It's All Coming Back To Me

by Michelle Marra

  It wasn’t Sara; it was the applause girl. And by the look in her eyes, I knew exactly what her intentions were, so I figured ‘what the hell’ as I ushered her into my dressing room and shut the door.

  Chapter Two

  W hen I step into the limo, the smile has yet to leave my face. Kelsey, the applause girl, had rocked my world just a few hours before. She was a journalist aspiring to be an investigative reporter for the New York Times. She told me this job was just a stepping stone, that she had some dues to pay. She was only twenty-three, very green and naïve, actually reminded me a lot of myself at that age. And I have to say she was sweet in more ways than one. I giggle as I press my nose against my upper lip to savor the scent of my young lover. And no, I don’t feel one bit guilty about the age difference.

  The limo slows and pulls up to the Four Seasons where my manager jumps inside. He gives me that ‘you stepped over the line’ look I know all too well. He shakes his head as he brushes the snow from his shoulders and his hair. I regard him for a second then look away. I don’t really care what he has to say, and I’m not in the mood for a lecture or a bitch session. I want to continue reveling in my tryst with Kelsey and am almost sorry I’m leaving the city after my book signing at Strand Bookstore in Manhattan. I wouldn’t mind sticking around another day or two and having a little more fun with the young minx. However, it’s just better this way. For one I hate the cold weather. After living on the West Coast for five years, I’m not acclimated for colder temperatures anymore. Although the snow and freezing temperatures in Maine make these couple of flakes falling in New York seem like nothing really. And for two, I just don’t want this kid getting attached. Calling me, texting me…been there and done that far too many times.

  Brad clears his throat, pulling me from my thoughts. I look over at him, I’m pretty sure the expression on my face is a cocky one by the way he now regards me with a raised eyebrow.

  “What the hell were you thinking,” he says.

  I knew this was coming. He is going to give me shit about kissing the gorgeous talk show host.

  “You said to be myself. You told me to keep it interesting.”

  He rolls his eyes, “Really Laurel? By kissing Sara Pines on live television? We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t sue us.”

  I shrug my shoulders and look out the side window at the snow falling and the people walking along the sidewalks.

  “I’ve told you this before, no UDAs…PERIOD!” He raises his voice with a lecturing tone like he is my father.

  “I really don’t think it was unwanted Bradley, or at least it wasn’t completely unwelcomed, she did kiss me back. I’m sure she just took it for what it was meant to be…a publicity stunt.”

  He grunts, “Well let’s hope we don’t hear from her lawyer.”

  “Just chill out, okay?” I say as I begin to grow frustrated. I don’t want to say anything else because I know it won’t be good. I’ve been through too many managers because of my temper, and I don’t want to lose Brad, he has been the best one thus far.

  I take a deep breath and turn my attention out the window again. I see the crowd outside of the bookstore and am amazed how many people, women mostly, are standing in the freezing cold to see me and get a copy of my book. A small smile forms on my face as the limo stops out front. It’s such a surreal feeling to have this level of celebrity status. I’m always taken aback that anybody cares about what I have to say let alone excited to meet me.

  Brad steps out first, and that’s when I hear the yelling and screaming. Now I have to get back into character, get back into ‘star’ mode. I rub my hands over my face and pull them through my hair. Then I turn to the open door and Brad now leaning in with an extended hand. I put my hand in his and allow him to assist my exit from the vehicle. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. This is not the first one of these I’ve done, and I’m quite used to being in the spotlight. I see reporters there waiting for me, well no doubt after the scene I created on The Viewpoint.

  I pull back on Brad’s hand…I don’t know if I can do this. At first, the concern is apparent on his face, but then he smiles at me. That reassuring smile he always has at these types of events. I take a deep breath to try and get myself to relax, grab his hand again and step from the limo.

