Authors: Nadene Seiters
“So technically I should have been calling you family all
these years.” Brent leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together
behind his head as he stares at me, and I wonder why the hell I put that clause
into that document.
“I guess so.” I say quietly as I stare at the papers in
front of me. Part of me wants to take that document and tear it to little
pieces like a child, but that wouldn’t help the situation. I’ve been thinking
about the scent of lavender in the morning for years now, and I had it again. It
was right there in front of me, and I let her walk out like I did the last
time.
“Well, I’m going to copy this and send it over to her lawyer
in New York. Are you going to be alright?” Brent genuinely looks concerned.
“I’m fine.” I lie to him as I stare at my closed laptop and
glance over at the warm cup of coffee she prepared for me as if she actually
cares.
“You look like some of the couples who have gone through a divorce
and they were married for thirty years.” The only response I have to that is to
shrug one shoulder and begin opening up the laptop to get rid of Brent. He’s
too observant for his own good. “Now, about the guy who did that to your face
and I imagine other places as well.”
Brent pulls out a camera, and before I can put my hands up
to block my face, he snaps a picture. I’m very glad that I know this man well
because he comes around the desk and begins to pull up my pant leg. I didn’t
tell him there’s a wound there, but he must have seen me limping. The deep
inhale of breath that hisses through his teeth tells me that it doesn’t look
much better than it did this morning.
“Christ, Alex! You should have called the police.” I shake
my head, and he doesn’t ask me why. He can guess why in a city like this one.
“What are you doing that for?” I ask him with gritted teeth
as he pulls my shirt out of my pants. My hands come out to stop him, and he
glares at me like I’m an unruly child.
“If you ever decide to press charges, you’re going to need
evidence. These should have been taken yesterday before you were cleaned up,
but I guess this will have to do.” Figuring that this will be over sooner
rather than later if I just shut up and let him take the pictures, I let go of
his wrists and try to get the sulking look on my face to go away. Six pictures
later, he’s finished, and I’m more than dissatisfied with what happened today.
“The sushi’s on its way, and it seems you forgot the wine.
Why don’t I call someone to get a bottle?” Brent settles in the chair opposite
my desk as I pick up the phone without waiting for an answer from him. He has a
crease between his brow that is developing into a full-faced frown.
It’s not until the third ring that I realize no one has
shown up to work their shifts, and my club is empty downstairs. Embarrassed and
frustrated, I slam the phone down and sit in my chair heavily with my face in
my hands.
“I’ll get it.” Brent’s voice is oddly soft as he stands from
his chair, but I leap to my feet before he can embarrass me further.
“No!” I realize that I’ve shouted at him and lower my
shaking hands to my pant legs. “No, that’s quite alright. I’ll get it.” As I
step into the elevator, I plaster a reassuring smile on my face. As soon as the
door closes, the smile disappears, and I lean against the wall with one hand to
brace myself. In one swift move, Yatzi has brought me to my knees, and soon he’s
going to recount his offer.
Why was I so worried about Melanie walking out of my life? I
have much bigger fish to fry in this moment. I straighten my shirt cuffs and
wipe the sweat off my forehead as the elevator doors open, and I step out into
the darkness of my once vibrant night club. I reach over to flick on the lights
and gulp at the destruction before me.
It’s not that bad to the untrained eye, but I remember why
each one of those glasses has been broken by the barstool I sat upon. My leg
and face tingle with the memories of the glass slicing my flesh and my palms
grow sweaty as I try to take deep breaths. Instead of calming myself, I start
sounding like a drowning man out of the water.
Trying to remember why I’m down here, I walk briskly to the
booze behind the bar and start searching for the wine. Unaware of which one
I’ve grabbed, I head back for the elevator with purpose and keep my back turned
until I hear the doors close. I don’t turn around until the elevator dings and
the doors open up at my office level.
