by Jamie Knight
Chapter Five
Devon
A tiny voice calls out from down the hallway and interrupts our movie discussion.
“Mommy?”
Cassie immediately turns her attention away from the group of adults and looks at the girl who walks up and stands in the doorway holding a teddy bear. She looks to be about five years old.
“Oh sweetie, you’re awake! Did you have a nice nap?” Cassie asks, walking towards the girl.
“Yes, Mommy,” the little girl says. “Who is that?”
The child points at me. Cassie brings the young girl over by the hand. She is still very sleepy.
“Alice, this is Devon,” Cassie says. “He is staying here for a while. Just like us.”
Oh, so she’s staying here, too?
I guess I had thought she was just here for an afternoon visit.
Things are definitely getting interesting, I think.
“Hi Devon,” Alice says, now almost fully awake.
She looks away and the subject quickly changes.
“Mommy, can I have some juice?”
“Of course, sweetie,” Cassie answers.
The little girl perks up almost immediately by the prospect of a kid-sized beverage. Cassie takes Alice by the hand and they go over to the refrigerator.
Amanda swirls her drink and takes a sip. Charles walks up and gives her a hug and a kiss.
“Hey, I’m going to show Devon my man cave,” Charles says.
“You know, honey, I will never be comfortable with that term, but go for it,” Amanda says.
She gives him a knowing smile as if to say, Boys will be boys and I love you in spite of that fact.
So, Charles points me in the direction of a long corridor that leads to the back part of the house. At the end of the hall is a large door that opens up into a surprisingly large, yet cozy room. In it is another leather sofa, a couple of recliners, and another 70-inch screen TV.
There’s also an oak desk and all sorts of sports memorabilia. And most importantly, a billiards table.
“This is pretty swank,” I say.
And I do have to commend Charles on a job well done. It’s the perfect hideaway for a guy who needs to get away from the craziness of the outside world and just be himself.
“Yeah, it took me some time to convince Amanda I needed a space for me and my friends to hang out,” he explains. “But she was convinced and then finally into it when she realized it would be down the hallway and out of view.”
“Well that is outstanding,” I say. “It’s good when plans come together.”
Charles goes to the wet bar and pours me a glass of whiskey and drops in a couple of ice cubes. He hands the beverage to me and starts to make one for himself.
“You know how many football games we’ve watched on that TV?” he asks.
“Hundreds?” I guess.
“Oh, at least,” he laughs. “I’ve got picture-in-picture so sometimes we have the main game on, then several others that we track for our fantasy football league.”
“Well, I hope I can get my memory back before the season starts up again,” I say. “I’m going to need the know who all the good players are. Do we like the same team?”
“Thank God, we do,” Charles says. “We’re long suffering Rams fans. But we got into the playoffs pretty recently. Hopefully we have another good season this year. Say, let’s shoot a round of pool.”
“Sounds good,” I say.
He racks up the balls and we choose our cue sticks.
“Just a game of 8-ball,” he says.
Strangely, I remember the rules. It’s funny; it’s almost like muscle memory in a way.
I imagine if I hop on a bicycle I’d have no problem riding it. But when it comes to people and events, it’s a bit tougher.
“You break first,” he says.
I chalk up the end of my cue stick. I tap it lightly to shake off the excess. This adds a layer of motion-resistance, so the cue doesn’t slide off the ball upon striking. You don’t want to miscue. A nice even stroke and follow-through is key.
“Here we go,” I say.
I line up the ball just in front of the head spot and eye up the target. I use my left index finger to line up the cue stick in position and pull back with my right arm.
Then I push through and strike. The 8-ball hits the lead ball and produces a nice even break. A striped ball sinks in.
“Stripes,” I call.
I proceed to sink two more, one with a nice bank shot off the side. I eye a combo. It’s going to be difficult to make. After I miss it, Charles surveys the table to choose his first shot.
He attempts a combo as well, but this time it works. He is good. But is he better than me?
He misses his next shot. I see an opening, but it will require some fancy footwork. You have to keep at least one foot on the floor or you’ll get a foul. I am able to stretch and get my cue stick lined up.
“What the hell are you doing?” Charles says, with a laugh.
“I’m trying to do this,” I say.
And I do! I sink the shot and quickly line up the final stripe.
Once that’s in, I set my sights on the prize: The 8-ball. It is going to take shooting the cue ball through two solids. There is little room for error.
I need to provide enough back spin so the cue ball doesn’t go in as well and scratch. If it were to happen on another shot with a different ball, no big deal, Charles gets to shoot next. But if you scratch on an 8-ball, well, that’s it, game over.
I line up the shot and take a little time to gauge the grade of the table. Nothing is perfectly level, no matter how hard someone tries, no matter what adjustments are made after using a vertical vial.
I see there is a slight angle and without overthinking it, I take the shot. The 8-ball goes in. The cue ball inches forward, hits the edge of the pocket, appears to be leaning in, and stops.
“Yes!” I proclaim in victory.
