by T. Torrest
I knew just seeing his face would be the best way to cure my blues anyhow. I could forget about my pathetic circumstances and just get lost in Trip for a while. I could worry about the rest of my life tomorrow.
The desire was so strong, the feeling so powerful. The mere thought of being in his bed excited me and lifted my spirits. Amazing the effect that man has always had on me.
I made myself finish my beer, then downed the shot for courage, paid my tab, and grabbed my box of crap.
And then I headed over to the TRU.
* * *
Concierge Cat was on duty, and I readied myself for her smarmy attitude. But as I approached the desk, her eyes lit up in recognition and she actually gave me a smile.
I put my stuff on one of the white sofas and asked quietly, “Did Trip Wiley check out yet?”
She still kept the smile trained upon her lips as she responded, “We don’t have anyone here by that name, ma’am.”
Okay, sister. I’ll play the game. “Fine. Mr. Kelly, then. Johnny Kelly.”
She looked rather smug as she said, “Mr. Kelly checked out weeks ago.”
I gave her a long, hard look, trying to be patient, knowing that this woman was Trip’s gatekeeper and that I’d catch more flies with honey.
And bullshit. I could catch more flies with bullshit, too.
The name Johnny Kelly was from The Sting. Knowing Trip, and knowing that, I figured I could simply guess the correct pseudonym.
“How about Johnny Hooker. Or Henry… Gondorff, I think? Or Doyle Lonnegan?”
“Nope, nope, and nope.”
Not The Sting. Time to switch gears.
“Okay… Jay Gatsby?”
“Mr. Gatsby checked out last week.”
Paydirt. Robert Redford it is, then.
“Okay. Bob Woodward. Do you have a Bob Woodward staying here?”
“Not until the televised election coverage.”
I gave an exasperated sigh.
“How ‘bout Waldo Pepper.”
“Nope.”
“Roy Hobbs.”
“Sorry.”
“Umm… The Sundance Kid?”
“No.”
“Warren Justice?”
“Who?”
“Brubaker?”
Her face sparked as she gave me a conspiratorial grin. And none too soon, either. I was this close to running out of Redford characters.
“Actually, Mr. Brubaker just checked out about an hour ago.”
I knew Trip’s flight wasn’t until six o’clock and that there was no way he’d be spending all the hours until then hanging around the airport.
“So… Is he in one of the restaurants?”
“The TRU doesn’t make a policy of monitoring their many guests once they’ve checked out of the hotel.”
Sweetheart, I do not have time for this.
“Look. You and I both know that Mr. Brubaker isn’t just any guest here.” I wanted to lunge across the desk and shake her, but I made myself remain calm. “Give me a break here, huh? You know I know him! Don’t you remember me? I was here a few weeks ago. Can’t you please just tell me exactly where the hell he is? It’s important.”
She gave a chortle and said, “I’m just messing with you. He’s really not here.”
“But his flight isn’t until six.”
“He got an earlier one.”
I considered the impulse to race over to the airport. “JFK?”
“Newark, I think. No, wait. Laguardia?”
I was in over my head. I had no idea when his new flight was leaving, but there definitely wasn’t enough time to scour three different airports.
Just as I was considering my next move, she said, “I just messaged a package to you, by the way. You are that reporter from the other day, right? I knew the name on the delivery sheet looked familiar. I was supposed to send it yesterday. Sorry. I made sure to send it out first thing this morning, though, so no harm done.”
Chapter 27
WHATEVER IT TAKES
I dragged myself home, feeling all worked up and completely let down. I’d missed my chance. Trip was gone.
Sure enough, there was a package waiting for me on the floor near the mailboxes. It was large, but light, so I tossed it on top of my pile of stuff from the office and hauled the whole shebang up my forty-two steps, sinking to the floor in the middle of my living room to open my birthday present from Trip. No way was I waiting the extra three days until it was official.
I ripped off the packing tape and folded back the flaps of the box.
And when I did… my heart stopped.