“Shit, Alex! Are you okay?” Brent is pulling me out of the
elevator before I can tell him not to touch me, and I spin around brandishing
the bottle of wine insanely. The noise that comes out of my throat is alien and
unnatural to me, and thankfully, I miss hitting Brent in the face by inches. He
immediately steps back with his hands in the air and his eyes as wide as
saucers.
“God, Jesus, I’m sorry!” My jumbled brain tries to
understand why I reacted the way I did, but I can’t come up with a viable
explanation. I knew it was Brent, and yet I couldn’t fathom having his hands
touching me any longer. All I knew is, in that moment, I wanted his hands off
me.
“Alex, sit down. What happened?” He guides me to a chair
with his hands around me, but he doesn’t touch me. I sit down heavily in the
chair he occupied only moments before and let the wine bottle hang between my
legs as I stare at the carpet.
“I don’t know. I was thinking about what happened the other
night, and I just snapped. I’m sorry.” The bottle drops to the floor as I raise
my hands to wipe down my face heedless of the stitches. Brent sits on the edge
of my desk with his cellphone in his hands. I see his thumb hovering over the
call button, but he doesn’t touch the pad of his thumb to the screen.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” He’s looking at
me, yet I can’t bring myself to glance at him as I try to get my insides to
stop quivering.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I don’t mean to put the bite in my
words, but it’s there anyway. “Yatzi paid me a visit because he wants money. I haven’t
paid my dues for years, and he’s pissed that I’ve put him off this long. If I don’t
pay him, what will happen to me next time will be much worse.” I pinch the
bridge of my nose as I explain and try to get the headache to subside. Part of
me realizes that I should be jumping ship now. I should pack a bag and move on
to another city and a new life.
The other part of me still has enough pride to be stubborn.
“Damn, you should have called the police.” He reiterates his
earlier sentiment, and I shake my head as I pick up the bottle of wine. Telling
someone about it seems to have taken some of the seriousness out of the
situation. If Brent Hickory won’t wet his pants over the prospect of Yatzi
taking his manhood off, then I won’t either.
“So, you want some wine to go with that sushi?” For the rest
of the evening, we don’t talk about Melanie or Yatzi. They’re both on the back
burners of my mind, but I need a semblance of normalcy with a friend. Brent tells
me about his wife, whom I realize is Melanie’s sister. Suddenly I’m intent on
learning about her family.
I guess she’s not as far back on the burner as I would like.
Waking up to the smell of nothing out of the ordinary in the
morning is like waking up without the sun. Immediately I understand what I’m
missing, and it makes my chest feel oddly tight. I couldn’t bring myself to
stay in the room within my office last night even though I should have for
security reasons. In fact, I packed up my laptop and brought almost all my
clothes home.
Not one of the employees showed up last night.
With a dry mouth and an empty stomach I hobble to the
bathroom to take my morning shower. The laptop is still opened on my
kitchenette counter with the airline schedule on the screen. With a strange,
twisted feeling in my gut, I shower. My head pounds with the pulse of water
over my scalp and my skin tingles as I think about where I’m going.
Brent told me the other night that Melanie’s family is in
California, and they own a vineyard. I figure I could go visiting a vineyard,
not theirs of course, but a vacation from this mess sounds excellent. The only
thing I have to do after my shower is call all of my employees to let them know
that they are not needed anymore at the nightclub. As of today, the club is up
for sale to whoever wants to purchase it. It’s exactly how I obtained it in the
first place.
When the hot water runs out, and I’m left with lukewarm at
best, I turn off the tap and towel myself off gently. I’ll see Doctor Wilson
one last time so that he can tell me if my stitches look healthy, or if the
swelling should be down by now. Then I’m going to get on that plane out of
Vegas and take my money with me.
Just as I’m pulling on my jeans and a button down shirt,
there’s a brisk knock on my door. Gut instinct tells me to keep silent and let
the person think that no one is home. My fingers shake as I fasten the last
button on my shirt and run my hands through my hair to make it a little more
presentable. Then I tiptoe to my laptop and gently close the lid.
