Saying Yes to the Mess
Page 15
“Darius, you joining us after all.” Jimmy bundled into his down coat and New Jersey Devils hat.
“Sorry, no,” Darius said, being sure to keep his eyes from finding Rylee. “Going to see my old man for a bit.”
Jake punched Darius’s shoulder. “Make sure you stop by. I want to take a photo with everyone for social media. You need to be part of that—front and center, actually. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Don’t be too long.”
****
Darius watched his father sleep, his dinner untouched on its tray. The coagulating gloppy food was nothing short of disgusting. How did anybody eat this shit? His father couldn’t have solid foods until, or if, he passed what they called a “swallow test.” So unless that happened, he’d be given this putrid-smelling mound of gray matter on a dish. Darius’s stomach pitched.
His father stirred, grumbled, and sucked in a loud breath. His eyes flittered open, and he tried to focus his gaze. His gray-blue eyes had been so sharp, so assessing, so telling, back when he had a quick mind working its wheels behind them. Now they were flat disks.
“You’re awake,” Darius said.
His father’s mouth pulled down into an exaggerated frown. “Get this crap out of here.” He gave his table a shove, and the tray slid sideways and tipped over the edge, spilling the gunk all over the floor with gooey spots dotting the bed sheets and one of Darius’s pant legs.
“Oh shit.” Darius jumped up from the chair. He grabbed at a stack of paper towels and blotted his messed jeans. “Jesus.”
“Don’t just stand there,” his father barked. “Clean this up.”
“Let me get somebody.” He went to the door and peered down the hallway, looking for an orderly or somebody. “Hey, can we get a hand in here?” he shouted to a tall guy pushing a mop bucket.
The guy came into the room and assessed the damage, assured him they’d get his father cleaned up “in a jiffy” and asked through the intercom for a nurse’s aide to come in to help Pop change. The aide, a middle-aged woman named Sadie, popped in with an armload of linens. A grin claimed her lipsticked mouth.
“What happened, Mitch?” she said with a hint of whimsy, as if Pop were a rambunctious yet adorable puppy with a bedroom slipper caught in his teeth. The mop guy whistled, as if instead of performing his disgusting task, he were picking daisies. What kind of people were these? Where did one find folks like this, and did they exist in state-run facilities? The chance that his father would not be taken as good care of as he was now at The Memory Center made him feel worse. He didn’t want to fail this old man.
He looked at the old guy as the kind hands of The Memory Center employees cleaned him. When they were through, the woman, Sadie, ran a soft hand over the crown of Pop’s head. “All better now,” she cooed. “You feel better now, Mitch?”
Somehow he needed to keep his father right where he was.
“Are you hungry, Pop?”
The old man tried to focus his gaze. “Who are you?”
“Pop, it’s me. Darius.”
“Oh.” His mouth curled into a craggy, garish grin. “Hi, son. Didn’t see you there.”
Pop did not remember lashing out at him—the harshness of his behavior was just another aspect of his disease. Mitch Wirth had been a tough but good guy before this bastard Alzheimer’s had come calling. But the agitated episode was over for now.
“You remember your dinner tray fell? Want me to get you something to eat?”
“I don’t care.” His father yawned. “Where’s your mother?”
There was no use in going through the conversation again. It would only serve to upset his father. Instead he said, “I’ll be right back.” He left the room in search of someone who could get him a can of that sick-smelling protein drink his father managed to ingest and keep down.
He came back with the can, a straw jabbed into the open top. “Look, I brought you a milkshake.”
His father accepted the can into his feeble grasp. He took a sip. “Where’s your lady friend?”
“How’s that?”
“You know, that girl you brought with you yesterday.”
Rylee had been with him for a visit several days ago, not yesterday. He was surprised, though, that his father even remembered her, but that was another thing about the disease. Short-term memory still had a chance of surfacing.
“You mean Rylee?”
“Yeah, the pretty girl with the boy name.”
Darius smiled. His father could always tell a pretty lady. His mother would tease him about it, call him a shameless flirt if he’d been caught charming a waitress for an extra dollop of ice cream on his apple pie or some such favor.
“Yes, that’s her.” Darius consulted his watch. It was getting near time for him to head over to the restaurant and join the others. First, though, he’d need to go to the men’s room and clean his pant leg with some soap and water. “I have to leave pretty soon, Pop. I’m going to go see her, as a matter of fact.”
“Is your mother gone?” The old man put the drink onto his tray and rested his head against his pillows. “She died, didn’t she? I’ve lost her.”
Darius’s chest locked. He couldn’t avoid this now. “Yes.”
Quick tears flooded his rheumy eyes. That was another thing. Mitch had never been the type to cry, never prone to tears. But this was now.
He went over to his father and laid a hand on his shoulder. He was skinny, his bones sharp under thin skin.
“You know something, though, Pop. She’s still in your heart, right?”
“Who is?”
Now tears sprang into his own eyes. The moment was over. Pop was back into his fog, and what hurt right now was that it was a relief. Reliving the pain of losing his beloved Arabella over and over was just too much.
