by Jamie Knight
“How did you two meet?” Whitney asked, trying to be civil.
“In the hall, if you can believe it,” I told her.
“I was living in the apartment opposite and we kept seeing each other every day and I guess one thing led to another. Katie also loves Chase so that helped a lot too.”
“I bet,” Whitney said, with a big smile as she looked at the little girl.
“She can be a real handful but she’s a great kid,” I explained.
“I can’t believe you got engaged,” Etta raged, between furious sips of her Vodka and ice, “particularly to someone who already had a kid. I mean who the hell does that? Isn’t her pussy all stretched out and gross? I—”
Etta was cut off by Whitney putting a hand on her knee.
“It’s called love,” I said calmly. “I have an original, twenty-one volume Oxford English Dictionary. You could look it up.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Etta demanded, moving to stand up.
I was about to do the same when Ashlyn put her hand on my knee, with similar results. I knew I didn’t know her well, but there was definitely an attraction. The idea of making her upset didn’t sit well with me. There was also Whitney to consider. Against all odds, Etta was her best friend and as much as I hated the bitch, it wasn’t worth upsetting my baby sister.
“Please, calm down,” Whitney pleaded.
“Oh, I will, as soon as your family stops humiliating me!” Etta shouted, setting Katie off crying again.
With a great flourish, Etta stormed out, leaving her suitcases by the door for Whitney to take down.
“I-I guess we’d better go to a hotel,” Whitney said, putting down her empty tumbler.
“That might be best,” I agreed.
“I see you later tonight,” I said, hugging her goodbye, “just you.”
“Of course,” Whitney said.
I helped her carry the bags down to the corner and gave her money for the cab.
Chapter Eight
Ashlyn
I tried to tell myself it hadn’t gone as bad as it could have. Though it was honestly difficult to imagine how meeting Whitney and Etta could have gone worse — without actually coming to blows anyway. But still, it was a thread of hopefulness I could cling to in an attempt to maintain what was left my sanity. I didn’t know Chase well enough to be sure if he was intentionally baiting Etta or just saying what came naturally, all of it being awful. Part of me hoped it was the first one, a small, petty part that wanted revenge for her comment about my pussy being gross. It was both an awful way to think of childbirth and not true.
Either way, there was clearly more going on with Chase and Etta than I really knew about, and it looked like it might get nasty if it went any further. I had been around nasty before and had no great desire to experience it again and I defiantly didn’t want Katie around it, no matter how good Chase was with her.
A lot of the time, nasty behavior between exs meant that there were still feelings there. Love could so easily lead to hate and switch back again. I had seen the rage in Chase’s face. Etta was still under his skin. I had to admit to myself that it bothered me. I knew I was his fake fiancée, but still, a part of me had started to wonder if we could be more. It was a dream I needed to ignore, before Katie and I got hurt.
Closing the door behind his sister, Chase went back over to the mini-bar, pouring and throwing back a double scotch. Neither this, not the one he had while the guests had been there seemed to have any effect on him. It made sense that he could hold his liquor, particularly considering his size but the man seemed to have the tolerance of a baby elephant.
“I’m going for a walk,” he said, breezing past me, the smell of scotch hanging around him like cologne.
“Okay,” I said, not sure what else to say.
Chase didn’t slam the door. If he had, I would have been a lot more worried. He didn’t seem to be about to beat me, which was always a good thing, though it did surprisingly little to assuage my fears about the current situation.
Etta didn’t strike me as the most charming person in the world, but she seemed to still be really into Chase. I couldn’t blame her, really, because I was too if I was honest with myself. Yet he had been so cruel to her. From what he told me, he hadn’t expected her to come, and they definitely had a history but he had basically set her up and, despite my distaste for her reaction, my heart went out to her a bit when she stormed out. I probably would have been upset too in her position, especially if I suspected he was lying. Which, of course, he was. And I was helping him. Worse, I was involving my daughter in the lie.
The guilt bubbled up like thick black acid from the core of my being. Adrenaline hitting my brain like a brick. I had to do something. I had to move. Going over to the minibar, I drained an entire bottle of orange juice that I assumed Chase used as a mixer, in an attempt to wash down the rising tide of guilt and nausea. It worked on the first but not the second.
Searching through the apartment, I found a good-sized suitcase and started piling it with everything I owned that I could get in, urgency burning inside me like a fever. This whole thing had been a mistake and there was only one way out.
I had no idea where we were going to go. I just knew we couldn’t be there when Chase got home. Something in the back of my head was telling me that we were going to have to go anyway now that the deed was done. We had served our purpose in throwing off his ex. Now we were at the end of our usefulness to him.
I didn’t want to believe that Chase was like that — like he would use us like that, but then I remembered how he had threatened the landlord. He made the nasty little man completely change his approach with just seven little words ‘you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.’ I wasn’t about to hang around and find what that was really like.
Getting the suitcase full, I went into the guest room where Katie was already awake and wiggling on the bed. Putting her on the floor so she couldn’t fall off, I closed the door and found her bag, starting to fill it with as much of her stuff as would fit.