Getting it into the case without making a noise is more
difficult, yet I manage it. It’s been a few minutes, and another knock sounds
on my door. Gritting my teeth, I slip on my shoes and gently sit down on one of
the barstools at my breakfast bar. There’s some frustrated sounding whispering
outside my door and one more brisk knock.
My cellphone buzzes in my pocket and I hold my breath as I
quickly turn it off. With a pounding heart, I listen for the sound of
retreating footsteps and finally hear a set. Narrowing my eyes, I wait for the
second person to leave a few minutes later. Then I slip off the stool and grab
my laptop carrying bag, and grip the handle of my suitcase.
There is a moment where I hesitate to open up the door, and
I peek through the peephole to see if anyone is standing outside. Then I open
it up gently and wait for something to hit me in the face. When nothing does, I
take the elevator down to the bustling lobby and slip out the front doors
without incident. As if I’m a child running away from home, I duck into the
nearest taxi and feel a sense of urgency as I tell the cab driver to take me to
the airport.
Yatzi will come after me. I know this for certain. He’ll
have a hard time finding me considering I’ll be out of the state. But when he
does find me, I won’t hesitate to sign over the club to him if that’s what he
wants. It’s just that the man needs a cool down period before I speak with him
again, and this seems the best way for me to take myself out of the situation
to clear my mind.
My cellphone buzzes in my pocket again and I glance down to
see that it’s Anna calling me. Wondering what she possibly could want right
now, I swipe the answer bar and put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” I know my confusion is evident in my tone.
“Alex! Finally, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for
hours! Didn’t the police call you yet?” My flesh grows icy cold when she asks
about the police calling me, and I wonder if it they were the ones at my front
door. Wouldn’t they have announced their present, though?
“No, not yet. What happened?” Afraid that one of the
employees has been harmed I hold my breath as I wait for her to answer me.
“I can’t believe you didn’t hear the sirens last night or
something. I mean
it’s
a mess down there, Alex!” She prattles on without
telling me what happened, and the finally gets to the point. “They stopped the
fire and were able to evacuate everyone before the building collapsed, but they’re
going to have to tear it down.
It’s
not salvageable, Alex. The club is
gone.” I don’t know whether to be upset or relieved about what she just told
me. My lips feel numb, and my forehead feels damp with nervous sweat as the cab
driver pulls up to the airport. I’ll need to tell Anna I have to go soon, but first
I have to tell her the unfortunate news.
“Thank you for calling to tell me.
Anna, honey, I
have something I need to tell you.” I can almost see the anxious look on her
face as she comes up with a million assumptions as to why I just said that. “I
need you to call everyone who ever worked at Obsidian Nightclub and tell them they’re
fired. The gig’s up. I’m finished.” I hear the croaking noise she’s making as
she stumbles for something to say, but I don’t want to hear it, so I hang up
the phone.
With a heavy conscious and an even heavier heart, I board
the plane to California and wonder if I’ve done the right thing. In fact, I’m
pretty sure I didn’t do the right thing, but what else should I be doing? Yatzi
is not a man to trifle with, and if I stick around in this city any longer he
will break bones next time. He wants his money, and he knows that I have it in
my bank accounts. Unfortunately, I’ll probably get more from an insurance
claim, which will make the target on my head even larger.
I lean my head back against the seat and try to think of a
solution to the mess my life has become in forty eight hours.
Two Months Later
Breathe Melanie, and count. One, two, three, four…
I
keep counting in my mind as I try to calm down from the faux pas that just
happened. My father sat down too early at the dining table and now Mr. And Mrs.
Stanton are left sitting down abruptly in an attempt to make my male parent
look less like a fool. My mother doesn’t seem to understand the mistake my
father just made, but she understands there is now tension at the table.
