Strong Enough

by Melanie Harlow

  “I thought Ellen—”

  “I talked to her earlier. She forgot about something she had to do today, of course, so I offered to take you.”

  “Oh.” I felt guilty for being glad Ellen was busy, but I liked the prospect of more time with Derek, even if it was just a car ride. “Thank you. You’ve done so much for me already. I hope this doesn’t interfere with your day.”

  He didn’t look up from his breakfast. “No big deal. I’m having some friends over for dinner, but that’s not until later. I’ll have plenty of time to prepare.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “With guests coming, it feels like too much to ask of you.”

  He finally met my eyes. “It’s not. I want to take you.”

  Our eyes met, and gooseflesh blanketed my arms. Nothing else was said, yet it felt as if something more was exchanged.

  But then he looked down again, and the feeling was gone.

  Nine

  DEREK

  While I’d been at the gym punishing myself with an especially grueling workout this morning, Ellen had called and left a voicemail begging me for another favor—could I please help Maxim locate his friend today and drive him where he needed to go?

  On the way home, I’d called her back and given her a ton of shit about it, although secretly I didn’t mind. I genuinely liked Maxim and wanted to make sure he was okay, plus my head felt much clearer this morning.

  It was the dark that had gotten to me last night.

  The late hour.

  The wine.

  The loneliness.

  And Maxim was very charismatic. It was exactly the right combination of factors to mess with me, make me think I wanted something I didn’t. Today would be different. I could never confess my sin out loud, but I could at least atone for it by doing him kindness. And if I felt any inkling of what I’d felt last night, I wouldn’t let it overwhelm me—I’d fight back.

  Then I saw him in my clothes, and the first thing I thought was, Take them off. Not because I don’t want you to have them, but because I want to put them on right now, feel them on my body like I want to feel you there.

  Not exactly fighting words.

  But I rallied, keeping my thoughts clean even as he moved around my kitchen like he lived there. It felt so good I had to talk myself down. It’s not him. It’s because you’re lonely. You want someone to share your life with. You want this kind of closeness with someone. You like taking care of people, and he seems to need it. Don’t confuse that for anything else.

  During breakfast, I’d been okay as long as we didn’t make eye contact. Because every time we did, I felt like I unwittingly gave away a little piece of my secret. It was unnerving, the effect he had on me. I’d never experienced anything like it.

  Sunglasses. That would help.

  I reached for a pair on the back hall shelf and slipped them on. “Ready to go?”

  “Yes,” he said, showing me the screen of his phone. “Here’s the address.”

  I cringed a little at the thought of an apartment in that area, but to Maxim Hollywood probably sounded like the most glamorous address in California. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Got it.”

  On the way there, I asked him what his plan was.

  “My plan for what?”

  I glanced his way. He looked completely unconcerned, even though he had nothing but a phone, a bag of dirty clothes, and a notebook to his name. “For living here. You must have made a plan before you came, right? What you’ll do, how you’ll live.”

  “Oh.” He was quiet for a moment. “In Russia, we say, ‘Yesli khochesh' rassmeshit' Boga, rasskazhi yemu o svoikh planakh.’ It means ‘If you want to make God laugh, tell Him about your plans.’”

  I rolled my eyes. “God’s not asking you. I am. And I’m pretty sure God’s a planner, anyway.”

  “Well, I have the apartment. I paid my first month already.”

  “And it’s nice enough?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen it.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean you’ve never seen it? You said you paid rent already.”

  “I had to, in order to make sure I would get it. Jake—that’s the guy who was supposed to pick me up—says there aren’t a lot of places for what I can pay in rent when I’m starting out.”

  “You paid for a place you’ve never even seen?” I was shocked, but Maxim didn’t seem too bothered.

  “Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “But other than that, I really don’t have a plan. Because even though I’ve wanted to move here for a few years, the decision to actually do it was sort of… I can’t think of the word. You know like when you do something without really thinking first what will happen afterward?” He looked at me for help.

