by Ada Winter
Other than a few regulars sitting at the other end of the bar, there isn’t much action. I will drink alone, wallow in my sorrows and self-pity, and drink myself into absolute oblivion. Good plan. The mirror behind the bar provides a sorry assed reflection of my tortured soul staring right back at me. I look like shit.
I never saw it before tonight. The crazy fucking frenzy I would get into when it came to getting angry at my dad. Always alone when it happened in the past, this time there was collateral damage. It was a nuclear fucking explosion of damage that will likely ruin my life. The best fucking lady I have or ever will meet was head-over-heels for me. I went and fucked it up in a matter of minutes. What a dickwad.
My anger fucked it up.
My anger that I have never learned how to deal with.
My anger that has always made me run.
In my defense, my father is a pretty fucked up character. With his charismatic, commanding nature, he’s always pushed me around and manipulated me to get what he wants. “Mother fucker!” The bartender gives me a sideways stare, but I don’t give a shit. This is all part of the healing process. Healing. Is that what I’m doing? You just lost the love of your life, jackass! There’s no healing from that. All that’s left is pain.
I can still smell her on me. Her wonderful smell that makes me wonder whether anything else on earth could smell so good. Celia’s wild auburn hair flicking to the left and right as I entered her from behind just hours ago is now a painful memory. Another big swig. Drank a quarter of the bottle already. I’m making nice progress to getting shit-faced.
“You look troubled. Can I do anything to help?” A sweet voice comes from directly behind me and I spin to look around. Jen…Jeanie…uhhh.
It came to me just before I speak. “Jocelyn. How have you been?”
The last time I saw her was six months ago. We had a date that ended up back at her place. It was one of those one-night things. I promised to call her but never did. She was a sexy woman with long legs, blondish hair cut like Charlize Theron in Sweet November. She wears tight jeans, leather-heeled boots with pointed toes and a burgundy sleeveless shirt with a frilly front.
“Other than still waiting for your call, I’m doing great.” She is smiling at least.
Shit. “Yeah…sorry about that.” I wasn’t really, but it’s the right thing to say.
“You don’t mean that, Lane. It’s all right. You just wanted to fuck me and that’s all right.”
Wow. I don’t remember her being so straight-forward.
“Are you here with someone?” I hope she didn’t take this as a come-on.
“Yeah. My friend Darcy is over there in the corner and this place is close to her apartment. We come in sometimes to have a few.” She continues while nodding toward my drink. “So, what’s with the sad face and the bottle?”
“Oh, you know, just out for a drink.”
“I’ve heard that one before.” She smiles and takes the seat next to me.
A bit sarcastically. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks, I think I will.” Smug look.
We sit awkwardly for a minute while I ask the bartender for another glass and some ice. I pour her some.
“Drink?”
“Sure.”
Lifting my glass now. “Here’s to old friendships.”
She drinks with me even though the word ‘friendship’ seems to sting a little.
“So, who is she?”
“Who is who?” Shifting uncomfortably.
“The special someone you’re trying to get over.”
“Damn, you’re good.”
“Well, you know, I have been jaded by guys in the past so I speak from experience. The last asshole was named Lane.”
I flash her a look and say, ‘You like kicking a man while he’s down?’
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. So what did you do to her?”
“There’s no hiding anything from you, Jocelyn.” I may have slurred a bit as the whiskey starts taking hold. I explain everything starting with how we met to this evening’s events and everything in between. It’s amazing how Jocelyn could listen without talking at all until I was finished. Truth is, women are better listeners than guys. That’s why when they land a guy who’s a good listener, they never let him go. I guess I answered my own question.
“Well, there you have it.” I left out the steamy sex stuff, but Jocelyn knows me well enough to fill in the blanks. She considered all I had said, then took a swig of whiskey before speaking.
“Lane, I don’t know you real well, but I think I have a pretty good feel for who you are.” She was looking me dead in the eye and even though I was hammered, I was listening intently.
“Celia loves you and you love her. That much is crystal clear. You’ve both been through some pretty fucked up shit and you need to be there for each other. She needs you right now and you need her. There’s no way around that. If you love her as much as I think you do, you need to fight for her.”
“I don’t know, Jocelyn. I think I pretty much fucked things up beyond repair.” I sound like a weakling wallowing in self-pity, but there is nothing I can do about it.
“Listen, Lane. Celia may be scared and confused right now, but she loves you and you love her. Shit, I never thought you were the marrying type and neither did any woman ever that you’ve lured into your bed. We all know you’re a player. Excuse me, were a player. You’ve changed, Lane. Celia has changed you.”
This is so bizarre.
A woman I slept with months ago was giving me advice on how to patch things up with another woman. She was sincere. No doubt about it. A little test was in order, though.
“Why are you helping me, Jocelyn? I mean, I didn’t exactly do right by you.”