Their flight arrived only four hours ago, and already they’re
making my life miserable by showing the Stantons just how barbaric they truly
are. You would think they have absolutely no money by how they carry themselves
and dress, but actually my parents are more well off than most would think with
their vineyard. I try not to clench my jaw because the doctor said I’m going to
have stubs for teeth soon if I don’t stop the grinding during the day and at
night.
“How was your flight?” Mrs. Stanton tries to rescue the
moment by engaging my parents in polite dinner conversation, and Brent gives me
an apologetic look as my sister pipes up for all of them.
“The flight was absolutely dreadful! It was as if we were in
coach rather than first class! I mean they burned my steak. The water was flat,
and the green beans were over salted! But I’m sure that this meal will be a
delight!” Mrs. Stanton looks confused by the gibbering of my sister and I feel
my cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. Oliver puts a hand on my thigh under
the table in an attempt to comfort me, and I turn a pleading gaze to him.
In the past two months, we’ve come to an understanding that
his mother will make most of the decisions with our wedding plans, and everyone
else is expected to go along with the flow. Seeing as I have been emotionally
wrung out over the fact that Brent admitted he told his wife, my sister, about
my previous marriage in Vegas, I’m content to let someone take the wheel and
drive. I just wish that an alien could come down invisibly and take over my
father, so he stops using his dinner fork for his salad.
There is not enough wine the world…
I think as I take
another large gulp and signal the waiter to pour me another glass.
“So how are things going in the wine industry?” It seems
customary for Mr. Stanton to engage the men in a business discussion while his
wife engages my mother and sister in womanly chatter about home making and
wedding plans. I’m left sitting amongst seven other people feeling a pang of
loneliness.
Maybe Kyle will understand, but he hasn’t spoken to me more
than three times since I came back from Vegas. Something seems strange about
him, but I can’t put my finger on it. I’m beginning to wonder if he had a fight
with Oliver, or something silly happened with the cats.
God, how I wish I
were with those three right now than with this crowd.
Feeling the effects of the wine, I graciously ask my sister
how her job is going as an accountant for my parents, and she obliges willingly
in a long winded explanation of the bookkeeping. Brent looks a little bored,
and I imagine he’s heard these stories over and over again. It’s one of the
reasons I don’t talk to my sister too often. She has a habit of being long
winded.
Our salad plates are whisked away, and my father’s face
falls when he sees the main entrée. The portions at this restaurant are not as
large as most due to the fact that it’s higher class, and there are more
courses than just the salad, main meal, and dessert. I send up a silent thank you
to the heavens when my father does not complain and begins to cut into his
steak. It’s a shame he grips the knife like a barbarian and almost flings a
chunk of his meal towards Mrs. Stanton.
“So, have you decided which types of flowers you’re going to
have?” My mother chimes into the conversation and stares at me as if I’m
expected to have an answer. Oliver clears his throat and tries to save me, but
he ends up making me look like an ass in front of my own parents. Lately, my
temper has been a remarkably short fuse, and it’s smoking already due to my
father’s behavior.
“We’re going to have white roses at the wedding.” There is a
moment when everyone realizes that the fiancée has answered for his bride to
be. It’s not one of those moments where everyone thinks the man is sweet. I can
see the look on my family’s faces as they try to comprehend why Oliver spoke
for me rather than allowing me to answer the question, and I’m not sure if I’m
with them or against them on the matter.
Mr. And Mrs. Stanton do not seem concerned with the fact
that their son just acted as if I am an invalid unable to speak to her own
parents.
“White roses? That’s it?” It’s my father who speaks first
with a ruddy face and blazing, blue eyes. “That sounds like something that
would be at a funeral.” My mother scoffs at him and tries to plead with me with
her eyes to forgive him for saying something so rude at the dining table.
Christina glances at Brent with a knowing look on her face and Oliver almost chokes
on his mouthful of wine. I’m not the only one who wants to be barely conscious
by the end of this night.
