The Liar, The Bitch and the Wardrobe Page 17

  “Thank you, darling . . . Actually, it’s Ferragamo.”

  “Oh, my, looks like it’s time for me to get my de la retinas tested!” Both women rocked back in laughter, their frozen faces still possessing the same expressions of surprise.

  “It’s always an event doing lunch with you. Truth be told, I just stare at my wardrobe and think, WWJD?”

  “Priscilla, I didn’t realize you were so religious . . .”

  “Oh, no . . . No . . . Jesus trims my hedges! What Would Joan Do, dahling!” The women erupted into another bout of laughter. Still no change in facial expressions.

  Turning to me and shaking his head, James said, “I still can’t believe you live here.”

  An attractive hostess showed us to a table and a few heartbeats of silence passed as we perused the menu. I decided on the appetizer-size tuna tartar while James selected the BBQ-chicken pizza.

  “That’s all you’re ordering?” asked James.

  “I had a late breakfast,” I lied.

  “You aren’t dieting, are you? You’ve lost a lot of weight and you don’t need to lose any more.”

  I perked up. “Hey, thanks!”

  “That wasn’t a compliment. It was an observation. So . . . how is your dream job going? Tell me more about it . . . What is he like?”

  Not wanting to spoil the mood with my sob story, I blurted out, “It is . . . well, it was really great. Inspiring. But not right for me. Not what I thought, so I . . . left. How are your students this semester?”

  “Cut the shit!” He dismissed my response and thought that I was kidding.

  I took several large gulps of ice water and averted my eyes toward the ceiling and then glued them to the napkin on my lap. I was so focused on the wardrobe that I failed to consider the most relevant topic that would come up in conversation. I looked up to find James looking at me intently with a puzzled expression.

  “Lucy . . . You were barely there one year—what happened?”

  Should I tell him the truth? And how much of the truth? Or should I make something up? I used to tell James everything that was on my mind regarding my dreams and aspirations, however something felt different now. After a short, heated debate inside my head, I looked up with sad eyes and elaborated. “It wasn’t right for me. Stefano was kind of a monster and I was starting to get caught up in . . . I just . . . I was wrong—I don’t belong there after all.” I felt like a balloon with a small but rapid leak.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” he sympathized.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to let you down.”

  “You could never let me down.” He reached across the table and put his warm hand over mine. “I knew that you were too sweet for this place. Remember our chat about the sharks?”

  I let up a slight smile. “Yeah.”

  “By the look in your eyes, it seems like you came face-to-face with a great white.” I agreed to his cheesy reference with a nod. “Which is why I want to talk to you about coming back with me—to swim happily with the friendly salmon . . . where you belong,” he said playfully.

  “Move home?” I exploded into laughter and slipped my hand out from under James’s to cover my mouth and muffle the loud expletives. “Holy shit, James—you’re fucking hilarious!”

  James was stunned. I had never sworn like that in front of him. He watched as I squirmed in my seat, unable to calm myself down.

  His bright smile fell. “I . . . I’m serious.”

  My outburst came to an immediate halt. “What are you talking about? Why would I do that? What would I even do there? I have built a life here and I’m not going to run away just because of . . . him.”

  “Yes, I agree. You shouldn’t leave because of him, but perhaps for someone else.” He was brightly blushing and I didn’t understand why. “Okay, so here it goes. Come back for me, Lucy—or for us, rather. I have feelings for you—I always have, but it just hasn’t been the right timing and . . . Not that this is the best timing, but I figure, if not now, when? Right? I can’t go a day without thinking about you and . . . I can only hope that you feel the same way about me. I am hoping that you might want to consider coming back and seeing what could be?”

  Flabbergasted, I sat there with an astonished look on my face. I anxiously choked the napkin on my lap.

  He continued. “Was it not obvious enough?”

  “Was what not obvious enough?” What was he talking about?

