A Life More Complete (12 page)

“Hey lady? You gonna get up?” asks
the guy sitting next to me on the plane.

“Um, yeah, sorry,” I mumble. I grab
my bag from the overhead compartment and walk though the airport in a fog. I’m
recognized as I make my way to my car. Inundated by cameras and flash bulbs,
questions are being spouted at me as I walk. Obviously, all of them regarding
Trini and I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure I can do this anymore. My
first thought is to quit. Quit it all, my job, Trini, the public, but I realize
that is unrealistic. I’m tired of damage control, tired of questions and
interviews, plane rides and gossip blogs. There is no point in going home and is
there really any point in going in to the office. The damage is done, so I head
to Trini’s house.

My phone vibrates against my leg and
the caller ID says, Callahan and Rhodes. I roll my eyes and answer firmly, “Kristin
Mullins.”

“Ms. Mullins, this is Jacob Foster,
Katrina Walters’s attorney. I’ve been trying to reach her for several hours
with no avail,” he says nervously, yet trying to sound intimidating.

“Yes. Is there something you need,
Jacob?”

“Um, yes. Her pre-trial date has been
set for a week from Friday. Um, she’ll need to be there.”

“Okay. I’ll pass the information
along to her. I’ll be meeting with her shortly. I’m sorry you’ve been unable to
reach her, as you know she is going through a difficult time right now.”

“I understand. Um, Ms. Mullins?”

“Yes, Jacob?”

“I’m an entertainment lawyer, not a
criminal defense attorney. I’m starting to think I’m in over my head. I can
assist her in pleading guilty to the charges that have been filed against her,
but I won’t be of much, um, assistance should she, um, continue to find herself
in these types of situations.” His voice peaks at points, turns high and
returns to its normal octave. I don’t know if I make him uncomfortable or if
this is his usual demeanor.

“I can’t speak for Trini, but I
surely hope this is the last of her problems. I will also understand if you are
unable to continue your legal counsel. You wouldn’t be the first to leave.”

“I will try my best. Um, when I took
this job from Ronald, I thought it would be an easy way to get my feet wet. You
know, read contracts, trademarks and if I was lucky a possible litigation. Um,
I never expected to end up here. Now I know why Ronald quit and the job was, um
given to me.”

“Thank you, Jacob. If you have any
trouble reaching Trini, please feel free to contact me.”

“Thank you, Ms. Mullins. Have a nice
day.”

I hang up with Jacob as I pull into
Trini’s driveway, punching the code into the key pad, the wrought iron gate
swings open and I meander up the brick paved driveway. Trini’s house is a
custom built Tuscan showcase in the West Hills. It’s the house that
Trini Knows Best
built. No expense was
spared with its infinity pool overlooking the canyon, island kitchen with
Viking range and marble counters, impeccably decorated, every detail mulled
over by interior designers and architects until it looked like it was air
lifted from Italy and randomly dropped on two acres in the middle of
California. It’s an oasis to the unknowing eye, but to all who have walked on
its lush green grasses, swam in its crystal blue waters or slept on its high
percale Egyptian cotton sheets know it to be a prison. You’d think anyone would
enjoy the solitude of a quiet home, but day after day of overwhelming silence
can wear on a person, even make them a little crazy.

I use my key to let myself in and
before I even cross the threshold, Lupe comes hustling toward me in a huff. Lupe
is Trini’s housekeeper. She’s Columbian with a heavy accent and broken English.
She’s outlasted every single one of the people in Trini’s hire because she does
as she’s told. To say Trini liked her would be stretching it, tolerated is more
like it. But for some reason, Lupe never gets sick of Trini’s bullshit and she
placates her the way no one else will. I can tell by the look on her face she’s
been given explicit orders to follow; in addition to that she knows I’ll never
abide by those orders and it makes her nervous. Yet she gives her best attempt.

“Miss Kristin. How are you?” She hugs
me briefly and begins to wring her hands.

