Caspian: Hey.
Interesting. It’s late on the east coast right now. Why is he instant messaging me?
Ginger: Hey there. You really are stalking me. Huh?
Caspian: Your email was very unsatisfying. I needed some clarification.
Ginger: I didn’t realize it was my job to satisfy you….
I’m flirting with danger.
Caspian: I didn’t realize you had a boyfriend when I asked you out. How complicated is it?
Ginger: I thought you didn’t ask me out. Friends can eat, right?
I wait a moment before typing something else out and pressing send. I don’t want him to think of me as that type of girl.
Ginger: Besides, he isn’t my boyfriend. We broke up.
Caspian: Right, he cheated on you, and he showed his pecker to the world.
Ginger: Wow, someone’s done his homework.
Caspian: It seems to me that you don’t need a boyfriend right now, but you could really use a friend. Caspian, at your service, baby girl.
Ginger: So all you want is to be my friend? But we held hands; do friends hold each other’s hands?
Caspian: If one of the friends is extraordinarily and emotionally hot.
Is he talking about himself or me? I have no idea, but I’ll take this as an open invitation to continue the flirting.
Ginger: What if one of those friends wanted something more?
I press send and bite my lip as I wait for an answer. I admit it; the smallest part of me is insanely attracted to him. The way he took care of me at the hotel, no man has ever treated me that way. Most men would have run at the first moment possible, but he didn’t. It was like he understood what I was going through.
Caspian: Then one of those friends is in big trouble.
What is this? He’s flirting with me without actually leading me on? I have no idea who he’s insinuating is in trouble. Him or me? This is just like with our so-called “date” where he wouldn’t tell me if it was a date or a friendly get together. Is he afraid to tell me how he feels?
Ginger: I’ve been thinking about the day we met.
Caspian: What about it?
Ginger: I was a complete bitch too you. Why did you continue to invite me to your show? Why are you still here?
Caspian: Because.
The icon on the page says that he’s typing something, and as I wait for his answer, I distract my nerves by flipping to Spotify and putting on some music.
Caspian: I told you that night you inspired me again, helped me to see the passion in love and life. You got my blood pumping and shook my life up a bit. Not only that, I see myself reflected in you somehow. You need me just as much as I need you for inspiration.
He thinks I need him? Ha! Sadly mistaken, I don’t need anyone.
Ginger: I don’t need you.
Caspian: You do.
Ginger: And why do you think that?
Caspian: You want me.
Wow, he gets bold via the internet. My fingers type furiously at the keyboard as I reply.
Ginger: You’re fun, interesting, and I love the way you speak, but it doesn’t mean I need you.
Caspian: You wanted me that night at the hotel.
A wave of passion flushes through my skin. I do want him, and if he hadn’t run off, I’m positive I’d have succumbed to my inner desires. Just like now, I’m kidding myself, setting myself up for heartbreak. End this right now, Ginger!
Ginger: I gotta go to bed.
Caspian: Okay, can I at least get a picture of you? I need to see your hair for a song I am writing. I’m completely weird, I know.
Ginger: You’re sounding stalker-ish right now.
Caspian: Please? I have an idea for something.
I laugh. I don’t have any makeup on and I’m wearing a pair of oversized reading glasses, but why the hell not? I turn on my webcam, and give my most picturesque smile. No stupid duck face or scowl for me. Satisfied, I upload and send it to Caspian.
Ginger: Here you go. It’s late so don’t judge me too harshly.
Caspian: Thanks. TTYL
He signs off quickly, leaving me a little anxious as to why. Dammit, this boy is not my style at all. He’s awkward, expressive, and he wears T-shirts. He’s someone Quinn might be better suited for, but she doesn’t need yet another man falling for her girl-next-door charm. He wears freakin’ Converse! My body shudders at the thought of her dirty, old sneakers. Quinn doesn’t go anywhere without them. It’s best if I just forget about him. I finish off my glass of wine before turning off the light and setting down my laptop. I close my eyes and drift into a slumber.