  “The special attention . . . The advance notice of opportunities . . . Calling you into my office for any reason that I could come up with . . . Do you think that I care to that extent for all of the students? Or chase them down in LA? You make me feel . . . I don’t know what. I just know that I miss you and think about you everyday . . . I’ve never met anyone like you, Lucy, and I know that we would be great together. I just want you to come back and try this with me.” I could tell that he felt he might have said too much. After his rant, he sat back and gave me some time to take it in.

  I stared out onto the boulevard, feeling overwhelmed and in disbelief. James was everything that any girl would want. At one point, he was everything that I wanted. My parents would indubitably approve. How stupid would I be to decline him? Our eyes met and we both smiled. All through school I had imagined what being romantically involved with James would be like. I revisited the fantasy. We could live in an artsy cottage-style house in downtown Seattle. I would shoot family portraits or maybe even weddings too. And then we would even end up getting married, having children . . . He would be an amazing father. The picture-perfect future would be serene and drama free. Ideal, really.

  His voice cracked as he broke the silence. “Excuse me, we didn’t order champagne.” The waitress paid James no attention and popped the bottle of bubbly, poured it into two flutes and returned it to a silver standing bucket. She then motioned to a table in the back and informed us, “Compliments of Miss Dalton.” James arched his back as Presley Dalton blew me a kiss. She and a Johnny Depp wannabe were dining in a corner, both on their cell phones. I mouthed my thanks to Presley and she responded with a wink.

  “You know that talentless twit?” he griped.

  “Sort of.” I took a big gulp of the bubbly. Then it dawned on me. In what world does Presley Dalton send me champagne? The first name on my resume was Stefano Lepres! Although brief, I did sort of date Jax Phoenix, and he might one day come back around . . . I was about to go into business with Isabella Blackstone, for crying out loud! My life was just beginning to blossom, really. Who knew what other excitement was ahead! Not to mention the fact that I wasn’t about to go back to being the nerdy wallflower art student geek that I was back home. I finally felt actual confidence and excitement for my life! I had fancy things and fabulous friends—why would I go back to the old me? I couldn’t disclose all of these reasons to James because he likely wouldn’t understand, since I assumed he had always been a golden child with a charmed life. Instead, I gave him one reason only, the one that I believed he would support and relate to.

  “James, I already have a new job with Bella Blackstone . . . I am not moving back. This is where my life is.”

  “Isa-bella Blackstone? What on earth would you do for her?” I observed that every time I referred to her as “Bella” others responded with “Isa-bella?” as if they were making sure their ears were not deceiving them.

  “Photography, of course. She has commissioned me to shoot a series of portraits for a gallery show we are putting together. The concept is sort of up in the air—but it’s all happening, it’s going to be a major deal.” I heard myself come off like one of those Hollywood types and I mentally gave myself a slap.

  James noticed too. “You have changed,” he concluded.

  “Yeah, I have.” I lowered my voice and leaned in to the table. “But what about you? You show up here with flowers, James . . . Roses . . . And you are telling me to abandon everything to be with you because all of this time . . . you had these feelings . . . and I am suppose
d to give up all of this . . .” I gestured to the boulevard and Presley.

  James lowered his voice to my almost-whisper level and leaned in to the table. “All of what? You came out here to work for that freak and it didn’t work out . . . But you are staying to hobnob with halfwits like Presley Dalton and has-beens like Isabella Blackstone?”

  The waitress returned with the beautifully presented meals. James took a deep breath and attempted to turn things around. “Sorry, Lucy. I just don’t want to lose you to this place. You’re the last person that I want to see ‘go Hollywood.’ I just figured that you would come here, hate it and come right back.”

  “James . . .” I downed my champagne before I continued. “I’ve been out here for over a year. You have no idea what I have been through. You guided me and helped me get to this place—and now you want me to just leave it all and give up just like that . . .”

  “Lucy, I was your guidance counselor while you were in school—it was my job to guide you in the direction that you chose to go! But my job ended when you graduated and left . . . and I thought that we had something, this connection—I thought that there was more to us than just that. I never thought of you as just another student.”

  I fought tears as I verbally vomited a response. “And I always thought of you as just my guidance counselor.” It was a flat-out lie.