“Nice game,” Charles admits. “You know, I honestly thought, and this might sound bad, that you might have lost your pool acumen after the accident. But nope, you’ve still got it.”
It does sound a little strange, but this is a strange situation. I am an amnesiac, after all. So, I take it as just being in good fun and move on. Charles does mean well.
“Want a beer?” he asks.
“You know it,” I say.
I’d finished the whiskey and was ready for another drink.
He goes to get the beer from the wet bar fridge. I grab the triangle rack to line balls up and get them set for another game. Now, technically, this would be Charles’s job since he lost, but he’s getting the beers, so I figure I’ll do him a solid in return.
“Hey, I’m supposed to do that!” he says, after realizing what I’m doing. He quickly comes over, hands me a beer, and takes the rack away from me. “I may have lost, but I have my honor.”
I laugh and take a sip of the beer. He takes a swig of his and proceeds to rack the balls. It’s funny that there is a pride in losing. That’s why no one wants to be known as a sore loser.
“What about this Cassie girl?” I ask, using this break in the action to broach the subject that’s been on my mind this whole time. “She acts weird around me. I think there’s more to it than you’re telling me.”
Now, I say that last sentence in a joking tone, but I’m not really. I do think they are trying to handle me with kid gloves. I know they’re trying to protect me but I’m eventually going to have to rejoin the real world and handle real world adult things. I might as well start now.
“Oh, Cassie,” he says. “Well, as I was telling you earlier, you two have history. And for a while there a few years back I honestly thought you two were going to kill each other. If it wasn’t for Amanda being such good friends with her, well, there’s no way I would ever put the two of you in the same room together.”
“Wow,” I say. “I did feel a bit of tension, but I kind of took that to mean she doesn’t want to be
around some guy who just got out of the hospital. Maybe she thinks I’m unstable or something.”
“Hmmmm, no, it’s not that, although she might think that about you currently,” he says. “How can I state this as plainly as possible? I’ll just come out with it, I guess. In the past, you two hated each other.”
What? So, we hated each other? Really?
I don’t know why she would have hated me, but how could I have hated her? She is so fucking hot. She has nice curves and hair and skin. And I can’t get the thought of her legs spread open out of my mind.
How am I going to handle this?
I feel I need to learn more about myself if I’m to crack the code on Cassie. I can’t keep asking questions and expect people to spoon feed me information about myself. Charles is going to get sick of me if I keep prying away.
No, I need to take action. Maybe start writing down lists?
What do I know so far? I can play pool fairly well, I like lemonade, and I’m an investment banker and extreme sports enthusiast.
And oh wait, I like women! Not that liking guys would have been bad, but it’s an important personal preference point that’s good to know.
So, there’s another character trait I can check off about myself. Oh, and I like the occasional glass of whiskey.
And Cassie hates me, and apparently, I hate her too, even though she’s drop dead gorgeous and seems like the woman of my dreams.
So, there’s some progress. It doesn’t make a lot of sense yet. But at this stage I’ll take what I can get.
Chapter Six
Cassie
I can’t believe that Devon Dennington is back in my life. Sure, the circumstances are unfortunate, but I can’t let him weasel into my good graces just because of that. I clearly need some more alcohol to process all of this.
So, later that night, when Amanda suggests we leave Alice at home with the boys and go out for some drinks with the girls, I couldn’t agree with her idea any more strongly if I tried. She recommends that we meet up at this fancy cocktail and wine bar in the downtown area of the posh village shops section.
I don’t have many clothes with me. But Amanda and I are the same dress size, so she offers to let me wear one of hers. I opt for a simple black cocktail dress while she chooses a 60s style white dress with a belt nipped at the waist, a mini purse, white gloves, and a black pillbox hat.
I feel a bit nervous as we head out. I know the subject of Devon will come up at some point this evening.
Amanda must be waiting to spring it after a drink or two. That’s her way, really. How she gets most of her info.
Having been her friend for years, I’ve seen her do it countless times. She really does have a flawless approach to it. But no, I must be the one to start the conversation. It will take further rumination to devise a strategy.
The restaurant has a Mediterranean Revival quality to it. The roof is made up of low-pitched reddish tile, while the exterior walls are stucco, with keystone grey accents, and arched doorways lead you into an open floor plan.
It’s definitely retro, but that appears to be always be in. Modern styles come and go but the classics are classic for a reason.
Our friends, Mary, June, and Gabby, are already outside at a large round table set up on the courtyard patio. A beautiful stone fountain with a gold statue of horse sits in the middle of the space and a bar is stationed under an awning along the wall.
They’re mostly Amanda’s friends because she is the one who has been living here while I haven’t. But I know them from previous visits and I hope they’ll become better friends of mine, too, as I could really use some.
The girls already have two bottles of sparkling water open and they wave over from the table they’re sitting at for us to join them. I have a tendency to be what some would call fashionably late. Others would just call it irresponsible.
“Hiya!” Gabby says, as she gets up.
