by Wilde, Ora
Any talk with Zack, whether it was a simple chitchat or something more meaningful, was sure to be enervating. He lived in his own world. He had his own way of seeing things. Most of them didn’t make sense, and I always felt that I came out dumber after every discussion with him. But again, Zack is a brute with a kind heart, and I have become quite fond of this bear of a man.
The sooner I could ask him about my intention, though, the sooner I could end our little talk.
“Listen, Zack,” I started to say. “Are you still in contact with those... you know?”
I was referring to his... acquaintances... from East L.A. who were involved with - to put it mildly - less than savory business. They were petty crimes... like peddling hemp and stealing from cars that were accidentally left unlocked. Nothing major, which made them perfect for what I had in mind.
“Oh... you mean Tommy Boy and Estregan?” he asked as his face lit up with an enthusiastic and childlike grin.
“Yes, yes... them,” I confirmed. “I was wondering if they wanted to do a small job for me. They wouldn’t be committing any crime, for a change, but it’s still good for a quick buck.”
“Hmmmm...” he placed his hand on his chin and started to think... which, considering his rep, was quite a funny sight. “How much are we talking about, boss?”
“Two hundred. For just one night. Actually, the whole thing won’t even last longer than five minutes.”
His eyes widened, shocked by the amount I was willing to pay.
“You need one or both of ‘em, boss?” he asked. “One hundred would be enough for either of them.”
“No. Two hundred. For each,” I clarified.
His eyes broadened even more, and his jaw almost fell on the floor. For him, most probably, two hundred dollars was a very generous offer for a task that could be accomplished quicker than a coffee break. But I wasn’t bothered by the amount. It was just money. It was meant to be spent.
“I... I will give them a call as soon as possible, boss,” Zack answered, still in a state of disbelief.
“Excellent! Have them contact me as soon as you reach them.”
“You got it, boss!”
As I proceeded to walk towards my Hummer, my phone rang again. It was my father’s number, and surely, Emmy would answer if I were to pick up the call.
True enough, my Mrs. Walter’s voice greeted me as soon as I answered.
“Hayden, your dad wanted me to inform you that he wishes to have your company for dinner tonight,” she said.
“Well, I will have to check my schedule, Emmy,” I replied rather haughtily. “Please tell him that college life can be a killer and I am always busy.”
“Okay, I will Hayden. But just in case you do decide to join your father this evening, do proceed to Mario’s Kitchenette. It’s at the south end of Rodeo Drive.”
“Geez, Emmy... I know where it is. I’ve been living in Beverly Hills since I was born. And no, I cannot guarantee my presence. As I’ve said... I’m busy with college.”
“Hayden... your father was really insistent on his desire to have dinner with you. I think he has something very important to share.”
Important? A business deal with conservative suits which required a nice family portrait, I was certain. Of course, that family only consisted of two people: me and him, making it even more mandatory for me to accept his invitation.
“I’ll see, Emmy,” I gloomily said. “And thank you for telling me. Thank you for being more of a father to me than my old man.”
She slightly chuckled and reminded me, again, how she thought of me as a good kid. She ended the call with a polite farewell.
Oh well...
Might as well have dinner with him tonight. Tomorrow wouldn’t be feasible.
For tomorrow... I’d be dining with, and on, a virgin.
Chapter 10
PHOEBE
“What? Of course you should say yes! Duh!”
Cindy was yelling excitedly in class as we waited for our Math teacher to arrive. Math 11 was the only subject which we shared. I was an Integrative Biology and Physiology student while she was pursuing a degree in Civic Engagement. I didn’t even know that such a course existed if she didn’t tell me about it last April when we received our acceptance letters.
“But you said that I shouldn’t fall in love with him,” I reminded her, “that I should make him fall in love with me... if ever that was even possible... and that I should break his heart.”
“Hello?” she scoffed. “How would he fall in love with you if he doesn’t get the chance to spend some time with you?”
“So I should say yes? To his invitation for a date?”
“Yes!!!”
“For tomorrow night?”
“The sooner the better, Phoebe!”
Oh no...
“Uhm... I don’t think I should text him this soon,” I expressed my hesitation. “I mean... he’d think I’m easy or something.”
“What the fuck?” Cindy reacted incredulously. “Why should you care about that? You’re just supposed to date him, make him fall in love with you, then break his black, black heart. It doesn’t matter if he would think of you as the second coming of Mother Teresa or as a prurient bitch.”
