by Gigi Black
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Yeah, the fact that you’re working here is wrong. Don’t you make, like, friggin’ loads of money, dude?”
“Uh…”
“You are… like, you’re my favorite mature actress. Hold on a second, I gotta get the guys. I need an autograph.” He turned and gave an ear-splitting whistle. Several frat boys materialized.
I was glued to the floor, shame creeping up my legs, into my stomach, and through my chest.
This isn’t happening. This is not happening.
“You know, you’re totally going to get nominated for a Pornie Award. Most talented newcomer,” the guy said, sticking his tongue out. “Fuck yeah. That scene you did with Big Dick Jerry? Changed the way I come.” He mimicked thrusting and pulled a face.
“Holy shit, Kinky Kara,” his friend said, leaning over the counter. He grabbed hold of my arm. “You have to teach me how you do what you do. Like… I want to satisfy my girlfriend, and I bet if you teach me—”
I wrenched my arm out of his grip, seeing crimson.
I grabbed one of the squeezie bottles of olive oil from next to the serviette dispenser, and let the first guy have it. “Back off!” I screeched.
The trauma, anger, fear, and heartbreak bubbled to the surface and exploded out of me. I covered the first guy in olive oil, then the next, squirting then swapping my empty bottle out for one filled with ranch dressing, all while screaming.
The guys backed off, yelling, their hands up, exchanging confused glances, and I darted forward, slipped on the gathering puddle of oil and whacked my head into the counter.
The Pieslice hazed out of view in speckles of gray.
“Hazel?” A hand tapped my cheek. “Hazel.” A warm voice, slightly gruff.
“Damien?” I opened my eyes, and pain sparked between them and throbbed right through the center of my brain. I groaned and touched a growing lump on my forehead.
“It’s Seth.”
I blinked and struggled upright. I was behind the counter in the Pieslice, lying in a puddle of oil, my uniform shirt soaked through, and a crowd of people gathered around, staring at me in varying states of concern and interest. And yeah, Seth was here.
Why the fuck was Damien’s superhot brother in the Pieslice? And why, oh why God, had he seen me like this?
“McCutcheon!” The roar came from outside the circle of onlookers.
“Shit!” I scrambled onto my knees, slipped in ranch, and nearly did the splits.
Seth caught me under the arms and helped me upright, bracing us both on the counter. “You OK? Your head looks pretty bad.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, in a faux hysterical laugh. “Yeah, I’m great. Just great.”
The crowd parted and Ricky appeared, breathing so hard his jowls wobbled. “You. Out. Fired. Never come back!” he thundered.
“Whoa, wait a second there,” Seth said. “You don’t know what happened.”
But Ricky merely shook his head and pointed to the door.
“It’s OK,” I told Seth, before he could argue for me again. His hand was on my elbow, stabilizing me, and it was like an anchor. “I don’t want to work here anyway.” Truer words had never been spoken. Pity leaving would mean I was officially fucked with a capital “F.”
Seth escorted me out of the Pieslice, waiting while I grabbed my handbag. My sneakers were oily and gross, but the sidewalk was rough, and I didn’t slip around once we were out front.
“Holy crap,” Seth said. “What happened? Whose ass do I gotta kick?”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter, and nobody’s ass.”
The door opened, and the oil-and-ranch-covered group of college dudes exited, glaring over at me. They looked about ready to say something, but the expression on Seth’s face deterred them, and they headed off down the road and got into a van before taking off.
“I’m assuming they had something to do with it.”
I nodded, pressing my lips together to keep from letting out a wail of despair.
“Hazel,” Seth said. “Come on. Let me take you home.”
“It’s OK.” I sobbed and tried to dry my eyes with my sleeves, realizing too late they were oiled up. “Shit. Oh god. Oh no.”
“Here.” Seth removed a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to me.
I wiped myself down and offered it back, grossed out by how covered in gunk it was.
“Keep it,” he said.
“Thanks. I think. Oh god,” I half-cried, half-laughed. “I’m a fucking wreck, aren’t I? Everything is going wrong.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” He gestured to his waiting Audi, gleaming black in the setting sun, but I shook my head.
“I’ll ruin it. My car’s parked around the corner, anyway. I need to drive it home.”
“Then I’ll walk you to it.” Seth fell into step beside me while I trudged, dripping oil and ranch and sorrow, the couple blocks to where I usually parked my car in front of the convenience store. People stared as we passed, probably wondering what the grease-streaked chick was doing with Mr. Well Put Together.
Seth wore a blue suit that screamed wealth, his cuff-links glinting each time he moved an arm, and his shoes so polished they reflected the purpling sky.
We arrived at my car, and I dropped my keys three times before he picked them up for me and unlocked the car.
“Thanks,” I said, watching him insert them into the ignition.
“No problem. Hazel, we need to talk.”
“OK. But I’m kind of having a rough day,” I said. “So, might not be the best time. Just saying.”
“Yeah, that’s what I want to talk to you about. I wanted to check how you were doing. I heard about Damien.”
“Oh yeah?” Have they been talking about me?
