by Alicia Rades
“Hey,” she greets, pausing to let Jacob speak. “Yeah, I’ll go talk to her.”
Moments later, there’s a knock at my door.
“Go away!” I shout.
“Come on, Siobhan,” she says through the door. “Would you just tell me what’s up? I think Jacob has a right to know why you’ve recently broke up with him. I know you two slept together last night. Was it that?”
“God, no!” I practically screech. “The sex was great, it’s just . . . Juliet, I can’t trust him.”
“Oh, I see,” she says accusingly. “So it’s nothing that he did. It’s your goddamn trust issues,” she snarls at me.
My trust issues? What is she talking about? I do not have trust issues. I have a problem with people like Jacob, people who write about celebrities and lie and cheat for no good reason but for an article, which in the end doesn’t turn out to be a good thing at all.
“I suggest you go talk to him about whatever problem you’re having. He’s just as confused as I am.”
Confused? Is he possibly confused that I figured out his plan? I knew there was no reason for a guy like that to be with a girl like me. I’d raised my hopes too high. It was simply too good to be true, and for a moment, I lost myself in it. I will never do that again.
I don’t even know why Juliet cares so much. “Fine,” I grit my teeth. I fling my door open and stare back at Juliet. “I’ll go talk to him.”
Oh, I’ll go talk to him, but not the way Juliet is expecting. I’m going to confront him and tell him exactly how I feel. I push past Juliet, grab my purse, and leave the apartment, slamming the door behind me. I don’t care to pay attention to how I look. I’m sure my hair is a mess, and I’m still wearing my glasses.
I’m suddenly very brave, and perhaps that has something to do with the adrenaline racing through my system. The sensation travels with me all the way to his apartment. My fists are clenched along the way, my brows are together, and my lips are pressed into a hard line. Who does this guy think he is? What’s wrong with people like this? Why would he go so far for a girl like me? I’m nothing special. God, I wish people like this would just leave me alone.
As these thoughts pound on the walls of my skull, I form a tension headache, but I still maintain my courage as I catch the door to his building as another resident is leaving and bound up the stairs.
It’s not difficult to find apartment 202. With all my rage, I pound on his door. When the door opens, a small boy stands in front of me. He’s just a few feet high.
I’m left in complete shock, and I know that all the color has drained from my face. I may have believed that I knocked on the wrong apartment door if the young toddler staring up at me wasn’t the spitting image of Jacob.
18
A kid! Jacob has a mother-fucking kid! I may have left out a small detail about my past, but this is inexcusable. The kid looks just like him.
My face falls, and I am too overwhelmed by this new-found knowledge that I turn and flee.
I hear Jacob behind me. “Who is it, kiddo?” he asks his son, and I hear the door open wider.
I am booking my way out of there, but when he catches a glimpse of my auburn hair disappear around the corner, he comes chasing after me.
No, I shout in my head. I don’t want you to follow me. I don’t want to cry in front of you! I was furious at him before, but now I’m even more angry and upset that he’s following me. A child! What else is he hiding? I really don’t want to find out.
“Siobhan,” he shouts.
I quicken my pace. I can already feel the tears welling up inside of me, and the knot in my chest tightens.
He catches me on the staircase, gripping my wrist. I whirl around to face him. He simply stares at me for a moment, and his eyes scan my face with an expression I can’t read.
“What—what’s wrong?” he asks.
Like you don’t know, I want to scream. I feel the tears coming, and I know there’s a crease between my eyebrows where the tension of my mood is congregating. What must I look like to him? I imagine that my irises are bright red and flame is shooting out my ears. That’s how I feel, at least.
I want to yell at him, to scream at the top of my lungs and let him know exactly how unfair he was to me, but I can’t muster up the energy.
“Why?” I whisper in a soft, almost non-existent voice. I know my eyes are stained with tears, ready to hit threshold and flood over the edge of my bottom lid. I don’t feel as if the tone of my voice accurately exhibits my emotions. Instead of anger, my voice holds a tone of sadness and betrayal behind it. Perhaps that’s how I really feel. I’m not sure.
His eyes are still scanning my face. “Siobhan, I don’t know what I did wrong. Why don’t you come back to my apartment and we’ll talk it out?"
He embraces me, and I feel warm against his body, yet the hug seems to crush my heart even farther. I don’t want him to hug me, but I let him anyway. I don’t push against him like my body is begging me to do. I don’t say anything as he leads me to his apartment and sets me on his love seat.
His apartment is small, and his living room is about half the size of mine. His kitchen is just big enough for two people to stand in, and his living room houses a loveseat, a recliner, a small coffee table, and a television. On the coffee table sits a laptop and a few magazines, but other than that, the place is tidy. It doesn’t look like a guy lives here. It looks more like a family does.
The living room and the kitchen are open to each other, similar to my apartment only more condensed. Beyond this space, there’s an opening in the wall that regresses back into the building, and there are three doors, one straight back, and two on either side of the cut-out.
Jacob’s son is sitting in the recliner looking up at us. “Ben,” he says gently, “to your room please.”
“But—” the child begins to argue. Judging by his high-pitched voice and small stature, I’m guessing he’s about four years old.
