“Put me down! Why the fuck are
you
here? What’s going on?” Monica puts up a good struggle knocking Quinn in the ear and bicep as she squirms to break free.
“Fuck Quinn! I’m so sorry. We let her have too much.” Robin’s eyes are glazed in defeat.
“You got a tranquilizer on you?” he laughs.
“Funny! Put me down! Quinn! Put me the fuck down!” Monica continues.
“Good thing I drove. No cab would stop for this.” Quinn struggles with her which makes Antonio start laughing at the spectacle.
“Would you mind taking her for the night?” Robin asks. “If I have to be around her for another minute it’s gonna get ugly. She’ll be missing some hair in the morning when I full-on beat the shit out of her crazy-bitch-style.”
Monica starts kicking again. “No. No. No.”
Quinn calmly pins her arms down to prevent bruises and ignores her tantrum. “Yeah, I’ll take her, I guess.”
Robin checks her eyes in a compact mirror. “She’s lasted longer than I’ve ever seen.”
“I know right?” Antonio keeps laughing. “She’ll probably pass out before you get home.”
“Why… fuck you, all talking like I’m not here? Put me down! You brought me bitch… I’m not going with him!”
“You’re certainly not going home with Jack!” Quinn snaps, making Monica go limp.
“Oh God! No! Oh Robin! No! Tell me that really wasn’t… I didn’t.” Monica starts to cry. “No. I didn’t!”
“Oh you did bitch. Twice. Go fuckin’ sleep it off.” Robin links her arm into Antonio’s and kisses his cheek. “Take me out someplace fun!” He smiles and turns to hail a cab. “Call me tomorrow when you want me to take her back!”
Quinn waves as he heads towards a new Tesla S with the sobbing woman over his shoulder. Monica’s too consumed to notice the sleek dark blue curves of his new ride. In fact at this point she’s too spent to even remember what’s going on. He opens the passenger door and gently sets her onto the leather seat.
When he fastens her seat belt, Monica lifts her mascara smeared face and takes in the sweet smell of his warm scent. Their eyes meet with noses nearly touching, and her lips tingle with awareness of his close proximity. She closes her eyes as a wave of dizziness takes over. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“I know,” he says and steps back.
He closes the door and leans against the roof.
Fuck! Why did I agree to this?
The little black clicker in his hands resembles the car. He stares at it shaking his head.
She’s not ready for this. It’s gonna break me.
He launches himself upright and walks to the driver’s side.
When he settles behind the wheel he notices she’s slumped towards the door with her cheek supported by the seat belt. He chuckles at her breathing that’s become a light snore.
That’s almost cute.
He stares at her for a moment, so weak and defenseless.
I can give you everything, if you’ll let me.
Her snoring drifts away and there’s a sadness in the silence. He taps the touch screen until
“Wait For Me” by Kings of Leon fills their bubble accelerating down Valencia Street.
December 18th - Sunday
The light stings as Quinn swings a curtain open. Monica cowers in pain like a vampire.
“Drink this.” He sets some tea and a couple Advil down on the glass coffee table in front of her and walks out of the room. She catches a glimpse of his backside and the branches of his beautiful tattoo before the door closes.
Monica tries to pry her eyes open wider and take in the surroundings. She’s inside a house. Not a tiny flat. This is a beautiful Victorian house. There’s a fireplace burning through original arched tiles and an ornate crown modeling detail along the high ceiling above. She struggles to sit up feeling the blood beating her brain as she steadies herself.
I hate alcohol. I know this. Why do I keep doing it? I could die with less pain.
She grips the sofa and table for balance as she stands to look out the window. The street below is familiar, but it doesn’t click right away. She looks for landmarks from the second story window, but each eyeball movement sends sharp pains through her skull. When she finally spots the top of the Bay Bridge down the street and recognizes the bus quietly speeding past the nearby intersection it hits her.
North Beach.
She tries to remember the houses around and the room starts to spin.
This is THE house. Our house.
She looks around the room remembering the night they daydreamed about buying it. The brief distraction from her ailing stomach helps her reach for the tea left on the table.
This place is practically empty. Wonder about the rest.
She pauses before opening to door.
I don’t want to see him like this.
She takes a deep breath.
A long narrow hallway flanked by a staircase and several rooms greets with a chill. She walks to the stairwell and sees one flight up and one flight down. There are windows flooding it with light in both directions.
Where is he? I can’t do this.
A piece of paper on a nearby door catches her eye, but she can’t focus enough to make it out. As she gets closer it reads:
Take a bath. I’ll be on the patio upstairs. I’ll have some food there when you’re ready.
Q
She opens the door to a huge bathroom that’s been remodeled to perfection. All the character of a Victorian home remains, but modern luxury oozes from every surface. White marble counter tops, rich dark wooden cabinets, and black and white hex floor tiles give it a dreamlike quality. A delicate chandelier hangs above the huge claw foot tub that dominates the middle of the room. A teak bench next to it holds two folded towels as well as a basket of various small shampoos and body washes from hotels around the world. Monica tries to peel off the clothes that have sunk into her skin through the night. The floors are heated under her toes, and there’s a lush robe hanging on the back of the door.
He thinks of everything, of course.
While the water runs she stares in the mirror with shame. There’s a new toothbrush in a cup holder and a travel size toothpaste. Every little touch makes her efforts progress with ease while adding to her guilt.
I don’t deserve all of this. How am I gonna face anyone? Ever?
Her tears start falling as she spits and rinses. The delicate stream turns to hard sobs and she collapses into the sink.
Fuck! I can’t believe I did that… oh Ri!