Sometime later in the night, my phone begins vibrating like crazy on my table. There’s no telling how long it’s been going off. I roll over and grab it from my nightstand. Who in the hell would be calling me at this hour in the night? I pick it up half expecting to see Jo’s name on the screen. She has a tendency to call late at night, begging me to party with her. Instead, there’s a number I don’t recognize. That’s strange. Who would be calling so late at night?
“Hello?”
“Shit, Ginger. I’m so glad you picked up. I need you.” Barrett’s voice is frantic.
“Where are you, are you okay?” I sit up in bed and place my hand over my chest. Is someone hurt? Is someone dead? The last time I got a call like this in the middle of the night, it was because Quinn had tried to kill herself.
“I didn’t have anyone else to call. Can you come bail me out of jail?”
“What did you do, Barrett?” I ask, already jumping out of bed and wiggling a sundress up over my hips. I trip over a pair of shoes and stumble through the darkness while trying not to drop the phone.
“I got into a fight at the club, I really don’t want to explain it again, Ginger. I need you. Please come get me.” When he says my name, the coldness in my heart melts. He’s in trouble, and no matter how much I hate him at times, I’ll always be here to bail him out. I pull out a stack of cash I keep under my bed for emergencies and count it. I hope I have enough.
“I’m on my way.” He gives me directions to the station, and I jump in my car and speed over there. When I arrived, a large crowd of photographers are huddled along the sidewalk. Someone must have tipped them off. Oh great, like this isn’t embarrassing enough. I throw an old baseball cap over my hair and make sure there isn’t any smudged mascara under my eyes. Even though it’s night outside, I put on a pair of sunglasses. The second I jump from the car, the paparazzi flock to my side. I do the usual, keep my head down, and ignore their questions. How did they find out so fast?
“Ginger, are you here to bail Barrett out?”
“Were you at the club or did he call you?”
I ignore them all until I hear something that causes me to stop walking and look down at the short man asking it.
“What did you say?” I ask him.
“How do you feel knowing that Barrett got into a fight with someone over another woman?”
“That’s ridiculous,” I tell him, even though I wouldn’t put it past Barrett. I walk the rest of the way in silence. Barrett has humiliated me for the last time. I put on a flirty grin and eye the cop behind the desk. He’s not bad looking. Young, brunette, buff, probably straight out of the academy. “Hey there.”
“Can I help—“He raises his eyes to meet mine, or better yet, my breasts and immediately stops talking. Good grief, this is going to be easier than I thought.
“You’re G—Ginger. G—inger Teague,” he stutters.
“Yup. That’s me, honey.”
“I take it you’re here for Barrett?”
I nod. “I know this usually takes a while and there’s a whole process, but seeing as it’s the middle of the night I’m hoping you might help me out?”
I lean forward to give him a better look at my chest. “I would really appreciate it.”
“Fill out this paperwork,” the cop sputters. “He should be released soon. It’s been a busy night, but I’m sure we can h
urry it along. We don’t need a pretty young girl like you wandering around in the middle of the night.”
Caspian’s face comes to mind, and I remember his first words. “What’s a pretty young thing like you doing wandering the streets all alone?” Swallowing, I try to concentrate on the stack of paperwork in front of me and thank the officer. Why can’t I get Caspian outta my head? He’s just some guy I met halfway across the states. He’s already made it clear that we are just friends.
I’ve never been inside a police station before, and whatever Barrett did, he better have a good excuse. It takes over three hours of waiting, but they finally release him to me. By the time we get outside, the sun is rising over the horizon. Same story. Rush to car. Avoid cameras. Barrett looks beat up. He pushes his hair off his face and rubs his red eyes. He doesn’t say a word the entire drive home, but I can feel that something is off.
I pull into his driveway and turn off the engine. “Are you going to explain what happened?”
“I’d rather not talk about it. I want to go inside and take a long shower.”
“I just bailed you out of jail. I’m responsible for you now. I think I deserve some answers,” I demand. “The paperwork said you were arrested for assault and public intoxication.”