  “Impulsive?”

  “Yes—impulsive. My decision to come here was impulsive. I didn’t really think or talk about it too much.”

  “That’s a pretty big decision to make impulsively.”

  “It was. But I think if you plan everything in your life, you might be so focused on the plan, you don’t notice all the other possibilities. You might ignore gut instincts. And I like to go with my gut. I think if you do that, you always make the right decision.”

  I wasn’t too sure about that. I was a man who liked a plan and didn’t always trust my gut to act in my best interest. Gut instincts could be useful, but they were still instincts—based on innate compulsion, not on reason or fact. And I had some pretty frightening innate compulsions.

  But I didn’t want to get into that with Maxim. This was about his life, not mine. “Okay, but let’s think practically for a moment. How will you eat?” I looked over my shoulder before changing lanes. “Do you have money saved up or will you try to work?”

  “Eventually, I will have to work, but for now, my mother is wiring my savings to me. It shouldn’t take too long.”

  “Like how long?”

  “Just a couple days.”

  “A couple days?” I looked at him. “You can’t go a couple days without eating, Maxim.”

  “I won’t. The guy who’s renting me the apartment has some jobs for cash for me.”

  That sounded sketchy to me. “Doing what?”

  “I don’t know. But don’t worry about me, really. You’ve done enough.” He reached over like he might touch my arm or something, but then pulled back. “My mother asked if you were a movie star.”

  That made me laugh. “Really?”

  “Yes. In her mind, Hollywood is crawling with movie stars. They’re on every corner. She also thinks all Americans love guns and eat McDonald’s every day.”

  “Uh, no and no. Not this American, anyway.” I thought for a moment. “But I can’t really blame her. All I know about Russians are stereotypes, not that you fit any of them.”

  “You mean that we’re all cold and unfriendly and never smile? We sit around drinking vodka and frowning about life?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Russians smile, we just don’t do it as often as Americans, or as randomly, and we definitely don’t smile at strangers. We’re not as open and friendly right away with people we don’t know.”

  “You are.”

  He shrugged. “I’m learning to adapt.”

  “So what are Russians really like?”

  “Hmmm. Warm after we know you. Generous. Resilient and resourceful, because we’ve had to be. Oh, and we are totally superstitious.”

  I liked the way he said “totally.” He pronounced the second t the same as the first one, whereas an American would turn it into a d. “Yeah? About what?”

  “Pretty much everything. For instance, I realized I forgot my phone charger on the way to the airport in Kiev, but going back for it would have been bad luck. Russians believe you should never return home for forgotten items.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, and if you do go back for something, you have to look in a mirror before you go out again.”

  I shook my head, but I was laughing. “That i
s fucking absurd.”

  “Here’s another one,” he said. “You should never use hand gestures on yourself or anyone else when describing something negative. Like if you were talking about a terrible scar on someone’s face, never gesture toward your own face as the example. And if you do it by accident, you need to wipe the bad energy off your face and throw it away.”

  “Ridiculous. My God, no wonder you and Ellen clicked. You’re both crazy.” But they both made me laugh, too. And they were both fearless and spontaneous and completely confident that no matter what life threw at them, they could handle it. Deep down, I envied that. I had strength and tenacity, but sometimes I wondered if I’d have made different choices if I’d had some of Ellen’s free spiritedness. Or cared less what other people thought of me.

  “Your sister was telling me last night about twelve-year life cycles,” Maxim went on, “and how every cycle should start in a new place so it’s good thing I came here right after turning twenty-four.”

  “Be careful. Next thing you know, she’ll have you at one of her crazy dream analysis sessions or take you to get a psychic reading. Total bullshit.”

  He studied me. “You really don’t believe in anything you can’t see?”

  I thought about it. “It’s not that so much. I mean, I believe in God. I guess I just believe in free will over fate. I don’t think anything is inevitable—you always have choices, and your beliefs guide those choices. If you don’t want something to happen, you don’t let it happen. And if you want something badly enough, you go after it.”