She’s a tall brunette of Argentine descent. Her long flowy pink pastel gown lifts up with the breeze as it lightly picks up for a few moments. I give her a hug and then Amanda gives her one as well.
Mary and June get up next and give Amanda and me hugs and kisses on the cheek.
“It’s so lovely to see you, Cassie!” Mary says happily. “It has been too long. I’m glad you’re back in town.”
“Oh, my God!” June says excitedly. “I have missed you soooooo much!”
June has always been the most vocal about her emotions. She even telegraphs it with the clothes she wears.
Tonight, she has on a white sundress with a bright sunflower pattern. Mary is more conservative and has on a beige pantsuit to match her sandy blonde hair.
We all sit down and immediately start chatting. The waiter comes over and waits patiently for us to notice him. He finally finds an opening and introduces himself.
“Good evening, ladies,” he says.
We all turn our attention to him as his voice and looks are rather exotic. It appears he is of Italian descent. We all say hello to him and start to pay attention.
“My name is Leonardo and I will be your waiter,” he says. “I will be back to tell you about the specials I have. I see they already brought you water, but may I offer you something else to drink?”
“I will get this round of drinks, ladies,” I say.
“Oh no, I have it,” Gabby says.
“It would be my pleasure, please,” I reiterate insistently.
I can’t really afford this round of drinks, but I feel obligated to. After all, I am staying at Amanda’s house. She has been more than gracious and accommodating, although I feel like she might be a little bit bored.
Her life is very cush. Since she doesn’t really have to work, she was able to start a business selling homemade cake pops and she teaches yoga classes. I can’t knock her –I’d do the same thing if I could.
And what about me? I have to hustle every single moment of every single day. And I’m a single mom, to boot. Plus, I’m hoping to be singled out for a potentially rare business opportunity. That’s a lot of singularity in my life.
Leonardo takes our drink order and I tell him to give the bill for this round to me. He is very sweet and gracious and says he will be back in a few minutes.
My mind returns to this dilemma with Devon. Oh, gosh. It really is messing with me at the absolute worst time.
I can’t believe I have to share the same space with him! I doubly can’t believe how he doesn’t remember anything, let alone our past encounters growing up.
I can’t stand having him in the same house as me. How do I bring this up to Amanda without being a total bitch?
I figure I should participate in some banter first before broaching the subject. I also don’t want the other girls to clue in to any bad vibes going on. It’s best to keep it light.
Our drinks arrive, and Leonardo takes our order. The special is sea bass and although it sounds delicious, there is no way I can afford it. I go for a simple chicken and rice dish instead.
After we order our food, I ask Amanda if she can accompany me to the restroom. We have time for a quick chat while the food is being prepared.
“How are things going for you?” Amanda asks, as we touch up our makeup in front of the mirror.
“Things are going well,” I answer. “I hope to have news about something happening with the new branch, potentially very good, very soon.”
I suck at trying to exaggerate how well things have been going for me. I’d told Amanda I was staying here to expand my booming real estate business that I’d started in the area near where I’d gone to college.
That’s partially the truth – I am trying to find business, anyway. But, due to embarrassment I haven’t revealed the entire picture to her.
“And Alice? Is she getting ready to go to school this fall?” she inquires further.
She’s obviously wondering when we’ll be moving back out and back home.
“She is, but I haven’t registered her anywhere yet,”
I explain. “I’m still waiting to see what happens with the new business venture and where exactly we’ll end up living, between here, and there, and you know...”
I’m being purposefully vague. And it sounds so lame. I’m just at my wit’s end and don’t know what else to do.
“It will sort itself out,” she says reassuringly. “And how are things going with Devon in the house?”
“Yeah, about that…” Here is my opening.
“How long is Devon staying?” I ask her.
I hope the answer is not for too long.
“I guess until he can recover more of his memory and take care of himself,” Amanda says.
“You don’t think he is faking some of it?” I turn towards her and put a hand on my hip. “He has to be, right?”
“Why would he do that?” she asks, as if in mild disbelief.
“Well, he was a player back in high school.” I say. “He was always running around with different girls and finding some angle to get with even more girls.”
“Well yeah, everyone knows that. And everyone knows you two have history,” Amanda says, with a shrug.
“Not like that,” I state firmly. “We never really hooked up or dated. Not, like, anything important, anyway.”
“Then what was it, exactly?” she asks.
I keep forgetting Amanda knows how to extract information. She is a walking library full of information on everyone she ever met.
And not just normal stuff like when their birthday is, or the names of their pets – she knows actual dirt. Like the stuff that could cause couples to get divorced or even land someone in jail. I must always be careful with her.
“Oh, you know how it was. He was one of those all-sports-all-day-everyday guys,” I explain. “Played football, baseball, basketball… And he was really good-looking back then. He’s still very handsome, but when he was a senior, all I could think about was Taylor Kitsch in Friday Night Lights or Leonardo DiCaprio in The Beach.”
“Wait, you saw that movie?” she asks, incredulously. “It was terrible. You know me, I love Leo, but it was such a ludicrous story.”