“Yeah. Listen, my father told Damien that you outed him basically. And that you were doing… porn. That was why Damien freaked out. Well, not that it’s an excuse or anything. He should’ve let you—”
“I don’t care,” I said. “I don’t care about Damien anymore. I don’t care whether he thought I betrayed him or that I’m a porn star. Or that I’m… fuck, I just don’t care. I am so done with being battered emotionally by that dude. Just when I start opening up to him… it’s my fault. I should never have said yes, but I was desperate.”
“You see, I think you should have opened up to him. Because Damien cares about you.”
“No, he doesn’t. Damien cares about himself.”
“That too, but that doesn’t change the fact that he really gives you shit about you, Hazel. He’s broken about this.”
I peeked around Seth, pretending to look for something. “Oh yeah, that explains why he’s the one who came out here to talk to me. Just save it. Forget it, Seth. It was all fake.” I knew that now. Tears assaulted me again, but I refused to cry for Damien. “I have more important stuff going on right now.”
“Like what?” Seth asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“My dad’s dying,” I said, verbalizing the excruciating agony. “The doctors say he has maybe a month left to live, and all my energy is going into work and him. I just… I just can’t let go of him, now. Not after everything else that I’ve let go of. Not after…” I shut my eyes and the tears spilled down my cheeks. “Not after mom. Not after Damien. Just—sorry.”
Seth drew me into a hug that literally squelched.
“Your suit.”
“I’ll buy another one.” He stroked my hair and let me cry it out. “Hazel, it’s going to be OK. Don’t give up, all right? I know it seems bleak, but people recover from that all the time. All the time. Don’t give up hope.”
I hugged him, the pain reaching a crescendo, my shoulders shaking, my ears hurting from it. “I’m not going to. Not until he’s gone,” I said. “But, yeah, I should go. I need to get to the hospital. Find another job. Big day tomorrow.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help. Money, I mean, anything.”
“No,” I s
aid and pushed out the brotherly hug. “You’ve done enough already. More than enough. Thanks for helping me.” I got into the car and started it, tears drying up slowly, but the sorrow still stuck in my throat.
Seth stood in the parking lot and watched me drive off, hands tucked into the pockets of his ruined suit jacket.
35
Damien
I’d made my living room the new bedroom because who had time to sleep when there was a nonprofit to start and a business to build? Working on the charity was my passion, but building the business would have to come first. I’d use it to fund the charity.
I paced back and forth, talking on the phone to one contact and then another, calling in favors, getting businessmen on my side.
The minute I stopped, thoughts of Hazel came rushing in to fill the gap in movement. When I slept, she was in my dreams, either crying or coming, talking or walking away. And it drove me up the fucking wall.
I hadn’t had to get over someone since… well, ever. I hadn’t gotten over her the first time because I’d had other pains to obsess over. But now, there was nothing but me and the four walls of my SoHo apartment, and blinding agony.
Oh, and booze. There was booze too.
I got off the phone with a chef from one of the hottest restaurants in Manhattan, dreading the silence that would come after I set down my cellphone.
Right on cue, she was back.
Hazel McCutcheon crying. And then dancing. Singing came next. Humming under her breath while she fixed her father dinner. Cooing at her cat, Piddles. A beautiful smile and then rage, lips peeling back over white teeth and agony in her eyes.
I’d done that to her.
“Fuck.” I put the phone down and headed for the fridge. I came back with a beer, popped the lid with an opener, and swigged some of the liquid from the bottle. “Fuck.” Another sip did nothing to dampen my insistent urge to reach out again.
I eyed my phone, shook my head, took another sip.
Calling her was a waste of time. She’d betrayed me. She’d made her choices.
And she didn’t love you. She didn’t even like you, remember? The voice in my head sounded increasingly like my father as the days passed.
A knock came at my door, and I frowned, straightening. “What the fuck?” I wasn’t expecting anyone, and security should’ve let me know someone was on the way up. Unless… “Who’s that?”
“It’s Seth,” my brother grunted. “Open the damn door.”
“Seth? Here?”
“Yes, here. What do you think I’m a hallucination or some shit? Open the door.”
I set down my bottle on the coffee table and headed over, opening for my brother. Seth looked and smelled as if he’d just gotten off a plane. His hair was mussed, his shirt creased, and his temper foul.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Phones not working in Chicago? Or did Mortimer deign to release you for an evening?”
Seth entered and slammed the door. “This place smells like the inside of a fucking brewery. And it looks like you haven’t cleaned in weeks.”
“You’d be right on that count,” I said. “I’ve been too busy. Setting up the new business.”
“And wallowing.”
“I’m not wallowing.” Man, lies were bitter. “I’m working.”
Seth walked over to the sofa and grimaced at the blankets and empty takeout cartons. “Seriously, brother, you need to clean the fuck up. Shower, eat something other than Chinese and greasy pizza, drink some water. And go see her.”
That was a sucker punch to the stomach. “Why are you here?” I asked, picking up my beer. “And do you want one of these?”
“I’ll pass. I’m only here for one night, and I don’t want to take a flight back to Chicago half-drunk.”
“I said one, not twenty,” I replied. “So, are you going to tell me what’s up? Did Mortimer do something?”
