Slower

by Deana Birch

  She unfolded the duvet and spread it out before putting on its cover.

  “There will not be a repeat of the other night.”

  There was that glare, that sexy-ass glare that she thought had some kind of kryptonite power over me. It did nothing but encourage me. A hard-to-get Louana was a brand-new challenge, and if that was how she wanted to play this, she was on like Donkey Kong. It had been her idea to come here; she obviously wanted something.

  “Why not?” I shrugged. “You said yourself, it was just sex. Besides, you’ve already cheated on him once. What’s another time?”

  “Stop saying that.” This time her eyes pinned me and my game and shocked me with their ice.

  “Does the truth hurt?” Fuck. I didn’t want to fight, but sometimes that was the only way to get her to open up.

  “It’s not the truth.”

  That was what I called bull-fucking-shit, but we were at least talking about it. And I had to admit I’d been dying to hear how things had actually gone down on New Year’s, even if it was a perverse curiosity. I chose better words, because I’d had three months to think about this conversation. “Enlighten me.” My stomach rallied for more of her food, and I tried to act casual as I grabbed the container and pronged another bite of chicken.

  The duvet snapped before it floated over the bed, and she moved on to the two new pillows she’d brought with her. “I haven’t cheated on anyone.” If I hadn’t seen the proof myself, I would have believed her.

  “Now that’s not the truth. You’re wrong. You cheated on me.” I used the fork as a prop to point out the “you” and “me.”

  Her nostrils flared to their maximum diameter, and she threw the pillow against the white leather headboard. “No, Jake, you’re wrong. You assumed I got back with Dimitri, but I never did. Therefore, you cheated on me.”

  What the fuck did she just say?

  Her side of the story notwithstanding, she was right. But how the fuck did she know? Not that it would change things. Not that it would make my excess okay.

  I shook my head like Archie when he got out of the pool. “I saw the pictures. He had his hands all over you, and you had a huge smile on your face. It didn’t look like you minded one bit. Maybe you didn’t fuck him, but you were definitely with him.”

  She glanced to the wall, where I’d hung the poster she’d gotten for my birthday, then back to me. “You read into those pictures all your insecurities. I did not get back with Dimitri. I am not back with him. But you didn’t bother asking me about it before you began groping that actress.”

  Information overload. Wait. What? So she did know. And about who. But hadn’t that happened long after she’d been spun around the floor by the French fuck? New Year’s was foggy. Maine-in-the-rain foggy. But if she hadn’t and I had … Fuck me.

  A scary switch flipped in her, and she stalked closer. “Timeline: You see pictures of me on Instagram.” Her voice was low and too calm. Eerie calm. I-was-fourteen-kinds-of- fucked calm. “You conclude the worst possible outcome. You fuck actress. Therefore, you can now stop calling me the cheater. You cheated on me.” She pointed her index finger to her chest, then grabbed her keys. She was out the door and down the steps before I could muster any sort of comprehension.

  That could not have been how it went down. That would mean I …

  Holy shit.

  From the top step, I saw her march into a little bodega and come out a few minutes later, already unwrapping a pack of cigarettes. She walked towards the beach, and her tiny light blue Fiat stayed in its parking spot. I wrapped my face in my hands. If what she said was true, then I, my jealous beast, and my own actions had ruined my life. But that couldn’t have been the case. She’d said she didn’t love me anymore.

  I trotted down the stairs and leaned against her car. Thirty minutes later, when she walked back from the beach, she frowned at me as the alarm beeped and the Fiat unlocked.

  “Can you please come back inside so we can talk about this?”

  “I think a better opening line would have included an apology.” She yanked her door open, and I skipped back to miss it slamming into me.

  I grabbed the edge before she could get in and pull it shut. “Why do you always run away? I want to talk.”

  Her eyes spewed what I denied was hate. “I want to date guys who don’t fuck around, but that doesn’t seem to be happening either.” Yeah, hate. All the energy drained from my body. She didn’t just not love me—she fucking loathed me. It really had just been sex for her.

  But I still needed to try. I still needed her. “I ... Just come inside. We need to talk about this.”

  “Nothing you can say will fix this. You’ve lost the most important thing I ever gave you. My trust. Something you never bothered to give me in return. Can you let go?” She motioned to the door. “I’d like to leave.”

  “Baby …”

  “Let me go. We’re done.”

  I released the car door, but before it shut I said, “I think you’re wrong. I don’t think we’re done, and I intend to prove it to you.”

  “Good luck with that.” She slammed the door shut. I stood in the middle of the street with my hands on my hips. The engine cranked, and she pulled away.

  She never looked back.

  I tried Louana’s number several times over the weekend, to no avail. Time was running out. I would be gone again by the end of the week, and my questions had started to pile up about the details surrounding our breakup. I wanted to see her, needed to fix this. Nothing made sense to me. I knew I’d fucked up, but I’d been sure it was after she had.

  * * *

  Me: I respect you enough not to bother you at work. Will you please call me?

  * * *

  I couldn’t give up, even if my thread of hope was fraying from both ends. I had to believe we could still fix it. It was the only thing holding me together.

