“This whole thing,” Jim waves, “is about you.”
She looks disgusted with me. “Is that why you showed me your photography room?” she asks.
“No, that was a coinci—”
“And when were you going to tell me?”
I feel claustrophobic, like the walls are closing in on me. My instinct is to do what she did on the night of our first dinner, run. Knowing my lung capacity, I wouldn’t get too far.
“So you staged this whole thing,” she says.
“It was more of a half-assed thing that evolved after people in my staff took it to the next level,” I say.
She gravitates away from me. Her hand trembles as she brings her hands above her head. “Staged this whole thing just to get laid,” she shouts. “Pretty good plan, right?”
Fuck.
I know the words she’s referencing. They’re mine. Those are the stupid fucking words I used last night. Right before I ate her pussy. It was a joke. One particularly real joke.
Well, you know what they say: You are what you eat. I’m an ass and a total pussy.
She tunnels right through me, carrying a storm throughout the lobby, until she’s finally outside. The two glass doors swing shut so hard I brace for them to crash. “Ali,” I cry out.
But I know there’s no stopping her.
There’s no winning. The final bosses are just too strong. No matter what, they always win. That’s how this game goes. I have all the money I could ever dreamed of, but I’m the biggest loser in the world.
“Well, that’s over,” I mutter.
I’m so heart broken I can’t even feel. The weight is heavy, but it’s like I’m not even there. Did the last week even happen?
Jim watches her leave, pleased as a wolf. “She’s something else. You lucked out for a few days.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Glad I came tonight.”
I pull out my phone to text the babysitter. Any chance you can stay the night? Ali left, and there’s a lot I need to take care of here. I’m sorry, but I’ll triple your pay.
She can read between the lines. Ali dumped my ass. I need to spend some quality time in my office with a bottle of Glenlivet.
Amanda returns my text, enthused.
Absolutely!
I turn toward my office, but Jim grabs me by the shoulder. He pulls me in with a tight squeeze. He reeks like bourbon. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. I was trying to give you a chance with this magazine fiasco. Maybe that gave you some stress. I can’t claim to understand the mind of modern day CEO’s. They act like a bunch of children,” he says.
“What are you trying to say?” I ask.
He pats my shoulder. “From here on out, use your telephone.”
Ali
I kept my phone off the entire night, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from texting me. “Please call me. I need to explain.”
Men always need to explain when they’re caught. But I didn’t leave to hear an explanation. He still has money and notoriety, things he so clearly valued over me. When the seasons change, he’ll be fine. I’m not sure if I will, though.
If this were a book, it would be called Beauty & the Bastard.
Unfortunately, It’s not a fictional story. It’s a tiny window into my life. And though I’ve hit another rough patch, I refuse to be bitter about it. I’m going to keep my pride in a little box near my bed, in tact for the next season of heartbreak. Maybe that one will go a little better.
I’m not mad at him for what he did. The idea was idiotic, and I’m not sure it would have worked, even if I agreed to the shoot. Mama Bear sucked. That’s why no one read it. It doesn’t matter if you hire Angelina Jolie for the job. People still won’t shell out the ten dollars to see some half-naked, plaid-shirt-wearing lady straddling a gas pump. It’s been done to hell and back.
No, I’m not mad at him for acting like a dumb puppy dog. I’m mad at him for lying. Not only did he lie, he did it right to my face. Maybe it’s petty. I go back and forth on that. Some girls are far too forgiving. I guess I’m somewhere in between.
When I wake up, the morning light filters in through my broken window panes. Scrapped lesson plans line the walkway inside. There’s an ancient Burger King bag scrunched up on the sofa. A bra hangs from my door knob. I guess I’ve spent so much time with Marc I forgot I used to live like this.
It’s not depressing, I tell myself. It is what it is. Back to the basics.
After throwing away the BK bag, and some other embarrassing food purchases, I sit on the couch and reach for the backpack that contains my laptop. My hand swipes through air. I left my laptop at Marc’s place.
Okay, that’s fine. I have some grading to do, so I get up and dig through my desk drawers in the corner of the room. Of course, they’re empty, spare a few loose sheets and colored grading pens. My school papers are at Marc’s house. I left them inside my favorite room, the one with all the beautiful books. Even my dog is still there. What will happen to my beloved station wagon…?
My entire life is at Marc’s house. I thought I’d have more time. But I don’t want to see him again. It’s too embarrassing to think about what happened. Using my image to bolster his own is a new low. But I’ll need to find a way to get my things back.
The one thing I do have is my TV. It’s a small twenty-some inch screen with a stick that streams all sorts of crap. Wanting to veg out, I scroll through the countless choices of entertainment. I can’t focus on the titles. They all feel weirdly related to my life.
There’s Marc & Me, a tearjerker romance about a couple who falls in love
