Big O's

by M. S. Parker

  Against my skin, the golden locket heated, and I reached up to touch it. Slowly, I took it off and let the chain dangle from my fist as I studied it.

  This little bit of gold.

  Somehow, it was connected to what brought me here, and I’d believed it would lead me back—or so I thought.

  But every time I’d thought I was getting closer to fixing things, I just ended up doing something that would lead things further away.

  “Am I even supposed to save her?” I whispered.

  The necklace just dangled there.

  “This is stupid. I’m talking to a locket.” I put it down on the surface of the table and focused once more on the letter. I added a few more notes at the bottom, mentioned some details about the relationship I had with Caitlyn, hoping maybe I’d be smarter and steer clear of her.

  I closed with, Don’t let Maverick get into the car if you do go to the party. Whatever you do…don’t let him get into that car.

  Then I sealed it in an envelope.

  I was going to take another page from one of the ultimate eighties movies, and follow Doc Brown’s footsteps from Back to the Future II. I was going to visit the nearest Western Union tomorrow and send it to myself. I’d arrange for it to be a few weeks before the party. I warned myself about the drugs, Maverick’s accident—all of it.

  If I could prevent myself from going, then maybe I could make it to where I’d never come here.

  Maybe I’d never meet Glenn.

  I closed my eyes.

  Without conscious thought, I reached for the necklace, not thinking about it until I felt it heat my palm.

  Slowly, I looked down at it.

  It was glowing so bright, it looked unnatural, especially in the dim light cast by the simple, single bulb lamp on the table.

  Before I could change my mind, I got up and carried the letter over to my purse and tucked it inside.

  “It’s better this way,” I said.

  I wanted to believe that, and part of me really did.

  But I was already aching. Already hurting.

  And even though I hadn’t left yet, I already missed Glenn.

  21

  Glenn

  You’re supposed to be with Florence. I’m not even going to be here much longer. I have to go back.

  I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I had a bottle of whiskey lying against my thigh, but I’d only had one or two drinks.

  When I’d gotten home, I’d thought that getting good and shit-faced drunk was the way to handle this lousy day, but I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what Maya had said.

  That had been hours ago.

  I’d slept fitfully, and now, dawn was a creeping, pale glow along the horizon.

  I have to go back.

  “Should have made her tell me,” I mumbled. There’d been something in her eyes when she’d said it. Something sad, empty, and lost.

  I knew what it was like to feel sad, empty, and lost.

  I’d felt like that quite a bit, and I was an ass for walking away after seeing that look in her eyes.

  Closing my hand around the neck of the whiskey bottle, I gripped it tight. I was two seconds away from twisting off the top.

  But I didn’t.

  Instead, I put the bottle down on the nightstand, then climbed out of the bed. I wouldn’t be sleeping anymore, but I had to do something to occupy my mind until I could leave for the studio.

  With little else to do, I headed out to the pool. If I exhausted myself enough, maybe my brain would shut down.

  I was unsuccessful at shutting my brain down.

  The only thing I managed to accomplish was to physically exhaust myself, so by the time I had to leave, my legs felt heavier than lead and my eyes were gritty.

  The one good thing—or acceptable thing—was that I was used to operating on next to nothing, so I made the drive on autopilot, sipping coffee that was nowhere near strong enough and hoping I could get through the day without pissing Kurt off.

  I doubted he’d replace me, but I didn’t want to deal with Peter if Kurt called him and bitched.

  I got to the studio lot early. Not early enough, though.

  Florence’s car was already there.

  Running my tongue across my teeth, I climbed out, more than a little wary.

  That wariness increased when Florence’s driver climbed out and went to open the passenger door.

  Florence climbed out, smiled at him before turning her attention to me. I knew right away there were going to be problems. She normally came to the set in casual clothes. When she spent half the day—or more—in costume, the casual clothes were understandable. But today, she wore a dress with a neckline that was cut low across her breasts and a skirt that revealed almost every inch of her curvy legs.

  She looked amazing.

  But then, Florence frequently looked amazing. She had a knockout body and knew how to accentuate it without going overboard.

  As she started toward me, I slid my hands into my pockets and tried to figure out just what in the hell she was up to. She moved slowly, like a lioness on the prowl.

  If it had been a few weeks ago, a month ago, I might have been intrigued. But I was tired of games and tired of her wanting me to give her more than I had in me.

  She rose onto her toes and kissed me on the cheek.

  I didn’t react.

  “I don’t like how things ended last night,” she said, her voice low. “Could we talk?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” I shrugged restlessly and leaned my hips against the car. “We got time, as early as we are.”

  “Not out here.” She gave me a playful smile as a car glided past us. “This is a private kind of conversation.”

  She turned on her heel and started across the lot.

  I knew exactly where she was going.

  And I didn’t want to go.

  But shit.

  I’d already told her yes.