  Finally, Monday night, she called.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi,” she clipped.

  Start nice. Start easy, Riley. “Thanks for calling.”

  No answer. This was on me. All on me.

  “I’m sorry. I really am. I was sure you were back with him. Seeing those pictures destroyed me.”

  “I understand.” Her quick reply made me wonder whether she was serious.

  “Really?”

  “I was hurt, too.” Her voice was flat.

  “You said something interesting last week. You said ‘timeline.’”

  “Yeah.”

  Tread lightly.

  “I know it doesn’t matter, and I now know I was the one who fucked this up, but how did you find out about the actress? I keep going over those twelve hours in my head. It’s like someone told you the minute it happened—and Gina wasn’t there.”

  “You’re right. It doesn’t matter.” Louana was so cold, so distant. Maybe the damage was done. But I still needed to know.

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  “It’s irrelevant at this point.” Her forced exhale crackled into my ear.

  “Maybe to you.”

  “What are you hoping to get out of this phone call?”

  “I don’t know … I just don’t want to leave things like we did last week.” Or three months ago, for that matter. What I really hoped for was some inkling of how to mend our broken bridge.

  “You’re going back out on the road for another three months, and I won’t be here pining away for you. We’re not getting back together. As I said, you and I are done.”

  Correction: our collapsed and buried-into-the-seventh-layer-of-hell bridge.

  “You’re being so cold.” I paced over to my balcony and stared at the ocean without seeing it.

  “What did you expect? Cookies and a reconciliation?”

  Straws. I grasped at any straws that came my way. “Surely you won’t deny that you still have feelings for me. I know you do. And I don’t want you to move on.”

  “Unfortunately for you, I decide that.” She was rig
ht, but it didn’t lighten the blow.

  “Isn’t there a way for us to build the trust back?”

  She scoffed. Actually scoffed. “Not that I can see.”

  “Jesus, Louana. You’re not even negotiating.” I put my hand up on the sliding glass door and hung my head.

  “No, and I won’t. I really need to put you behind me, which means you can’t drop by my work or text me from the road. We need to be over.”

  My aching heart shrunk. This could not be happening. “What if I give you some time and space?”

  “I’ve had time and space for the last three months. My conclusion is our relationship is over.”

  Fuck. I sniffed. “I can’t believe you’re saying that.”

  “You should continue to move on. I’m sure there are a lot of girls dying for a chance with you.”

  No. Not happening. “I don’t want anyone else.” The whine was so foreign, I barely recognized my own voice.

  “Please don’t call me or stop by. If you still truly care about me, you’ll leave me alone. I need to go.”

  “That’s it?” God. She’d mended so many things about me, and I’d destroyed her. I’d had heaven and somehow managed to steer my way into hell. And it was all on me.

  “Goodbye, Jake.”

  20

  LOUANA

  * * *

  The film we’d worked on with Vincent Renier was opening the Cannes Film Festival in May, and the idea of my home away from home in spring brought a smile to my face. I knew from Casey that Dimitri was going to be there, and the thought of seeing my ex again gnawed away at a part of me that loved old habits. Even if I was still angry, still sure he wasn’t right for me, he was easy. Comfy sweater easy. And with Jake out of the picture, the lure of everything Dimitri represented in my life started to tip toward the positive.

  At work, we were finishing a documentary directed by an old friend of Mario’s. The money hadn’t been spectacular, but we were still riding the financial wave from the action movie he’d done at the beginning of the year, and the timing was perfect. The final mix was the week before we flew to Cannes, and Mario’s next project didn’t start until two weeks after. We would essentially be closed for two weeks—I would only be available on my mobile and via email—and both of us were ready for a break.

  My own plan was to fly into Nice with Mario, spend two nights in Cannes, and go to Stella’s for a week. Then I would fly back to L.A. and have a couple of days off, and we would start our new project well rested.

  The only thing I wasn’t sure about was Fern. My upstairs neighbor Richie, who normally kept an eye on her, had gotten a girlfriend and was around less than he used to be. The actors who lived above the parking garage were unreliable, and the girls in 3B were going to be on vacation at the same time I was in France. Everyone I knew was going to be out of town except one person: Gina.

  Over a lonely bowl of pasta, I called my one-time partner in crime.

  “Hey, girl—long time!” she sang from the other end of the phone.

  “Hey, how’s life with your man on the road?”

  “It sucks.” Her slumped posture and pouty lip were identifiable, even over the phone. “Wanna grab dinner this week?”

  “Absolutely. I was also wondering if I could ask you a favor.”

  “Shoot.”

  I pushed the half-eaten bowl to the center of the table. Had Jake been there, he would have finished it for me. “Well, I’m going to France for ten days, and it falls when no one is around here. I was hoping maybe you were in town and would either pop by or stay at my place to check in on Fern and Archie and keep them company.”

  “I would love to. The walls are closing in on me here.”

  I sighed in relief and gave her the dates.

  Gina came to my place for dinner the following Thursday night, and I gave her a quick tour.