  James removed the napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. He appeared absolutely crushed. “I can’t do this. I am so sorry but I am . . . humiliated . . . and I really need to go.” James stood up and fished a wallet out of his back pocket.

  I too stood up and grabbed James’s arm. “James—please don’t go . . . Please, let’s just start all over again. I will even leave and come back and we can act like none of this conversation just happened. . . .” I gave him my best puppy dog eyes as they welled up with tears. I desperately clung to his wrist with both hands. What had I done?

  “This conversation did just happen . . . not everything is a staged set, Lucy. No re-shoots.” Dropping two twenty-dollar bills onto the table, James stepped around the table. “I’m sorry.” He kissed me on the cheek.

  I watched James disappear out the door. I sat back down and began to grasp the reality that I had officially alienated myself from every person that I could always count on. I took his camera out of my bag and held it on my lap. I had planned to show him some of my recent prints and the new lens I had saved for. I looked up at Presley and Faux Johnny Depp, looking ridiculous at their romantic bistro table, both on their phones. I couldn’t help but take a telling picture.

  chapter twenty-one

  I See London, I See France

  “Pack your bags! We are going to London . . . tomorrow!”

  I lifted the satin sleeping mask away from my eyes and sat up. “What?” It was 10 p.m. on a Saturday night and I was still in hiding. Although perhaps hiding wasn’t the correct word, being that nobody was exactly seeking. In fact, this was the first and only phone call I’d received in the three days since the James incident.

  Bella continued, “A car will pick you up at seven in the morning! Private plane! Parties! Are you in?”

  “Ummm I . . . don’t know.” I couldn’t imagine going to a party. I couldn’t even imagine taking a shower.

  “You don’t know? Of course you know! The only acceptable answer is yes!”

  I stood up on the bed and paced from one end to the other.

  “Lucy, are you there? What do you say?”

  “Can I think about it?” What did I need to think about? Who says no to a free trip to Europe with Isabella Blackstone? It was a sudden invitation and I was in such a haze that I couldn’t think straight. Bella might have been used to these impromptu trips to and fro, but I wasn’t accustomed to that type of spontaneity.

  “Of course! Text me when you decide . . . but Lucy, you’re totally coming!”

  “Thanks, Bella. I’ll text you in a few.” I tossed the phone into the comforter and it bounced off my bed, then knocked into the nightstand, tipping over the vase of flowers James had given me days before. It was a reality check by roses. As I collected the bouquet from the floor, I considered the rough ride I’d recently had. Maybe getting away with Bella would be good for me?

  Giving up my “dream job” was devastating. I had yet to tell my parents, which scared me more than Stefano. Sebastian and Julie had seemingly given up on me. I couldn’t have been more insensitive toward James. I felt like a major failure all around. As I continued to pick up the flowers, my mind went to battle with my heart. Am I making the right choices? Stefano really broke my spirit. What could I have done differently? Liz and Roman are able to hang on, why couldn’t I? Was this my fault? And what about James? Did I have to be so harsh? Could we have tried to do a long-distance thing? I couldn’t believe that I let him walk out like that. Julie would have known what to do in that situation, and I wished that we were on better terms so I could have turned to her. I tossed the floral arrangement into the trash and flipped on the lights.

  I plucked my dirty clothes off the floor and tossed them into a wicker hamper. A quarter fell out from a pair of J Brand jeans. I retrieved them from the hamper and shook out the pockets. A few more coins fell out before a tissue and a tiny plastic bag. I’d forgotten about that bag of blow. Stefano had me hold it for him weeks ago. I hugged the jeans close to my chest and stared at the small bag on the floor. I briefly considered flushing it down the toilet. Then I rationalized, it was Saturday night and everyone else was out having fun, doing it in clubs right now . . . Why couldn’t I? It would no doubt motivate me to pack for the trip, should I decide to go. I sprinkled a few lines onto my nightstand and snorted them with a Post-it.

