by Claire Adams
“It’s time,” Dad said. “I’ve been patient for long enough. It’s time to show Cal that you’re serious about this.”
“Oh,” I said. Cal Illes was Dad’s long-time business partner, sort of like my uncle, but not really. It was Cal that was behind this whole thing. “I get it. Well, listen, Dad, you can tell Cal that I’ve been waiting to see Devon spin at Creamfields for about forever now, and it’s just not something I can miss. Did you know I bought Devon his first pair of Tech 12s? Those are turntables, in case you didn’t know. Just like those.” I pointed across the room to my own set.
Dad didn’t even bother to look. “I’m forbidding you to go.”
“I’m not a kid, though. I think that only works for the eighteen-and-under set. I’m about a decade past that.”
“But you’re living off a trust that I funded.”
“And put in my name.”
“Yes, and put in your name. Was that foolish of me also?”
“So if it’s in my name, doesn’t that make it mine?”
“Don’t you want to do something with your life? Have some direction? Do something productive? Do you ever get sick of just chasing after the things that make you feel good? What would you be doing if you didn’t have all this money? Have you ever thought about that?”
“No,” I said. “I can’t say I’ve ever sat down and wondered, in specific detail, what I would be doing if I didn’t have this money.”
“Then I guess there’s really no one to blame but myself. I thought you would learn by example. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the finer things in life. I myself certainly do. But my enjoyment is greatly enhanced by the fact that I put in the hard work to earn these things. You, though, you don’t have a clue what a day of hard work feels like.”
“Would you like me to go out and get a job? Is that what you’re saying? Do you know how many miserable fucking people I see every day, who hate their jobs and are only there because they have to be?”
“You have the resources and the intelligence to do something with your life that you are passionate about. Which, unfortunately, I don’t think you have any clue what that might be because you’ve never spent any time thinking about it. Many people have jobs because they need a paycheck. You have the luxury of finding work because it’s something you want to do.”
“Well, what I want is to go to Ibiza and support my friend, who, as I previously mentioned, has worked really hard to get where he is. Do you think they let just anyone spin at Creamfields? I’m talking Pete Tong, Armin Van Buuren, Paul—”
“I don’t know who any of those people are, and besides, that is completely irrelevant.”
I stuffed a few more things into my suitcase. This whole conversation was getting tedious, and I couldn’t wait to be on the plane, flying away from all of this bullshit. I’d probably double dose tonight; I deserved it.
“I’ve really got to get going, Dad,” I said. “I’m sorry that I can’t just cancel my plans.”
“You can, actually. You won’t is more accurate. Which is truly unfortunate. Because this is not an opportunity that’s just going to be available to you forever, if and when you come to your senses and decide it’s something you want to be a part of.”
“Well, Dad, I really don’t think I want to be a part of it. I mean, I don’t know a thing about business in the first place.”
“I know,” he said. “I’d help you with that.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, yanking the handle up out of my suitcase so I could pull it along on its little wheels.
Dad shook his head. “This is it, Levi. If you walk out that door, you are making a choice. And that choice is to turn your back on me and the family.”
“Family?” I said. “What family? It’s just you and me.” Aside from an ill-advised marriage when I was a teenager—got a wicked stepmother and a pudgy stepsister out of that deal—it had been just Dad and me. My mother had died when I was two, and though it’d be nice and heartwarming to say that I had some memory of her, I didn’t. There were some photographs, but none of those photographs come attached with actual memories. My real memories didn’t really even included Dad—he was always busy at work, leaving me to be raised by a rotating cast of nanny’s, and in part, Rosella.
“That’s still family,” Dad growled. “You’re still a Bassett. It doesn’t matter if there’s twenty of us or two.”
“Okay, sure,” I said. “That was a really rousing speech and all, very inspirational, but if you don’t mind, I’ve really got to get going—I’ve got a flight to catch. You know, the whole Creamfields thing I was mentioned.”
Dad pressed his lips together so they were little more than a thin line that looked like someone had drawn it on with a pencil. His brow furrowed, making the vein in the middle of his forehead stick out. But those lips pressed together like that meant that he wasn’t going to yell, he wasn’t going to say anything else. He was just going to let his disappointment and frustration saturate the air around us, as though I might breathe it in and be changed by it. Had that ever worked before? No, it hadn’t. He was pissed, but really, what was he expecting? I had to be somewhere, after all.
2.
Isla
Tonight was going to be special.
In fact, it was going to be so special that it didn’t matter what happened today, such as someone throwing up all over the Lotus Room, which had just been renovated, the old laminate flooring ripped up in favor of some beautiful, natural maple, which, when I was choosing it, I imagined would make people feel very Zen and inspired and connected to their yoga practice. Kelly had been against the idea, but I told her that we were making an investment into the business, and that it would be worth it. The room had, in fact, come out beautifully, and it did have a very peaceful, calming vibe. I hung up a few Tibetan thangkas on the wall, as well as setting up a little altar at the front of the room. In other words, it was a relaxing place that was supposed to inspire feelings of wholeness and wellbeing. Shannon throwing up everywhere probably had very little to do with the wood flooring; rather, she was trying another ridiculous detox that involved apple cider vinegar, maple syrup, and cayenne pepper.