  The flash of the cameras always annoy me, it seems as soon as I get my focus back from the last blast of light in my face, another one goes off. It is a confusing process, my name is being shouted in so many different places I don’t know where to look. Some of the women are jumping up and down, these are the ones who don’t present a threat but still cause injury. So far in just the first ten minutes, I’ve had my arm yanked, been pulled into painful hugs, and had impromptu selfies which lead to knocking heads with at least five people. But I smile and wave, trying my best to give the fans what they want; and after receiving several full-on mouth kisses, I figured some in the crowd want a little more than a smile.

  The reporters swarm me as security ushers the fans inside to get seated for the thirty-minute question-and-answer session with me reading a small excerpt from the book. The media wasn’t supposed to be at this event, and I’m sure it’s because of the stunt I pulled on The Viewpoint. I look for Brad’s help as the questions begin to fly while microphones are being thrust into my face. Silence befalls the reporters as they await my response, I smile and say, “It was just a kiss.” Then I turn and walk into the bookstore.

  Moments later I’m standing at a podium elevated about two feet above the audience and read from my favorite chapter in the book.

  “She not only crushed my heart, but she also eviscerated my trust. I don’t trust love, the feeling of love or the words ‘I love you.’ I don’t believe in love that way…romantic love and all that bullshit which goes with it. To me, it’s all lies. Just something that is used as a manipulation tool, to give someone a false sense of hope. Love for me is pleasure, pure and simple. I love the female body, to enjoy it, to explore it, to pleasure it and to be pleasured by it.

  I look at what Samantha Harrison did as a gift, a wake-up call; an enlightenment if you will. She gave me freedom. Freedom beyond the restraints and the chains that romantic love bring.”

  Then the questions begin, the usual ones I’ve been getting about the book since I had started this tour six weeks ago. Everyone always wants to know how many hook-ups I had, why I slept with men when I’m a self-professed lesbian, yata yata yata. I wasn’t expecting the media to cover this event and I wonder if that is what’s making me so nervous. I rub my sweaty hands together and try to smile through the anxiety that is surfacing. I want this event to end so I can get on the plane and head to Maine to see my family.

  My head is briefly distracted by the thoughts of my mother seeing the show and my less than stellar behavior. I close my eyes and cringe already dreading the lecture I’m sure will ensue as soon as I walk into the house. I sneak a quick look at the clock on my phone and see that this painful event is about to come to a close then the actual book signing will begin.

  “We have time for one more question,” I say before I raise a water glass to my lips and swallow at least half its contents. I see at least five people raise their hands in the air, but some of them have already asked a question. I examine their faces trying to choose whose question I want to hear. I’m all but sick of having to continue to defend myself and provide an explanation of ‘why’ I don’t believe in love. When suddenly I see another hand go up from a man in the back, he looks meek and a little nervous himself. Guess he’s a little shy when it comes to speaking in a public setting.

  I point to the back, “You sir, in the back row. What is your question?”

  He hesitantly stands up as he wipes his hands on the front of his jeans. I certainly understand sweaty palms, I can’t seem to get mine to stop.

  “Um, I wanted to ask you.”

  His voice is really low, and I’m having trouble hearing him.

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you. Would you
mind speaking up or coming closer?”

  He shimmies through the row and walks closer to the podium. He doesn’t look happy, his face has an undeniable scowl on it, and I wondered if he was going to chant some kind of ‘God hates gays’ rhetoric. So now I’m feeling a little uneasy.

  “Um, I just wondered if it was a common practice of yours to fuck married women.”

  It seems that the entire room gasp simultaneously at the F-bomb and a smirk forms on my face. I pause for a moment, my eyes flick to my manager whose face has one of those ‘oh no’ looks on it, then my eyes return their focus to the unhappy man standing a few feet away from my podium.

  “No sir,” I say, “Before I’m intimate with anyone I do ensure they’re single.”

  “Does it ever occur to you that they may lie to get into your bed?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “So you don’t care if the woman you sleep with, that you slept with several times was married.”

  Okay, I think. I guess this is the husband of some woman I was with…I nervously cleared my throat. I really don’t want this bad publicity. Yeah I know that is kind of hypocritical of me to say especially when I just kissed a married woman on live national television. But like I said to Brad, it was just a publicity stunt.

