by Karina Sharp
“Are you sure this is what you want to do? You know if you don’t want to go with him, you can come back with Jack and me.”
With a large exhale, Lexie replies, “Yes, like every other time, I’m okay and I want to go with him.”
“Okay, I just want to make sure. You know I’m your security detail, so if you want me to make him get lost, I will.”
“I know that. Now, be a good wing woman and let me go have some fun.” Lexie smiles.
I give her a big hug. “Okay, Lovey. Be safe. I love you. Text me when you get there.”
“I know, I know.”
We walk back over to Tony, who does seem to be very sweet and genuine.
“Adonde vas?” I ask Tony.
“He speaks English just fine, Journey,” Lexie interjects. “We are going back to the hotel. Emily and Anna are already back there, and I got my own room this time, so we will be fine. Really.”
“I promise to get her there safely and then show her a good time,” Tony says, dimples formed in his cheeks from his smile.
“Alright. Have fun you two. Call me if you need me!”
“We won’t!” Lexie calls to me as she heads out with her new friend.
Not realizing I was holding Jack’s hand this whole time, I let go of it, looking back at him.
“I’m going to run to the restroom,” Jack says. “Pardon me for a moment, will you?”
“Lightweight,” I tease him. “Go ahead. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Jack strolls away with grace, and I watch his rounded butt cheeks move in his light, linen shorts until George steps beside me, startling me.
“Having a good time?” he asks.
“Of course! I didn’t realize you were still here. I thought you all left.”
“Hal and Marshall did. We have an early tee time tomorrow and they can’t hang like I can.”
“Oh. I don’t know how you all play golf so much. I would get bored, I think, but to each his own.”
“Jack loves playing golf. He played in college. Did he not tell you that? We go on golf trips all of the time. The only reason he isn’t playing on this trip is because you’re here.”
“No, he didn’t tell me that, but that’s interesting to know. He doesn’t have to skip playing because of me.”
George closes in the space between us. I try to back away, but my back is against a stool. I look around, trying to find a space to squeeze into, but I see none. It’s not as though I can feel the heat of his breath on my neck or anything, but I have a bubble of personal space that I like to maintain unless I invite you into it. George is in my bubble, and I don’t like it.
“You don’t know much about him, do you? I bet he doesn’t share a whole lot with you, except how much money he has. But, if you’re looking for money, you’re barking up the wrong tree. He’s not the philanthropist I am.”
“George? You’re kind of all up in my space right now. Do you mind backing up just a little?” I motion with my hands for George to move back. “Does Jack know that you’re here?”
Instead of doing as I requested, he takes a step closer. “What’s wrong? You don’t seem to have a problem letting everyone else get right up against you.”
“I don’t appreciate the implication, George. Moreover, I think you’re drunk.” I turn toward the bar and ask Rico for some water.
George places his hand over my wrist, which is now basically pinned to the bar top. I look up at his weasley smile and take a hard swallow. I don’t really know what to do or say. Is he just toying with me or is he serious? I throw a pleading look Rico’s way and he must read it clearly, because in rapid succession, he is in front of us, handing George his credit card, a pen, and a slip of paper to sign. George casually takes the items from Rico, but I’m still stuck between the bar and the stool.
Rico sticks around, making small talk. “¿Habla Espanol, George?”
“No, not really. The little bit I know, I learned from our housekeeper.”
George manages to ruffle the feathers of Rico as well, which I imagine is a tough thing to do since he comes across all kinds here.
“¿Lo que está mal? ¿Te está molestando, porque puedo patearle el culo?”
I reply to Rico in Spanish that yes, George is bothering me, but that there was no need to kick his ass. Yet.
To my relief, Jack returns and asks in Spanish whose ass we’re talking about kicking. I explain that George is drunk and acting like himself. We all laugh, with the exception of George, who I am sure can ascertain that he is the topic of conversation and the butt of the joke, which I know he doesn’t like. George carries a creep factor of which I can’t quite explain. After each trip, I think in hindsight that maybe I don’t give him enough credit, but when I see him again the next year, the same ickiness comes back and usually stronger than I remembered it.
For all intents and purposes, he seems like your average spoiled rich kid who takes himself and his family’s money a little too seriously, but each time I’ve attempted to make conversation or joke around with him like I do everyone else, his responses are never as I expect them to be. His behavior and the way he carries himself I find bizarre, and not just because he’s a snob and a half to most everyone. He seems to linger on the outskirts of conversations, and my personal bubble, just a little too long. He doesn’t quite leer at me, but doesn’t look at me in a way that seems casual and nonchalant. I don’t know... He’s just creepy.
Before I can try to smooth things over with George like I normally do, Jack grabs my hand and motions for me to come to him, which makes George have to move out of my way. He walks me to the now almost empty dance floor. “Dance with me.” His warm, brown eyes flash George a death stare, then shine brilliantly when they return to me.
I place my hands around his neck, which is a bit of a stretch since he’s over a foot taller than me, but well worth the effort. “I thought you don’t dance.”