She looks down, swirling the remaining whiskey in her glass, then takes a drink. “You’re right, Lane. You were a complete asshole.” She accentuated that last word. “But, you and I were just a fling, Lane. There was never anything there. I believe in love. Without love, we are all nothing. Just empty shells walking around making pretend we’re happy. You’ve found love, Lane, and you may never get another chance. Celia sounds like a great woman and she deserves your love.”
I look at her and the slightest bit of hope took birth inside me.
“Fight for the both of you, Lane.”
Chapter 54
CELIA
It was an excruciating drive home. Not only was it late, and long, but I felt devastated. Every time I tried to put my finger on exactly what was bothering me, everything became muddy. I wanted clarity.
Was I upset more at Lane for putting me in danger? Or was it Sid? Maybe it was both? Could it be I was upset at myself for not being able to talk Lane down when his anger boiled up? The truth is, I think it was a combination of all of those things.
One thing that really stuck with me, though, was the fact that I always felt safe with Lane. He was my protector. He had never actually done anything as far as protecting my honor, but when I was in his arms, I felt safe from the world. Safe from myself.
Lane was the first person I felt strong feelings for since Mark so many years ago. Mark was my first love, or he made me feel something deep inside me that I never knew was there. People can describe love, but until you catch a glimpse of it, you never really know its power.
Mark and I never had a chance to explore and grow the feelings we had for one another. His life was snuffed out in a moment of selfishness. A scare tactic by my older brother that went horribly wrong. After the accident, I had prayed until my heart ached that this was all a bad dream and I would wake up and Mark would be there. Our love would have a chance to grow.
But I was wrong. Each morning I woke up and there was nothing but bitterness, and an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach for not only having lost Mark, but having lost my brother.
I knew what I had to do. To move on. To start the healing. It would be one of the hardest things I had ever had to d
o and should have done years ago. I suppose I wasn’t ready before now.
I will call my brother and I will forgive him.
Can I also forgive Lane?
Time will tell.
But right now, my heart and body are wracked with fatigue and my mind is muddy as a puddle in a desolate dirt road. Sleep will be my best medicine.
Stripping off my red dress and my boob-lifting bra, I nestle down into the warmth and comfort of my bed, oblivious to my cell phone vibrating endlessly in the other room.
Chapter 55
LANE
Lane: Celia, I’m so sorry for the danger I put you in tonight. I was wrong to do that.
Nothing.
She must be home by now, but it is after midnight. Staring at the phone, oblivious to my intoxication, I will her to answer me.
Please. Please, Celia.
Nothing.
Lane: Please Celia. Please forgive me.
This feels a bit pathetic now, but it’s sincere.
A guardian angel was there for me tonight. I was meant to see Jocelyn. She was not the person I expected to help me. The universe is mysterious like that. It’s almost as if we were meant to meet and connect six months ago for the sole purpose of her helping me tonight. Helping me to work through the murky depths of my thoughts, which were anything but clear right now.
Jocelyn had put her arm around me and helped me into her car and driven me home. Then she helped me into the building as I was feeling a little wobbly. A friendly kiss on my cheek and she was gone.
Too much alcohol and the mere freshness of this gaping wound is enough to cloud my judgment. I shouldn’t be texting her right now. Not until my head is clear. There is one last thing I need to say.
Lane: I love you Celia.
Chapter 56
MR. ASTOR
Meeting in the center conference room with Silas McGovern, lead accountant for Astor Consulting, I begin, “What do you have for me, McGovern.” I was all business and McGovern knows he better have his ducks in a row.
McGovern put on his over-sized glasses and rubbed his few strands of remaining hair back on his mostly bald head. “Well, Boston is viable. We can operate for less than 12K a month with a small team. Lane needs to agree to a starting salary at 125K with benefits of course. He’ll receive 25 percent of all new business brought in and with an average effort, he could take home at least 200K to start.”
“Good, good.” Thinking now.
“What about Collins? Do they have any idea we’re coming into their market?”
“I’ve asked for the highest-level of discretion in my inquiries with the real estate brokers and the headhunters. Unless one of them chirps, we’ll enter the market quietly and be set up before they can do anything to block us.”
“That’s still the plan. How much market share can we steal from them initially?” McGovern doesn’t answer, and tentatively, he continues.
“George, can I ask you a question?
“Sure, McGovern.” I generally don’t like questions, but I suppose McGovern needs to be heard.
“How much of this is business and how much is personal?”
I pause to consider his response carefully, then answer brashly, hands together with fingers extended into the pyramid.
“It’s 100 percent personal, although it is my business to be profitable. I guess you can say my motivation is personal, but the end result will make it a solid business move.”
McGovern nods his head. “It’s my job as lead accountant to ask these questions. It’s what you pay me for.”
“I pay you to do what I ask and not question my motives. That’s it, McGovern. Ask me another question like that and it’ll be your ass.”
McGovern blinks a few times, then adds, “Is Lane all in on this deal? He needs to be for it to be financially successful. You’re needed here.”
“He will be.”
Who can refuse me? Who dares?