“We go?” she asked.
“Yes, honey, we need to find a new place to stay. You need to go to sleep.”
“Chase!” Katie shouted, meaning she wanted him to read her a story before bedtime.
“Chase isn’t here, honey,” I said.
“Chase!” she shouted again, not understanding at all.
I picked her up and rocked her as she kept saying Chase’s name, the declarations soon giving way to sobs. Just when I didn’t think I could feel any worse, there it was. I had let Katie get attached to Chase, and now we were leaving — like we had left her dad.
It was surprising how fast Chase had grown on her, it had only been two days, but there was no denying that he had. Finally crying herself to sleep, I put Katie down on the bed, surrounded by pillows just in case while I finished packing.
It was dark out by the time I finished. Putting Katie’s bag on my back, I wrapped her up and carried her to the door, pulling the suitcase behind me.
Chapter Nine
Chase
The apartment was eerily quiet as I opened the door. Katie might have been down for bedtime, and Ashlyn was keeping quiet, but I still got a feeling in my guts, like I always did before something bad happened. I usually had a pretty good idea of whether or not I would win a case the minute I walked into a courtroom. The last time the answer had been 'no' was more than three years before.
I wasn't sure what I would find when I opened the door; the premonitions rarely being clear. I just knew that it wasn't good.
Stumbling into the dark, I searched for the lights switch with little success. “Ashlyn?” I called into the dark. “Katie?”
A cold fear seized me as I realized that them leaving without a word was the most likely of the options. I found the light switch and prepared myself for the worst. The newly installed track lighting burst to life, shedding light on the situation.
The apartment was deserted, though I could
still see some of Ashlyn's things around. I checked the closet, and sure enough, the big suitcase was gone — though this was the only thing of mine that had been taken.
Why would she take my suitcase but not all of her own stuff? It hit me like a bolt from the blue. The only logical reason for her to do that was if she had to get out quickly, taking the suitcase to hold as much of her stuff as she could. This new realization set of a whole new set of questions. Did the landlord realize that I wasn't home and start giving her shit? Had her ex caught up with her and made her have to flee? Or worse, taken them somewhere? I had come across his kind in the army and knew no good could come of it if that were the case.
I got out my cellphone and dialed Ashlyn's number hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. I let it go for nearly twenty rings before finally hanging up. I thought about calling the police but couldn't think of what I would tell them. Besides which, the LAPD weren't exactly known for their sterling reputation in terms of honesty and goodwill. It really was best if I tried to handle the situation myself. Or at least it would be if I had a better idea of what the situation was. As it stood, Ashlyn wasn't picking up and I didn't know where to start looking for her.
I was pulled from my pit of self-pity by the ringing of my phone, which was still in my hand. I recognized Whitney's number immediately.
“Hey, kid,” I said, answering quickly.
“Hey, you okay, bro?” she asked.
“Not really,” I said, suddenly subsumed with honesty.
“Anything alcohol could fix?” she asked.
“Worth a try,” I said, sighing in resignation.
“O'Shea's in twenty?” she asked.
“Sure.”
I was about to tell her not to bring the she-devil, but Whitney had already hung up.
O'Shea's was a family tradition. Our granddad had come across the place when he first came to California from London. At that time, the feeling toward the British in America was fairly warm. It had been nearly two centuries since the revolution and memories of the Second World War were still fresh.
All pale ale and chip fat, the bar was as authentic as it was possible to get state-side. There was even a plasma TV set fixed to the wall showing Premier League soccer on satellite. It stood to reason, then, that the pub's main clientele was British, and occasionally, Indian ex-pats.
Far as I could tell, Whitney and I would be the only natural-born Yanks in the place. And even that was more of a matter of timing.
I was beginning to think the fake fiancée thing had been a bad idea. Particularly if it led Ashlyn and Katie to be harmed in some way. My mood wasn't greatly improved when I approached our usual table and saw that Whitney was sitting with Satan's emissary herself.
Looking undeniably slutty in little black dress that showed off every curve of her not-yet-thirty body, Etta twirled matching heels on her toes that were made to make her legs look even longer. It was an outfit that I knew well. It used to turn me on, now it was like a red flag in warning.
I was just about to turn and leave — planning to make up some excuse when Whitney called to check in — when I saw my sister waving, as though I didn't know where she was. She had seen me, and there was no way out of it now.
“Hey,” Whitney said, kissing me on the cheek.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” I asked, staring daggers at Etta.
The she-devil shifted on her seat, looking up at me innocently. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I was surprised and hurt. I didn't mean any of those dreadful things I said,” Etta explained, putting on a tone of sincerity I had never heard before.
I looked for her the usual signs that she was bullshitting to get her way but saw none. Either she had gotten to be an even better liar than she had been before, or she actually meant what she was saying.
“Please can Etta stay?” Whitney pleaded, giving me the puppy dog eyes she knew I couldn't resist.