I literally gasped—a dramatic, soap-opera inhale—the air sucked quickly into my lungs, where it held, indefinitely, as my brain tried to process what my eyes were seeing. The epiphany hit me hard; a bucket of ice water thrown in my face.
I was sitting in the middle of my apartment, surrounded by a mountain of tissue paper, and in my hands I was holding… a Dukes of Hazzard lunchbox.
Oh. My. God.
My stomach clenched, my chest constricted, my hands shook.
I ran my trembling fingers across the relief map of my damaged childhood, the images of my old friends: Daisy. Luke. Bo (my first blond crush). I touched the raised letters of the title, noticed the slight dent on the hood of the General Lee. A shaky breath escaped, and the image blurred before my eyes.
There was no misreading this. Trip had sent me an innocent-looking metal box, but he may as well have mailed me his heart. Suddenly, everything made complete and perfect sense.
Trip hadn’t been asking me for one night.
He was asking me for forever.
And oh my God! I sent him packing!
I lunged for my phone and punched in Sandy’s number. All I could think was that I had to talk to him. I had to see him.
She answered, mercifully, on the second ring. “Sandy Carron.”
“Sandy! It’s Layla Warren. I’m trying to get ahold of Trip. It’s really important.”
“Oh, hi, Layla. Hope everything’s okay.”
No. Everything was most decidedly not okay.
“Yes, I just really need to talk to him.”
“Well, last we spoke, he was at the hotel. Didn’t you try there?”
“Yes, of course. But he already checked out. The concierge said he grabbed an earlier flight.”
“Hmm. That’s strange. He normally has me rearranging his schedule.”
She gave a chuckle, and I didn’t want to be rude, but I didn’t have time for screwing around. “Aren’t you with him?” I asked, stupidly.
“No, I just got back to L.A. myself. I’m surprised he didn’t check in, but I guess he wouldn’t have been able to contact me if I were on a plane.”
Small talk. Grrr. “Is there any way I can get in touch with him?” I knew Trip refused to own a mobile, a rebellion made much easier due to the fact that everyone in his immediate circle always had phones of their own.
“Yeah, sure, I have to imagine he’s with Hunter, and that kid’s always got his phone on him. But let me try it first. I’ll call you back.”
“Okay. You have my number.”
“Yep. Just give me a minute.”
I hung up with Sandy and spent my wait looking at the unconditional love I was holding in my hands. And I knew for certain that that’s what it was. That’s what he wanted me to know. I started thinking about the events from the day before, piecing together what had really been going on. He already knew he loved me before ever showing up to my apartment. Hell, the first thing he did when he walked in the door was to ask if the package had been sent.
And oh, God! The things he’d said! How come I just couldn’t hear him? I replayed every sweet and wonderful thing he’d told me the day before, tortured myself with it. Give me another chance at this. We’re so great together. I want you. I’ve always wanted you.
I could barely breathe through the knot in my throat, the tears gathering at my eyes, the pang that threatened to crush my he
art. What a nasty witch I was to him. What a stupid, insecure, wretched, nasty witch I was. I’d thought he was only trying to talk his way into my bed, but as it turns out, he was actually trying to talk his way into my heart.
As if he hadn’t lived there all along.
I had loved this man once. Hell, I knew then that I still did. Every part of him. I heard his voice in my head, his simple confession on the day we’d said goodbye all those many years ago: I’m in love with you, Layla. For the first time in years, I allowed the memory to take root, to grow outward, to fill my entire being. I was in love with this man. I always had been. There was no denying it any longer.
Twenty minutes. It took Sandy twenty, whole, excruciating minutes before she called me back.
When she did, I answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
Her voice was drained, but firm. “Miss Warren,” So we’re back to Miss Warren, are we? “I’ve just spoken with Mr. Wiley, and I’m sorry, but he has specifically requested that I do not give you his phone number.”
“I didn’t know, Sandy! I just got it today, I swear!”
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to, all I know is that Mr. Wiley has made it very clear that he doesn’t wish to speak to you. I’m only delivering his message.”