  “I’m sorry sir, but I can’t be responsible if someone lies to me. I not in the habit of running a background check on my hook-ups. But I’m really sorry, and I’ll be more careful in the future.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say about this?”

  I look over at Brad for help, I can see this guy is getting more and more agitated, and I would like him removed from the store. I’m no longer feeling safe, and I feel a bit humiliated as well. Brad takes the cue from the desperate look I just sent his way, and he starts walking over.

  “I’m sorry sir, but what else do you want me to say?”

  “You fucking bitch, you fucking whore. You go around here with your high and mighty attitude, take what you want from whomever you want and don’t care who you hurt in the process.”

  At this point, my stomach is twisting into knots, and I feel as though I’m going to shit my pants. But I’m frozen in place. I think mostly out of fear, but also out of pride. I’m not going to let this guy bully me. My head is going a mile a minute as I look at this man who is inching closer to the podium and I wonder if he is going to attack me. Then I look at the appalled faces of the audience. Those that came to see me and get an autographed copy of my book. But I’m not sure if they’re suddenly disgusted with me or at the raving maniac. Then I see the cameras, and the reporters who are smiling…they have quite the scoop now. My eyes close briefly knowing the publicity shit-storm which will follow.

  Then suddenly something catches my eye…holy shit, is that a gun? What do I do now? Do I run? Do I hide behind the podium? Do I try and talk this guy down? I don’t know what to do. What happens next seemed to go in slow motion as Brad approached the man.

  “She killed herself because of you.” This sentence gets in through my fog-laden brain. “You knew she was falling for you and you let it happen. Then when you were done with her, you walked away saying I don’t do love. Do you remember that Dr. Laurel? Do you remember Christina Monroe?”

  Christina Monroe? I hear myself say it over and over again. Fuck! I do remember her, I remember she was someone I had fun with and enjoyed. She was a great friend until she said those three little stupid words. I had no choice but to distance myself from her.

  “I didn’t know she was married.”

  “Fuck you. You broke her, you killed her.” Then I saw Brad try to rush him, I don’t know what he was thinking, maybe catch him off guard, knock the gun out of his hands. But whatever it was, it was stupid. I’m sure the cops were on their way.

  Suddenly three pops echoed through my ears, and I watch as Brad hits the floor soaked in his own blood. It didn’t seem real, it’s like I’m watching a movie.

  Then the man points the gun at me, and I wonder how I got out from behind the podium. But that is just for a split second before I hear the pops again. Suddenly, it feels like I was punched in the gut. But the feeling is fleeting because the next thing I feel is an excruciating burning pain envelop me as screams erupt in the room. The last thing I see before I collapse to my knees and fall back onto the floor, is the police pouring into the room and firing their weapons at the man who just shot me.

  Chapter Three

  I can hear voices, but they’re muffled so I can’t tell who’s speaking. I want to take a breath, but my chest feels constricted somehow. Panic sets in, but is immediately swept away into a tranquil and floating sensation. Something is beeping loud…it’s ear piercing, and I want to tell whoever is creating the noise to knock it the fuck off.

  “Laurel!” I hear my name being called but I don’t recognize the voice. I don’t know where I am, maybe some chick’s apartment. But I can’t remember anything. ‘Damn,’ I think. I hate drunk sex…can never recollect whether it was good or not.

  “Laurel!” I know that voice, it’s my mother. I feel her squeeze my hand. What the hell is going on?

  “She’s waking up. Oh my God, she’s waking up. John, Seth, Brian…quickly.” I hear the excitement in my mother’s voice.

  The beeping is louder, and I hear more and more voices. I can make out my dad’s voice, then I hear Seth and Brian call out my name. Now, I’m freaking out. I can’t breathe, I feel like I’m being suffocated. My heart is beating fast and hard. I’m trying to move, but feel like I’m surrounded by thick clay.

  “Come on Laurel, time to wake up.”

  Who the hell’s voice is that? I wonder when a light is flashed into my eyes and even though they weren’t open, I pinch them tight because it’s too bright. The light goes away, thank God. I just want to go back to sleep. I’m terrified to open my eyes, afraid of what I’ll see in this nightmare. This has to be a dream…it has to be. I mean, really; what kind of craziness is this.

