Authors: Sarah Ann Walker
"
Pardon?
Says who? Where did
that
come from?”
"
Um
, I mean...um… actually, I don't know what I mean. I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. Ah, please just forget I said that." Gasp. Z is walking toward me.
"Sweetheart, you’re starting to panic again. Breathe slowly for me. Come on. That's better. Breathe. What just happened?"
"I, I don't know. I'm so embarrassed. I don't know why I yelled that at you. I'm really sorry for yelling."
"I don't care about you yelling at me... But who told you ‘red was for
dirty sluts'?"
"I have no idea. I must have read it, or heard it somewhere. Please just forget it. I have to finish packing now; it's almost 9:00." Turning from Z, I run for the bathroom to pack up my toiletries.
What The FUCK Was
That?
I've never thought that before in my life. Why now? What the hell? Forget it. Just pack quickly. The sooner I’m packed, the sooner I can get out of all this tension in the room.
Okay, placing my carry-on by the shower, I grab my Shampoo, Conditioner, vanilla-jasmine body scrub, vanilla-jasmine body wash, vanilla-jasmine pump soap, vanilla-jasmine lotion, lotion, lotion, and another lotion. 4 vanilla-jasmine body lotions? Okay. I don't remember that when I left my house, but who cares? At least I won't run out.
Packing, I grab my make-up bag, blow dryer, and curling iron...
Why?
I've never used a curling iron, but I always think I will, so I bring it with me everywhere I go- It’s really quite stupid actually. Continuing, I have my razors, tooth brush, toothpaste, vanilla deodorant, and 4 more vanilla-jasmine body lotions on the counter. Oh my god, there's another one beside the bed.
Panicking, I look and there’s
7 more bottles
under the sink... 16 bottles of vanilla-jasmine body lotion?
16?
Have I completely lost my mind? Why did I think I needed 16 bottles of lotion? Was I planning on leaving Marcus for 6-7 years? Why do I even
own
16 of the exact same vanilla-jasmine body lotion? What the hell is going on? Obsess, much? Jesus
CHRIST!
Did someone plant them here to drive me crazy? Did Z? When a knock sounds on the bathroom door, I’m still stunned. Sitting on the floor, with my back against the tub, I realize I'm surrounded by 15 lotion bottles, because
sadly
I couldn't get the 16th bottle from the bedside table,
without looking crazy
. Yeah, because the 16
th
bottle would have done it… Holy
shit!
"Sweetheart... I'm coming in. What are you doing...? Wow! That's a lot of lotion."
"Uh huh..." I can’t help my small giggle. NO! Be normal! "I was just thinking about opening my own supply store." Oops… bigger giggle.
Kneeling beside me, Z asks, "What's going on? Are you feeling alright?" And now my small giggle turns to a laugh.
"No. Not really. Did you put these here?" More laughter. Ooops. Keep it together.
"No. Why would I?"
"To make me feel crazy? I don't know. Why ARE you still here, at all?!" And back to a giggle. Shit.
"I'm here because I WANT to be, and I DON’T want you to feel crazy, whether you believe me or not." That makes sense. Why would he want me crazy? Crazy chicks can’t be all that fun, well, except to themselves, I suppose.
"Okay. I'm just going to leave these here then. I'll grab the one in the bedroom, and then I'm ready to go. Is that
okay
with
YOU
if I leave these here?" Come on psycho... Answer me!
"Yes, it's fine. Do you believe me?" Not At All.
"Of course, Z. If you say you didn't than it’s the truth, right?" Come on... lie to my face again. I dare you!
"Yes. It IS the truth. Are you trying to pick a fight because yo
u’
ve changed your mind about going to New York with me?"
What?
"No! I want to go! I just don't know why you bought all these bottles of lotion! I don't know why you want me to feel crazy! I want to go to New York. Please,
please Z
, I'm sorry. I won't bring it up again.