“I got into a fight at the club, nothing major. I wasn’t even drunk. God, the press is going to have a field day with this one.” He runs his hands down his face.
“This affair isn’t going to “die down” if you don’t stay out of the public eye. I want to announce our break up soon so quit screwing this up!”
“Well so-rry, didn’t realize this was such an inconvenience for you. Even though we’re technically not together, thought we were friends.”
“Inconvenience?” My blood is boiling. “You cheated on me, and out of the goodness of my heart, I’m not slandering your name all over town. I want to be rid of you for good.”
“Fine. Give me one more week.”
“Did you already call James?” I ask, referring to his lawyer and brother.
“Hell, no. I don’t need him telling me how to run my life. I only called you. That’s all. Just drop it.”
“Great,” I mumble. I lean my head against the steering wheel, and close my eyes. I’m in no mood to talk anyway. I sit up and start the car back up.
“Thanks, babe,” he says while unbuckling. He leans over to give me a kiss. When his lips touch mine, all I can smell and taste is the stale alcohol on his breath. My heart doesn’t pound. My palms don’t sweat. We just are. Like tequila and lime. Nothing else.
“Love you, Ginger. I’m sorry for being rude at dinner tonight.” He’s so smooth, thinking he can win me over with a smile and a few nice words.
“I love you too.” The words leave my mouth, as usual, with no feeling behind them. When he closes the door, I keep my eyes turned forward, refusing to look at him and drive off. Our relationship is too fucked up for words. I have no idea what we’re doing. Where we’re going. If it’s really over, why did I just tell him I love him? Why did he put me on the spot like that? I slam my head back into the headrest a few times and give out a frustrated scream. I told myself I wouldn’t go back to him, but I can feel myself falling back down that repetitive path.
When I get home, I groggily climb into my bed. With anxious anticipation, I look to see if Caspian has messaged me back. I set the phone down beside me with a sigh. Nothing.
“What are you doing?” I ask myself. “You have enough going on without adding to the fire.” I toss and turn in bed for what feels like hours. Unable to get comfortable and unable to clear my head of fleeting thoughts. Caspian. Work. Barrett. What will the papers say about last night? It hurts my head and causes my chest to constrict with an overwhelming panic. I need to calm down.
As if on cue, my phone dings, signaling a new email. I scramble for the phone and sure enough, there’s an IM from Caspian.
Caspian: Good morning.
Ginger: Morning.
Caspian: Sleep well?
Ginger: Just getting to bed actually. You?
Caspian: Slept like a fuckin’ baby. Just getting to bed? Crazy night?
Ginger: Had to bail a friend out of jail.
Friend? Why didn’t I tell him it was Barrett?
Caspian: That’s shitty.
Ginger: It’s complicated. Do you ever feel like you’re not yourself? Like you’re living a lie?
Caspian: No, I bare my entire soul each time I write a song and sing it. Why? Do you feel that way, Ginger?
I do. I feel that way all the time. It’s easier to speak with him through an electronic device. I kinda like it.
Ginger: I’ve become somebody I’m not. I used to be simple, now I’m complicated.
Caspian: A little complication never hurt anyone.
Ginger: Says the most simplistic and laid back man I know.
Caspian: I’m not as simplistic as you think. Even I have issues.
Ginger: Somehow, I seriously doubt that.
Caspian: Oh Ginger, You’re still young. You’ll have life figured out soon enough.
Ginger: You’re not that much older than me!
Caspian: I’m 27. How about you, Ginger?
Ginger: 22. Don’t call me Ginger. Can you call me by my real name?
I don’t want him to think of me as the girl from the tabloids. When we talk, I want him to think of me as someone else. Anyone else.
Caspian: Really? What’s your real name then?
Ginger: Deena. I was named after my grandmother.
Caspian: Nice to meet you, Deena. You’re as beautiful as your name.
I roll my eyes. He’s so silly sometimes.
Ginger: Nice to meet you as well, Cas.
