I find the edge of the desk and feel for my cell. I find it and swipe my finger across the screen answering the phone.
“Hello,” I answer.
There’s a long pause. Before I lose my temper again, I think about it for a second. If it were Stephen he surely would have spoken by now. It has to be Nina. Has something else happened? Sebastien, the fucker didn’t do his fucking job! Something is wrong.
“Nina,” I say, worried.
“This is Joss,” a small, quiet voice answers.
Joss. Chills race over my skin at the sound of her voice.
“Joss, what’s wrong? Is something wrong?” I ask, more urgently.
Another long pause followed by sniffling. She’s crying again.
“I wanted to call and say thank you for handling the situation this morning. And for pulling all the tabloids off the shelves,” she whispers.
Nina lets me sit on the floor for an hour. After an hour, she stands in front of me and taps her foot. It’s a good thing, too, because my tailbone is killing me.
“Get up,” she says.
“You can’t make me,” I reply, lifting my head.
I’m safe down here wrapped in my own arms with my head buried in the proverbial sand. Well, my head is buried. It’s just buried in my knees.
“Girl, you know I can make you. We took karate together, remember? Don’t even make me try,” she says, putting her hand on her hip.
“Fine,” I say, and slap my hands down on the tiled floor.
Seriously, I was just about to get up anyway; my butt is killing me. I don’t think I can sit another minute on the floor. But, I won’t tell her that. I’ll let her think she’s making me.
I stand up and stretch my aching body. The sight of the tabloids catches my eye and I cringe.
“What do you want to do with them?” she asks.
I’d love to set them on fire where they sit and have a huge bonfire, but that would start the whole house on fire, too. That doesn’t mean we can’t take them in the backyard and burn them in the fire pit.
“Let’s take them outside and burn them. Do you think he got them all?” I ask.
That’s a dumb question. Of course he didn’t! What do I think he went into millions of homes and stole every last copy? Oh my God! Do you think there really are millions of copies?
“I don’t know, honey. I can tell you by the look on his face that he was upset. And he wasn’t upset because of what they were saying about him. He was upset because you were upset,” she says.
Now, how could she know that? He has to be upset. No one likes to be talked bad about. I know they say no publicity is bad publicity, but it has to bother him.
It takes Nina and me about thirty trips what took four men, one trip to get all the magazines out of our family room and into the backyard.
“You have the honors,” Nina says, handing me the matches.
I look at the pile and wonder just how I got to this point in my life. I’m just a simple girl, living a simple life. How did my ass get plastered all over the tabloids? I knew I didn’t like these stupid tabloids. That’s why I’ve never bought any in the first place. I’ve never even liked looking at them until I met River.
River.
That’s how I got where I am. I look at the pile again and take one magazine off the top, then roll it up and stick it in my back pocket. I take the matches from Nina and light the pile of crap on fire.
Nina reaches over and squeezes my hand. She goes into the house and comes back out with two skewers and a bag of marshmallows, and I bug out my eyes at her.
“What?” she says, muffled with a mouth full of marshmallows. “Might as well have some good come out of the situation,” she continues.
Leave it to Nina to find the good in every situation. We sit down around the fire in bright, lime green Adirondack chairs, and stuff our faces with toasted marshmallows.
The fire is almost out and all that’s left is a bunch of smoldering ashes. The bag of marshmallows is gone, and I’m sure the stomach ache is right around the corner.
“Come on, let’s go,” Nina says.
“Go! Go where?” I ask.
I’m not leaving this house. I’m sure there’s a pride of lion paparazzi outside my front door still. A pride of stealthy lion paparazzi since it’s pretty quiet out there. I’m surprised they didn’t see the big stream of billowing smoke coming from our backyard. I’m shocked there aren’t drones flying overhead recording every second possible.
“We need to go to the grocery store and start prepping for the week,” she says, standing up.
“You go ahead. I’m fine right here,” I tell her.
“Um, no. You’re coming with me. Grab your list and let’s get this over with. I can’t shop for the crazy menu’s you have planned. I can help, but I can’t shop for them.”
She’s right. She can’t do the shopping alone, just like I could never handle the website alone. We each bring our own unique qualities to our business, and that’s what makes it so successful. Can’t I just have a do-over and wake up and not have gone to the farmer’s market this morning?
She holds her hand out to help me out of my chair.
“Oh, alright,” I give in.
I grab my notes from my desk and head out to her catering van. She drives to the grocery store and as she parks, I sink into my seat.
“It’ll be alright,” she says, reaching for my hand.
I’m not at all sure I believe her. I look out the window and don’t notice anyone standing in the deep, dark recesses with an evil camera in their hand, so I get out.
The funny thing is that not one person seemed to even look at me cross-eyed. The employees at the store all waved or said hello like nothing was wrong. Up and down every aisle, I was waiting for someone to come flying off the shelf, making the contents tumble to the ground, snapping a photo. But that never happened. I hold my breath as we get in the long checkout line. As we get to the register, I glance at the tabloid and magazine section, expecting to see hundreds of copies of my ass on full display. But, there aren’t any. It really is as if it never happened at all. We load the van and head home.
