by Hazel Kelly
“I saw your face in the paper.”
My eyes grew wide. “You did?”
He nodded.
I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “What did you think of the ad?”
“I thought it was great. I showed it to all my buddies and bragged that my friend was famous.”
I cast my eyes down for a second. “Thanks, Woody. I’m glad you thought it was good.”
“I don’t know why you didn’t use a picture where you were smiling bigger, though. You’re prettier when you smile.”
I felt a rush of warmth in my chest where I hadn’t felt anything in days. “Thanks, but I wanted to look professional, not pretty.”
“Well if the way my friends reacted to your photo is anything to go on, you didn’t do a very good job hiding how pretty you are.”
I swallowed.
“They were all very jealous of me.”
“They’ll be jealous of your new sweaters, too.”
“No doubt,” he said. “I might have to share with them when it gets cold, though, if that’s okay with you?”
“They’re yours to do as you please with.”
He squinted. “Unless I can get them all on at once-”
“Don’t share this with them though,” I said, handing him Simon’s collector’s edition of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. “That’s worth money. I’m sure of it.”
“Really?”
I nodded.
“And this should hold you over until I can get you that library card,” I said, lifting the Norton Anthology of Poetry with both hands.
“Wow.” He grabbed it and clutched it to his chest. “These are the best.”
“Are they?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Not only are they full of great stuff for poets like me, but they’re heavy as sin so it’ll really help my box withstand the wind if the weather goes to shit.”
“I see.”
“Speaking of which-” he said, shifting the stuff in his arms and looking down. “Do you think I could keep that box?”
“Sure.” I reached down and snatched Simon’s iPod from the bottom of it. For some reason, I just couldn’t go through with giving it away. Not yet. Not when it was full of music I only ever listened to when he was around. Besides, Woody wouldn’t be able to charge it anyway. “She’s all yours.”
He squatted down and dropped the stuff in. “Are you sure about all this, Carrie? Cause once I put these sweaters on, they’re never going to smell good again.”
“I’m sure,” I said, slipping the iPod in my purse. “And one more thing.” I pulled ten dollars out of my wallet. “Go get yourself a nice toothbrush and some toothpaste.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“That depends,” I said, moving the tenner back towards my chest. “Will you really buy a toothbrush and toothpaste with it instead of a single serving of whiskey mouthwash?”
He scrunched his nose at me. “If you’re going to call me out like that.”
“I am.”
He sighed. “Fine.”
I extended it towards him. “There’s enough there to get floss, too, ya know?”
He reached in the top of his jacket and stuffed the money in an inside pocket. “You’re a good woman, Carrie.”
I shrugged. “I try.”
“And I’m glad you didn’t marry that prick,” he said, zipping the top of his coat. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
Chapter 10: Ben
I was reading the paper when Christophe finally stumbled out of his room, his brown hair looking heavily styled from a rough night’s sleep.
“Oh good,” I said, raising some orange juice to my lips. “You’re alive.”
“Am I?” he asked. “Cause I only came out here to get a second opinion.”
“Rough night?”
He pulled his robe around himself, his eyes still half closed. “Remember Dino’s bachelor party?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Last night was a lot like that.”
“There’s already some toast in the toaster,” I said, realizing I’d totally forgotten I was going to have some. “All you have to do is push the lever.”
He groaned at the toaster like he was a caveman and it was an intruder he didn’t recognize.
“Or we could go for brunch.”
“Not in that place,” he said, lifting one hand towards me. “Too soon.”
“When did you get in?” I asked, laying the paper on the couch beside me.
He leaned his hands on the kitchen counter.
I couldn’t tell if his eyes were open yet.
“Do I look like a man who knows when he got in?”
“To be honest, you don’t look like you know what species you are.”
“Oh I know what species I am,” he said, leaning forward to rest on his elbows.
“Do you?”
He hung his head. “I’m a party animal.”
I laughed.