  The room goes quiet. “Finally,” I say, but the word never leaves my lips. It gets caught on whatever this thing is floating around in my mouth. Then I feel another hand on mine. It feels familiar, it’s a woman’s hand, but not my mother’s. I would know her skinny, bony fingers anywhere. But this is familiar…the way she strokes my hand so gently, softly. The soft hum, what the hell is that tune? I know I know it. Oh shit, I feel this calm come over me. Now I really want to go back to sleep.

  Light fingertips graze my forehead, “Laurel.”

  My eyes fly open instantly to the sound of that voice. I squint and flutter my eyelids for a moment, it is too bright, and I feel like I’m staring straight into the sun. I can’t turn my head for some reason, I want to see who is humming to me. Why does this sound so familiar? Even when I flick my eyes around, I can’t see any faces, just tubes and what looks like hospital monitors. Then I see kind eyes of a woman who has a soft and sweet smile, and I find it comforting.

  “Well, Laurel. I’m glad to finally see what color eyes you have,” she says as she shines a light into my eyes and it causes a pain to rip through my skull.

  “My name is Dr. Aleisha Scott. I’m sure this is confusing for you. But just be patient a couple more minutes, and I’ll get that respirator out for you. I’m sure you’ll feel much more comfortable then.”

  I hear my mother’s voice again, it is laced with tears, and I want to roll my eyes, but the pain in my head stops me. The fog is starting to lift from my brain and my eyes. I can really see things clearly now and am anxiously watching Dr. Scott and a couple others who I can only assume are doctors hurrying around me. They’re clicking buttons and typing stuff into what looks to be an iPad.

  “Okay Laurel, I’m going to deflate the ventilator.” Dr. Scott says while smiling at me as she is slowly removing some kind of tape or adhesive. I notice her bright, super white smile and it eases my angst, although I know my heart rate is jacked up. I can hear it beeping through the monitors.

  “Now what I
want you to do is exhale like this when I tell you to.” She demonstrates how she wants me to blow air out of my lungs. “It’s almost like a big sigh. Are you ready?”

  Yes…yes, I’m ready. I have questions, many questions. But I can’t say anything, and I can’t nod, so how am I supposed to give her the okay.

  And as if she was reading my mind she says, “Just give me a thumbs up.”

  Okay…I think I can do that. It’s shakey…my hand that is; I’m working my fingers trying to make the universal ‘thumbs up.’ I can’t do it, so I just wiggle my thumb a couple of times. When I feel her pull, then I follow suit with the blow she instructed me to do.

  I watch as she pulls the tube and what looks to be a deflated balloon out of my mouth.

  “Don’t try to talk right away, your throat is going to burn and hurt.” But as if she said ‘talk,’ my mouth opens. I wanted just to ask one simple question. ‘What happened?’

  But what I get out was “What happa…” which was basically a whisper. And she wasn’t kidding about that burning pain. It feels like fire, and when I swallow the first time, it’s like I’m swallowing glass and I want to scream.

  “Your throat is going to be swollen for a day or two, we will give you something for the pain. I have a nurse going to get you some cold water. That will help take some of the sting out. Now I’m going to raise your bed so you can see something other than the ceiling. You need to take it slow to get things moving again. Okay?”

  She smiles at me, and I want to nod my head, but it is in some kind of vice, so I brave the glass and the fire and whisper out just one syllable, “K.”

  The bed starts to raise, and I feel like my body is going to collapse on itself. Like I’m hollow or something. It is the strangest feeling, and I wish there’s a mirror so I can make sure I still have all my parts since I can’t feel too much of anything right now.

  Once the bed has stopped moving, and I’m sitting up, my eyes scan the room. I wonder where my family is, I know I heard them. Maybe I’m dreaming…who knows. All I know is that I’m in a hospital and apparently had a breathing tube down my throat. I want to know what the hell happened. But I guess I’ll have to wait until I can speak.