all look at you. Faithful for life.”

  He was wrong. Lila was different, and I knew it.

  When I was finally able to sit upright, I found my phone on the floor under my sweater, which looked like I wrestled it off. Unlocking the password, my phone sprang to life with several texts in a row from Lila:

  Can you call me?

  This is serious.

  We need to talk. But this is important.

  Please Lansing. I can’t tell you over a text.

  Lansing. Please.

  I need to speak with you. Now.

  The texts were frantic and continued with a few more, all within an hour’s time. The hour I’m sure I was fighting with Guinevere. When I got to the last text, there were no more from her until the morning. That one was from Will Galehaut.

  Your Grace? You’re an ass.

  I knew I’d have some explaining to do. I just didn’t know what to explain first.

  It was hours before I could move. I tried to text Lila, but she didn’t respond to any of them. Then I started leaving messages, which went unanswered. I finally made it home to shower, after drinking some strong coffee and forcing myself to eat at Tristan’s place. I hadn’t been that hung over since the end of summer, the morning after Arturo’s accident. I dressed into fresh clothes and suddenly noticed that my guitar had been returned to the stand in my bedroom. My eyebrows pinched as I looked around my room to find a pile of my clothes from Lila’s apartment neatly folded on my dresser. I finally saw the photo frame Lila made for me propped up against the wall beside the dresser.