The restaurant. 7:30
I text her back.
Dogs or cats?
She hits me with: Neither. Fox.
Isn’t she something? Maybe I should just call her Foxy. But that won’t work since she’s already my Little Wolf. It’s almost six. I better get a move on if I’m going to find a stuffed fox before I pick her up. I have to drive uptown to make the purchase and bribe them to stay open, too. But I make it worth their while.
When I get to the restaurant, I’m early, so I leave my little surprise in the backseat, get out of the car, and wait a few doors down. She comes out and sees the waiting vehicle, with the driver standing next to the door. She greets him as he opens the door for her, but when she gets a look at what’s sitting on the seat, she throws her head back and lets out a loud belly laugh that can be heard all the way down the street.
I jog over to the car. “You like?”
“Oh my God. This is too funny! Where did you get it?”
“Uptown. Do you like his hat?”
She tries to grab the thing out of the car, but it’s too large. It’s a giant stuffed wolf, with a cowboy hat that rests on its head at a jaunty angle. The thing is ridiculously funny because it has a stupid little grin. What makes it even better is that on its lap is a baby fox, also wearing a hat.
“The hat’s the best. Maybe I can borrow it sometime.”
“Nah, your ears won’t fit through.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hers are stuffed through the little holes on top.”
“Ahh. I see. This is perfect. Thank you for Mr. Wolf.” She leans up and kisses my cheek.
“Anything for you, Little Wolf. And it’s Ms. Wolf. Couldn’t you tell by her skirt?”
She tries to hold in a laugh, but isn’t successful. “I forgot about Little Wolf.”
“I didn’t.”
“You don’t seem the type who forgets about anything.” She raises a brow.
“Mmm. You’re probably right. Come on. Let’s get out of here. Have you eaten?”
“Actually, no.”
“Good. Neither have I. What would you like?”
“You choose,” she says.
We end up at a small bistro near our homes and order dinner. She asks me about my day and I end up telling her what happened with Dad. She actively listens and is compassionate about the incident.
“Oh, Prescott, you must’ve been devastated by his behavior. I’m so sorry you had to experience that.” She grabs my hand and I want to fold. This is different from my grandmother offering me sympathy, or my grandfather understanding that my dad is a complete dick and idiot. This is Vivi, who is an outsider to this situation, but she’s empathetic and kind. It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want her to see this vulnerability.
Clearing my throat, I straighten in my seat. “It’s fine. I’m used to it by now.” A weird chuckle leaks out of me. Jesus, get a hold of yourself, dude. You sound like a girl. Then a tingling sensation sweeps up the back of my neck and over my face. I swear to God, if I’m blushing, I’ll die.
“Excuse me a second.” I tear out of my seat like a firecracker exploded in my pants. When I get to the bathroom sink, I look in the mirror and my skin is the color of a summertime tomato. What the fuck will she think of me? That I’m the biggest pussy on the damn Earth, that’s what. I have just emasculated myself.
The door opens and some dude walks in. I need to pull it together and get out of here. After I splash cold water on my cheeks, I return to a waiting and concerned Vivi.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah. For a minute there …”
“Do you want to leave?”
“We haven’t gotten our food yet,” I say.
“We can get it to go. It’s fine.”
I can’t believe my own ears when I say, “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all. You might be coming down with something.”
“Maybe.” A big fat case of pussyitis. I signal to our waiter and instruct him to make our dinner to go. He brings it a few moments later, boxed up and labeled. When I drop Vivi off, I have to help her inside because of the huge stuffed critter. She laughs all the way upstairs as I struggle with the ridiculous gift. But I’m happy she likes it. When I say good night, I thank her for listening.
“Anytime you want to talk, Prescott, call me. I’m a good listener.”
“Thanks. Good night, Vivi.”
My exterior cracked and I allowed her to see much more than I ever intended. This causes a huge problem, because now I appear weak and defenseless to her. It’s the exact thing that occurred with my dad. The singular time I opened up, took a chance, and laid everything on the table with him, it backfired—and our relationship never was the same. It deteriorated bit by bit, until I don’t even have any type of connection with him anymore. Now what the hell do I do?
There’s one person who can calm me down.
The phone rings twice before he answers, “Prescott. What’s going on?”
“Weston, I need to talk. And I may need for you to put Special on if she’s there.”
“What’s going on?”
“Woman problems.”
“You?” And then the fucker starts laughing.
“This isn’t funny. Not in the least.”
“Calm down and tell me what’s happened.”
“Before I do, get Special on. She won’t give me shit like you do.”
“You sure about that?”
The way he says it makes me speculate, but I need another woman’s opinion. My gut tightens, but damn, I know their history and it’s not that different from mine.
“No, but do it.”
I hear him yell, “Spike, come here for a sec. Prescott’s on the phone and needs our advice.” That crazy ass nickname of his brings a brief smile to my face.
When all three of us are on the phone, I tell my Vivi story, the condensed version, leaving out as much Prescott-assholery as possible. There are parts where it’s impossible not to. Besides, Special knows me. She’s heard all the stories from her husband and me.
“First off, I can’t believe you did some of that shit to her,” Special says.
“You don’t have to go there. I already know how bad that is. What I need to know is …” What exactly do I need?
