by Stacy M Wray
Only Jeremy would talk like that, making it sound like an endearment. With my face still buried in his shirt, I mumbled, “Is snotted even a word?”
He laid his cheek on top of my head and said, “I don’t know.”
I slowly disengaged myself from his arms and looked at him. Glancing over at the nightstand, he yanked a Kleenex from the box, handing it to me, the smirk on his face one I’d become so familiar with.
“Thanks,” I said, my throat feeling as if I had swallowed sand. I blew my nose, producing disgusting noises as Jeremy’s face twisted in horror. This made me laugh and I was amazed at the fact Jeremy was there consoling me. I wouldn’t have imagined this scenario a month ago.
I sighed, trying to expel this whole week from my system. “He wouldn’t even try, Jeremy.” My words escaped in a rough whisper.
He shifted so he could see me better and said, “What do you mean?”
I shrugged and told him, “He wouldn’t even try to see if it would work. He was so convinced I didn’t want to be with him.”
His lips came together in a formidable line. “Sorry, Karma, but that’s a dick move. He needs to get over himself.”
I shook my head and said, “How could he throw everything away? It makes me question everything – was I just imagining how deep our connection was? I thought we’d make it to forever.”
Jeremy sat back and exhaled a heavy sigh. “He’s going to wake up one day full of regret – I’m sure of it.” He acted like he wanted to say something else but hesitated.
“What?” I asked him.
He wiped his hand down his face and said, “Fuck, Karma – I didn’t see this coming…like at all. I just thought he’d blow you some shit and eventually get over it. I gotta say this whole thing has shocked the hell out of me.”
“Yeah…well…I didn’t see it coming either. Otherwise…” I didn’t finish my sentence because I knew it wasn’t true.
He looked at me pointedly. “Otherwise…”
“There is no otherwise – I did the right thing.”
He nudged me with his knee and said, “How about you go take a quick shower and we go grab a pizza?”
I gave him the stink eye and asked, “Did my mom put you up to this?”
Avoiding my question, he said, “Hurry up – before I find something better to do.”
I reluctantly pushed up from my bed and grabbed some fresh clothes from my dresser. Walking to the door, I pulled it open, stopping to look at him. “Thank you. I mean it, Jeremy.”
Giving me a lift of his chin, he said, “You’d do the same for me, Hippie Girl.”
He’s right – I most definitely would have.
It’s quiet now, except for the soothing drum of the rain which has lessened in its intensity. Jada and I watch the images on the screen, and I’m shocked at the magnitude of reactions that it causes. Even though it was some of the best days of my life, it was a precursor to Braden’s and my demise – one I never saw coming.
I try really hard to keep it light and not let my sullen mood shine through. After all, this is supposed to be fun. And after a little bit, that’s exactly what it becomes. I manage to push down the sadness and laugh with Jada as I recall the carefree spontaneity of those two weeks that seems so long ago.
Yes, I will definitely have to call Jeremy this week. I miss him.
In an instant, our apartment masks in darkness, all power faded. Luckily, we thought ahead and grabbed a flashlight. It’s somewhere on this coffee table. My hand pats the hard surface, waiting for the oblong device to appear under my palm. “Got it.” Turning it on, I tell Jada, “I’m just going to call it a night now. I’ve got a photo shoot bright and early.” The two empty wine bottles glow in the beam of light, and I’m thankful we didn’t drink more – I loathe hangovers.
“Yeah, me too,” she sighs. “This weather sucks.”
I smile because I kind of like it.
Telling Jada goodnight, I shine my way to my bedroom and crawl beneath the sheets. The consumed alcohol helps me find sleep right away, and I didn’t even have to worry about laying there wide awake, haunted by memories of the past.
Still slightly sluggish in the morning, I quietly get ready for my day, knowing Jada has the luxury of sleeping in. Today I’m shooting images for a perfume ad. Doesn’t sound that glamorous but, still, I know I can bring life to a small glass bottle filled with decadent liquid. These smaller jobs are just the stepping stones I need to build my portfolio.