The cries are drowned out by the water pouring from both faucets, until the mirror starts to fog. She struggles for a deeper breath and twists the sink off. Lowering herself into the stinging bath water, she wishes it could burn her sins away. With a twist of the porcelain faucets, the only thing she hears now is her breathing as it echoes between the walls. It’s calming as she lies back in the enormous tub.
I could get used to this. Don’t let him know that. Why did he come last night? Did the girls tell him where I was? Did they call him when I got drunk? He just shows up one night and carries me away like a kid. Surprised I didn’t get spanked.
She drops a heavy sigh.
This is an incredible bathroom. The tub is big enough for two. No. I can’t deal with this right now.
Thoughts of Alex fill her gut with twisting pain, so she tries to let the jasmine vanilla bubbles sooth and calm her back to a clear head.
Once she’s thoroughly pruned and the water starts to lose its fire, she musters an effort to get out and dry off. The ibuprofen is starting to kick in and the pounding is turning into a dull pulse running from her neck to the ceiling.
Shit. I don’t have clean underwear. Clean anything.
She looks at her soiled pile on the floor and picks up her sweater.
Yuck. Smells like whiskey and… cigarettes? I’m such a cliche. I don’t remember smoking. Huh. Figures.
She looks back at the robe on the door.
Maybe he’ll let me do a load while I eat. Fuck. Now I gotta stay here to wait for laundry? No. I can go commando and just deal with the stench.
She runs her hand over the bathrobe, and it’s absolutely the softest fabric she’s ever felt.
Wow! That’s amazing.
She can’t stop touching it.
What is this made of? It would only take an hour to do a small load.
She continues talking herself into the laundry idea as she slips the robe over her shoulders, and like a baby’s blanket, it wraps her in warm comfort.
She steps out into the hallway and scurries back to the room where she woke. Closing the door behind quietly, she spots her purse on a chair. Her phone is nearly dead with no missed calls.
Of course.
Monica dials Robin and waits while it rings and rings. When her voicemail answers she hits end and opts to send her a text.
MONICA: i’m sorry
MONICA: please don’t leave me here with him.
MONICA: not ready to face this
She tosses her phone back in the purse.
She’ll be passed out all morning. I’ll just eat, wash up, and get a cab. Really quick. I can do this.
After pacing for a few minutes with her stomach rumbling, she finally sighs and reaches for her sunglasses. Sliding them on like a shield, she makes her way up the stairs slowly.
What am I supposed to say to him? I could kill Robin! Okay, focus. Don’t bring up this house. Or last night. Definitely don’t look into his eyes. Stick to weather. Sports. Headache. Yes, headache… can’t talk with headache. I don’t have to talk at all.
She turns the handle on the carved wooden door silently and opens to a beautiful rooftop fantasy. The Victorian details of the home go no further than the threshold as the sleek modern deck swallows her in unexpected warmth. Horizontal planks of wood run the length of the roof, wrapping around built-in planters, furniture, and privacy screens along the parapet edge. Lush plants fill planters and there’s an ivy covered patio in the front corner of the building.
I remember seeing that pergola in August, but I never expected this. It’s amazing.
Under the covering there’s a large L-shaped sofa with deep blue cushions across from a fire pit and the incredible bay view of Alcatraz just ahead. The unseasonably warm sunny morning starts to burn through her sunglasses as she spots Quinn painting at an easel with his back to her. A lump swells in her throat as she studies his muscles movements through the white T-shirt he’s now wearing.
He’s so beautiful even from behind. No. I’m a mess. I can go back, he hasn’t seen me. I just need more time.
Just as she steps backwards Quinn says, “Hey,” but still doesn’t turn around.
How did he…?
Monica looks around for a reflective surface or any clue to how he knew she was there when Sadie and Max come charging her way. Max barks at first, but Sadie comes right up swinging her big slobbery tongue. Monica smiles and tries to squat to greet his Rottweilers with hugs and playful petting. “Hi guys! How are you?”
I forgot about you guys. You heard me for sure, huh?
“How you feeling?” Quinn asks, turning to a dining area where he pulls out a chair and motions for her to sit. Two place settings wait at the square metal and glass table. He grabs a pitcher of orange juice when she starts to move and pours for both of them.
“Better than I deserve.” She sits with her head hung low, avoiding his face. There’s a full outdoor kitchen to the side of the stairs where Quinn reaches into a stainless warming drawer.
Wow.
“Was this deck already like this when you moved in?”
Shit. I wasn’t gonna bring up the house.
“No. A friend of a friend designed it and fast-tracked the job for me. They just finished a couple weeks ago.” He sets a plate in front of her with a spinach and goat cheese scramble and rosemary potatoes.
Oh wow… What’s he trying to do?
“You didn’t have to do all this?” she sighs.
“I was making it for me too. Not a big deal.”
He sets down a plate for himself along with a bowl of fruit to share and the memories of their breakfasts back in LA flood in.
I’m really not ready for this. Oh my god, these potatoes smell so good.
“This is amazing.”
Amazing doesn’t really cover it.
She looks around overwhelmed by the drastic change in his lifestyle in such a quick time.
He’s gotta be blowing all of his money, and getting into some serious debt
.
“I’m really happy with it,” he says.
Just wish you were here with me every morning…
Quinn shakes his thoughts and grabs the sourdough from the toaster. “So how much do you remember?” He settles into his chair and spreads butter as casually as he can manage.
Ugh.
“Most of it, unfortunately. Definitely racking up the worst days of my life lately.”
Oh.
He sighs.
It doesn’t have to be.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His voice cracks a bit as he takes a bite.
They continue in silence for a few minutes as the tension builds.
How can this robe be too warm up here? It’s probably not even 55 degrees outside.
She looks around and notices a red glow coming from various areas behind the horizontal slats.
Heat?
There’s a heat lamp built into the canopy over the kitchen as well.
He has outdoor heat, huh.