  Florence’s dressing room was a tornado of frilly lace, female fussiness, and fancy, flowery perfumes. Just standing in the doorway made me feel too out of place and crucially aware of just how big I was. The chair she sat on looked barely big enough to support a teenaged girl. If I sat on it, it would probably shatter into toothpicks. The mirror was surrounded by lights, although they were off now. The only light on was a single lamp, shaded by a delicate lavender shade.

  Everything was flowery or purple. It couldn’t be any more female if it tried.

  And the room suited her to a T.

  As I stood awkwardly in the doorway, she sat her purse down and then turned to me.

  “Come on inside, Glenn.” A smile bowed her lips upward. “Hard to talk with you hiding away like that.”

  “I’m not hiding.” Irritated, I edged inside and shut the door. It stuck a little, and I leaned my shoulder into it. Once it clicked, I turned.

  Immediately, I wished I hadn’t shut the damn door.

  Florence had closed the distance between us and she now leaned into me like I’d leaned into the door, resting her hands on my chest.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said.” She licked her lips. The weight of her breasts pressed against my chest, while her hips pushed against my cock.

  My body remembered hers, and we’d definitely had some good times together, so it was completely understandable when it reacted. I wasn’t dead. A woman like that presses against a man and something’s about to get a little excited.

  Florence’s eyes widened, and the smile on her face took on a decidedly pleased look. “You still want me.”

  “Florence, don’t do this.” I caught her hands as they slid down my chest.

  “But…”

  “Don’t.” I took a step forward, which forced her to back up. “Sex is easy—it’s physical, and it’s easy.”

  Her face went red, and part of me thought maybe I needed to shut up.

  But I couldn’t. She had to understand.

  “It’s easy,” I said again, softening my voice.
“And it rarely means anything. You need to find somebody who is going to love you the way you deserve. And that guy isn’t me.”

  She jerked back, the color draining from her face, replaced by a sudden, sickening pallor. “So you’re doing this for me,” she said in an ugly, awful tone.

  “Florence…”

  “Maybe I should say thank you,” she continued, mocking. “Thank you so much, Glenn, for leading me on all these months and making me think there was something there. You jerk! You stupid jerk!”

  It was over an hour later when I finally emerged from my dressing room.

  I hadn’t wanted to leave Florence when she was so upset, but once she’d started throwing things at me…well. Staying wasn’t helping either.

  I needed coffee and then I—

  “Maya.”

  She stopped dead in the middle of the hallway.

  Her eyes flitted past me, and then she went to go around me.

  “Maya, wait.”

  She froze when I touched her. Slowly, I let my hand fall, but I didn’t move out of her way. “Have you…” Swearing under my breath, I looked away. “How’s Florence?”

  She looked back at me. “What?”

  “Ah…Florence. Is she okay?”

  “Funny you would ask.” She pushed her hair back but shrugged. “She sounded fine when she called me this morning. She had to come in early, and I had an errand to run.”

  Frowning, I turned those words around in my head. Okay, so she hadn’t talked to her.

  Still…

  “I talked to her again,” I said, feeling uncomfortable as I forced the words out. I stared down the hall in the direction of Florence’s dressing room. She had to have come out.

  “Maya!”

  Maya turned, looking for the source, and I heard her swallow back a sigh as she saw the flustered woman hurrying down the corridor. “Hello, Helen. I was just going to get some coffee, then head to Florence’s dressing room. I have her scenes for the day—”

  “She won’t answer.” The woman looked at me, then back at Florence. “I’ve been knocking for the past ten minutes, and she won’t answer.” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “I’m afraid to call security after yesterday. The director is already being…” She trailed, then made a face.

  “Okay.” Maya nodded before shooing Helen away. She looked at me then, eyes big and dark in her face. Her voice was strained as she said, “You said you talked to Florence. About what?”

  “I…she was here when I got here. Said she wanted to talk to me. We were in her dressing room and I just…” Hell. Shoving my hand through my hair, I looked away. “She didn’t take it so well last night. I think she thought she could…persuade me to change my mind. But it’s not happening.”

  “Oh, no…”

  Maya spun on her heel and took off running.

  I didn’t even think to ask. I took off after her.

  22

  Maya

  “No.”

  I had no idea if I was saying it out loud or just in my head, but it echoed, over and over, pounding in a rhythm almost as fast as my hammering pulse.

  “No. No. No.”

  Footsteps pounded up behind me and from the corner of my eye, I saw Glenn, but I couldn’t worry about him.

  Why was this happening?

  Why was I even here?

  I was too late.

  I knew it.

  Even as I wheeled around the corner that led to her dressing room, I knew I’d be too late.

  A few people paced worriedly back and forth in front of her room, and I realized that Helen had been worried, too, but she hadn’t gone to security for fear of getting Florence in trouble.

  She should have just gone.

  But I couldn’t get angry at her, could I? Not when it was all my fault.

  Without slowing down, I dug around in the loose pocket of my skirt for keys and managed to get them out as I ran. Skidding to a stop, I fumbled for the right one and jammed it into the lock. Florence had given me a spare set, laughingly saying I might just save her life, because she was always misplacing hers.