Just a little patience, Karma.
Twisting my hair in a small knot at the base of my neck, I add a little mascara and blush to perfect my natural look. I slide my legs into a pair of black dress pants and pair it with a simple gold silk blouse. No need to impress an inanimate object.
Grabbing my keys and purse, I’m out the door with an extra fifteen minutes to my commute. My day has already started out tipped on the positive scale.
Traffic, however, kills my fifteen minutes, adding five to the negative column. Ugh!
I arrive at Alabaster Studios, a contemporary building on the south side of the city, only a few minutes late – couldn’t be helped. Quickly sliding out from behind the wheel, I grab my equipment and go in search of finding my contact, Mr. Lee Whitaker.
The receptionist leads me to a studio and tells me that Mr. Whitaker will be with me momentarily. I thank her and begin to unpack my camera and diffusers. Glancing around the room, I appreciate the starkness of the all-white room, dark hardwood floors bringing a richness to the pristine appearance.
A swoosh of the door indicates the arrival of Mr. Whitaker as I turn to greet him. Taking in the image of the man in charge today, I’m taken back by his distinguished good looks. He’s definitely older than me, by how much I couldn’t say. I’m horrible at guessing people’s ages. There’s a slight graying to his hair, but it only adds his polished impression, never realizing that I appreciated that look as much as I do. The tanned complexion of his California skin emphasizes the blue of his eyes, as well as the toned body underneath his crisp white button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. I feel my cheeks flush as I realize how attracted I am to him just after a brief glimpse. I can’t remember the last time that happened to me. Sure, I was half-way attracted to Jada’s friend, James, but that was just because he seemed interested for a mere moment. I can’t even compare the two.
Walking towards me, he holds out this hand. “Ms. Mickelson, glad you’re here. I’m Lee Whitaker, head of the campaign.” I place my palm against his, shaking his hand. And, yes, loving the way it feels. Firm. Masculine. Safe.
Get a grip, Karma.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Whitaker. I was just starting to set up.”
With a shake of his head, he says, “Okay, let’s do away with the pleasantries, shall we? You call me Lee and I’ll call you Karma, deal?”
“Yes, deal,” I tell him, my smile quite genuine.
He walks to a massive mahogany cabinet and opens with doors wide, retrieving a small, light blue box. His eyes light up as he carries it to a table that’s draped in a decadent, you guessed it, white linen cloth. Sliding the perfume from its packaging, he gently places it on the platform, stating, “And this is the lady of the hour.” The pride in his voice is obvious, as well as the way he handles her. I’m wondering if he had a hand in her creation.
Joining him at the display, I have to agree – she is beautiful. The opaque, slightly curved glass bottle houses the lightest shade of blue liquid – so light that it could almost be mistaken for clear. It’s an exquisite hue. My fingers run along the outside of the bottle, hovering on the small round lid. My eyes slide to his, his excitement of the product still present, as I ask, “May I?”
Delight shines proudly, as he answers, “By all means.”
Lifting the small crystal top, I hold the bottle to the inside of my left wrist and lightly push down on the spray head, a mist of fragrance dusting along my skin. Instantly, I absorb the aroma of clean, crisp, salty goodness – the exact fragr
ance of the ocean. How do they do that? “Mmm – it’s so light, but powerful at the same time.” I can tell he appreciates my reaction, the twinkle in his eyes giving himself away. “Did you invent it?”
A humbling expression sweeps over his face. “I wish. No, I’m just the mastermind behind the packaging.” I detect no arrogance in his words, only pride.
“Well, you’ve just made my job extremely easy. My images will only add to her beauty – she can stand on her own just fine.” He loves the way I imitate him, speaking of the perfume in gender – it’s written all over his face.
And it’s at this moment that he truly takes me in, having all of a sudden forgotten about his prodigy. I heat under his gaze, becoming self-conscious. Almost wishing I would have made more of an effort in my appearance today.
