I blinked at him. “No comment.”
“Oh that works perfectly,” Jamie turned toward my full-sized bed, which was covered with college textbooks, and opened his leather purse. I leaned against the wall opposite from him, wishing he’d just leave already. He had a concert to attend; the only concert going on around the sleaze apartment I shared with my mother was her loud lamenting. Husband number three had left us. What am I talking about ‘us’? She always loved to tell me that her husband’s left the both of us. But for almost a year I haven't had to deal with her shit. So husband number three technically gave her the boot, and tossed her ass back into my court.
For now, it was mom and I again with only the part-time job that I had, and the financial aid I received from school to live on.
A red sequined skirt falling near my feet took my mind away from my mother’s screaming in the background. A pink and red blouse was tossed at me just as I chose to speak. “Um, Jamie, what are these clothes for?”
“The damn concert. You just agreed to see Kings of Leon.”
“Kings of Leon?” I almost shouted, face a bright beam. “Wait, what are you talking about?”
“Those fucking white boys, you love so much. You elected ‘no comment’ a few minutes ago which technically equals your agreement to go. I had intentions of getting tickets to see Sasha Fierce but decided to put you before me. I know that dynamic is something you’re not use to, being put first but—”
“Trent got the two of you tickets to Drake tonight, Jamie, what the hell are you talking about?” The befuddled look on my face disappeared. I opened the door to the bedroom and shouted, “Mom, please, the dentist broke up with y… The two of you split over months ago!” It’s true; Lolita ruined it with the dentist, who seemed like a rather good guy. He didn’t follow the asshole protocol in which every subsequent husband was worse than the last.
Lolita stopped for a second and then she shouted incoherently about it being Valentine’s. Lolita has never been without a valentine. It was five months after my father’s death, February 14th, and she whipped the river falling from her cheeks to go out with her sister. The next day, the ‘I’m gonna fucking blow my brains out without Milo’ returned.
I, on the other hand, saw Valentine’s as the date only, I was only aware of it because my college professors were cliché enough to require each student to transform any pastry into the epitome of ‘love’.
“Trent bought me the tickets for Valentine’s to spend with my best friend, Reese. You and I have already seen Drake and I was feeling altruistic. Get dressed.” Jamie eyed me up and down.
“Oh… that’s so… sweet…”
“Again, we previously decided that you had ‘no comment’ so there’s no need for an ice-cream social, Reese’s Pieces, GET DRESSED.”
That night, I almost made it out of my tired, little apartment. No course syllabus ruled my psyche, and I wasn’t mentally constructing the perfect Baked Alaska, which was a feat in itself. Making ice cream hadn’t been my forte at that time, and the process of it all-together was beyond me.
I sauntered out of my bedroom, singing Kings of Leon’s Sex On Fire, Jamie by my side when Lolita stopped me.
Vomit breath and all, Lolita promptly let me know that I didn’t love her. And my dumbass caved; leaving Jamie with second-row seats to a band he didn't give two shits about.
Now, I’m parallel parked on Rodeo Drive. Lolita is already seated beneath the olive colored umbrella of a French bistro. There’s a glass of wine in her hand, and she waves to me before I can drive off. It's too late to return the guilt-trip ticket. I loathe her ability to tell me how I don't care about her when things don't follow her gilded path.
“Sheesh, I am so not ready for this,” I grumble, taking the key out of the ignition. As I step one leg out of the car, I notice a few splatters of cake batter on the front of my jeans. I rub a hand over my makeup-less face hoping that she’s not mortified by my appearance. This is an impromptu lunch visit, and heck, I had no intentions of saying yes, it’s just that in two days I see my addiction. I’ve consented to this lunch in order to subtly inquire about Evan, or rather, her timeframe for divorcing his father.
Just like a crack mule, I can see myself that hooked on Evan Zaccaro. If it weren't for my business, I'd want to lose myself in him, totally, utterly lost. And to be honest, that's not just what is keeping me from him. Jamie knows that I’d die before mentioning what happened to my mother’s ex-boyfriend.
But I want to have a quick chat with Lolita about Tony’s impending get- together.
“Good afternoon, mademoiselle,” the maître d gives a white, toothy grin as a greeting. Upon noticing my mother wave at me, he escorts me toward the veranda.
“Shall I obtain the wine list?” he asks.
“Goodness no, lemon water will do just fine,” I say all too quickly.
“My daughter will take the house-wine,” Lolita smiles her appreciation, and then she stares at me. The look in her eyes read volumes, reprimanding me for the assumption that we can’t afford wine. She says, “Reese, you’ve had a busy day, one drink will only settle your nerves.”
A deep inhale siphons through my lungs as I take a seat. An awkward silence takes over. I grab the French baguette from the wicker basket in the middle of the table. I snatch off a piece, press the linen back over it, and smile as Lolita mentions calories.
“Order