  “You know I can’t cook, right? Fern will be subject to a lot of takeout.”

  I smiled. “I’ll make a few meals before I go, but I’m more worried about her being alone than her diet, so don’t worry about the food.”

  We sat at my table and finished the recaps of our lives, her about her current art project and me about work.

  She twisted her gypsy curls and looked past the empty plates. “Sam says Jake is really miserable.” She winced. She knew my no-Spades-talk rule.

  “Well, maybe he should have thought about that before cheating on me.” I poured myself another glass of wine. If we were headed down Jake Street, I would need assistance.

  Gina’s fingers continued the tease of her own hair, and she asked, “How did you find out, anyway?”

  Was she fishing? It was unlike her to take sides. Maybe she was just curious. I knew I would be.

  “It doesn’t matter, Gina. He cheated.”

  She lunged forward and planted her hands on the table. “But he only did it because you broke up with him.”

  I drank my wine and calmly replaced the glass next to the plate. “No, actually, that’s not how it happened. He saw the pictures on Instagram, assumed the worst of me, and cheated.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I’d spent five months wishing I wasn’t. “Yes.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “I really don’t want to go into it. I’ve been working really hard to get him out of my head.” Really fucking hard. To no fucking avail. I stood up and stacked the food-stained plates.

  She leaned back in the chair and frowned. “Sorry. It’s just so sad. You two were perfect for each other. And—very selfishly—I miss you backstage. This tour has been insane.”

  Sad didn’t even begin to describe it. Devastating. That was closer.

  “Forgive me if I don’t want to hear about it.” I walked to the kitchen and put the dishes in the sink.

  “One story?” she called from the dining room.

  I dried my hands and went back to the table. “Fine.”

  “So, last month in Florida, John and Shane had a huge fucking fight because John was drunk onstage and Phil wasn’t there to cool things down. Shane was screaming in his face that he was ruining the tour with his drinking, and I thought they were actually going to hit each other. It was nuts. And Sam and Jake weren’t doing anything to stop them, they’re both sick of playing referee. Anyway, John said something like, ‘Well, at least I’m not ruining lives,’ and then Shane just stopped and walked away. There’s so much tension, Sam’s worried they won’t make it to the end of the dates.”

  “Sorry.” I shrugged. I was sorry for her and Sam; this was their golden ticket. And I was sorry for Jake. He used to tell me that living the dream meant living the nightmare. Sounded like he’d been spot on.

  Me: Landed in Nice and am at hotel.

  * * *

  Dimitri: Am at the Five Seas. Come over.

  * * *

  Casey and I were sharing a room at a cheaper hotel than Mario and Vincent. I had slept on the flight, but my bestie had worked the entire time. He was exhausted and planned on ordering room service and passing out.

  I showered, put on a short, dark pink dress with a flat-ruffled neck line and slim black belt. With my favorite pair of black strappy heels, I was dressed to kill. I wore my hair slicked back in a low ponytail to hide the tops of my ears.

  “Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ, Loulou!” Casey said when I walked out of the bathroom. “No doubt what you’re up to. Maybe you should take your toothbrush.”

  “Just meeting an old friend for a drink,” I said and lifted a shoulder.

  * * *

  Me: On my way.

  * * *

  Dimitri: At the bar.

  * * *

  When I got to the hotel, I spotted him right away, and I wasn’t surprised to see him talking to someone. But he saw me come in, excused himself, and met me halfway. He wore a slick, dark blue, fitted suit without a tie, and the first two buttons of his crisp white shirt were open. His hair was longer than normal, and he was clean shaven.

  “Pff
f … Minette.” He shook his head, then bit his lip as he scanned me up and down.

  I gave him the biggest grin he’d seen from me in years and kissed him hello. I inhaled his delicious scent and allowed it to fog my judgment and blur my memory.

  “’ow do you keep getting more beautiful? But you look too skinny. Mama will want to give you some curves.”

  “It’s all the running. You wouldn’t believe how much I eat.”

  “Speaking of which, I got us a table.”

  Dimitri put his familiar warm hand on my lower back and led me up to the restaurant.

  There was no need to give his name; the maître d’ led us right to our two-top.

  The hum of my mother tongue filled my ears. I had almost forgotten how much I loved being in France. A waiter brought us each a glass of champagne, and we toasted to seeing each other again. In truth, I didn’t know what I was doing there. I pushed down the ping of surrender and tried to convince myself it could mean nothing.

  We ordered the chef’s tasting menu, and I listened to his football successes. And failures. It was odd, he’d always been more willing to speak of small victories than large defeats.

  After the plates from our second course were cleared, he said, “I feel like we’re getting to know each other all over again. It’s a shame you’re so far away.”

  Was it? I couldn’t remember. “I’m here now.”

  “Because of the festival.” He shrugged.

  “True, but I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.” My eyes found his. The role of my former life softened my words and feelings. Maybe I was meant to be with him. Maybe Jake had been a “get it out of your system” moment, and my destiny had been bound to Dimitri ages ago.

  He studied my face with his head tilted to the side.

  “What’s ’appening here?” he questioned.