He leans in, his hand reaching for my wrist, gently placing it below the nostrils of his nose. There is no avoiding the whoosh I feel in my belly, watching him take in the fragrant scent. In a low voice, he says, “You were made for this perfume.” The manner in which his words were spoken has my toes curling at the end of my shoes.
This man must have women dropping at his feet.
Finally realizing that we’ve maybe crossed the professionalism of the job, he drops my hand and takes a step back. “So…you ready to get started?”
chapter six
September 2006
On the way to The Pit with Stella, my head bounces around with thoughts of Braden. It’s hard to believe that the memory of that young boy has morphed into someone I hardly recognize, his features that of a young man. Now that I know it’s him, I recognize some of his mannerisms, like the slight tilt of his head when he really listens to you and the small unconscious lift of one side of his mouth. Nine years is a long time, and I’m sure we’re totally different people now.
I think back to the day when I found out he was gone.
My mom had been calling the house, but there was never any answer. I begged her to drive me over, so we climbed in the car and made the ten-minute drive to Braden’s. I was too young to realize the significance of the FOR SALE sign in the front yard, but the look on my mom’s face told me it wasn’t good.
She got out and told me to stay in the car, but I wasn’t having that. I wanted to see Braden. Something told me deep in the cavity of my chest that something was terribly wrong.
Joining her on the front porch, she rang the bell several times. I could tell she was nervous by the way her hand kept reaching for her neck, something I had picked up on growing up. Sliding to the edge of the porch, I stretched up on my tiptoes, peering into the cloudy window. Where there had once been a denim blue huge sofa where we would watch movies together, and a table directly behind it where we would play Trouble, it was now empty space. There was nothing but a few dust bunnies lying around, waiting to be scattered by the slightest of drafts.
Moisture filled my eyes to where my vision was just as cloudy as the dang window that revealed images I no longer wanted to see. Turning to my mom, she noticed a tear escape, and she quickly knelt down to my level. “Oh, Karma, there’s got to be some explanation for all of this.” She clutched me to her chest, convincing me she’d do what she could to find out what happened.
Unfortunately, she came up empty, which was exactly the way I felt with no contact from Braden or his family.
When I feel the car come to a halt, I realize Stella is staring at me.
“Hello? Earth to Karma. Where were you just now?”
I shake my head, feeling a little confused and shocked that we’re here already. “What?”
She laughs. “I asked you what made you want to come tonight. It’s usually me dragging you here.”
Shrugging like it’s no big deal, I say, “I’m working on being more social this year. You’re always telling me to spread my wings. Well, here I am…”
Looking at me suspiciously, she grabs her keys from the ignition and opens her door. “Mm-hm. Well, let’s be social then.” She gets out and waits for me to join her.
Leaving the chairs in the car this time, we decide to head into the crowd, and I notice that someone has brought a keg. Stella says, “Sweet…someone just made my night. Come on, Karma, let’s get a drink first.” She takes me by the hand and drags me into the keg line.
After we have our beers in hand, my eyes scan the crowd, hoping Braden is still here, if he even came at all. While I’m still searching, I hear a low, smooth “Hey” behind me.
A confused Stella gives me a knowing look, wondering why he’s talking to me. I haven’t told her anything about him or our past.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Hey.” Knowing Stella will start in on me, I gesture toward her and ask, “You met Stella yet?”
Braden looks over to her and lifts his chin in acknowledgment, saying, “Hey. You guys best friends or something?”
I can tell Stella finds this whole situation interesting. “Or something,” she tells him, winking.
He gives her a quick smile then turns his attention back to me. “Um, I thought maybe we could finish our talk?”
For some reason I look at Stella for direction, and before I can answer, she says, “You two have fun – I’m going to look for Marcy.” She starts to leave and then quickly adds, “Karma…text me if you need me.” Her eyebrows arch and she smiles at me before making her way into the crux of the crowd.