Hell, maybe I’ll get lucky and get laid for the first
time in forever.
Epiphanies are rare. They’re like diamonds amidst a vast
field of quartz, unable to be seen when looking at the big picture, but once you
zero in on the moment you can find them. Pieces of the puzzle start to fall in
place. I’m starting to realize that Oliver doesn’t love me; he loves the
idea
of me. I’m a safe bet for a trophy wife who will stay with him because of money
and the security.
All my life I’ve played it safe, except for one night in
Vegas.
My glass of wine is empty, and I motion for the waiter to
refill it as another course is delivered. No one asks about the wedding after
my father’s comment, and the rest of the evening they discuss safe subjects
like business practice and the different flavors of wine. I really don’t care
what flavor mine is as long as it will drown out the feeling that Oliver
Stanton is nothing more than a safe harbor for me.
Just as we’re moving through the final course, dessert, my
cellphone buzzes in my clutch purse and my soon to be mother-in-law sends me a
glare that’s like daggers. I sense the discomfort this causes my parents, and
try to excuse myself quietly from the table. Oliver offers to come with me, but
I tell him that I’m just going to the ladies room.
It’s not that I care who just called me; in fact, I have no
idea whom it was. The buzzing phone is just an excuse to get away from the
tension at the dinner table. All night my father has been acting as though he
harbors no manners, my mother looks lost and embarrassed, my sister keeps
shooting knowing glances in my direction, and Brent looks guilty. I have no
idea what Oliver is feeling right now, but I feel trapped.
As soon as the bathroom door closes I turn the little lock
on the knob and pull myself onto the counter by the sinks. There’s no one else
inside, and for a few, short moments I will be blissfully alone. The chatter of
the dining room still reaches my ears faintly, but if I hum loud enough it goes
away and I can pretend I’m in an entirely different city.
Crazy people supposedly don’t know they’re insane, but I’m
pretty sure I’m falling off the deep end. I’ve been falling off ever since I
said yes to Oliver, and I’m paying a heavy price for it. I’ve lost ten pounds
that I couldn’t afford to lose, and every night I lie awake wondering if I’m
doing the right thing. My humming cuts off immediately when someone knocks on
the door gently, and I hear my mother’s voice call out my name.
“Great,” I mumble aloud as I slide off the counter and turn
on the sink to pretend I was actually doing something in here. My heels clink
on the white tiles laced with gold as I move to open the door.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Leave it up to my mother to
understand that tonight is a disaster for me. Before I can lie to her and tell
her that everything is peachy keen, my mother pushes into the bathroom and
closes the door. In one swift, deft move, she locks the door.
“What are you doing?” I turn to the mirror in an attempt to
get away from her worrying gaze and pretend to fix my hair.
“I’m just going to the bathroom.” Her face appears beside
mine as her reflection peers into my gaze.
“Did you answer your phone call?” I forgot all about it
while I was humming. How long was I in here?
“No, I forgot. I guess I’ll do that now.” I’m about to take
out my phone, but she puts a gentle hand on my wrist to stop me.
“The Stantons are paying for dinner and they were talking
about taking us out to a theatre. I told them we need to go back to the hotel
to get some rest from our long flight, but I think you ought to go home too. You
look a little rundown, Melon Ball. Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?”
Before she can tell me about some weird, homeopathic remedy for colds or the
flu, I nod feverishly.
“I’m fine! It’s just been a long day, and I do need to go
home and feed the cats. Oliver’s been stressed out about a case and his parents
have been a little too helpful with the wedding plans.” I try for a quirky
smile, and my mother gives me a slow one in return. It doesn’t meet her eyes,
and I know that she understands something is not quite right about all of this.
Fortunately, she’s not going to push me further on the matter here, so we go
out to the dinner table like nothing happened and I say my goodnights to
everyone.