  “I definitely agree with that,” Maxim said. “That’s why I came here. But I also like believing that some things are meant to be. That some things are bound to happen because a force beyond our control is at work. Even feelings are sometimes beyond our control.”

  Fuck yes, they are. “But our actions aren’t,” I argued. “Feeling something doesn’t mean you should act on it. If everybody went around doing what they felt, we’d live in complete chaos.”

  “And chaos is messy.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t like things that are messy.”

  I glanced at him sideways and then stared straight ahead. For someone I’d met less than twenty-four hours ago, that was pretty damn intuitive. It kind of annoyed me. “No. I don’t.”

  “I understand.” He was quiet for a moment, then spoke again. “I admire your discipline and self-control. I could probably use some of it. And I didn’t like paying for the apartment without seeing it, but what choice did I have? I wanted to come here more than anything. I was willing to risk it.”

  I softened a little. Maxim was young—I had to remember that. Some of that fearlessness I envied was simply not knowing better. Someone his age needed to make mistakes in order to learn—I certainly had. And I couldn’t fault him for going after something he wanted. “I get that. You just have to think things through a little more. Be practical. Plan ahead. Consider all the possible consequences before you take a risk.”

  “I’ll try,” he said. “I really want to make my life here work.”

  And before I knew what I was saying, the words were out of my mouth. “I’ll help you. I can help you.”

  As soon as I said it, I was sorry, not because I didn’t like him or want him to succeed, but because I wasn’t comfortable with the way he made me feel. I’d thought showing him kindness today would make me feel less distressed about last night, but it wasn’t. Even being in the car with him had me on edge—the interior of the Range Rover had felt perfectly spacious yesterday, but with Maxim in the passenger seat it felt snug. I was constantly aware of how close he was. My skin hummed with it.

  All I wanted was to get him to his apartment, wish him well, and put him out of my head.

  The address Maxim had given me was an old two-story building a couple blocks from the Hollywood freeway. I frowned as we pulled up. No self-respecting Angeleno would want to live in this area. It was nothing but traffic, tourists, and homeless people. The building itself looked like a World War II bunker, complete with crumbling facade and scorched lawn in front.“You’re sure this is it?” I asked him.

  “Yes. It looks nice, doesn’t it?”

  Are you fucking kidding me? I thought. But I didn’t say anything as he jumped out of the car. Who knew what his living conditions had been like back in Russia? Maybe this place looked like a palace to him.

  Still.

  “How long are you planning to stay here?” I got out of the car and shut the door, making sure I locked it. “This isn’t the greatest area.”

  “For a little while, at least.” He glanced around the parking lot. “I hope it’s close to public transportation. I'll need that.”

  “Public transportation? You won't get too far on public transit around here.”

  “No? I guess I’ll get around by walking then.”

  I stared at him. “Maxim, this is L.A. Nobody walks in L.A. Haven’t you heard that song?”

  His face was blank. “No.”

  I took a deep breath, feeling my blood pressure rise. How was it possible someone could make a transatlantic move with so little preparation? Was he one of those people that things just worked out for somehow? Who succeeded solely on instincts, determination, and charm? Maybe Maxim was truly poised on the edge of achieving the American Dream, but I had a bad feeling about this place. While I was trying to figure out how to help him without getting too invested, he held out his hand.

  “Hey, thank you for driving me. And for—everything. I won’t forget this.”

  I shook his hand, ignoring the heat that ricocheted up my arm at the clasp of our palms. “You sure you’re all right here? Maybe I should wait. Make sure this is the right place.”

  “No.” His voice was firm. “You’ve done enough for me. And I’ll return the clothes as fast as possible.”

  “Keep them.” I liked the thought of him in my clothes. I could allow myself that one small thing, maybe even file it under being charitable, since he had so little.

