If I Were Beautiful (If I Were... #1)

by Devon Hartford

  He made a bro-hand (thumb extended with pinky hooked out) and cocked it over his shoulder. “Move. You’re in my way.”

  Geez. The least he could do was introduce himself and offer to shake hands like a normal person. But no. He was giving me this dismissive bro-hand. So I squared my shoulders and dug my heels in and refused to move, blocking his doorway.

  “Really?” He said it with the least amount of interest possible.

  I secretly hoped he would manhandle me and throw me out of his way, which would of course require him to get really close and pick me up. Girls could be clever like that. Trick them into fondling you. I’d heard it worked. Maybe not on guys like my friend George. But on guys like Blaze for sure.

  Instead, Blaze’s face soured with disgust. He turned and walked down the balcony, leaving me standing in front of his open apartment.

  “You better fix my door!”

  His shirtless muscled back rippled while he walked. The hypnotic dance of his chiseled flesh perfection made me squirm and squeeze my knees together. Did they really make men this hot? Because I’d never seen one before in real life. I wanted him to want me so bad it hurt.

  “Hey! You left your door wide open!”

  He didn’t answer. But he did flip me off.

  Like I was an afterthought.

  He didn’t even turn to face me. Just halfheartedly raised his arm and dismissively flicked his middle finger.

  “Dirty butthole!” I hated him even though I still wanted him.

  He didn’t respond, just kept walking.

  “I’m gonna steal all your stuff!” The only thing in his apartment was that stupid black chair.

  Blaze didn’t slow down. At the end of the balcony, he turned into the stairwell and sauntered downstairs.

  Was I heartbroken or hurt?

  Neither.

  Honestly, I was surprised he’d bothered to talk to me at all.

  Not that that made him any less of an ass.

  If Chelsea had been here, I’m sure he would’ve talked to her.

  I scowled to myself.

  Okay, maybe I was a little hurt.

  Chapter 5

  Once again, I sat on my couch with my front door open, reading my book, and waiting for Blaze to return.

  He didn’t.

  But I had a bunch of flies buzzing around my apartment.

  Stupid Blaze.

  An hour later, he still wasn’t back, but his front door was still wide open. I guess he wasn’t worried about anyone stealing his huge chair. I considered closing his door for him, but I didn’t think it was my place. What if he’d left his key inside? I didn’t want him getting locked out. He would have to deal with Petrak. Petrak hated it when you lost your key. He also charged you $125 to re-key the lock.

  I considered looking around Blaze’s apartment for his key, but I wasn’t a snoop and I didn’t want him to catch me. What would he think of me then? Probably less than he already did.

  I’ll admit I considered baking a cake for him to make peace. As a neighborly gesture. Since we were going to be sharing a wall, it was the least I could do. But I didn’t. I knew from experience that you could shower a guy you liked with attention on a daily basis and he would still ignore you.

  Blaze could bake his own damn cake.

  I wasn’t bitter.

  When I realized it was almost one o’clock, I grabbed my iPhone to check my email. I was dying to find out which if any speed daters from last night were interested in me. Mike and Zack hadn’t ignored me. They’d both been very interested in me. Maybe some of the other guys were interested too.

  I scrolled through and found the email from Extreme Speed Dating LA.

  The name reminded me of Mike and all his talk about extreme and un-extreme. I smiled to myself. By the time I finished scanning the email, I was scowling.

  I had no matches.

  None.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  Two or three, maybe. But none?

  What happened to stupid pinch-faced Mike? Was I too extreme for him? Or was he just a liar? Was his Mr. Interested routine all an act? I wasn’t sure. Maybe he forgot about me after twenty other dates. Yeah, that was probably it. How could you expect someone to remember you amongst that many other people? I’m sure I just slipped his mind.

  (he’s not interested)

  I sighed.