“You should call him and thank him,” she says.
My heart sinks. She’s right, of course, but it’s not something I’m looking forward to. I know he’s an important client and I don’t want to jeopardize that. Oh, God. Do you think he wants to still keep us as a client? Shit, what if he cancels because we were so much trouble? Josh and Nina had a thing, I’m sure he’s not happy about that, and now this. Wait! What the hell am I talking about? He’s the one who hoisted my ass over his shoulder and carried me through a room full of his guests. It’s not like he didn’t know they were all there. He invited them all for crying out loud. Every single one of them had a cell phone. I’m surprised there’s not a video of the whole thing. Oh, please tell me there’s not a video.
“No, I’m not calling him. He caused all of this. I’m just going to let it be and act like it never happened,” I tell her, getting mad.
She inhales a loud breath through her nose and doesn’t say anything. I hate it when she does that. She knows she’s right, but she’s giving me time to come to the same conclusion on my own.
“Oh, alright,” I give in. “I’ll call him after dinner,” I continue. After I’m sure there isn’t a video on the five o’clock news.
Nina smiles as she pulls into the driveway. We unload the groceries and I start prepping for Monday’s clients. After that, I make us some dinner and take it outside on the patio. It’s a beautiful, warm summer evening. We like to take a glass of red wine and our dinner and eat outside every chance we get.
After dinner, Nina takes the plates inside. I turn my chair around to face the setting sun. I tip my head up to the sky and close my eyes.
Nina comes back out and nudges the side of my chair. I open my eyes to see her standing in front of me with my cell phone and River’s business card. I give them both a dirty, smug look, close
my eyes, and tip my face back toward the warm setting sun.
She nudges my chair again and places the items into my lap, then goes inside the house closing the French doors behind her.
Shit. She’s a pain in my ass sometimes.
I dial the number listed on the card and hold my breath. Please don’t answer. Please don’t answer.
River’s voice answers on the third ring like smooth silk.
Shit.
“Hello?” he says.
I find myself unable to speak. What do I say? I should have thought this through more thoroughly. Thank you for taking my wide ass off the newsstands. Or, thank you for carrying me over your shoulder in the first place. I bite my lip and try not to go back to being mad.
“Nina?” he calls, almost like he’s worried.
“This is Joss,” I find myself whispering.
“Joss, what’s wrong? Is something wrong?” he asks, as if he’s genuinely concerned.
Oh, God! Now the whole day suddenly weighs on me. This shit really happened. It really happened to me. I always thought the shit in those magazines was just made up crap to stir interest in a celebrity. It seems like when a forgotten celebrity has a new upcoming movie, they always end up in a tabloid for one reason or another to gain buzz. But, this really did happen. I don’t know why, but I start to cry again.
“I wanted to call and say thank you for handling the situation this morning. And for pulling all the tabloids off the shelves,” I whisper.
“Joss, it was no trouble at all. Actually, I’d like to make it up to you,” he continues.
“Make it up to me?” I question, a little surprised.
“Have you had dinner? How about I take you out to dinner?” he asks.
“Nina and I just finished dinner, actually,” I tell him.
“Tomorrow then?” he replies.
“Tomorrow,” I echo.
“I can pick you up at eight,” he replies.
“Eight?” I repeat.
What am I, a fucking parrot? I can’t seem to put more than three words together.
“Alright, I’ll see you at eight tomorrow,” he replies.
I find myself unable to speak with my mouth hanging open. I snap it shut, knowing full well he uses his ninja skills to already know that.
“Joss?” he questions, after I still haven’t said anything.
“Eight,” I repeat again, like an idiot.
“I’ll see you then,” he says.
As I wait for him to hang up, I think about the fact that I have a date with River Mason. Is this a date? No, it’s not a date. He just wants to apologize for causing so much crap. He’s just being nice.
“Joss?” he questions.
Shit. He never hung up, and neither did I.
“Huh,” I reply.
God! I’m such an imbecile! I can’t put three coherent words together and now I can’t even say them! All I can do is make noises at him like a Neanderthal.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Mm hmm,” I reply.
Shit! I did it again! Please stop asking me questions. Next, I’ll be saying ooh ooh ah ah like a monkey.
“If you’re sure?” he questions.
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” I reply.
Yes! I did it! That was more than three words and there weren’t any baboon noises.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, and hangs up.
The sliding glass door opens and Nina pokes her head out.
“How’d it go?” she asks.
I crane my head around to look at her and stare with a lost, blank look.
“I think I just made a date with River Mason for tomorrow night.”
I hang up the phone and feel the top of my desk, then place it down where I know I didn’t spill food.
“River, there’s an email I think you should be aware of…” Josh starts to say, as he walks into my office.