“No ‘buts.’ Please do as I say.” Jacob points to one of the doors. I’m stunned by his authoritative tone. It’s so…father-like.
Ben’s shoulders fall. “Fine,” he says as he crawls down from the recliner and enters one of the doors. I’m guessing that the other two are Jacob’s bedroom and the bathroom.
Once the child is gone, Jacob kneels down beside me, putting his face at my level. He tries looking into my eyes, but I avoid his gaze.
He speaks softly. “Siobhan, please tell me what’s wrong. God,” he shakes his head, “I can tell you have issues opening up to people, but I want to help. Whatever it is, I can take it.” He caresses my hand.
I jerk my face up at him, tearing my gaze from the spot on the floor that I was staring at. “Oh, please. Like you don’t know,” I hiss.
He is calm and collected, and I hate him for that. Why can’t I ever stay calm and collected? He shakes his head slowly. “Honestly, Siobhan, I have no idea what’s going on.”
How can he not know what’s going on? I think. There are so many things I’m mad about right now. And . . . a kid? Why does he seem like that’s no big deal? Maybe I’m going crazy. Maybe he told me about Ben and I wasn’t listening. Am I that insane that I blocked it out?
“Let’s start with this one,” I snarl. “How about the article you wrote on how to please a woman? How many women exactly have you slept with?”
I don’t know why I focus on this detail first. It really shouldn’t even matter to me. Perhaps I do it because it’s the easiest one to handle at the moment and I’m upset about it because I don’t want to be taken advantage of by a player.
“Is that what this is about?” His voice is still even and calm. “You think I sleep around?”
He’s waiting for an answer.
“I’m not sure what to think right now.” My voice is quiet again.
“Siobhan, I’m not afraid to be honest with you. I don’t normally sleep with women on the second date. I may have 27 years under my belt, but I don’t have many girls to count.”
“How many?” I whisper, and I’m afraid of the answer. He seemed so much more experienced than me last night, and I’m frightened of this. I focus in on it mostly because I don’t want to face the bigger issue, the story that he’s writing about me.
“Including you? Four.”
I’m stunned. Only one more than me. Perhaps he’s lying to me again. He notices my surprise, and I can tell he knows I don’t quite believe in his low number.
“I choose my partners very wisely, and don’t sleep with a girl unless I really like her,” he explains.
I find myself looking into this deeply, perhaps too deeply. Does that mean he does really like me? How long does it take to really like someone? How long did it take for him to sleep with these other women? Or is he just saying this to get more out of me? Surely, though, he must have slept with these women more than once.
I consider myself a big loser when it comes to sexual relationships. I was one of those people who didn’t lose her virginity until college, mostly because of those awkward teenage years that I went through where I was cursed with poor vision and bad acne. I was not pretty, and even now, few people look at me like I’m a full-grown adult who can have intercourse. No guy wanted to have sex with a girl like me at that age.
Like most girls, losing my virginity was not what I expected it to be. It happened in college with a guy named Clark Robinson who was in one of my graphic design classes. We went out a few times, but I really only did it to get it over with, and I chose him because he was good looking. After that, we hooked up one more time at a graduation party—yes, there was alcohol in my system—and the sex was great, but I didn’t love him by any means.
Once I was done with college, most of my dates were the ones who Juliet set up for me, but all the guys seemed to recognize me, and I never put out. The second guy I had sex with was another freelance web designer that I partnered with on a project. Since we were both from New York City, we decided to meet up and collaborate in person. After getting to know each other throughout the project, it just sort of happened, but to be honest, it was awful. Finishing up that project was more awkward than any blind date Juliet has ever set me up with.
These are my only stories, and it’s sad to say that I’ve never been in a serious relationship with a guy. It’s ridiculous to admit it to myself, but I’ve never felt for someone the way I feel about Jacob, or at least the way I did not even 24 hours ago. God, I don’t even know the guy. How can I have fallen for him? It doesn’t make any sense.
Thinking about this, I ponder if Jacob has ever been serious with someone, but I already know the answer to that judging by the kid in the next room, the one who looks just like him.
“Have you ever been in a serious relationship?” I ask, stalling the reason I really came here.
“It depends on what you mean by serious. I have been in long-term relationships, but I’ve never been serious enough for marriage.”
I wonder about this. Were the girls not right for him? Does he not want to get married? Which girl did he have a child with, and is she still a part of his life?
I don’t ask any of these questions because I’m afraid of the answers. I finally find the courage to get to my real questions, mostly because now I want to avoid the ones regarding his past relationships.
“What about the article about childhood stars? The one that shows the pictures of actors when they’re children and what they look like now?”
His eyebrows come together, forming a crease above his nose. He tilts his head a bit in confusion. “What do you mean? It was just an assignment.”
“Is that what I am to you?” I practically shout, rising from my seat. I don’t mean to come across so ferocious, but I can’t help it. “An assignment?”
He rises with me. “Siobhan, what are you talking about?” His voice is steady with a slight hint of annoyance to it but not too much volume. God, how does he stay so calm?
“Please. You can’t honestly stand here and tell me you don’t know who I am!” I clench my fists.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He still seems calm, and I don’t believe a word he’s saying.