Braden guides me towards an open field that’s less inhabited. Walking in silence for a bit, I inhale the crisp night air, filling my lungs to capacity with its freshness. Now that we’re a good distance from the music and chatter, I notice the soft footfall of our steps, wondering where he’s leading me. I’m so aware of his closeness, his fingers inadvertently grazing mine as we walk in silence, causing tiny goose bumps to travel up my arm. It’s either that or the chill in the air. Pretty sure it’s him though.
He gently places his hand on the small of my back and leads me further towards a small group of trees. The heat his hand puts out could start a small fire. “Come on…I want to show you something.”
We follow a dense path leading through the trees to a babbling brook. Wow! I didn’t know this existed. “How did you find this?”
He shoots me a guilty look and ignores my question. Leading us to a fallen log alongside the water, he sits down, patting the spot beside him, silently telling me to have a seat.
Sitting down, I’m wondering why he wouldn’t rather be with his soccer buddies. They did just win their first game.
“So…you didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m well aware.” He stares into the water with a smirk on his face.
Well, now I want to know. “You aren’t going to tell me?”
He wrinkles his brow and says, “It doesn’t matter how…I just thought it was neat and wanted to show you.”
I decide to take a stab. “Was it a girl?” As soon as I put the question out there, I suddenly regret it, not knowing if I really want to know the answer.
His face remains frozen and he says nothing.
I bump my shoulder into his and say, “Come on…you can tell me. I won’t judge.”
Slowly turning his head to look at me, he says, “Just so you know, a girl brought me here – I didn’t bring her.”
“I knew it! Who was it?” I say a little too quickly, trying to hide the small pang telling me what he just said bothers me a little.
He pauses for a long time before finally telling me. “Lorie Kincaid.”
Figures. She’s a cheerleader. It shouldn’t surprise me at all that she’s already jonesing for the new soccer player.
Braden must notice the sour look on my face. “What’s with the look?”
Attempting to shrug off my unwelcome disappointment, I shift my position on the log, turning towards him. “It’s just so cliché. The cheerleader and the jock.” I’m hoping he didn’t notice the sneer in that last word. I don’t want Braden to fall into that category. For some reason, I want him to be anything but that.
“Nope. No number. I would never go for a jock anyway.” I wince a little, realizing how harsh that sounds. But he asked…
“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” A hurtful look crosses his face.
“All jocks are the same. Unfortunately, the stereotype fits perfectly around our school. I find myself more into the artsy type.” I smile at him, hoping it takes the sting out of my words.
He shakes his head at me, clearly disappointed with my statement. “Let me tell you something and I want you to really listen. First, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Second, there’s a big difference between a so-called jock and a serious athlete. Would you like for me to enlighten you?” His voice has just gone up an octave, and I think I’ve just hit a nerve. “Well?”
Feeling like I’m about to be put in my place, I say, “Sure. Enlighten me.”
He gathers his thoughts for a moment and says, “Jocks abuse their popularity, are usually arrogant, only date cheerleaders and usually only hang around other jocks. Right? But athletes – true athletes – love their sport and all that other stuff is bullshit.”
I think about what he just told me and I whisper, “Well, I guess I don’t know any true athletes then.” I hold his gaze and a small smile spreads across his face.
“Well, you’re about to get to know one.” His smile is infectious and I can’t help but return it. He looks at the beer I’ve been nursing and says, “Are you going to drink that? Cuz if not, give it here.” I laugh and take a small drink, handing him the rest.
Before I lose my nerve, I quietly add, “Lorie’s a cheerleader – ”
“I don’t want to talk about Lorie. I want to get to know you…again.” He pauses, and I notice his eyes twinkle. “Do you still hate scary movies?”
My forehead wrinkles in disgust. “Um…hell, yes. And I’ve got you to thank for that, by the way.”
He laughs, a low rumble slowly building from his chest, and I can tell he recalls the same memory as I. I love hearing the familiarity, only now it’s deeper, coming from a young man and not a young boy.