I feel for the plate, pick it up and slide the food off my desk onto the plate. I don’t usually make mistakes like not knowing where my plate is on the surface in front of me. It brings me back to my childhood days. My instructors would place a plate of food in front of me with a minimum of four items on it and tell me their location using a clock for reference. Chicken at six o’clock, peas at three o’clock, dinner roll at nine o’clock, and mashed potatoes at noon. Then I was expected to pick up my fork and scoop up whichever item they chose. I would be told three o’clock and I was expected to only pick up peas. When my fork landed in mashed potatoes, my dinner was taken away from me and I was sent to bed hungry.
It angers me to the point of breaking out into a cold sweat when I think about it, but to this day, I’ve instructed Josh to do the same. Josh always sits by my side and he’ll discreetly whisper in my ear where all my food is located using that same clock system. He’ll adjust my plate once it’s set down if necessary. It doesn’t take long of going to bed with an empty stomach to master the task. But again, to do it like that to a ten-year-old boy was cruel.
“Let me get that,” Josh says, coming to my side.
“It’s alright, I’ve got it,” I tell him. “What email did I need to know about?” I continue.
Josh reads me the email, then I dictate a reply and he sends it. Josh picks up the dinner plate, but not before I hear him clean up the remaining mess.
“Do you need anything else, this evening?” he asks, standing by the door frame.
“No,” I reply.
Josh leaves the room, and he won’t bother me again until the morning when he sets out my clothes for me. I head out of my office and into the kitchen. I reach my hand into the refrigerator on the second shelf to the left and grab a beer. I feel for the drawer next to the refrigerator and take out the bottle opener. I remove the top and toss it towards the sink. I don’t know who fronts the beer bottles once I take one, or who empties the caps out of the sink, and I don’t fucking care. It’s what people are paid to do.
I know the cap goes into the sink, because I hear it bounce off the side of the stainless steel walls coming to a clattering rest on the bottom of the sink. I’m not sure if it’s Josh or the maid that comes every day, and I honestly don’t give a fuck.
I walk through the family room, through the open wall of doors, and out onto the deck. I feel for the top of the chair and park my ass in the cushioned seat. As I sip my beer on an empty stomach, I raise my face to the sky and soak up the warm evening sunset. The waves crash on the beach and I hear a family playing just at the shoreline. Many afternoons I sit here and listen to the families on the beach. What would it have been like to be one of those families?
I hear a little boy squeal with delight as he’s grabbed by his father, then tossed into the ocean.
“Again daddy, again,” he says, laughing.
“Mommy can you help me build a sand castle?” a little girl says.
What would my life be like today if I had a dad who playfully tossed me into the ocean, and a mother who sat and played with me in the sand? Not just me, but my sister, Kate. She wouldn’t be where she is today, and Stephen wouldn’t be the fucked up pansy that he is.
I sit up, rest my elbows on my knees, and hang my head with my beer dangling from my fingers between my legs.
Funny thing is it was a vacation, if you want to call it that, that we were headed to the day of the accident. I was ten, Kate was five, and Stephen was fifteen at the time. My mom and dad had gotten into a fight the week before. She had complained that we never do anything fun together as a family. We hadn’t taken a real vacation in years and she wanted to get away, just the five of us. My dad gave in, but it wasn’t exactly what my mom wanted.
He agreed to a four-day weekend, and not the two weeks that my mother had wanted. We were going to drive down to San Diego and go to the Wild Animal Park and Legoland. My mother wanted to take the scenic route on the coastal California 1 freeway all the way down, but that would have taken too much time. Instead, my father was going to take the freeway.
&nb
sp; Stephen had started to pitch a fit and said that Legoland was for babies and he didn’t want to go. My mother had insisted she wanted to go as a family, but my father overruled her and said he could stay home by himself. My mother tried to argue with him, saying Stephen was too young to stay by himself. My dad assured her that Sebastien would keep an eye on him. Stephen had laughed under his breath and called my mom a bitch.
I know she heard him say it, too. She got that look on her face that she got every time my dad spoke to her that way. Kate was beside herself happy and couldn’t wait to go to Legoland. Funny thing is part of the drive was on the Pacific Coast Highway until we had to get off on the first freeway. That’s where the accident happened, as soon as we got on the freeway a car came barreling down the wrong side of the freeway at full speed and hit our car head on.
What if we had taken a different road? What if we had stayed on CA1 and taken the scenic route like my mother wanted? We wouldn’t have gotten in that car accident. Would it have been a turning point in our family? Would spending much needed time together as a family have changed my dad’s ways and turned him into a family man?
Thinking like this is what drives me crazy. The ‘what if’s’ are endless and can do a number on your head. That’s why Kate is in rehab for the millionth time. It’s also why Stephen can’t make a decision, or be a man and run the company by my side. Instead, he’s a fucking pansy and rides my coat tails. I was forced to become the man I am.
I get out of my chair and head inside to get in a much-needed workout.
After an hour, my muscles are dead tired, which matches the way I feel inside.
Dead.
But only if that were completely true. I can’t say I don’t understand why Kate feels what she feels, because I do. If only I had died in the car accident with my mother. But, I’m not like Kate. It’s inconceivable to me to take my own life with my own hands. Instead, I feel like a dead man walking, a dead man who lives with demons and nightmares.
I See...Love (A Different Road #1) Page 7