“Did he tell you? Did he tell you that he’s in love with me? Please, Sandy. I need to talk to him!”
Sandy’s voice sounded distraught, but her words were rather cold. “I think you’ve already told him enough.”
I blurted, “Sandy! Wait!” but she had hung up. I immediately called her back, but the call just rang and rang and rang. So did the next three.
I realized it was fruitless, trying to get her to disobey her boss’s wishes. Trip was the one signing her paychecks, not me. And I couldn’t even imagine what his side of the story must’ve sounded like to Sandy’s ears. Probably had a few choice adjectives to describe me as well. I guessed the extended amount of time it took for her to call me back was Trip relaying every detail of how he’d laid his heart out, practically begged me to take him back… and I’d rejected him.
But still. How could I give up now?
If I could just talk to him, tell him my side of things, everything would be okay. Hell, everything would be fantastic.
I had to see him. I checked my bank account and my credit cards. I had enough to get to California.
I picked up the phone to book a flight, but had a moment of hesitation. I mean, was I just supposed to decide to start a whole new life on a whim? Because, how would that work anyway? He lived on the completely opposite end of the country. My life was here.
Although… It’s not like I had a job to keep me here any longer. And as far as my apartment, I’d been on a month-to-month lease after that very first year. I could just give my notice and collect the deposit. Between that and the severance from Howell, I could live off the money until I could straighten things out with Trip. And hell. I’d even have a job lined up when I got there. Maybe I could take that publishing deal and write that book. I could do that anywhere, right?
Lisa did it. You find the man you know you’re supposed to be with, you do whatever you have to do in order to be with him.
I could do it.
I could give up my apartment in the city that I loved. I could move away from New York, from New Jersey, live in a strange new place three thousand miles away from my family, from my friends, my home. I could face my fears and head off into an unfamiliar new world, a mysterious new life.
I could do it for Trip.
And from that point on, doing it was the only thing I allowed myself to focus on. I didn’t worry about how irrational a plan it was, didn’t analyze the choice I was making, didn’t think about taking such a chance on the unknown for once.
For the first time in my life, I simply threw caution to the wind and just went on gut instinct. Went with my heart. My heart that Trip owned.
He loved me. I knew that now. And after we straightened everything out, I’d spend every single day from then on out never letting him forget that I was deeply, totally, permanently, and unconditionally in love with him right back.
Because we both deserved it.
Chapter 28
DEEPLY
I spent that Thursday—my twenty-seventh birthday—packing up the rest of my apartment. My lease agreement required thirty days’ notice before vacating, but I’d made the decision to just eat it on that final month’s rent. Once I got my two-month deposit back, I’d be coming out ahead anyway.
The soonest I could schedule the movers was Friday morning, and I’d spent the entire week in a frantic blur, tying up all the necessary loose ends. Three days to prepare myself for a brand new life. Just a few short days to cancel my phone, the cable, the Con-Ed. Say my goodbyes. Pack every bit of crap that I owned. My living room was stacked with boxes, the plan to store most of my furniture and stuff in my father’s garage until I could send for all of it once I was settled in California.
Dad had been on board with my cockamamie scheme, barely containing a smile when I told him the reason behind my abrupt move. Sylvia and he had exchanged a knowing glance once I mentioned the word “Trip”, which just confirmed for me that I was making the right decision.
And Lisa… well, Lisa just completely flipped out.
“You’re in love with him!”
I didn’t even try to dispute it. “Yeah, Lis. I am. Undeniably.”
She’d thrown her arms around me in a gargantuan hug, squeezing the very air from my lungs. By the time she released me, we were both crying. “Oh, I’m so happy for you! How cool is this going to be? The four of us, back together again! I can’t believe you’re moving all the way out there just when I came home though, you rotten skank. But whatever. Trip is rich. You guys can fly back and forth every weekend if you want to.”
I just let her babble. It’s what she always did best.
“And you’d better come back for this baby!”