  A few lines later, I took an inventory of my surroundings. The roses upside down in the trash. A sink full of three days’ deliveries of half-eaten chinese take-out. Cocaine on my nightstand. Was this really a snapshot of my life?

  I picked up my phone and sent a text to Bella that read YES!!!! She responded almost immediately with the word Duh. It made me smile and feel grateful for something to look forward to. Correction, something insanely out of this world amazing to look forward to!

  I pulled my only suitcase from under the bed and swung it open. Piece by piece, I folded the best of my gifted wardrobe and organized it into piles. Reaching farther under the bed, I pulled out three boxes of glamorous shoes. Removing each pair in its velvet encasing, I neatly added them in the suitcase. The Rolling Stones were pumping from my iPod, which I turned up louder when my favorite song “Get Off of My Cloud” came on. As Mick Jagger belted out the chorus I felt like he had written the lyrics just for me, intended for everyone creating thunder over my cumulus cloud. Rocking out in my boy-shorts and a tank top, I bounced around my apartment and collected toiletries plus other small items and zipped them into a lavender travel bag that had my initials scripted in white. I sprinkled out a few more lines and continued to pack and snort.

  Knock! Knock! Knock! I looked up in disbelief at the door. In my speedy haze, I was unable to decipher whether or not I actually heard the noise. Did I imagine it? Knock! Knock! Knock! Voices could be heard mumbling in the hallway. I slipped on a pair of jeans before unbolting and swinging open the door. Sebastian and Julie were standing there, yelling, “Surprise!”

  “Um . . . surprise?” They were the last people that I expected to see. I thought it might possibly be Roman and Liz, stopping by to check on me. I hadn’t heard from them since quitting.

  Julie held up a pink box and Sebastian untied a bow made from a (likely) counterfeit Coach scarf. He dramatically undressed the box then folded back the lid à la Vanna White. A giant strawberry cheesecake, my favorite dessert, glistened under the hallways overhead lights. They stood there, eagerly waiting for me to invite them in. But, I did not. I could not! There were drugs on my nightstand, and God forbid they knew what I was up to! Leaning against the door frame, I put my hand to my stomach explaining, “I wish I could invite you in but I’m actua
lly not feeling so good. I was about to go to sleep . . .”

  “Are you running away?” Julie strained to see behind me. “What’s with the suitcase?”

  “I am leaving tomorrow for work . . . I was going to call you in a few to tell you about it.”

  Sebastian raised his eyebrow and quipped, “After you went to sleep?”

  “Where’s the job?” Julie eyed the spiffy spread across the bed.

  “Bella invited me to go to London with her to work on some stuff.”

  “Isa-bella . . . Blackstone?” an astonished Julie asked. I nodded.

  Julie continued the interrogation. “What are you doing for her?”

  “It’s complicated.” I didn’t want to get into it.

  Julie shut the cake box and passed it to Sebastian. “So, you gave up on your friends and now you gave up on photography too? Is that right?”

  “No, not at all! It’s nothing like that . . .”

  She firmly placed her hands on her hips and continued. “You haven’t so much as returned my calls, but when Isabella Blackstone invites you out—you pack a fucking suitcase?”

  Sebastian tried to calm Julie down by putting his hand on her arm. “Julie, come on . . . Let’s just . . .”

  “No!” Julie snapped her arm away. “You can’t spend an hour catching up with your friends who’ve been there for you all along. But, when Miss Movie Star calls, you can’t toss all of your fancy freebies together quickly enough! You are becoming everything you hate, Lucy! I don’t even know you anymore! I don’t even recognize you!”

  I shifted my hands from my back to my front pockets several times. In my mind, I imagined the words I wanted to say, yet I was unable to vocalize them. My eyes darted around the hallway as I clenched my jaw tightly. I was unable to look my friends in their eyes. I was spinning.

  “You . . . are so high,” Sebastian insisted. Julie stopped quietly hissing something to herself as she was about to walk away and re-faced me. Horrified, I widened my dilated eyes as I glared at Sebastian. He continued his accusation. “Well . . . are you not?”