Caspian: I like it when you call me that….Cas.
Ginger: Cas. Cas. Cas.
Caspian: Sleep well, my beautiful muse.
I turn off my phone, roll over, and sleep.
“Wake up, Ginger!”
I roll over and throw my cotton sheets over my head. Someone is shaking me, and I don’t like it.
“Go away, I’m sleeping.”
Goosebumps appear on my skin as the sheet is pulled off me and a wave of coldness replaces it.
“What the hell?” I shout, curling up in a ball to try and savor a bit of warmth.
“Gingeeee!” Quinn plops down on the bed beside me. “It’s almost four in the afternoon. I’ve been calling you all day.”
“Get your fat ass off my bed.” I attempt to push her away. I’m so tired I could sleep through till tomorrow.
“I thought we were gonna finish all the baby shopping today?”
My eyes shoot open. I completely forgot.
“I’m up. I’m up. Give me half an hour.” I roll out of bed and head straight to the shower. I’ve been waiting months for that stinking kid to pop out of her belly. Also, I’m not one to ever turn down a shopping trip. After a quick shower, I go the natural route, something I haven’t done in a while. A little skirt, T-shirt, flats, and no makeup. I throw a pair of sunglasses on and pull my hair back with a clip.
“Ready!” I call, walking from my bathroom and spinning around for Quinn. She turns off the TV and gives me an uneasy look.
“That took, like, fifteen minutes. Are you feeling all right?” She puts her hand to my forehead.
“I’m fine,” I say, shaking her off me.
“No, you’re not. I’ve never seen you get ready in less than an hour. Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?”
“Chase is rubbing off on you because you’re so irritating these days.”
“No you’re just moody all the time,” she mumbles.
Truth is, I don’t care anymore. No amount of designer clothes and makeup can perk me up today. Whoa, that has to be an original thought. Me, not obsessing over clothes, hair, and perfection? What is wrong with me today?
We jump in my car and make our way to Target, Quinn insists on a normal store instead of an expensive boutique. Gross. She d
rives because I still need my morning java to wake up. My phone buzzes. I fumble to answer it and smile at an email from Caspian.
Deena,
Hope you got lots of sleep this morning.
-Cas
I reply back, completely aware of the smile on my face.
Caspian,
I did. I’m going shopping with my cousin Quinn right now. Baby shopping!
-Deena
It feels weird to use my real name, but I feel different when I chat with him, like I’m a whole new girl. Quinn looks over at me from the driver’s seat. “Who ya texting?”
I hide my phone screen from her. “I’m not texting. I’m emailing.”
She rolls her eyes and mumbles, “Like there’s a difference.”
“How are things with the Mister?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her as we get out of the car and walk towards the entrance.
“Amazing. Chase is just so sweet and puts me before everything else. He made me dinner last night and then gave me a massage. I didn’t think it was possible to—”
“Blah!” My hand goes up to stop her from talking. “Sorry, thought I could handle all the sticky sweetness that is Hollywood’s favorite couple, but please don’t go on.”
Another truth. I love them both, but am insanely jealous. Before we go shopping, we grab some coffee from the Starbucks inside.
“Tall, soy Frappuccino,” I tell the teenage girl behind the counter. I look at Quinn. “What do you want? I’m buying.”
“I’ll have a chai tea please,” Quinn tells the girl.
The barista gives us a huge smile and rings up the order. Her hands shake as she takes my credit card. She eyes my card, which has my real name on it, not Ginger.
“You’re Ginger Teague, right?”
I give her a tempered grin. Gimme my coffee before you ask for my autograph, bitch.
“Sure am.”
She squeals before handing me my card back. “I can’t believe you’re here! In my store! You have to tell me that you aren’t getting back together with that asshole again.”
I hate it when people comment on my personal life when they don’t know me. I give her a condescending look before replying. “Even if I did. It’s none of your business.” I’m not supposed to be rude, but I’m in no mood to take relationship advice from a barista. I don’t even bother to look at the expression on her face.
The One Thing Page 6