Please,
don't be mad at me anymore!" Gulp. Breathe.
"I'm not mad at you, and I still want you come with me. But I didn’t buy all this lotion, and it offends me that you think I would, or that I would lie to you about it. I really want you to believe me. Do you?" Nope.
"Of course I do! Let's go! I'm ready." Hurry up, before he changes his mind. I don’t want him to change his mind. I want to see his apartment. I want to be in New York. God, I
really
want to be away from Chicago and my parents and Marcus. Chicago sucks for me right now.
Grabbing Z's head, I kiss him hard and deep. I want him to still want me. Pushing myself on his body, I try to straddle his thighs, but he stops me. Dammit! Fighting a little harder, I start rubbing myself on his crotch. Moaning, I try for more of a kiss, but he has stopped moving completely. His lips are motionless beneath my own. How embarrassing.
"Um, what's wrong? Don't you want me anymore?" I whisper.
"Of course I want you, but not on the bathroom floor, not when we’re leaving in less than 5 minutes, and NOT when you're scared."
What?
"I'm not scared of you right now." Not at
this
moment, but sometimes.
"You're frightened that I'm mad at you, so you’re trying to
please
me, in any way you can. I don't want that, nor do I need it. I want you only when
you
want to be with me- NOT when you are desperate to make me happy." Fine!
"Okay. Never-mind. I'll be out in a minute. I just want to use the bathroom before we go."
"2 minutes, Sweetheart."
"No problem."
Asshole.
After going pee, I throw all the vanilla-jasmine bottles into the garbage, except for 4...
just in case
. Everything is ready. My make-up is fine... No raccoon eyes. My hair is in another semi-perfect chignon. My clothes are neat and clean. Nobody would think there’s anything wrong with me. I look okay. Everything is going to
BE
okay. So, I'll just pretend
I'm
okay.
==========
Z drives my car over to the Marriott,
of course
, to be left there for the rest of the week. After we enter, he escorts me to the ATM in the bar, and also to the second ATM in the gift shop. I withdraw $1000.00 total.
I'm still good. Marcus can't find me. No one saw me here, or at the Super8. I'm okay for now. No one can find me. Ha!
While Z packs his room up, I stay quiet counting my money in my head smiling at him frequently. Maybe
too
frequently? Maybe I should stop smiling for a bit. Maybe all my smiling is making me look crazy or something. I don’t want him to change his mind. I
CAN’T
have him change his mind. I know, I’ll just smile if he smiles at me first, that way I’m not smiling all the time. Yeah. I’ll use Z’s smiles as the basis for my own smiles. Good plan.
My old hotel charged me 4 nights at $120 after taxes, so I'm down $480. I had $1,900 when I arrived. And I just ATM'd another thousand. So, I'm still actually up to $2,420, plus my $425 'Rainy Day Fund'. I spent $10 rainy day dollars on my dirty book, and $15 on the breakfast I didn’t eat. I like this. I'm not down anything. It's like the week-end and today didn't count. Oh, except for the Z-sex part…
That
part counted for sure.
After Z packs quickly, placing his carry-on and luggage by the door, he sits down and looks at me closely. Oh, no. Now what? I’ve been totally unsmiling and
un
crazy for the past ten minutes at least, I think.
"Are you feeling well, Sweetheart?"
"Yes. Why? Don't I
seem
well to you?"
"No. Not really. You
seem
to be struggling with something, but unable to talk to me about it. Am I correct?"
Totally.
"No. Not at all. I really am fine.
Honestly
, Z. I would tell you if something was wrong. But there’s nothing. Can we just go now?
Please?
"
"Can you promise to talk to me before you panic, or before something becomes too much for you? I realize you still don't trust me, but I don't think I've hurt or betrayed you yet...
Have I?
Do you feel as though I have hurt you in some way?"
"No. You’re wonderful, Z. I'm so sorry I'm bad, I promise I'll be very good in New York."