“He’s always doing something,” Seth said. “But he’s not why I’m here.”
I drank some beer and sat down on my crowded sofa. “Ow, fuck!” I reached back and removed a chopstick from underneath me. “Almost got an impromptu prostate exam.”
“Funny.” My brother didn’t laugh. He folded his arms and glared at me.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s got a stick up the ass.” I flicked the chopstick away. “You didn’t come all the way here to stare at me, did you? I could’ve sent a picture.”
“You need to go see Hazel,” Seth said.
I shut my eyes and clenched my teeth. “That is none of your fucking business.”
“Damien, she needs your help, and you’re being too much of a dick to see that you need her too.” Seth took a breath. “She didn’t do what you think she did. Mortimer’s lying, and you should know that he would twist things to make it seem like she betrayed you. You should know that you can’t trust his word by now.”
Don’t listen.
“But you believed him anyway, and you kicked her out of your life, and it wasn’t for any other reason but the fact that you were scared of her and how she made you feel.”
“You’re wasting your time,” I said. “I’ve made my decision.”
“Then she’s too good for you,” Seth replied.
I opened my eyes and met his gaze. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Get over yourself, dickhead.” Seth walked from the window back to the sofa, holding my gaze. “Look, this isn’t even about you anymore. Hazel needs help, and she won’t accept it from me, so you’d better be there for her, all right?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Her dad is dying.”
The pleasant buzz I’d developed over the course of the day vanished, and I was stone-cold sober again. “What?”
“The doctors say he’s got less than a month left to live, and she can’t afford anything. His hospital bills, to pay for her own food, for the cat, for fucking anything. Yet here you sit, like some fucking—”
I was off the sofa and holding my brother by the lapels—no idea how I got there. “Where is she?”
“In Chicago,” he said. “At Elmhurst.”
That was all I needed to know. All the other bullshit, the truth about what had happened, none of it mattered if she was in this type of pain. Heartbreak was one thing, but losing a parent you loved? Being alone during it? Being broke and completely hopeless?
That hadn’t been my intention. I’d thought… well, that my father had paid her.
“I’m an idiot,” I said.
“Yeah.” Seth nodded. “Now go be an idiot with her.”
36
Damien
I barely saw Chicago. The city streets, buildings, lights, and people blurred from the back of the cab I’d called from the airport, and my stomach sat in my throat. The first time I’d been nervous in, well, fuck, I couldn’t remember since when.
Heading over to the hospital would be my last resort rather than my first—chances were, she wouldn’t be there when I was, that or I wouldn’t be allowed in to see her or her father, since I wasn’t family.
Which left me with one option.
Her house.
Fuck, there were two outcomes here. She would either let me help her, or she’d reject me completely. And I would have to go back to New York, to pining after her, to thinking about her every second.
Once the fugue had cleared, and I’d cleaned myself up, the gravity of the situation had struck home. I’d been living like a hermit, and not because I’d lost my inheritance or Mortimer’s approval. It was because she was no longer in my life.
How the hell had it taken me this long to realize it?
My phone trilled in my pocket. “Hello?” I answered.
“Damien.” Mortimer’s displeased tone came down the line. “I warned you not to start a business, didn’t I?”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“You’ve been making calls you shouldn’t have,” Mortimer said. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out
about your little side projects? Did you really think that—”
I hung up on him. I didn’t have the energy for the melodrama, and, strangely, I didn’t give a shit which of my contacts had called him up and told him about my business plans. All that mattered was Hazel, now, and what she needed.
Money was easy. Love was hard.
The cab pulled up outside Hazel’s tiny home, and I paid the guy, leaped out of it, and bolted up the front steps. Storm clouds boiled above, the occasional flash of chain lightning arcing over my head, illuminating flashes of the houses and street. Gentle rolls of thunder came intermittently.
I inhaled slowly, steadying myself, and then knocked.
Quiet. Thunder. The first few droplets of rain.
Finally, the latch clacked, and the door opened, and holy fucking shit, there she was.
A train ran right over me. My throat tightened. My muscles tensed.
She wore an oversized sweater and held Piddles, the ginger cat, in her arms. He meowed a greeting then snuggled into her arms.
Hazel’s green eyes were puffy, dark circles underneath them, and her cheeks were pale, her face slightly drawn. Beautiful as ever, but painfully so, now. She stared at me like I was a ghost, and her lips parted, little gasps of breath escaping.
“Hazel,” I said.
And she jerked on the spot. Piddles meowed and jumped out of her arms and high-tailed it into the house. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
Christ, her voice. I forgot. “I heard about your father.”
“So, it’s a pity visit,” she said, stiffening. “Save it, then. I don’t need your pity. I just need you to leave me alone.” She made to close the door.
“Wait.”
“What are you even doing here?” Hazel asked, holding the door wider now, anger spilling from her. “I’m the evil one who betrayed you, remember? Fuck the benefit of the doubt or anything.”
“I was wrong.”
“No, no, you were totally right. I’m an evil plan-wrecker or home-wrecker or porn star or whatever it is you believe about me,” she said. “Keep believing that.”