His hands rest on my hips as he says, “I don’t, but I paid the DJ handsomely to play this song.”
I listen intently to hear Otis Redding’s “These Arms of Mine” playing in a rustic, local bar in Mexico. For the duration of the song and into the rest of the night, our only focus is one another. The burning stares from strangers, the fact that my time with Jack is limited, my worries and frustrations about him being guarded, the reputation and social norms I must maintain, and the awful exchange with George all melt away from my consciousness. Jack and I may as well have been dancing, and subsequently making love, weightlessly suspended and burning bright in the atmosphere, because that’s how it feels.
For the next few days, we are the center star of our own universe, causing everything else to revolve around us and aligning things as we see fit.
Just as stars shine brilliantly right before they burn out, so do we.
Chapter 7
1 year later
Journey
This year is the first year we’ve missed our annual trip together. I’ve needed this trip. I’ve needed Jack.
My grandmother passed away six months ago, and I was devastated. She was my rock and one of the most important people in my life. I flew home to Connecticut to be with my family. Conversations and texts with Jack have become a regular part of my life. He sent flowers to my grandmother’s funeral, which was very thoughtful. I didn’t ask to see him while I was home in New England, nor did he offer to come meet me. It would have been crass. Instead, he listened to me cry and comforted me when I was in grief. We agreed that we should connect outside of spring break, but each time we talked about either him flying to Cali or I to NYC, something prevented it from happening, so we just set our sights on our always reliable spring break trip.
Just a few weeks ago, Jack texted to let me know something came up and he would be unable to attend. He did not specify what the issue was, he simply referred to it as an “important family matter.” He was apologetic, via text anyway, but I can’t quash the feeling of rejection that is beginning to simmer withi
n me.
I came to Cabo anyway, and it is not the same. Everything feels a little empty. I am not having fun in the way I am accustomed. Gone are the tender moments we shared, exchanged for simple memories that are inexplicably uprooting my usual sense of confidence. Everything I do, I want to share with him. In order to fill the gaps created in my psyche by Jack’s absence, I choose to party harder. And when I want to quiet the intuition telling me that I should slow down before my life takes a very sharp turn, I simply drink more.
Jack’s usual ragtag crew of Hal, Marshall, and George are here. At first, I hung out with them, I suppose in hopes that some of Jack’s essence will be exuded by them, but it only served to make things worse. I’ve chosen to distance myself from them, and I don’t think George is a big fan of that. He seems to be present at all times and creep into the background everywhere I am.
It’s our last full day here, and I have been partying with Lexie and some local friends we made at a sponsored party. In an effort to keep from seeming stalkerish and not text Jack every second, I keep dancing and downing booze so that my brain remains swimmingly occupied. One thing leads to another, and tequila shots followed by a squirt of lime juice are soon sliding down my throat.
You know how everyone has a “never again” story or lesson they learned about particular alcohol or combination? At some point in their lives, they’ve discovered that too much of a particular drink mixed with a wild night is in fact the devil incarnate. For me, that drink is tequila. I had long ago sworn off tequila. Shots of tequila, to be exact. Tequila shots seem to be my only kryptonite. They make me lose all inhibitions. They make me vomit. Worst of all, with enough of them, they make me black out. Its distinct flavor lingers in my mouth long after I’ve ingested it. Just thinking about tequila usually makes me queasy.
Somehow, I allow myself to forget my promise of never, ever again torturing my body with the devil’s elixir, and before I know it, I am up on a stage with the band, dancing around. Even worse, there is a production company there handing out free shirts in exchange for a signature on a video release.
Many moments of not being shy with my body, coupled with the encouragement of a large crowd and some cameramen, lead to a split-second decision that, unbeknownst to me, will lead me down a shame spiral that will haunt me for years.
***
I awake in my hotel room and the room is spinning. It spins when I open my eyes. It spins with my eyes closed. It doesn’t matter what I do, it just keeps spinning.
I don’t remember having that many drinks, but I also don’t really remember how I got back here. I call over to Lexie, but she is not around. I assume that she must have gone home with someone, which isn’t unusual. I gather myself together enough to slide off of the bed and drag my weakened body to the bathroom, keeping my eyes closed. When I head back into the bedroom, looking through the narrow view my barely open eyes afford me, I spot George sitting in an armchair by the bed.
“What are you doing here?” my voice rumbles out from my lungs.
“You needed some assistance getting back here, so I helped you get into bed and came back to check on you this morning.”
“Uggghhh,” I groan. I slide my lazy legs across the floor and fall onto the bed. “What time is it?”
“Just after eleven,” George answers me with a smile.
Tequila truly is the devil.
“How did you get in here?”
“You gave me your key.”
“Oh. Well, thank you for making sure I got back safely, but you don’t have to stay here with me. I’m fine. I guess I just had too much to drink,” I tell him, lying on the bed, unmoving.
“No, I’ll stay. I’m curious what it is that makes Jack so hot over you.”
I don’t even turn my head to look at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, George.”
“I should change that and say that I’m not curious about what’s underneath that swimsuit of yours- I’ve seen it and I get why Jack enjoys fucking you so much -but, I’m more interested in getting my own private show.”
