I make it down the backside of the trail and onto Beverly Lane. I glance at the bus stop. Shit! The bus won’t be running today. It’s a holiday. I panic and I think I even let out a long whine before peeking into the window of one of the cars parked in the lot. Jack pot! They left their cell phone in the center console. I stick my hand into the crack of the window and unlock the door. I flinch as I open up the car door, expecting an alarm to go off.
Thankfully, I’m greeted with silence. It’s an older model car, so maybe there is no alarm. I pull out their cell phone and scramble to dial information to call a cab company before someone realizes what I’m doing. I look insane as it is, and I’m sure I’ve already attracted enough attention to warrant a call to the police. Add snooping in people’s cars and borrowing their phones, and I’ll be in jail before I can properly figure out what the hell I’m doing.
I’m connected and I make my arrangements hastily. I delete my call from their call log and place the phone back in their center console. I stand, shifting from foot to foot uneasily as I wait for fifteen long and torturous minutes for the stupid cab to arrive.
When it pulls up, I throw my bags into the backseat and ask the cabby to first take me to the bank, and then to a hotel, in Malibu. I remember passing a lovely and serene Spanish style hotel on my scenic drive to Malibu with Vincent. I need that right now. The tranquility it promised.
“Malibu? You sure about that? That’s going to be a pretty fat tab, Miss.”
I nod frantically and impatiently, “Yes, I’m sure. Let’s go.”
He takes me to the bank, and when the teller reads my balance I nearly faint. I was only supposed to have a couple thousand, if that! But instead, it appears as though Vincent has deposited some money into my account. I’m at a whopping $22,670 balance. What the fuck? Why the hell does he think I need that much money? I take out $2,ooo and leave the rest. I snap the card in half and toss it into the nearest trashcan. There. No going back now.
The cab driver gives me a quizzical look as I enter the car again. We drive in silence, and as we ease into the traffic filled freeway, I let my tears fall down my cheeks. I clutch my locket between my thumb and forefinger. I trace the delicate details with my thumb.
I don’t know why I didn’t leave this behind. I should have left it behind. But I just can’t imagine taking it off.
How could Vincent invade my privacy like this? How did I not know what James was into? Does that mean...my mother? Did she once work for him? Like…as a prostitute? No. Why would he marry her after that? There’s no way. God, please. I feel sick.
There is heavy traffic on PCH due to construction. There appears to be construction going on everywhere, but I can only focus on breathing. In and out...deep and cleansing breaths to try to keep the mania from consuming me completely. But reality hits me like a sledgehammer in the chest, and I have to rub at my chest with the palm of my hand because holyfuckingshit it hurts. I ache physically.
Eventually, we pull up outside of the impressive Spanish hotel I saw for the first time just two months ago. I remember staring at it in awe from the back of Vincent’s Triumph. It’s still gorgeous and calming, with its starch white façade and bright cobalt blue trim. I glance around at the bougainvillea climbing up the sides of the building. I can’t tell whether it’s spilling from the windowsills or growing from the ground up. I walk in with my backpack, and the red case, still in my pajamas from this morning. I just now realize that I must look like a vagrant.
A well-dressed, middle-aged man with gray hair greets me in the lobby. He looks me up and down speculatively.
“May I help you?” He asks curiously, like I couldn’t possibly be thinking of staying here.
“Yes. I’d like a room please. For… I’m not sure. A couple of weeks maybe?”
His brows shoot up. I know it’s probably going to cost me a fortune.
“Um... Okay. Do you have a reservation?”
Fucker. You know damn well I don’t. I shake my head.
“Well, I’m sorry. I don’t know that I can help you without a reservation.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat; tears threaten to choke me.
“Please. I’ll pay cash. I’ll pay up front. You can let me sleep in a coat closet!” I plead, “I don’t care. Just please, don’t make me go out and look for somewhere else to go.”
He looks around lobby, making sure we’re alone.
“Are you in some sort of trouble? Like, with the law or something?”
I shake my head and smile softly.
“Boyfriend,” I say by way of explanation.
His mouth opens, and forms a silent oh.
“Do you have a credit card?”
I shake my head again.
“I don’t normally check rooms out to people without an ID and credit card, whether they’re paying cash or not. It’s standard to have a credit card on file.”
I sigh. Fuck, give me a break. All I’m going to be doing is sleeping, and crying! Leave me be!
He sighs dramatically, “Fine.” He types a few things into his laptop and looks up at me, “What’s your name Miss?”
I hesitate for a minute.
“Haidé. Haidé Lima.”
He hits a few more keys on his keyboard.