“Oh, drop the act. I also saw your article about Elizabeth River.”
“Siobhan, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but those articles were just assignments. My clients tell me what to write, and I make shit up. Same with the other article about pleasing women.”
“Make shit up,” I snap. “Is that what you’re planning to do with me? To make shit up!?”
His voice grows louder. “What the hell are you talking about?”
My voice is still loud and full of anger. “You’re telling me that you don’t know who I am?”
His eyes study me for a moment, moving across my face. He shakes his head and with a quiet voice says, “No. I don’t know what you mean.”
I don’t believe him. I just can’t. If he hadn’t heard of me before, surely he would have searched my name online before meeting me. He would have ran across hundreds of articles about my childhood, not to mention my blog that mentions my acting career.
I snatch the laptop off the coffee table, plopping myself back down in my spot. I flip it open furiously.
He seems confused, but he doesn’t protest to my actions. He lets me continue. I click on the Mozilla Firefox icon, and the Internet springs to life. In the address bar, I type in Google, and then I search my name.
A long list of search results appear. My Wikipedia biography is at the top followed by a link to my blog, various interviews, and pages dedicated to the movies I’ve been in. I click on the tab at the top titled “Images,” and I come face to face with myself.
The images span the entire page. Most of them are of me as a young girl between the ages of four and seven. Some of them are snapshots of the characters that I played, and others are of me on the red carpet. There are a few pictures of an older me that have found their way to Google via my blog or public profiles. I don’t like looking at these pictures, and I normally avoid them at all costs.
“Have fun,” I growl, shoving the laptop his way. His eyes widen in surprise.
I regret coming here at all, and I no longer want to tell him how I feel. I want to get out of here as soon as possible and forget that Jacob and I were ever together. An assignment? Am I one of his assignments? What is he playing at, pretending that he doesn’t know? And what’s with the kid in the next room that apparently isn’t a big deal, either? This man makes no sense to me.
I rise from the couch as he stares into my past via the computer screen. I head for the door. Before I can close the short distance between the love seat and the front door, however, it swings open. It takes a few moments for me to process what’s in the doorway.
In walks a gorgeous tall blonde with beauty comparable to Juliet’s, although they don’t look the same. This woman is dressed in business attire with a slimming suit coat and matching skirt. Her nylon tights and shiny black high heels finish off her ensemble, and her flowing dark blonde hair compliments it all. She even has highlights and a mother-fucking tan. Jacob may not have to compete with anyone from my past, but I don’t have anything on this girl. She is simply stunning.
She’s carrying in bags of groceries and seems shocked to see me. The woman stares past me to Jacob.
I’m stopped dead in my tracks. It takes a few seconds for me to realize I’m holding my breath.
“Where’s Ben?” she demands, and I understand who she is immediately. This is Ben’s mother.
“He’s in his room,” Jacob answers without looking up from the computer. His eyes are still full of shock as he stares into my past.
“And who’s she?” the woman snarls, sticking her chin in my direction.
I quickly analyze the way she’s carrying in the groceries and how she looks at me accusingly, and I realize that this woman lives here. It doesn’t take long for me to process that there are only two bedrooms in this apartment and that Ben occupies one of them.
The knot in my chest tightens to a point where I’m convinced it’s attempting to strangle me. I am raging with fury, and I hate Jacob right now. How could he lie to me like this? How could he cheat on a woman for the sake of a story? How can he just sit there and pretend that none of this is a big deal? Is he even human?
I finally regain control of my body and push past the woman. Knowing that Jacob is a terrible man, I want to put as much distance in between us as possible. I race down the hall, not shutting his door behind me.
“God damn it, Jen,” I hear Jacob shout at the woman, and seconds later, his footsteps are coming after me.
Tears are streaming down my face as I pound down the stairs as fast as I can.
“Siobhan!” Jacob shouts after me, and I know he’s getting close.
I whirl around to face him. I know what I must look like. My face is wet, red with flames, and my body is trembling in anger. It stops him dead in his tracks.
“Damn it, Jacob, I trusted you. I make love to you. Don’t you ever come near me again.”
There’s an older woman—maybe in her 60s—walking up the stairs as I say this, and she stares at us in shock. I despise the way she’s glaring at me as if I’ve done something wrong. Perhaps it was my use of profanity. I think her glare holds a bit of embarrassment for having witnessed the situation, but right now, I don’t really care too much.
“Fuck off,” I growl at her.
With that, I turn and storm away. Jacob doesn’t chase after me this time.
19
I am still flaming when I arrive home. Juliet is in the living room. She sees my tears and bounces up from her spot on the couch with a frown on her face.
“My God, Siobhan. What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I know I’m being a bitch to her again. I enter my room and slam the door before I fall to my bed and bawl.
Juliet speaks to me through the closed door. “Did you two at least talk?”
“Yeah, Juliet, we talked. No, Juliet, it didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse.” I’m shouting at her even though I know I shouldn’t be. “God, just stay out of it and mind your own fucking business. You’re the one who got me into this mess!” With my last statement, she leaves. She doesn’t bother me the rest of the night.