McGovern says his goodbyes, and with a handshake, he is out the door. He is a smart man and he knows what I'm doing. That’s why I pay him big bucks.
This is personal in that I have to get my son back on track. I am also going to make that son of a bitch Collins pay from his pocket for the sins of his family. Like the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s, there is no love lost between the Astor’s and Collins’s. Our families have hated and competed with each other over the past 120 years and there will be no olive branch extended, not while I’m alive.
Lane is the key to this venture. I am needed here. He will go to Boston and steal away market share and add to our wealth. Lane is a natural businessman who hasn’t yet found his way. He’d proved it to me already in his first stint. I had to push him back then, too. Everyone needs that every so often. Lane just needs it constantly. He is like a lost puppy who can’t get out of his way long enough to take a good shit. As his father, it’s my duty to get him back on track. He will follow in the footsteps of the Astor’s before him, and he will do his duty.
Besides, I can’t do this forever. Lane will be groomed into it until he can run the business with his eyes closed.
This youth center crap is just a distraction, a way of escaping from the responsibilities to his family. He is an Astor and he needs to start living up to that. I will convince him one way or the other. My power over Lane has a history and he will give in or my name isn’t George Astor.
Chapter 57
CELIA
Cloudy day, foggy mind. What time is it? Past 11:00. Feeling glad I don’t have to work today. Stripping off my panties, I walk to the shower and turn the dial to full blast and hot. Looking at myself in the mirror now and staring back is a haggard woman with deep, dark bags under her eyes. Not the done-up beauty who left here less than 24 hours ago.
Showering will help. No wait, a bath will be better. Plug the drain and running the water out of the spout and into the antique claw foot tub I’d picked up at a local garage sale for $200. Making a cup of tea now. Peppermint, I think, for my upset stomach. A large cup with some honey.
Brewing now, breathe in its healing scent.
Still naked and making my way to the now full bath. Sink in…ahhh. Wet, warm towel over my eyes now.
Soothing.
Arms hanging over the side and drifting off. Clearing my mind in deep mediation. Finding that inner calm inside me in the midst of total chaos. No. Positive thoughts now.
Deep meditation. Hiking along a bay on a deserted island and carrying a heavy pack. Too heavy and filled with burden. I release it to the ground with a thud. Found a human-made raft and covered it with soft palm leaves. Clothing is off and naked now. Free. Floating on a raft and feeling the soft ripple and lapping sound of the water up against the sides. Relaxing. Drifting off to a better place. No destination, just free. Free from the burden and torment. Free to float wherever the current takes me. To warmer waters. Healing waters. Drifting….
Buzz, buzz.
I’m wide awake now and shaking off the slumber. The water is no longer warm, but cool. I must have been in here for more than an hour. Toweling off and putting on a thick white robe to remove the chill, I clear a spot on the steamy mirror. The bags under my eyes are mostly gone now. Thankful.
Out in the living room to my cell phone to silence the source of the buzzing. The battery is almost dead so I plug it in before checking messages. Reading messages from Lane.
Last one reads.
Lane: I love you angel.
I read it but can’t answer. Not now.
Last night was about his past demons. It’s all connected with his father. What I saw was a scared boy who still falls under the power of a domineering parent. Some people can shake that in adulthood while others can’t. Lane has not. Not yet at least.
Will he? Can he? My demons still rise up to throttle me from time to time. Not anymore. I’m addressing this head-on. Speed dialing now.
“Hello, Mom. How are you? Listening now.
“
I’m doing okay.”
Pause to listen to Mom’s words that always seem to calm me. “I’ve been busy, Mom. I’ll call more often. I promise.”
It has been more than a few weeks since I spoke to my mom. She called me a few times, but I had Lane on the brain or I was busy working. I guess I wanted to avoid talking about Lane. I hadn’t loved anyone since Mark and didn’t want to pull up the old memories. When you talk to your mom about a guy it becomes real. You can’t go back. They’ll always ask about them after that.
“Mom, I want to talk to Sid.”
Silence on the other end. She probably thought this day would never come. A mom’s heartbreak that siblings aren’t on good terms. Mom asks me what’s made me decide to speak to him.
“I need to forgive him, Mom. If I don’t, it will destroy me. It’s probably already destroyed him, but I need to try.”
She gives me his number, and we say we love each other and hang up.
I promise to call her later.
Holy shit.
Am I really going to do this? The old wounds are already open, now the salt will be thrown in. Only then can I heal and move on with my life.
I think back to an old sermon I once heard in church when I was a little girl. Father Grafton spoke of the amazing capacity of human beings to forgive. He had a booming voice and his thoughts echo in my mind even today.
Holding grudges doesn’t make you strong; it makes you bitter.
Forgiveness doesn’t make you weak; it sets you free.
Bitterness was the very definition of who I had become. Free is what I want to be. Without hesitation, I dial. After two rings, the phone is picked up on the other end by the familiar voice of my brother. His voice is deeper, but unmistakable.