  Please, please, please…

  I wanted to cry, but didn’t dare let myself.

  Flinging the door open, I rushed inside.

  But two steps in, I froze.

  The little door to her private area was open.

  I could see a faint light glowing from the dark area.

  Hurrying closer, I peered down inside. But I could only see the immediate area. The panic inside me was making it hard to think, but I shoved it back by sheer force of will as I swung my legs over and descended.

  The moment I turned, I saw her.

  And I knew I was too late.

  Florence lay on her bed, head turned my way. A bottle of pills lay empty on the floor next to her, and on the small nightstand stood a nearly empty bottle of booze—whiskey, I guessed, judging from the color.

  Despair settled in.

  I’m too late…

  As that voice started to wail in misery, though, something else took hold. Stop whining. You’re here for a reason, dammit. Now move.

  I didn’t even feel like myself as I rushed forward. If I looked up and saw some puppet master controlling me, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

  I found myself bending over Florence, touching her. Her skin was still warm. A bit of relief started to creep in. I touched her neck—there was a pulse. It was weak, but I could feel it. And her breathing…it was normal, wasn’t it?

  If she’d just taken the pills, maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.

  I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to me. Without letting myself think about what I was doing, I pushed my fingers into her mouth. I didn’t know what else to do.

  There were better ways to get somebody to throw up, I knew that. I’d taken first aid courses, and I knew the basics. This wasn’t how I was supposed to do it. But it wasn’t like I had all the modern conveniences at my beck and call.

  Somebody appeared at my side. I shot a look up and saw Glenn. “Call 9-1-1!”

  “What…?” He stared at me blankly, then looked at Florence.

  It hit me then, what I’d said. “She’s overdosed. She needs an ambulance.” They had those in the sixties, right?

  “I think it might be too late,” he said grimly.

  The thick, wet saliva clinging to my fingers as I pulled my hand out was testament to that, but I wasn’t going to give up. I tried again.

  “What are you doing?” He tried to grab my arm.

  “She needs to throw up. Get all of that poison out of her system.”

  I pushed harder.

  Her throat closed around my fingers and she gagged, but nothing came up.

  Glenn stepped forward and hauled her up, wrapping his arms around her middle, much like the Heimlich maneuver I’d learned, only his hands were placed lower. He pulled up and in, rapidly.

  A weak moan escaped Florence.

  He did it again.

  She started to heave and then she began to puke.

  The acrid stink of vomit and alcohol filled the air. I breathed out a sigh of relief and closed my eyes.

  As Glenn eased her down, he held her carefully, gently, brushing her hair from her face with trembling fingers. Her face was slack, but she was breathing. Judging by the contents on the floor, her body hadn’t had time to digest everything she’d taken.

  I never thought I’d be so happy to see somebody getting sick.

  “We’ve called an ambulance.”

  I looked up from the doorway to see Helen hovering. I nodded and looked back at Florence.

  The violent retching had stopped. Glenn picked her up and gently laid her on the bed. Her eyes were still closed, and I went closer. As I did, he sat back.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be here,” I said quietly. I felt almost sick saying it because he’d been the one to finally get her to purge herself.

  But he was also the reason she’d tried to kill herself.

  The hosp
ital was cold and bright and cheerless.

  If I had to be in a place like this, I thought I just might cry.

  Right now, Florence lay listlessly in the bed, staring at nothing. The doctors thought she’d be okay—physically.

  They were less than optimistic about her emotional well-being, although they hadn’t used words as kind as that. I’d wanted to throw them out on their white-coated asses, but if I’d done that, then nobody would have been here watching over her.

  “Why did you save me?” she whispered.

  I went to her side and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “You’re my friend. What else was I going to do?” I said. I took her hand and she looked up at me, watching me with morose eyes. “Florence, no man is worth ending your life over.”

  Tears flooded her eyes. “It’s not just him. It’s…everything. Maya, it’s all too much. I just can’t do it.”

  “You can.” I struggled to remember some of the things I’d heard or read about people with depression. “You’re not alone, you know. I get that you feel that way, that nobody understands and that nobody cares, but that’s not true.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  I brushed her hair back from her face. “If nobody cared, I wouldn’t be here.”

  It was the truth too. I hadn’t just done all of this because I felt it was some crazy calling—I wanted her to live. Seeing her lying so pale, so close to death had all but destroyed something in me.

  A tremulous smile curled her lips, then her lashes fluttered down. “I’m tired, Maya. Be here when I wake up?”

  She was already asleep before I could answer, which was good.

  I hoped I’d be here.

  I had no idea what would happen next. I hadn’t managed to keep her and Glenn together, but she hadn’t died in her dressing room either. History had changed.

  Now what?

  The day was gone.

  Sunset was coming, and the miserable narrow window provided a brief look at the burning red.

  Florence had drifted in and out through the day and now she was awake, trying to eat the meal they’d put in front of her.