  At least one guy hadn’t forgotten me. Zack. I even had his number and he had mine. I really wanted him to call. Sure, he hadn’t yet, but we’d just had dinner last night. I couldn’t expect him to call today, could I? I could call him, but I didn’t want to scare him off by calling too soon. He’d think I was needy. But, after my run in with Butthead Blaze, I did feel worthless and a little bit needy. Not a lot. Just a little. A little bit of man distraction would do wonders for me right now.

  I brought up Zack’s number in my list of contacts. My finger hovered over the call button. At the last second, I called Chelsea instead. Best to get her advice before I did something I couldn’t take back. I called her on FaceTime.

  “Hey, Jay. What’s up?” Her face filled the screen.

  “Are you at a BART station?” BART was the subway in San Francisco.

  “Yeah. Lissa and I are going to Berkeley to shop.” She turned the phone to face Melissa, who waved.

  I’d met Melissa before and liked her. I waved back.

  Chelsea turned the phone back to herself. “Did you hear back from the guys last night?”

  “No.”

  “What, did you not get the email?”

  “I got the email. It apologized that I didn’t get any matches.”

  “None? What about Mike?”

  “That’s what I said,” I grumbled.

  “Well, you’ve got Zack’s number. I liked him.”

  “That’s why I was calling. Should I text him or wait until he texts me?”

  “Call him. Leave a voicemail. You’re both adults.”

  “I can’t do that. I’ll sound desperate.”

  “So text him.”

  “When, now?”

  “Sure now.” It was so easy for Chelsea to act like this. Men chased her. She didn’t chase them. She never followed any dating rules either, she just did what she wanted and men still drooled over her. To her credit, she never played hard to get because she was hard to get. So many men wanted Chelsea it was ridiculous. But she wanted a husband, not another boyfriend or friend with benefits. She was ready to settle down and start a family, so she was waiting for the right guy to come along.

  I said, “Do you really think I should text Zack now?”

  “Go for it.”

  “Okay, I’ll do it.” I swiped over to the messenger app. My excitement was making me jittery. “What should I say?”

  “Anything. Just be yourself.” Chelsea was always so encouraging and it set me at ease. “And don’t be ironic.”

  “Okay.” I laughed and said what I was typing out loud to Chelsea. “Hey Zack. It’s Jane from speed dating.” I hit the send button.

  “Perfect. Hey, have you talked to Mom or Dad lately?”

  “Not in a couple weeks. Why?”

  “Mom called today and said you haven’t been out to visit her.”

  “Did you tell her you were just in town and you didn’t visit either? Pasadena isn’t that far from West LA, you know.”

  “I know,” she groaned. “But you know me and Mom are having a thing right now.”

  “Don’t remind me.” I rolled my eyes. They were always having a thing. We both knew Mom and Dad held her to much higher standards than they did me, but no one would ever admit it. Consequently, Mom was always disappointed with Chelsea’s decisions. I could never figure out why. Chelsea was successful and happy, so what? “You know, you and Mom really oughta—” My phone chimed. “Oh wait! I just got a text from Zack! It says, ‘Hey, can you talk right now?’ What should I say back?”

  “Call him.”

  “Should I?”

  “Yeah. And
call me back after.”

  “Okay.” I hung up and dialed Zack.

  “Hey, sunshine.”

  “Hey, Zack.” I was giddy that he already had a nickname for me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just chillin. You?”

  “Making Sunday plans,” he said casually.

  “Oh? What kind?” My hands shook with excitement.

  “Depends on what you’re doing. Are you free later?”

  My heart raced. Should I say yes or would that sound desperate? I wished Chelsea was beside me to walk me through this. Screw it. “Yeah, I’m free.”

  “What do you think about going down to Venice for a stroll on the boardwalk? Weather’s nice.”

  “That sounds great!” I gasped. More calmly, “I mean, sure. Yeah, sure. I could do that.”

  He chuckled on the other end of the line. “Will it just be you and me, or will Chelsea come along to chaperone like last time?”

  That was weird. Even the way he said it was weird, like he wanted her to come with us. And probably not to chaperone. At times like this, I really hated having a hot sister. “Gosh, Zack. I don’t know. Do you want me to call her and ask?” He didn’t know she was in San Francisco.