I was thinking about this as I was driving home, and the fact that I was the one to clean up this nasty vomit concoction despite being the co-owner of the gym, or maybe because of it. I just couldn’t make one of my employees do it. It seemed like a shit thing to do. And Kelly, the other co-owner, had gone out to lunch with Wes, her new beau du jour, which everyone really knew meant they were going to go do it at his place. And seeing as I was the one who wanted the floors in the first place, it really just had to be me to do it.
So despite the fact that happened today—amongst other less gross, but still annoying little things, like membership being down, like discovering a cracked tile in the women’s bathroom, probably due to a leaky pipe—tonight was going to be special because I was going to lose my virginity.
It wasn’t like I had it penciled in on the calendar or anything, but I knew Brian was getting home early from his business trip. He’d been gone a week, and I’d really missed him. Prior to him leaving, he’d been all but begging me for sex, and while he was gone, I’d decided that I had waited long enough, and the next time I saw him, we would sleep together.
As I drove, I called my best friend, Sophie.
“So . . . do you think I should dress up?” I asked after she answered. “Or is that going to make it look too obvious?”
“Obvious?” She snorted. “You want it to look obvious. At least a little bit. Isla, promise me you aren’t going to go over there wearing a pair of old yoga pants and a sweatshirt or something. Please?”
Sophie and I had been best friends since elementary school. We were about as different as you could get, but boy did she know me.
“I was thinking my nice, new yoga pants,” I said jokingly. “I’m just kidding,” I said quickly, before she could freak out. “I won’t do that. But what do you think I sh
ould wear?”
“The strapless black dress, the one with the tulle skirt and the ruching,” she said immediately. “And the magenta pumps.”
“God, I think you know my closet better than I do.”
“I do.” Sophie sounded pleased with herself. “I’m just so excited, that this is finally happening for you. There aren’t that many twenty-eight-year-old virgins, you know. You’re kind of like a dying breed.”
“Well, there’s about to be one less.”
“While I do think it’s more than time for you to give up that title, it’s kind of something to be proud of,” Sophie said. “You’re almost thirty and you’ve never had sex.”
I laughed. “You make it sound so glamorous. I don’t think it’s really something to be that proud of though. If I’d always been attractive and had guys chasing after me, then yeah, maybe, but people were either making fun of me or ignoring me when I was a teenager.”
The fact that I could even make a joke about that now was testament to how far I’d come. I’d been overweight my whole life, up until I turned twenty. My mom got divorced, we moved out of Manhattan, back to Bel Air—Maryland, not California—and it suddenly dawned on me how to get control of my emotional eating without having to give up my emotional eating: bulimia. Of course, that’s not what I was calling it in my head at the time; no, at the time it was all happening, I had merely overeaten and just needed to empty myself out so I would feel better and be able to focus on getting in shape.
“You could’ve gotten laid if you wanted to,” Sophie said. “And for the past six years, you definitely could have gotten laid, so it really is commendable that you’ve waited this long. And that it’s with someone you care about. I can barely even remember the name of the guy I lost my virginity to.”
“Mike,” I said.
She laughed. “Lucky guess. But the point is that you’ve waited all this time, and it’s going to be memorable. Because you wanted it to be something special. And you know who else lucks out here, too? Brian. Because I can all but guarantee you that he probably never thought he’d have a chance to de-virginize someone. So it’s also going to be memorable for him, too.”
“I guess it’s just going to be a special night all around, then. Which brings me to my other question—do you think I have to wear makeup? I just see it getting all messed up or something, you know, while we’re doing it.”
“You can go light on the make-up. You don’t really need it, though. Maybe a little blush and some lip gloss? I’d steer clear of any mascara, heavy eyeliner, dark lipstick. Although I guess it depends if you plan to have the lights on or off. Have you given that any thought?”
“No, not really. I just assumed they’d be off? Or it’d be dark? Maybe candles or something.”
“Go for candles if you can; no one looks bad in candlelight. Not that I’m saying you’ll look bad, because you won’t, but candles are romantic and they’ll make everything a little less intimidating.”
“I’m a little nervous, but not intimidated.” I took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll wear what you said and I’ll give you a call tomorrow and let you know how it goes.”
“Don’t call me too early!” Sophie said. “Have sex when you wake up in the morning, too. Nothing beats morning sex—it’s the best.”
I smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I finished getting ready and then left. I’d gotten a text from Brian that morning saying he would be home early. The text was actually supposed to go to his co-worker, Isaac, but he’d sent it to me by mistake. Instead of responding, though, I decided to pretend as if I hadn’t received it and surprise him.
There was another car parked in the driveway, behind Brian’s. It was a Camry, like the one his brother drove, but a newer model. Of course Travis would be over here to show off his new car. I parked behind it and then thought better and parked on the street instead. Travis was smart; he probably wouldn’t stay long once he saw what I was wearing.