He patted his father. “I’m going to head out, Pop. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
But his father had already closed his eyes, and the rhythmic sound of his mucusy intake and exhale of breath told him Pop was already asleep. Darius pulled the can of protein drink from his loose grasp and placed it on his father’s table.
****
The Wirth More people and the sponsors from the paper company were buying drinks all around, and Rylee was on her second champagne cocktail. While she nibbled on a triangle of chicken quesadilla, she strained to listen to the conversation going on around her. The energy was high among the show’s crew, and the guys in suits from Parker Paper were all puffed up with their self-imposed importance.
Everyone was abuzz about the upcoming fashion show, and the paper execs thought that it would be a fine way to end the show’s season. The people from Wirth More beamed at their words, but Jake was kind of quiet. It seemed odd. He was one of those guys who liked to be out there, high-fiving all over the place and acting all proud, as if he’d singlehandedly pulled this all off. But tonight he and his drink of some dark liquid on the rocks just watched, his steady gaze zeroed in on her.
What was his problem? Rylee sipped her drink. She had other things to worry about. Like wrestling with a duality of wishes. She hoped Darius would skip this event entirely so she wouldn’t have to see him and be near him and pretend she wasn’t into him. The stronger wish whipped around inside her with zooming velocity—wanting him to arrive. She downed the rest of her drink in time for a waiter to deliver her a third.
Before she could take a single sip of the new champagne cocktail, the door to Jabberwocky’s opened, and God help her, the pirate filled the room with his presence.
****
He kept his distance from Rylee yet was troubled that she may feel slighted by his obvious lack of attention. Jake’s eyeballs were on him, and Darius didn’t like the smirk on the guy’s face. He ordered himself a Jameson and joined in a conversation with his coworkers. All the while, though, he sensed Jake’s penetrating gaze.
“Hey, Darius,” one of the guys from Parker Paper called from where he sat at the bar. “Join us.”
He made his way over to the sponsor reps and did his best to ignore the brunette across the room. But the more days that went by, the more he found himself thinking about her, wondering about her.
A couple of women at the bar eyeballed the crowd, craning their necks to try to listen. Darius wondered if they recognized him from the show, but their attention seemed to be directed toward Rylee. Maybe one of them was a would-be bride interested in the upcoming fashion show, and if that was the case, he hoped they’d approach her. It would be great for Parker’s folks to see that the locals were responding to their ads. The women made their way over to Rylee, and he slid his eyes to Jake to make sure he was paying attention. This would keep the guy happy.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Excuse me.” A tall redhead with glasses tapped her on the shoulder. “We just wanted to say hi and tell you how inspiring you are.”
Rylee put down her empty drink glass. What? Inspiring? “I’m not sure what you mean.” She looked around to see that Kit and the other girls from her shop had stopped talking and were listening in.
The woman accompanying the redhead, a black girl with a bright-eyed look and killer lashes, held a hand to her chest. “You have no idea how many women’s lives you’re touching.”
Now she laughed. Maybe it was the champagne sloshing around in her stomach, but the idea that these people were telling her that she was an inspiration was just that—laughable. “Ladies, really, I think you’ve got the wrong girl. Trust me.”
The redhead pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled. “You’re the one who’s going to be on that show, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“Look”—the woman showed Rylee the face of her cell phone—“this video says it all.”
With that, the woman pushed the button to start the video. It was a commercial about the show and the upcoming episode. Darius, looking fine in a black button-down shirt, spoke into the camera. He said he was proud of this upcoming episode. He was particularly excited to help a young woman who was given the monumental task of following in her grandmother’s footsteps. His opinion made her feel good. Somehow his approval meant so much. She couldn’t help herself. She lifted her gaze to him, and he met her eyes with an appreciative look. Zoom.
“Here’s the best part,” one of the women said, and Rylee turned her attention back to the video.
It was a clip of her on the night at Jo-Jo’s Java House. The first shot was of her outside picking up the big old hairball of a coat from the ground from where she’d thrown it. It showed her shrugging herself into it, the bag of her belongings from Freddie’s apartment clutched in her hand. The ridiculous red purse that had been a birthday gift from her grandmother only served to make her look like a crazy bag lady.
Then the video went to the scene of her inside the coffee shop letting Darius pay for her coffee. The voice-over told of how Wirth More was proudest of helping someone who couldn’t even pay for her own coffee.
What the hell! Rylee’s insides squeezed, nearly choking all the air from her lungs.
Kit was at her side, wrapping her arm around Rylee’s shoulders. She pulled her close and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”
Darius came toward her from the bar. His face was contorted in concern, eyebrows pitched in on themselves, lush mouth pulled into a thin seam on his face. Asshole. All the venom that churned within her wanted her to go to him and unleash the wrath going on inside her. But she bit it back, drew blood in the effort.
Turning to the two women at her side, she manufactured a smile. They’d meant well, and with people from both the sponsor and the show still lingering nearby, she couldn’t mouth off. This damn episode had to air. The damn contract said so. “Ladies, thank you for coming over to say hello. That video isn’t exactly accurate, but the episode of the show should be fun to watch.”