“I’m fine, Lupe. Is Trini home?” I
know she is, I ask anyway, delaying the inevitable, also giving Lupe time to
adjust to me being here unannounced.

“Oh that good,” she says nodding her
head. “Miss Katrina says no bother her today.”

“I’ll let her know you said that when
I wake her up,” I say smiling as I move past Lupe and take the stairs two at a
time. Lupe retreats to whatever she was doing before my arrival mumbling under her
breath.

I fling open the door to Trini’s
bedroom and it bangs loudly off the wall behind it. Pressing my hand to the
light switch, the room glows brightly from the overhead, decorative chandelier.
Trini doesn’t even flinch. I peel the covers back and the smell is
overpowering. She reeks of cigarettes and bong water mixed with booze and
vomit. Her pillowcase is smeared with the remains of last night’s eye makeup as
her mouth hangs open and her matted and ratty hair is splayed out over her
face. I want to scream at her, school her on decorum and then walk away for
good. But I won’t because I’m a sucker, a slave to my job and maybe just a good
person. I lean down and shake her slightly as I whisper her name.

“What are you doing here?” she
hisses, her voice hoarse.

“Lupe tried to stop me.”

“At least she tried. Can you go now? I
want to go back to sleep.”

“No. I’m not leaving. What is going
on? Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to. My therapist was
already here. She told me if talking about my issues is too difficult I should
revisit them later. I’m taking her advice. Now get out.” She rolls over and
pulls the covers over her head.
     

“Did you ever think that I’m here
because I care about you? Maybe that’s why Lupe and I are the last ones still
around? Now get your ass out of bed.”

“Fuck off.”

“You can be angry with me. I can take
it.”

“It’s not you.” Her voice softens
just a bit. “You’re just here. The only one who will stand here and take it.” She
breathes in deeply. “I’m angry.”

“I know you’re angry and I know it’s
not me you’re angry at. That’s why I’ll be here, so you have an outlet, someone
to direct that anger at. I love you. You can say what you want to me and I’ll
forgive you. I’ll keep coming back and it’s not because you pay me. Don’t even
use that excuse.”

“Whatever.”

“If you want to scream at me, fine. If
you want to cry, that’s fine, too. But you won’t push me away; you won’t
alienate me the way you did everyone else.”

“You’re all I’ve got,” she says and
it nearly kills me.

“I know what it’s like to be alone
and sometimes it really sucks.” I sit down next to her and kiss her head. She
smiles softly and I realize maybe she isn’t a lost cause.

Watching Trini curled up in her bed,
belligerent and abusive one minute and crying and apologetic the next brings back
a flood of memories I thought had long since been lost. The remembrance of my
father is small, yet impacting. He lived his life in a perpetual drug riddled
coma, abusive, cruel and unpredictable. I feared him with everything I had and
although my memory of him is fuzzy at best, he still haunts my dreams. The
eight years that I lived with my father were frightening and traumatizing. I
witnessed drug deals, the use of cocaine on a daily basis and my mother in a
continuous state of apology. Death looked me in the eyes regularly and it was
disgusting. The number of near fatal overdoses was more than I could count. And
each time I cried hysterically as he was hauled off in an ambulance. I wished
him dead on so many occasions, yet when faced with actuality of it I felt
guilty, that maybe I was the one who willed it to happen.

Seeing Trini’s instability only
accentuates my memories and I can’t help but wonder if she will eventually end
up in a similar situation. Am I becoming a victim just as my mother was so many
years ago? When did it slip from recreational drug use to becoming a full-blown
addict? I thought of Maizey, my baby sister. Why am I here with Trini when Maizey
struggles just as badly? Shouldn’t I be sitting next to her, letting her abuse
me? But I walked away when I should have loved her unconditionally.