“What?” I sit up as quickly as I can will my body and attempt to focus on George. His leer is unnerving, and I feel very uncomfortable. “George, I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“You’re telling me that you have no problem flashing cameramen who sell videos of college girls to horny men all over the world, but you refuse to extend the same courtesy to me?”
“Seriously,” I state, which comes out in a combination of hisses and spit. “I think you should leave.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. I see the way you look at me. I see you tempting me with your short skirts and skimpy swimsuits. If you weren’t trying to get me to notice, why would you do it?”
I feel so weak that I can’t even keep my head up, so I slide back onto the bed, keeping a healthy distance between George and myself.
I wonder where my phone is. Or my purse. Or anything.
George looks over to me and I shudder internally. “Anyway, I promised Jack I would make sure you got back to your place unharmed.”
“You what? What does Jack have to do with anything? He’s not even here.”
“I know he’s not here. I included him by sending some pictures I took of you in action last night. You really seemed to be accustomed to getting naked in front of cameras, so what was one more camera taking pictures?”
The worst of all thoughts flood my brain. What has he done? What did I do?
Answering my internal thoughts, George says, “Don’t worry, I didn’t fuck you.”
“Why would you do that to me, George? What have I ever done to you? And what makes you think that Jack would even care?”
“You know very well why he would care. All he does is pine over you. He doesn’t date anyone else. It’s like the hope that maybe one day your worlds will collide again is holding him hostage. I did what any good friend would do; I let him know he’s been duped.”
“I haven’t deceived him in any way.”
George ignores me and continues, “I will say, he’s crushed, but gave me permission to hook up with you. I believe his words were, ‘You can have her if you want her. I’m done.’”
I want to punch him. I want to punch him harder than I’ve ever punched anyone before. A million times. But I can’t.
“Oh God,” escapes from my lips.
“That’s more like it. Maybe next time I can make you say that.”
What have I done? Oh my god! He sent pictures to Jack! As I begin to panic, I regain some control over my body.
I sit up and cry, “You motherfucker! Get the fuck out!”
“I told him from the beginning that you’re a whore who would just take advantage of him and want him for his money. He wouldn’t listen. Now, I have proof.” George stands, stalking toward the door.
I look up to study George’s measured expression. Our gazes meet, and he’s clearly angry with me, but I am angrier- so much so that I don’t know what to say. Thoughts rapidly and haphazardly move throughout my brain.
“Fuck off,” I spit icily as George slams the doors that lead out onto the beach.
Quickly, I search for my phone and text Lexie.
Where are you? I need to get out of here!
My phone rings back.
Be there in 10
I sit on the bed nervously clawing at the comforter as I wait for Lexie to return. Fortunately, it’s time to catch our plane and return to real life. I pack up my things and see Lexie has already packed hers. The concierge has a taxi waiting for us to take us to the airport.
After we go through customs and security, we find our seats and settle in for a long flight and equally as long and more intense chat.
“Hey Lex, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Of course, baby bee, come give me a buzz.”
Sitting in the seat next to Lexie, eyes cast down and unsure what I’m going to say next, I fret over the consequences of my misdeeds. My dear friend Lexie is just as wil
d and free spirited as me. We’ve pretty much been attached at the hip ever since I met her during cheer camp the summer before our freshman year at Kentucky. She’s one of the few people who both gets me and can keep up with my shenanigans.
“Let me guess… This has something to do with Jack?”
“That obvious?”
“Yes. Your emotions are heightened when you’re around him. You’re mostly happy, but this is the saddest I’ve ever seen you. What else would affect you that much?”
“I- Hmm…” I shut my mouth quickly, open it again to speak, then close it.
Peering into Lexie’s understanding eyes, I want to argue with her and tell her she’s wrong and that I’m just bummed about going back home, but she’ll know better. “Why do you always start talking to me like you’re my therapist when we talk about Jack?”
“Because I pretty much am your therapist when it comes to Jack.”
“You haven’t finished your Master’s degree, Lex. You’re not even close to being a real shrink yet.”
“Maybe so, but I know you, and I know you’re in denial.”
I look down to my lap and begin playing with the fabric of my dress. “I think my poopsicle has changed to a shitsicle.”
Lexie’s hand reaches to mine from the seat next to me, and they connect, instantly soothing me, reassuring me that she won’t judge.
“Where do I begin? George took pictures of me last night, and Jack’s upset because my cha-cha bingos are soon to be displayed in a very public way. Of course, I don’t care...they’re just boobies, and he says he doesn’t care so much about that, but I promised him before that I wouldn’t do anything like that unless I was certain that I was okay with the potential long-term consequences. He laments the fact that we aren’t any more than just a casual hookup, but we can’t be more than that, because look at the dumb things I do.” I’m talking very quickly without pausing for breaths.
“Are you just a casual hook up? Because you surely get all kinds of bent out of shape for someone who is just casually hooking up with a random dude. And the way you look at each other… You two are like an old, married couple.”