I placed my finger over my lips to remind her to keep her voice down as we were already garnering some attention. The least we wanted was for other people to discover about the plan... people who might know Hayden and inform him of our scheme.
“Still,” I began to say, “I don’t think it’s... believable... if I will reply to him this soon.”
“Phoebe... the sooner you’d go out with him, the sooner we could have our revenge.”
“I’ll text him tonight or tomorrow morning. Would that be alright.”
The eagerness on her face disappeared and it was replaced by a frown. She falteringly nodded to give her assent.
Math 11 was my last subject for the day. After the class finished, I said my goodbyes to my best friend. She’d go straight home, she said, but she will wait for any updates from me. I felt so tired from the events that transpired that day. I craved for the comfort of my bed. A sleep. A good sleep. I needed that, to reinvigorate my weary body. But I still had one more thing left to do before I could go home.
Band practice.
I joined the band not because of any deep inclination to celebrate the discarnate concept of school spirit with the rest of the student body. My reason was so much simpler, and admittedly, quite selfish.
I didn’t want to take any Physical Education classes.
I wasn’t physically gifted for any kind of sport, chess excluded. Well, I wasn’t physically gifted at all, period. I dreaded the uniform that I would’ve been required to wear. The shorts were too short, and they were very unflattering for my thighs. The shirts were too tight, so much so that I wouldn’t be able to conceal the more rounded portions of my body.
Joining the band included a perk: an exemption from having to attend my P.E. classes. The hours I would spend practicing with the group and playing for the school would count towards those units instead.
The band room was located at the back of the Arts and Science building. As soon as I arrived, I was greeted by the other members who were already there. I picked up my instrument, the violin, and checked if the strings were in tune. When everything was in order, I sat on my favorite corner and began to play.
It was an arrangement of my mom’s favorite song, U2’s She Moves In Mysterious Ways. I removed the rock elements and made it slower... softer. My bandmates liked it. I think it’s because they got so used to hearing it. It was the piece I always played before rehearsals would start... a habit that never failed to put me in the groove.
As I was strumming the strings with the bow, I was singing the song in my head.
Johnny take a walk with your sister the moon
Let her pale light in to fill up your room
You've been living underground
Eating from a can
You've been running away
From what you don't understand...
Honestly, I didn’t know why my mom loved that song. The lyrics didn’t make sense. Was it the melody, perhaps? It’s very catchy. Or perhaps the song reminded her of a fond memory, a happier time, when she and dad were younger... when they were still in love... when he was still with us.
Or maybe, it was for a shallow reason. Maybe, he just found Bono hot as hell, and she always pictured him whenever she listened to that song.
I continued to silently recite the lyrics as my bow alternated with short and long strokes to interpret the song’s edgier orchestration.
Love...
She's slippy
You're sliding down
She'll be there when you hit the ground
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
She moves in mysterious ways
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
She moves in mysterious ways
Then, a tune..
From the piano at the other end of the room...
Someone was playing...
The very same song I was strumming...
The very same song I was singing in my head...
Everyone in the room turned their attention towards the person who has taken over the piano and my rendering of U2’s classic. They were surprised to discover that a stranger has infiltrated our ranks. The stranger wasn’t affected by their stares, though. He just... he just kept playing, with his eyes closed and his head swaying with the music that his masterful fingers created. He was lost in his own world, in the magic of the mellifluous sound that conquered the chamber.
My bandmates observed him with wonderment and reverence.
I, on the other hand, was stunned with forbidding beguilement and a tormenting sense of creeping doom.
Hayden Summersmith followed me, again, for the third time today.
His persistence would’ve been endearing, were it not for the fact that I knew what he wanted from me.
Then, it happened.
A single note that ended his own rendition of the song which, strangely enough, perfectly mirrored mine.
He sang the last lines with nary a care about who was there and who might be listening...
Lift my days
Light up my nights
Yeah!
A tingle that started from my gut and rose to my chest. A discomposed anguish that was aggravated by a deep sense of yearning. A tickle in my mind that reminded me of what was and what should be... and what could be if I would just let go and follow my heart.
What made me feel like that? Was it the way he sang those final lines of the song, with so much passion and sincerity and truth? Was it because it was the first time I saw him that honest, devoid of the pompousness that usually ignited the air around him?
I shook my head and yanked myself back to reality.
He’s Hayden Summersmith, the most fiendish heartbreaker the world has ever known, the guy who dumped my best friend after having sex with her, the guy who did the very same thing to countless women since God knows when.