“Not many of us left,” he said. “I’m actually looking for a sponsor if you’re interested.”
“I’m good.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Don’t you want your kids to know what a real party animal looks like?”
The toaster popped and he moved towards it like a gently thawed mammoth.
“I’d rather they see them in the wild.”
He grabbed a paper towel and the two pieces of toast, walked around the counter, and collapsed on the opposite end of the L shaped couch. “I thought you were going to meet up with us last night. What happened?”
“I wasn’t really in the mood to go out.”
He froze with a slice of bread at his lips. “What?”
I shrugged.
He slouched further down on the couch, putting the black socks attached to his pale legs up on the coffee table. “Are you sick or something?”
I leaned forward and set my orange juice on the table. “Not as sick as I’m guessing I’d be if I joined you.”
“Seriously, though,” he said, closing his eyes when he looked towards me as I was sitting in front of our biggest window.
I got up and lowered the shade so he wouldn’t burst into flames.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” I said, returning to my spot on the couch.
“You were pumped to go out when I talked to you.”
I sighed. “That was before I talked to my dad.”
“Oh right,” he said, talking while he chewed the dry toast. “I forgot about that.”
“Glad one of us did.”
He furrowed his brow. “Why? What happened?”
“He said I couldn’t use the name.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He said the whole thing was ridiculous. Pretty much shot it down as soon as I told him about it.”
“Did you tell him you already got the place?”
“I did.”
“Shit.”
“I know. I actually didn’t realize how excited I was about it until he rained on my parade.”
“That blows, Ben.”
I nodded.
Christophe tore another bite of toast off with his teeth and chewed everything but the crumbs that fell onto his bare chest.
I let my head fall back on top of the couch, feeling the anger I’d tried to burn off in the gym last night bubbling up inside me all over again.
“What exactly did he say?”
I shrugged. “He doesn’t want to be associated with it.”
“Did you tell him the New Year’s Eve idea?”
“I didn’t have a chance.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“So now what?”
“Now I have to think of a new name, I guess.”
He furrowed his brow and opened his red eyes. “Fuck that, man. It’s your name, too.”
“Yeah, but it was his first. I can’t just open the doors and call it Club Abbott without his blessing. It wouldn’t be right.”
>
“That’s what I’d do.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a bigger asshole than I am.”
“Says you.”
“Says everybody.”
“Still,” he said. “Sometimes it’s better to beg for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission.”
“You know, I’ve heard that, but I’m not sure it’s true.”
“Sometimes it is.”
“When?”
“When your dad’s being a dick and doesn’t know what’s good for him.”
I slouched down and put my hands behind my head.
“Did you even have a plan B?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
Christophe popped the last piece of toast in his mouth but didn’t chew it.
I nodded towards my orange juice. “You can finish that if you want.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I literally, like, ran out of spit there.”
I watched him reach for my juice. “You got any bright ideas for names?”
He drained my glass and swallowed his last bite. “How about Club Christophe?”
“Sounds pretty fucking pretentious alright.”
He shrugged.
“The Downton Lounge.”
I shook my head. “I’m not trying to attract people who wear smoking jackets.”
“Club Party Animal.”
“Too tacky.”
“Club Posh.”
“Trying to hard.”
“Club Minsk.”
I scrunched my face. “No.”
“Club Ko Tao.”
“No.”
“Club Kinabalu.”
I squinted at him. “Are you just naming places now?”
“Admit the last one is catchy.”
“I suppose it’s your best so far.”
“Club Krungbin.”
“Krungbin?”
“It’s Thai for airplane.”
I sighed. “I appreciate the alliteration, but I don’t love it.”
“You’d love the band by the same name though.”
“Yeah?”
“Chillest music ever.”
“I’ll believe it when I-”
Christophe made a noise like an old age pensioner and rocked off the couch. “Oh you’re going to fucking hear it,” he said. “If only to stop the ringing in my ears.”