“Of course, Lis. I wouldn’t miss it. We’ll be back for the baby, Jack’s wedding, lots of things.”
She gave me a long, hard look at that, the tears brimming in her eyes, the love just oozing from her goofy, sappy face. “I am just so proud of you. You know that, right?”
I did. Lisa was always my biggest cheerleader, but I was just proud of myself for finally giving her something truly worthwhile to cheer about.
I only had a few things left that needed boxing, so I took a dinner break with a slice of pizza on the one unoccupied sliver of futon and flicked through the channels on my TV, trying to find something to watch. There hadn’t been anything good on the tube ever since 90210 went off the air. I did miss me some Dylan McKay.
But yeesh. Who cared about Dylan when I had Trip waiting for me?
Even if he didn’t know it yet.
In the few days since The Lunchbox, I’d tried contacting him repeatedly. Sandy’s line had been disconnected within hours after I’d last spoken to her, but it was the only number I had, so I just kept dialing it, pointlessly. Trip didn’t have a mobile and I didn’t have his home number. I even tried calling information in Los Angeles, just to have the operator laugh in my ear and hang up. The number I had for his mother must have been changed at some point over the years, and the new one was presently unlisted. I could have gone to the house, but I figured doing so would only get me a door slammed in my face. I mean, if Trip’s publicist wouldn’t even take my calls, I had to imagine his own mother’s loyalties would lie squarely in his camp, too.
But I knew I would find him. I’d have to.
I scoured magazine articles for hints of where he lived, searched the internet for bread crumbs. I’d been able to find out his most frequented hangouts, and I knew he’d make it to the Beverly Hills TRU eventually. It was where I planned on staying so I could stake the place out. In the meantime, I had Rajani hounding his agent, attempting to arrange some sort of meeting place under the guise of doing an interview. All I’d have to do is show up in h
er place. Problem solved.
God, I was practically a stalker.
But I wasn’t a danger to anything about Trip except his bachelorhood. He was going to have to learn to live without that, because I planned on marrying the hell out of that guy.
Once I could finally find him.
But when I did, all I’d have to do is explain about the misunderstanding—Concierge Cat, you stupid whore—and everything would work out fine.
The lunchbox was the last thing I’d placed in my suitcase. Aside from packing up my entire apartment, I was tasked with having to pack for a “vacation” as well. My flight was booked for the following afternoon, and I was cutting it close, hoping to make it to Newark airport in time after the moving trucks departed.
I was exhausted. The past few days had been a whirlwind of activity and emotional upheaval. Once I found Trip, explained myself, and then promptly jumped his bones, I was planning to sleep. For days.
I stopped channel-surfing, finally caving to check the TV Guide, and saw that Talk Soup was about to start. That dude with the grey stripe in his hair always cracked me up, and the clips of Jerry Springer were not to be missed. I flipped the station to E!
Only Talk Soup wasn’t on that night.
A special Live from the Red Carpet for the premiere of Swayed was.
I was practically giddy. How’s that for fate? I took a huge, greasy bite of my pizza and settled in to watch.
Arianna What’s-her-face stood outside of Grauman’s Theatre, amidst a sea of rowdy fans cordoned behind some velvet ropes and said, “Well, rumor has it that Swayed is set for a record-breaking opening weekend, and if this crowd’s enthusiasm is any indicator, I’d say the buzz was correct!”
The crowd played into her prompting and started whooping and cheering appropriately.
The cars pulled up to the curb one-by-one, and the director and some other cast members all took turns filing out of their limos, each stopping for a few minutes to speak with the show’s hostess.
After five interviews with the same, stupid questions, I was sweating, completely anxiety-ridden, waiting for Trip’s turn. I could never do what he was forced to do on a daily basis. I could never calmly answer questions for some invasive camera while a microphone was being thrust in my face. I thought about the very first day I had ever seen him, standing so confidently at the front of my English class, managing to charm the pants off every last one of us in that room. I calmed down a bit when I realized lack of confidence really hadn’t ever been an issue for him.