I sat in the car for a moment and took several deep, cleansing breaths. That’s how the yoga instructor, Emma, always started her yoga classes, because breathing like this reminded you to center yourself and really be in your body. I flipped the sun visor down and looked at myself in the mirror, though I couldn’t make out much since it was dark. I didn’t want to turn the interior light on in case Brian happened to glance out; I wanted there to be a little element of surprise at least. He wasn’t expecting to see me until at least tomorrow night, at the earliest.
I walked across the lawn, the heels of my shoes sinking into the grass. I didn’t bother knocking; instead, I just opened the door, twisting the knob and pushing in, the door swinging open silently. I opened my mouth to say hello, but before the words came out, I heard a shriek.
I froze.
The living room, strangely enough, was dark, though I could tell there was a light on down the hallway, presumably in Brian’s bedroom, or maybe the bathroom.
The shriek, though, hadn’t been Brian’s, or his brother’s, but a woman’s.
I stepped out of my shoes, not wanting the click of the heels on the hardwood floor to give me away. I left them there on the floor and started to walk down the hallway. There was another sound, this time more like a moan. I could hear him, too, though I couldn’t make out any actual words. I could just hear his tone, like he was speaking underwater.
I walked through the living room and then turned left down the hallway. The master bedroom was at the end, past the bathroom and the guest room, and the door was slightly ajar, a rectangle of light on the floor.
Now that I was closer, I could hear pretty much everything.
“Oh yeah, harder, yes, right there!”
That was the woman, who sounded vaguely familiar. There was a repeated slapping sound, and heavy breathing. As the owner of a gym, I recognized that sort of breathing. It was the kind that happens only when you’re really exerting yourself, when you’re right on the edge of something.
I pushed the door open.
Since the light was on, everything was in full view. And when I say everything, I mean everything. Including Shannon, whose vomit I had been cleaning up a mere six hours ago.
My jaw dropped.
For several long seconds, they didn’t notice me. They were too caught up in each other. Well, Brian’s back was to me, so I just stood there, waiting for Shannon to open those stupid eyes of hers. They were both standing, her back against the wall, one of her legs stretched up almost all the way, her calf near her ear. And there was Brian’s ass, and he was completely naked.
I cleared my throat.
Shannon’s eyes didn’t fly open; rather, she opened them slowly, like she was being awoken from a lovely slumber. And when those eyes focused enough to see me, they didn’t widen in shock or surprise or embarrassment, no, she just let her mouth stay open and that pained expression remained on her face and she tapped Brian on the shoulder. She had to do it a few times before he finally stopped his frantic thrusting.
“Isla!” he exclaimed as he turned, his hand going to his crotch, as if he was going to be able to cover up his boner. “What are you doing here?” He glanced back at Shannon as though it were a possibility that I might not have seen her.
“Why don’t you go first, Brian, and tell me what you’re doing here,” I said.
He grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and held it in front of himself, as if I hadn’t seen his cock before. “Me? This is my house.”
“Oh, okay,” I said. “So you’re fucking someone at your house. Okay, great. Except that person doesn’t happen to be me, your girlfriend.”
He blinked. “You look great. Why are you all dressed up?”
Shannon nodded. “Yeah, Isla, I’ve never seen you in a dress like that—”
“Shut up!” I screeched. I looked at her. “I was just cleaning your fucking vomit off the floor in the Lotus Room! And you’re over here sleeping with my boyfriend?”
Shannon and I weren’t friends; she was
a member at the gym, and we’d have a friendly conversation now and then, but it wasn’t like we were hanging out or going shopping together. Still, I felt as betrayed by her as I did by Brian.
She shrugged. “He said you were frigid. But that he was staying with you because he loves you. That’s sweet, right?”
She was being serious. Oh my god, she actually thought what she was saying was going to make me feel better.
Brian smiled weakly. “I didn’t use that term exactly,” he said. “What I meant was—”
“Yes you did,” Shannon interrupted. “That’s exactly what you said. ‘Isla’s frigid but I still love her.’ I remember it because I thought it was kind of a messed up thing to say, but at the same time, really romantic.”
Meanwhile, I couldn’t quite take my eyes off of Shannon. We’d never been in the sauna at the same time, so this was the first time I’d ever seen her naked. I looked good now, I knew that, but I’d never even come close to looking like her. She was one of those people who could probably subsist on Doritos and Coke and still have a banging body, despite the fact that she’d sporadically subject herself to zany detoxes. She had long, tan legs, toned yet slender, with sleek thighs that didn’t touch, a perfectly flat stomach, breasts that probably wouldn’t ever need a bra, a collarbone you could stack a roll of quarters in. And the skin covering all this was smooth, tawny, and blemish-free. Ugh, I hated her.
Brian pulled on his pants. Shannon took her time finding her tank top and underwear.
“Really, Isla, I wasn’t expecting you to come over tonight,” he said. “I mean, this is a big surprise.”
“Yes, that much I can tell.”
“And Shannon—I think she’s mis-remembering what I said. What I actually said was something more along the lines of that you and I hadn’t made love yet, but it was something I was very much looking forward to.”
“Right, and you were just going to make sure your lovemaking skills were up to snuff by having sex with her?”