The guy I was supposed to go out on a date with.
The guy whose affections I was supposed to win.
The guy I was supposed to reject.
Everyone applauded his impromptu performance. Some even requested for an encore. A couple even asked if he was joining the band. He just replied with his characteristic smile, and immediately, I saw his arrogance return.
He stood up and approached me.
Oh shit...
He flashed his cocky grin and extended his hands on his side as if he wanted me to see him... all of him.
“Hey,” he greeted me with a voice that was irksomely imperious. “I guess we make beautiful music together.”
I wanted to cower upon hearing that line. It was so contrite... so impudent... so banal... yet, there was something quite endearing with the manner by which he spoke it.
“So... can we have dinner tomorrow night?” he was quick to add.
He didn’t wait for my text. He asked me right there and then, eager for my answer.
Cindy’s words echoed in my head.
Of course, you should say yes!
The sooner you go out with him, the sooner we can have our revenge.
Do this for me, Phoebe. I’m your best friend.
My enemy is your enemy too.
I bowed my head with excruciating reluctance. I didn’t want to. I wasn’t meant for that type of thing. I’m not the kind of girl who’d go to such length just to teach a guy a lesson.
I’m not the kind of girl who he can fall in love with.
“Please say yes,” he pleaded, still with narcissistic ardor. “I’m dying to get to know you, Phoebe Marie Ellison.”
I could’ve asked how he knew my complete name, but I didn’t. I was too preoccupied with my thoughts... with the reply I was supposed to give. I didn’t want to. I really didn’t want to. I reminded myself that I had a choice, that regardless of Cindy’s wishes, I could still say no.
“Phoebe... I really want to spend some time with you,” he said, that time with a tone of genuineness that was, admittedly, moving. He was a good actor. He made me believe in the feigned purity of his intentions.
“Okay,” I mumbled, an answer I knew I was going to regret.
Chapter 11
HAYDEN
I didn’t bother to avail of the valet parking service. I just pulled up on the roadside a few meters away from Mario’s Kitchenette, right in front of a no parking sign, and left my vehicle there. I wasn’t planning on staying long. A quick dinner, a polite chat, and off I go.
The receptionist, an elderly man who has been working at the restaurant since I was a kid, welcomed me. He led me towards the table at the elevated portion of nook that was reserved for special guests of the establishment. My father was already there, waiting for me, perusing some documents he brought with him.
He invited me for dinner, yet he brought some work with him. Typical.
I approached the table, pulled up the chair opposite him and sat. He didn’t even bother to greet me. His eyes didn’t even leave the papers he was studying. He didn’t afford me the courtesy of his stare.
His hair, medium length and whitened by age, made me wonder. Will I look like that when I get older? Wrinkled and grumpy and unduly uncaring, even to my own son?
I hailed the waiter and asked for the menu. I didn’t need it. We have eaten there countless times before that I have practically memorized everything they had to offer. But reading the menu - or pretending to read it, at least - would give me a reason not to open my mouth.
As it turned out, that didn’t work.
He was the first to speak, with a tone so inhospitable that made me want to grunt. Funny. The elder Summersmith and his voice as cold as winter. Talk about oxymorons.
“You’re late,” he said emotionlessly.
“I left my Rolex at home,” I lied. I actually lost it to Jeremy on a bet. Damn Lakers.
“Don’t you have other watches?” he asked.
“I do, but that Rolex is my favorite. You gave it to me.” Another lie. I just told him what he wanted to hear, so he’d allow me to leave as soon as possible.
Another round of silence followed. I placed my order and asked the waiter to hurry. I told him I was starving. It was the third lie I delivered in a span of two minutes. The truth was I lost my appetite on the way to Rodeo Drive. Meeting him had that effect.
My father signed some papers and placed them in a leather folder. Then he looked at me, which I found quite surprising. All along, I thought that we’d finish dinner without having to gaze at one another.
“Hayden, your mom’s been gone for quite some time now,” he mentioned. I was jolted by his words.
Wow.
Where did that come from? He hasn’t spoken about her for years.
I felt anxious about how our conversation began.
“Twelve years,” I reminded h
im. “Why bring this up all of a sudden?”
“Yes, it’s been twelve years and a few months,” he continued. “It seems like it’s been longer than that, and it’s about time that we move on.”
“I’ve moved on,” I remarked. The fourth lie that evening.
“That’s good to hear. I have moved on, as well.”
I raised my eyebrow, befuddled by what he was trying to say.