I heard some mumbled swearing from his room as he knocked into things in an effort to stay vertical before some soft music drifted from his room.
He drifted out a second later. “What do you think?”
“It’s nice. It sounds like being in a hammock.”
“Yeah,” he said, collapsing back on the couch. “It’s like bathwater for your ears.”
I looked up at the ceiling. “What’s it called?”
“A Calf Born in Winter.”
I nodded. “Too bad it’s not called a club born in winter. Then it could be my theme song.”
“Yeah.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “About that.”
“What?”
“You have to just forget this shit with your dad and proceed as planned.”
“I don’t see how I can. I had my heart set on Club Abbott.” I raised my hands in the air like I was lifting the sign made of lights. “It has everything. The built in reputation, the expectation of quality and class-”
“So use it.”
“I don’t want to fuck things up with my dad when they’re good for the first time in my life.”
“Why don’t you look at it as not letting him fuck it up?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fine. You don’t have to know. Just take the next step,” he said. “What’s that?”
“Making the club look like it does on the inside of my head.”
“I suppose you need help with that?”
“Yeah.” I reached for the paper. “I thought I might go talk to this woman about it.” I looked at her face again like I had so many times that morning. I didn’t know what it was about her, but something in my guts made me want to dial her number.
“Give us a look,” Christophe said, reaching his hand out.
I leaned forward and handed it to him, watching as he studied her face.
“She’s hot.”
“I’m more interested in whether or not she can design a club, but yeah, I can’t say it bothers me that she’s easy on the eyes.”
He shrugged. “She must be doing okay if she can afford a full page ad in the Trib.”
“Right?”
He nodded.
“Plus, I like the ad. Shows some class. I like that she cast her line out to get clients from literate readers instead of anyone who can type a phrase into Google.”
He stuck out his bottom lip. “Sure. I could see that.”
“What do you think?”
“Honestly? I think you just want to sleep with her.”
“That too,” I said. “But what’s wrong with mixing a little pleasure into my business?”
Christophe smiled. “You truly are your father’s son.”
I nodded. “I know. I just wish he could be proud of me for it.”
Chapter 11: Carrie
I was reading on the couch when I heard the key slide in the door.
I lowered my kindle in my lap and stared at the doorknob.
Simon swore a second later.
I reached for my glass of wine on the coffee table and took a sip, listening as he tried the key again.
Then there was one soft knock, which I can only imagine was his forehead hitting the door.
I set my glass down silently, pulled my knees to my chest, and waited to see what he would do next.
Obviously, he wasn’t about to let himself in. I’d changed the locks forty eight hours after he’d gone because I couldn’t sleep knowing he could walk in at any minute.
“Carrie?”
The sound of his voice made my heart shrink.
“I know you’re in there.”
I swallowed.
A moment later my phone rang.
“Damnit,” I mouthed as I grabbed it off the table and silenced it.
“Carrie, open the door.”
I sighed and put my phone on silent, not that it mattered now.
“We have to talk.”
I reached for the bottle of red on the floor beside me and topped up my glass.
“You can’t just lock me out of our apartment.”
Maybe he wasn’t as smart as I thought he was.
“I have personal property in there.”
That’s what you think.
“Just give me a chance to explain.”
I pursed my lips.
“Did you get my texts?” he asked.
I nodded. Last I checked there were about thirty of them.
“Carrie.”
From where I sat on the couch, I could see the round mirror by the door, the one surrounded by all the ticket stubs of the concerts and movies and shows and games we’d been to over the last several years.
How dare he ruin those memories for me by making a joke out of our relationship.
There was nothing I’d ever invested as much of myself in, nothing I had greater hopes for.
How dare he make who I was- who I’d spent so many years becoming- such a pitiless farce.
Like I didn’t even matter.
I gasped when he banged on the door a moment later.
“Open the fucking door, Carrie!”
I hugged my knees.