Christ! I'm crying again. Why did he make me cry on Sunday? Before Sunday I never cried. I didn’t even know I was capable of crying. Now I cry endlessly. Not only is it annoying, but I’m super ugly when I cry. No one with this pale skin color is attractive when they cry. I know it and now Z knows it. I have GOT to stop crying all the time.
"You're not bad, and I know you'll be good. But are you
happy
?" Not really.
"Of course I am. Why? Aren't you?"
"I'm fine, Sweetheart. I'm just concerned with you. You're crying again."
"Well, that's your fault. You made me cry on Sunday, and now I don't know how to stop," I say with my best smile.
"Cry whenever you want to, but if you could talk to me about what's bothering you at the time, I would really like that. It would be helpful if I knew
why
you were crying. Maybe I could even help you."
Doubtful.
"I really am fine. Can we please go?”
"Yes, let's go." Thank
god!
==========
Everything is moving smoothly. Z looks happy again and I feel the same. No better, no worse. We have boarded the plane, first class,
of course
. Is the company paying for my ticket as well, or is Z paying? I should ask.
Z orders a scotch, and I shake my head no for a drink, then change my mind and order a glass of Zinfandel,
naturally
.
We’re quiet on the plane, but Z seems okay with the quiet. He’s even holding my hand which feels very nice. Marcus never holds my hand. Hand-holding is
‘antiquated, and unnecessary’
Marcus told me. Well, I guess Z finds it ‘
current and necessary’
. Ha!
It's weird. I'm starting to think of Z and I as a couple- like married or
together
or something, but actually happy. Thank god it's a short flight to New York, so I don’t get all loopy with thoughts of Z and I. I have to remember that this is just a vacation. There is no love or even a relationship in my future with Z. He hasn’t offered anything like that, and I seriously doubt someone like Z would want a relationship with someone like me.
Z even told me that the taxi ride into Manhattan will probably feel longer than the flight, and he was right. I don't care though, I just want to get there.
Z is always a gentleman. He opens doors, helps me to and from, and lifts or moves things when needed. He is usually polite, and even when he's a little aggressive or overbearing, once the initial fear fades, I always find him charming. He speaks to everyone with a kind of polite authority, a dominance that seems a little out of place in my
other
life. But he makes me smile when I'm with him, and he makes me proud
to be with him.
When we pull up to his apartment, I'm very excited, almost bouncing in my seat. Looking around in the dark, I'm stunned by the building. Holy
SHIT!
This is beyond exclusive. This is beyond even ‘
celebrity
exclusive’. What the hell? Z lives here? I don't understand.
"Ah,
nice apartment
."
"Thanks. But I hear your sarcasm. Don't judge me, I inherited the place and only finally moved into it last year, because I was a little rebellious in my youth." He's grinning again.
"Inherited it from whom? A Vanderbilt? A Rockefeller? Or maybe
a Kennedy
?"
"Pretty much. Now, watch your step."
Seriously?!
Which
ONE?!
Once we are greeted by the doorman and the head of security, we finally ascend in the elevator and arrive at his place. Not quite the penthouse, thank god, but still, the second from top floor. Who owns the top floor?
Bill Gates?
The Crown Prince of Dubai?
Opening the door, Z steps in and turns on many lights. Oh! It's lovely. The whole area looks warm and inviting. There are beiges and creams and even red-browns, everywhere. I love this room. It's not gaudy, or gold washed, there are no gilded mirrors, antique chairs or Greco-Roman statues. It's just a very nice and comfy, living room. I love it.
"This room is
beautiful
. It's not tacky or gaudy at all. I LOVE it!" I think I'm stunned.
Laughing again, "Did you think I was the type to live in a tacky, gaudy apartment?"
"Oh... Oh, god no! Sorry. I just had a visual of huge statues, and gold frames everywhere. This is much better, it’s stunning really."
"Thank you. I chose the colors for this room, but not the furniture- though I have no complaints."