Trini’s pre-trial hearing is
postponed due to a continuance. Dragged out even longer for the media to
speculate on why, spinning more elaborate lies, taking it to levels I never
thought I’d see. Her mother comes out of the woodwork during this time, selling
everything she has on Trini, true or not, to any magazine that will run the
story. There was speculation that she was compensated generously, somewhere in
the high six figures, which I’m sure was true. The media couldn’t get enough
and the public was eating it up. Trini has become a recluse, hiding in her
palatial home, crying in bed as she downs Ativan and Valium like candy with
expensive wine straight from the bottle. She’s more of a mess now than I’d ever
seen her. All of this did little to quell the voices that screamed from inside
her head. She fluctuates between manic and depressed like a roller coaster
ride. It isn’t just the media coverage of her meltdown that spurs her
instability, people camp outside her house protesting her abortion making it
nearly impossible to leave. There are painted signs saying things like “Abortion
is Murder” and “Trini Walters kills unborn children”. Someone even went so far
as to hang a baby doll covered in red paint at the gated entrance to her home.

In the time between her pre-trial
continuance and the actual trial she is arrested for driving on a suspended license.
She played dumb and claimed she had no idea her license was suspended because
she hadn’t actually had her trial yet. She is smarter than that. A week later
she is arrested again, this time for felony cocaine possession. Jacob Foster
quits. He told her to hire a criminal defense lawyer because she was going to
need all the help she could get.

In a matter of two weeks Trini has
somehow managed to single-handedly ruin her own life and is slowly bringing me
down with her.

The next I day, I fuck up big time
and unfortunately for me it’s happened too many times.
When
I walk in the door it hits me. I forgot. It’s after ten and when I see Ben
sitting at my kitchen table, his arms folded across his chest, I know he’s
pissed.

“Sorry,” I say as soon
as our eyes meet.

“No you’re not. Didn’t
you check your phone? We were supposed to have dinner with my brother. He’s
only in town for two days.”

“I didn’t check my
phone. Obviously.” I apologize again, but it’s just for show. I’m on autopilot
now.

“What good is it if you
don’t check it? Where have you been?” As he speaks, I can tell he’s struggling
to keep his tone even, which only adds to my annoyance. I want to scream at him
to stop holding back. I want him to yell at me, but he won’t.

“I don’t like having to
report to you. I was busy at work. I lost track of time.” I’m aloof and my
response causes his jaw to tense.

“Report to me? That’s
what you think this is?” I can hear the strain in his voice as he pulls his
hand through his hair. “We’re far more fucked up than I ever thought. I’m
walking away before I say something I’ll regret.”

“Whatever, Ben.” I
reply sounding far more annoyed than necessary. I hate this argument. The
regularity of it is growing old. This is why I didn’t want to start this thing
with Ben. I don’t like being responsible for making him angry, yet I don’t
change the things I do.

Ben brushes past me
without making eye contact. His breathing is labored and when he slams the door
behind him, I jump a little. I knew this would happen the second I saw him; I’m
trouble. I lost myself in a boy once and it won’t happen again. So, I do what I
do best and avoid confrontation. I don’t follow him, anxious and feeling
guilty, I step into the shower and cry. I won’t change and I don’t know why.

I watch my relationship with Ben
crumble. He’s slipping away and I know it. In the three weeks since our
argument I have slept next to Ben every night, but it doesn’t matter. It’s like
watching the sun set. No matter how beautiful it is, it would eventually
disappear into the ocean. When he shows up at my house a week later, far too
late in the evening, I know it’s over. I say, “I love you.” He knows that but
sometimes it just isn’t enough. He tells me he can’t be second anymore. He says,
“I know where you stand in my life, but I don’t know where I stand in yours and
I don’t think you do either. You need to figure it out. I can’t do it for you.”
He wants to get married, have kids and raise a family. I tell him I want those
things, too. I make promises I won’t and can’t keep.

He stops and runs his hand though his
hair. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I wanted to love you forever. I
wanted you to quit your job, move in with me, have babies and take vacations to
Disney World. I wanted you to want that life. And it’s okay that you don’t. I
won’t lie, it hurts, and I still want all those things and I hope someday you
will too.”