  “Sure. Why not?” He said it casually, but there was an underlying hint of bullshit I could smell over my iPhone. Amazing how good technology was these days.

  I scowled to myself. Because if you were only interested in me, you wouldn’t want her coming along, dumbass. “Hmmm, let me think, Zack.” My sarcasm was clear as day. “Do I want to go out with just you, or should I bring along my hot sister?”

  He chuckled nervously but didn’t say anything.

  I grumbled, “Or maybe I can just have her meet you in Venice while I stay home and eat tater tots.”

  “Tater tots?”

  “Shut up, Zack. You’re not interested in me, are you?”

  He chuckled again, but still said nothing.

  “Geez, Zack. Are you that much of a dirty toilet bowl?”

  “Ha ha ha.”

  “Yes you are.” I could hear it in his voice. I rolled my eyes. “Why didn’t you just ask Chelsea for her number instead of wasting my time?”

  “Uhhh…”

  “Goodbye, Zack. Don’t ever call me because I won’t give you my sister’s number. Ever. Forget I exist.”

  I ended the call and immediately dialed Chelz.

  “What’s the scoop?” She smiled over FaceTime, now on BART. The noise from the train was really loud.

  “He was into you, not me!” I sung triumphantly. “You! Not! Me!”

  She slumped, her mouth sagging with disappointment. “I’m sorry, Jay. I really thought—”

  “NEXT STOP MONTGOMERY STREET. NEXT STOP, MONTGOMERY STREET.” It was the train operator on the intercom and the sound drowned Chelsea completely out.

  “Forget about Zack,” Chelsea said, “Zack is a dick. If you ever bump into him, punch him in the face for me.”

  “How about I punch him in his dick?”

  “Same thing,” she winked.

  The BART train started braking and turning and it made loud squeals and grinding noises. But I could see Chelsea’s beautiful face smiling back at me. I snapped.

  “I hate you, Chelsea Johnson! Do you know that?! I hate you because you’re beautiful and I hate you because you’re nice! And I hate you because you’re my sister!” I was trying not to cry. I had no idea if Chelsea had heard my rant over the train squeals, but I didn’t really care. I was in too much pain.

  When the noise faded, she said, “What did you say? It’s really loud in here.”

  “Nothing.” I shook my head and looked away, wanting to hide somewhere and die.

  “I’m so sorry about this, Jay. There’ll be other guys. I promise. Jay? Are you okay?”

  I couldn’t look at her for a long time. Suddenly, my anger flared again. “This is all your fault! You know that? You made me go speed dating! You made me! This wouldn’t have happened if I’d stayed home!”

  “I told you I’m sorry, Jay. I never thought this would happen. I mean, I just wanted you to get out so you could meet some men.”

  “This always happens, Chelsea! Always!” Now I was crying and smeared a tear across my cheek.

  “Oh, Jay. Forget about the assholes of the world. There’s plenty of nice guys out there. Guys like George.”

  “George isn’t interested in me, Chelz! He’s not interested in anybody!” I was crying hard now.

  “You know what I me—”

  “NEXT STOP, EMBARCADERO. NEXT STOP… EMBARCADERO.”

  I grimaced. “I have to go.”

  “Jay! Wait! Don’t hang up! Jay!”

  I ended the call and dropped my phone on the couch and walked out my front door with no idea where I was going.

  Did it really matter?

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  I walked for two hours in the LA heat. It was always hot in Los Angeles, even in February.

  At the moment, I had no idea where I was. Somewhere in Brentwood Heights where all the mansions were crammed together on lush tree-lined streets.

  I was dying of thirst.

  I didn’t really care.

  LA was having a drought and I was too. A personal drought.

  A man drought.

  I scowled at myself and pushed my glasses up my nose. They kept sliding down because my face was greasy from all the exertion. Although I’d left my hoodie at home, I was dying in my purple Lumpy Space Princess T-shirt because I’d run out of sweat. My skin was cold and clammy and I was dangerously dehydrated. I was also getting a sunburn on my face and arms.