Then she turned to her friend. “Kit, ready?”
Kit grabbed their coats from the backs of their chairs, and they headed toward the door. Darius was there to greet them. “Not now, buddy,” Kit said. She motioned her head to the onlooking crowd of people from their party. “If you know what’s good for you. Not now.”
His eyes implored Rylee. “Listen to me for just a minute.”
She met his gaze and shot a hot whisper. “Go to hell.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Back at her apartment Rylee and Kit sat on her sofa in silence. Rylee’s mind reeled. How could he? How could he exploit her this way? What the hell was wrong with her that she actually thought Darius Wirth was one of the good ones?
“You want some wine or something?” Kit stood. “What do you have?”
“No, thanks. I just want this to be over. I can’t believe we’ve got to film that damn fashion show. Why can’t it be done already?”
The doorbell rang, and it jarred her insides. She caught Kit’s gaze. “Can you get it? If it’s him, tell him to go to hell.”
“Gladly.” Kit went to the door.
A moment later she returned, and the look on her face told Rylee she wasn’t going to like what she had to say. Before any words could form on Rylee’s lips, she saw there was someone standing behind Kit. Zen Angie. Shoot me now.
“Honey bun.” Her mother dashed across the room to the couch and plopped herself down. “I saw the commercial. Dreadful. Just ridiculous. And whose coat was that you were wearing?”
“Mom.” Rylee closed her eyes. She was suddenly bone tired. All she wanted was to be alone and hope that sleep would overtake her. “I can’t talk about this now.”
“Well, of course you don’t want to. It’s terrible is what it is.”
“Um, I think maybe I should go,” Kit said.
Rylee met her gaze and tried to convey that she wanted her to take Zen Angie with her. “I’m exhausted. I think maybe I’ll just go to bed.”
“You can go, Kit. I’m here now.” Zen Angie tapped Rylee’s knee.
All the years of her life when Rylee had needed her mother’s undivided attention, all the moments when her grandmother had been the one to dry her tears or the one who had taken her shopping for a party dress, she had wished for her mother. But not now. Tonight even Rosie herself wouldn’t have been able to make this go away.
“Mom, I appreciate you coming over. But I think I’m just going to take a shower and go to bed.”
Rylee would not let that pout on her mother’s face affect her. This was not about Angie and her fragile ego. As much as she’d craved a doting mother when she was a little girl, she didn’t want that now. She wanted her dignity, and no, it was not in this apartment tonight.
Kit, back in her coat and scarf, leaned down and hugged Rylee. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, friend. You sure you’re good?”
She plastered on a big jack-o-lantern smile. “I’m ducky.”
Kit turned to Angie. “Want to walk out with me?”
God bless you, Kit.
“I think I’ll stick around a bit.”
“Mom, it’s okay. Really.”
Rylee knew the drill. This was the part where the old Angie would have caused a scene, made it all about herself and rant about how her one and only ungrateful daughter had slighted her. But, no. Zen Angie settled herself on the sofa and folded her arms.
“Go take your shower, honey bun. I’ll make us cups of tea.”
After Kit left, Rylee went into the bathroom, tugged off her clothing as if she were mad at it, and stepped into a too-hot shower. She let the spray drench her, heat up her cold, cold skin, penetrating to the bone. Something about being in the shower made her think. It was a place where her mind opened up in the humidity.
The shower was like being in a tiled and wet confession booth. And the truth was that, yeah, that ad made her look pathetic, and in her life so far, she’d had plenty of pathetic moments. Now it was documented for all the world to see, so that was ducky. But she was angered and disappointed to her heart’s capacity that Darius Wirth was a dickhead just like all the others.
Rylee hadn’t heard that bitter tone come from her mother in years now that meditation had become her daily practice. She stood by the closed door and listened. With each syllable that came through the door, her heart quickened. It was him. Darius. Oh shit.
She was tempted to climb out the bathroom window and slide down the drainpipe to her car and drive away forever, but then she remembered she wasn’t in an episode of The Three Stooges. She had no choice but to face this guy. She cinched the belt of her robe and opened the bathroom door.
****
When he saw her, he looked relieved. Angie, however, hands on her hips, acting all mother hen-like, kind of made Rylee want to laugh. This was a fun new version of her mother. Maybe Angie would even slap Darius. One could hope.
“What are you doing here?” Rylee stood next to her mother. That felt good too. Partners in detest.
“I came to explain.”
“I told him where he can shove his explanation.” Angie stood tall, shoulders square.
“Mom, it’s okay.” She surprised herself with the calmness that had blanketed her. “I’ve got this. There are a couple of things I’d like to say to him.”
“Oh, me too,” Zen-Free Angie said. She fixed her stance.
Rylee put her hand on her mother’s arm. “Mom, thank you. Really. But you go on home. I’ll call you later.”
Disappointment painted her face, but her mother was giving up. “If you’re sure,” she said quietly.
“Yes, Mom.”
The whole time Rylee’s eyes were on Darius. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, if deer were ever pirates.