“Fine,” I said. “Just don't try and kiss me again.”
“My lips are sealed,” Etta said, actually making me feel a bit better about the situation.
I could feel myself starting to relax. I was still worried about Ashlyn and Katie, apprehension which was only added to by Etta's reappearance, but at least that was one less thing to worry about. I would see if maybe some liquid courage would be enough to calm me down entirely.
“Where's Ashlyn?” Whitney asked out of nowhere, bringing the demons back to my door.
“She has a headache and didn't want to leave Katie,” I said, my lawyer instincts not completely dulled.
“That's too bad,” Etta said, patting my thigh tenderly, though not going for my cock as I would have expected.
It was confusing to have Etta being so understanding and kind. I had built up a particular image of her since our parting and wasn't keen on having that challenged. I started thinking that maybe I had been too hasty, and Etta really did love me. She had been only eighteen when we broke up. She might have changed. I could still read her signs though, and the touch made it pretty clear she wanted to make me feel good.
My mind went back to how it had been with Etta, at least when we weren't fighting. The love, the attention, the absolutely mind-blowing sex. Lord only knew what new tricks she had picked up over the years. Maybe it was best to forget about Ashlyn and focus on the now. A task which proved more difficult with Etta gently stroking the inside of my thigh. I hadn't noticed her putting her hand there but tried to not mind.
“Do you know when you are getting the inheritance?” Etta asked, when Whitney went to the bathroom, leaving us alone.
“What?” I asked, snapping out of the enchantment.
“Whitney hasn't heard, and I thought maybe you might know.”
Without a word, I got up out of the chair, pulling away from Etta and headed for the door. Far too drunk to even think about taking the car, I called a cab to take me home to my silent apartment and crashed drunkenly onto the bed, going to sleep immediately.
I woke up feeling like I had been beaten with rubber mallets. Rousing myself from the bed, I zombie walked into the bathroom and got into a cold shower — most of my clothes still on. Suitably recovered, I went into the kitchen clad only in my Chinese silk boxers and made about thirteen cups of coffee.
Trying to ignore the fact that my place was still feeling too empty, I fried up some eggs before heading into work, once again armored in my signature black Armani. Stopping off at O'Shea's, I picked up my car on the way.
The morning went by pretty fast. I got into work almost on time and distracted myself from worrying about Ashlyn — who still wasn’t answering her phone — by reviewing case files. Something that passed as normal for me.
At about ten minutes before lunch, there was a tap on my office door.
“Come in,” I said, having a good idea who it was.
“Hiya, buddy,” Ann said, leaning on my doorway.
“Lunch?” I asked.
“Lunch,” she confirmed.
We didn’t have a lot of time, Ann having a big case she was working on, so we went to a fish and chips place a few blocks from the Howell and Howell building.
“How are things going with the hunt?” Ann asked after we had ordered.
“Ann, please, I am trying to find a woman to be my fake wife-to-be, not a prized wild boar.”
“Oh, sorry,” Ann said, actually blushing.
“Anyway, it is actually going pretty well,” I admitted. “Or it was. I met a great woman with an adorable little girl who was willing to play happy family. She was having some trouble with her landlord, which I cleared up for her mostly by putting a scare into the landlord and inviting them to stay at my place.”
“Of course, you did,” Ann said coyly.
“I am the best, after all.”
“Don't need to tell me that, cakes,” Ann said.
She only called me cakes when we were joking around. A nickname I got in the army when I was found to have brought almost a hundred packs of twinkie
s with me on deployment. I didn't know when or if I was ever going to see one again and decided not to take any chances.
“You must have it really bad for this woman,” Ann observed.
I tried to laugh it off, hoping she had been kidding. Though I couldn't help but wonder if she was right. Had I developed feelings for Ashlyn so quick?
Chapter Ten
Ashlyn
It was scary being on the street, at first. The shelter I found wasn't great but was better than sleeping out in the elements. Thankfully it didn't last very long. While we were at the shelter, I managed to find a daycare that I could afford on the savings I had. My phone didn't have data anymore, the bill going a bit too long without getting paid, but there was a library not too far away from the daycare with public internet terminals. I would spend the time that Katie was at daycare to look for a job.
I didn't have many skills to speak of, aside from cleaning and waitressing. The call for waitresses was surprisingly slim and most of the ones that there were wanted someone who could speak fluent Spanish, which I couldn’t do. Switching my search to the janitorial sector, I found four postings that looked promising and applied for them all, with an appropriately tailored and subtly padded, resume for each.
My phone didn't have data, but it could still take calls, paid for on a month to month basis, which came in handy when it came to the job search. Two of the cleaning jobs got back to me the next day. They were both jobs cleaning office buildings. One during the day, which wasn't a problem and one at night, which would be trickier because of Katie.
The second job paid twice as much, exactly because it was the graveyard shift, which few people were willing to work aside from the genuinely nocturnal and truly desperate. Since I fell into the second category, I figured it was worth a try.