  Good.

  Maybe I would die of skin cancer and dehydration all on the same day. Come and get me, Death. Take me to the hereafter. ASAP.

  I started turning streets at random, not caring if I got lost.

  The mansions got larger and larger. Several had tennis courts and I saw swimming pools in the backyards between the trees. The smell of the chlorinated water reminded me of how thirsty I was. I smacked my dry lips. At one point, I could see The Getty Center high on the hillside that overlooked all of Santa Monica, West LA, and the Pacific Ocean. They had drinking fountains at the museum, but I didn’t think I could get there from this side of the mountain.

  So I kept walking and turning.

  A few streets later, I ended up in a cul de sac. I didn’t know if it was the heat, my dehydration, or my frustration, but I suddenly felt nauseous. I nearly collapsed in the shade of several big banana trees planted at the edge of someone’s walled off front yard. In this part of Brentwood Heights where everybody had a mansion, everybody also had fences and gates that could only be climbed by fully hydrated ninjas.

  I was neither ninja nor hydrated.

  Worse, I wasn’t sure how much further I could walk and I was starting to worry. I didn’t have my phone so there was no one I could call to pick me up. I couldn’t even call an Uber car.

  When I swallowed, my throat was so scratchy I started coughing. The next thing I knew, I couldn’t stop and I started heaving up my guts, but I had nothing to heave. I’d digested my breakfast hours ago so now I was all dried up.

  Did anybody have a garden hose? I knew you weren’t supposed to drink from hoses because of the toxins, but I didn’t care at this point. If it wasn’t for all these damn gates, I could easily sneak into someone’s yard and steal a drink. Was it possible to die of thirst in the middle of an elite neighborhood because all the rich jerks lived behind walls and security gates and hoarded their water?

  It sure seemed like it.

  For some reason, that really irritated me. I stood up and walked to the nearest gate. Tall palms and broad leafed tropical shrubs surrounded it. This place looked like a jungle oasis. Plants didn’t stay this green without plenty of water. So where was my damn glass? It’s not like I needed a gallon.

  Just a glass.

  I wanted to scream at somebody, anybody. But I wasn’t going to scream at
the shrubbery.

  I looked around frantically until I found a little metal speaker box on a metal pole. Taped to it was a small piece of paper with a hand written note that read: Press button for estate sale.

  I pressed the button and waited.

  Nobody answered. Of course nobody answered. Rich people hated poor people, especially when they were thirsty. Stupid greedy water hoarders.

  I was about to walk away when a male voice spoke over the speaker. “Yes?”

  “I’m here for the estate sale,” I lied.

  “You’ll need a permit if you parked on the street. Is your car parked nearby?” Could he see me? Yep. Poking from the shrubs above my head was a security camera.

  “I walked.”

  “Walked? From where?” A pause. “Who are you?”

  “Who am I?” Who was this asshole? “Look, I just need a glass of water. I’ve been walking around all day in the heat and I think I’m sunburned and I’m going to die of heat stroke if I don’t get some water and some shade soon. Can I just come in and get a glass of tap water? I’ll pay for it.” Rich people loved money.

  There was no reply for a long time.

  “Hey!” I shouted at the little box. “Be nice, okay? I’m only asking for a fricking glass of water!” I tried to shake the speaker box but the metal pole was too sturdy and I couldn’t budge it. “You stupid rich asshole!”

  I turned to go. Maybe his neighbors were nicer.

  The gate buzzed behind me and it rolled across a track, disappearing into a stone wall hidden behind the shrubs. I expected to see a butler walk down the stone lined drive wearing a black tux. A linen napkin would be folded over his forearm and he’d be palming a silver tray that held a tiny shot glass with one swallow of water in it. He’d say “Your water, madam,” and he’d stand beside me and scowl while I drank it, like he was doing me a huge favor. Then he’d go without offering seconds or apologizing for calling me madam instead of miss.

  Anyway, that didn’t happen.

  The speaker box said, “Did you want the water or not?”