“Alright, I’ve applied a very generous discount. The total will be five hundred dollars for one week. I’ll have you know, I usually charge half as much for just one night! But, it’s New Year’s Eve, so I’m feeling generous. The room is small, but has a nice view.”
I smile and produce five crisp one hundred dollar bills from my backpack. He takes it and comes around his desk.
“I’ll just uh, take your case,” he mutters and picks up my measly belongings.
I follow him up a few flights of winding stairs. He shows me to my room. It is small, and simple, and just outside of the sliding doors is a small balcony with a lovely view of the ocean, just like he promised. It has a bed, and restroom. I won’t need much else.
He quickly makes his way out after letting me know that there will be a party downstairs, it will begin at 8pm, and dinner will be $50 dollars per person.
I nod and smile at his invitation, but I don’t plan on leaving this room.
As soon as he closes the door I step out onto the balcony and breathe in the salty ocean air. The tears will no longer stay trapped beneath my lids. They run free and slide down my cheeks, onto my neck, and chest. I had no idea I could cry so much. All of these weeks, ever since I’ve known Vincent, I have been stifling my feelings. I’ve been burying them deep inside. Now there is no holding back. Every feeling I’ve ever had gushes out of me unrestrained.
I rush back into the room, and fling myself onto the bed. I clutch a pillow to my chest and wail, loudly. I feel vaguely disgusting and very unladylike, but I don’t care. I don’t think anyone can hear me over the deafening sounds of the ocean crashing against the rocks below.
When I wake my lids feel heavy and droopy. There is a dull ache in my head and chest… It feels as though there is a big gaping hole where my heart should be. I haven’t hurt this bad since I left James’s house, when I learned that my mother didn’t survive birthing my baby brother.
God. It hurts. It feels like death. It feels as though someone has died, or perhaps it’s my own death that I’m mourning, or the death of my heart. The sorrow and anguish I am feeling right now…it’s indescribable.
I remain isolated in my room, and am vaguely aware of the far off sound of fire works exploding in the night sky. It’s after midnight. It’s officially a New Year. I hear people cheering, oblivious to my heartache, oblivious to the fact that my world has come crashing down.
The only man I’ve ever loved has just completely fucked me over. It was never love he felt. It was... guilt. It had to be. He busted a case wide open and James killed himself. To right whatever wrong he felt over James’ death, he came in search of me, the poor little battered girl that needed rescuing. He hid it all from me. He knew more
than I did... He knows all there is to know about me, about my mother, about my horrendous childhood.
I gingerly pull out the papers, setting them around me carefully until I am literally surrounded by documents. I sit in the middle of the mess and read through it all. Trying to grasp all that was, and all that is...
How could he keep this from me? What did he gain by finding me? Am I some missing piece to some fucked up puzzle that I don’t know about? I’m so confused, and I know I can’t get any honest answers from Vincent. He lied to me. He kept this all from me. Why?
I told him to always be honest with me; he let me ramble off to him in the middle of the night, my strained confession. He didn’t bring it up again, or ask me any questions because he already fucking knew! My heart feels like road-kill.
And then there it is. My missing persons report. My innocent, smiling 8-year-old self, on a flyer that was most likely, never circulated. I stare into my wide and youthful eyes in the photo. I was so young. But I experienced so much at such a young age, such fear and agony. I bring my knees up to my chest and let it all out again. I cry until there are no tears, until my body is racked with uncontrollable tremors.
I rise and open up the laptop placed conveniently at the small desk beside the balcony doors. Property of Hotel Blue is labeled on it clearly in all caps. I open it up, and start my research on how to get a visa to Cuba. I wonder if I have any family there?
I’m leaving all of this behind. I need to say goodbye to the life I thought I was going to be able to live with Vincent. I was just a small part of his big case. That’s why he was so eager to take care of me. Perhaps he was hoping to learn something new. I touch the locket resting against my breast. But never doubt my love. How could he do this?
I pause and think about letting Maggie and my friends know where I’m going. But they won’t understand. They’ll likely side with Vincent. They’ll be disappointed in me. No. I need to get away and be on my own. Learn to be dependent on no one but myself.
I wish I could talk to Vincent and ask him why he didn’t talk to me… Why couldn’t he be up front with me about this? How is his family business tied to James? I can’t depend on him for answers. Right now, I can’t depend on him for anything. I don’t know why I ever let myself think that anything good would come from loving Vincent. I knew it all along.
Things will never be the same for me again. I wonder; if I hadn’t touched the case, what would I be doing right now? Would we be enjoying a carefree dinner? The Nutcracker?
There is absolutely no way I can stay. I can’t face them now.
Tomorrow I will organize my trip to Cuba, and hopefully, I’ll find a way to disappear there.
Black Burlesque Page 53