  We looked at each other for a moment, and I was glad I had the sunglasses on. To keep myself from saying or doing something I’d regret, I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Well. Good luck.”

  “Thanks. See you around, I guess.” With one last smile, he turned and walked toward the entrance.

  He got about ten feet.

  “Maxim!” I jogged to catch up with him, even though every instinct in my body was telling me to get the fuck in the car and go home. “Let me stay and make sure you get in okay.” That was reasonable, right? That’s what Ellen would have done. There were all kinds of weirdos around here. And what if the address was wrong?

  “You can if you want to, but it’s not necessary.”

  “I’ll feel better if I do. Ellen will never forgive me if anything else goes wrong for you,” I joked. By the time we reached the door, I had myself mostly convinced I was doing it for Ellen.

  The door opened into a stairwell, which immediately struck me as a safety hazard. So anyone could simply walk in?

  “It’s apartment 202,” Maxim said, glancing at his phone as he climbed the stairs. “Second level.”

  On the second floor, we entered a dark, humid hallway that smelled like old fried food. My stomach turned.

  Apartment 202 was right across from the stairs. The door was open slightly, and Maxim knocked before pushing it all the way open.

  The air was hazy inside and the lighting dim, so it took my eyes a moment to adjust. The first person I saw was a stocky, dark-haired guy in a white tank top smoking in the kitchen, which was over to the right side of one big room. On the opposite side there were a few people slouched on a dingy couch staring at their screens. One of the two girls said hi and the other one waved, but the guy didn't even pick up his head. He was all into his laptop, which was covered with stickers. The TV sat on the floor, tuned to CNN, though no one appeared to be watching. The place reeked of stale cigarette smoke.

  “He didn't tell me there we
re two of you,” said the guy in the tank top.

  “There aren’t. My friend is just dropping me off,” Maxim said. “Are you Mike?”

  The guy nodded.

  “Nice to meet you. Is this the apartment?" Maxim asked.

  I wondered if he was praying the guy would say no, like I was.

  “Yeah. See that hallway there, your room is on the left.” Mike poked his cigarette in the other direction. “Bathroom right over there, but someone’s in it right now.”

  “How many people live here?” I asked.

  “Right now, six.”

  “Six?” My jaw fell open as I glanced around again. There was no way this place was big enough for six people. “Where does everyone sleep?”

  Mike shrugged. “Anywhere they can. Come on, I’ll show you the room.”

  We followed Mike out of the kitchen and down the hall. As I walked, I felt something like sand crunching beneath my feet. Mike pushed open a door that looked like it had been kicked a lot, and entered the room. I stood behind Maxim in the doorway, peering over his shoulder.

  It was tiny and cramped. It had one window facing a parking lot outside, a bare twin mattress on the floor, a beat-up dresser with sagging drawers. Every available surface was covered with dust and grime, and the mint green paint on the walls was peeling. My left eyelid started to twitch. Why the hell had I insisted on seeing this place?

  “What’s that?” Maxim asked, pointing to a door opposite us.

  “That goes to my room,” Mike said. “But don't worry, I'll try not to wake you up when I come and go.”

  “Wait a minute.” I held up one hand. “You have to go through this room to get to your room?”

  “Yeah,” Mike said, like it was no big deal. “It used to be the closet.” Then he pointed to the mattress, which was stained and lumpy. “That’s yours if you want it. The girl that lived in here before left it.” A roach scuttled across the floor and Mike stomped on it with his boot. “Fuck. I’ll get that cleaned up.” He shouldered by us, and lumbered down the hall.

  Maxim moved into the room to look around while I struggled with my conscience. On one hand, Maxim wasn’t a puppy I needed to save—he was a grown man who was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And bringing him home with me again was a bad idea for a good fucking reason. But could I really leave him in this bug-infested hellhole with its dirty floors and grungy couch and polluted air, a complete stranger marching through his bedroom multiple times a day, nothing but a stained mattress to sleep on? He didn’t even have any sheets! I shuddered at the thought of it.