Oliver doesn’t say a word as we get into his limousine and I
try to squash the feeling that he’s wondering if he’s doing the right thing,
too. We’re two people driven by outside influences to get married. The people
driving him are his parents, and the person driving me is my misguided
ambitions. Besides, who wants to be the only sister not married?
I half expect him
to
walk me to my door, but instead,
I get a goodnight kiss on the cheek and an ‘I’ll call you later’. I’d be lying
if I didn’t know something was terribly amiss in that moment, yet I chalk it
off to stress due to the upcoming wedding. It’s obvious that our parents are
not going to get along in the least, but I hope they can put aside their
differences in the future.
As the elevator doors open to my floor, I step out and
position the clutch purse so that I can find my apartment key. I’m halfway down
the hall when I glance up and see a silhouette of a person leaning against what
looks to be my apartment door. Curious and a little afraid, I slow down and
narrow my eyes to determine whom it might be.
Two things happen simultaneously. The silhouette’s face
looks up at me, and I recognize Kyle. Then my phone buzzes in my purse again
and I look down at it to see the strange number on the screen again. On
impulse, I slide the answer bar and start forward again.
“Hello?” I stop walking when I hear his voice and wonder why
he’s
calling this late. Then I remember the time difference.
“Melanie, hey, it’s Alex.” Like I’d actually forget his
voice.
“I know, it’s not a good time, Alex.” My brain has finally
registered the anxiety on Kyle’s face, and I don’t want to waste time listening
to Alex’s silly antics.
“Why, are you with your fiancée?” I hear the jealousy in his
voice and smile at the absurdity of the situation. My ex-husband that I barely
know is calling me to ask me if I’m with my fiancée, whom I’m pretty sure I
know a lot better? Our one night stand in Vegas is undoubtedly starting to get
out of hand.
“No, I’m not if you must know. Look, I have to go. How about
you call me never?” I hang up the phone briskly and take those final steps to
my friend. “Kyle, it’s been a while. Do you want to come in?” He doesn’t seem
bothered by my odd phone call and takes his hands out of his pockets. Are those
tears in his eyes?
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Mel.” Humans are acutely
instinctual, intuitive creatures that are able to read others well, in most
cases. Kyle’s jaw is clenched. His eyes are shimmering, and his posture is
slouched as if he’s carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders. It’s obvious that
whatever he wants to tell me is not going to be palatable to me.
I just can’t fathom what it might be.
“Why don’t you just come in and sit down with me? We’ll have
a drink, and
you
can tell me what’s bothering you.” It doesn’t go
unmissed by me that I just sounded like a bartender, but my normally upbeat
friend doesn’t crack a smile. Without waiting for him to decline my offer
again, I open up my apartment door and pull him inside.
Uncaring as to whether he sits or not, I pour us both a
drink of the alcoholic kind and lean against my counter as I watch him down
half the glass.
“That has to burn.” I say jokingly, attempting to lighten
the situation. Instead, my words just seem to make it worse, and Kyle sniffs
back what I’m positive now are tears. His hand shakes as he puts the glass down
on the counter. “If you don’t spit it out soon I’m going to die here.”
“I’m worried it might be my death rather than yours.”
Well
that’s not good.
I keep the thought to myself and wait patiently for him to
spit it out. “Melanie, I don’t know how else to say this. Oliver is cheating on
you.” There are five stages to grief.
“What is this, some kind of practical joke?”
I
chuckle and down the rest of my drink and pour myself some more. The only thing
running through my mind is ‘where is the camera?’
“No, Melanie. It’s not a joke, and it’s very serious. Oliver
is cheating on you, but that’s not the worst of it.” My smile falters as I
narrow my eyes and cross my free arm across my middle as if I’m trying to keep
myself together. Idly, my finger twirls around the engagement ring from Oliver
and Kyle’s eyes follow the motion. He looks pale and sickly to me, but his
words are clear and harsh.