“Yes?” They’re waiting.
“Right. So my relationship with my dad sucks. It’s the worst. The last time I opened up to anyone, other than Westie or Harry, it was with him and backfired so bad that—”
“Stop. You can’t compare everyone to your dad. He’s a jerk,” Weston says.
“Not only that, if you go around acting like a d-bag, she’s going to put up her walls and refuse to ever have anything to do with you,” Special says. “What exactly do you want with her? Just another notch in your belt?”
“What?”
Weston cracks up. “Yeah, she used that term with me, too. It’s from Mimi. Her grandmother.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m old-fashioned. What can I say? So, back to the point, do you just want to fuck her?” Special asks.
“Is that important?” I ask.
“Yes, you idiot. If you only want that, why does any of it matter? Do what you have to do to accomplish your goal, fuck her, then move on. But—and this is a gigantic but—if you want more, doing it that way could destroy a potential relationship. See, to me, it sounds like Vivi wants to see more of what’s inside of Prescott. And maybe by opening up to her you really haven’t fucked up. It could be the best thing you’ve ever done. Stop worrying about it and move forward. She seems really cool.”
It all sounds so goddamn easy, but … “Yes, but now I’m weak.”
“Weak? How are you weak?” Special asks.
“Because she could use what I told her against me. When someone knows these kinds of things, it’s easy for them to destroy you with that knowledge. That’s what happened to me with my dad. And being vulnerable isn’t something I’m comfortable with.”
> “Are you deaf? Jesus, you can’t compare her to your father,” Weston says. “Your father is a narcissist. He’s never had your best interests at heart. When did he ever give a shit about you? Don’t you remember how we compared notes at Crestview? Our dads sucked. Vivi doesn’t sound like the type that would do anything remotely similar to what your dad did. Think about the things she’s already done. Her behavior is miles away from his.”
“I suppose.”
“Relax and put yourself in her shoes. What would Vivi do? Ask yourself those questions,” Special says.
“You’re right. I knew I needed a woman’s perspective. Thank you, Special.”
“Just don’t fuck her over or I’ll come up there and kick your ass for being such a dick.”
“Got it, Spike,” I say.
After the call, the looming question hanging over me is what exactly do I want with Vivi? The day I saw her in the coffee shop, my first reaction was to fuck her. Then in the next few episodes after that, I was convinced I’d do it. Now, I’m not so sure.
She didn’t go for that plan, didn’t fall straight into my arms like all the other women I know. Vivi has turned out to be different in every possible way. And it looks like I’m changing a bit myself. No, make that a lot. The old Prescott would’ve walked away without a second glance. Though, I’m not a hundred percent sure if I like the new one yet.
The fact that I’ve engaged the help of Eric makes everything even worse. He’s the one who told me she was working at The Meeting Place, and when they’d be running that Sunday. I probably should’ve kept him out of it, but my devious mind wouldn’t leave it alone. The amount of guilt I feel over it stuns me. It’s a goddamn noose around my neck. I’ll make it up to Eric and hold up my end of the bargain. If he’s a good interior designer, he’ll end up making money and a name for himself because of it. But if Vivi ever finds out he helped me, we’re both fucked.
Chapter 17
Vivi
It came out of nowhere when Prescott opened up to me. I wasn’t expecting him to share such an intimate detail about his life, but it makes him much more … human. The cold exterior he displays is replaced by something less inhibited. He reminded me of the carefree Prescott from Crestview, even though he never shared anything from his personal life back then. The Prescott of today is locked as tight as a vault and withdrawn, but he’s also cocky, arrogant, and confrontational. Now I can see why. Or at least I’m beginning to get a little insight into it. If this is one situation with his father, I can only imagine what it must’ve been like growing up with him.
An image of my dad cutting the turkey at Thanksgiving one year pops into my head. He was the worst turkey slicer ever. Mom used to call him the annihilator. He’d run around the dining room table making what he thought were gobbler noises. I’m not sure if they were, but he’d chase me and I’d threaten not to eat a bite of the bird. When he was finished mutilating Mom’s masterpiece, she would sigh, and then we’d all crack up before eating. We never did know if he did it on purpose or really couldn’t figure out how to cut one properly. He died before telling us. I never appreciated those times … not until after he was gone. Thanksgivings were pretty lonely after that. We tried to make up for it, but eventually gave up and went out to eat. Dad was simply irreplaceable.
“How was dinner?” Eric asks, shattering my reminiscing.
“Oh, it was sort of brief. Prescott got sick and we had to leave. That reminds me.” I grab the meal I never ate and plate it up.
“Hmm. Smells awesome.”
“Mmm. It is.”
“I hope he’s not getting that stomach bug.”
After swallowing my bite, I say, “Me too. That means I may get it. Ugh.”
Then Eric sees Ms. Wolf. “What the hell?”
“Yeah, that was waiting for me in the car when he picked me up.” I explain the meaning behind it.
“He doesn’t bother with a small intimate gift, does he?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The chocolate wasn’t extravagant.”
“No, I guess not. Hey, I wanted to ask you. What are you doing for Thanksgiving? It’s Thursday, you know.”
“Yeah.” I’ve been trying not to remind myself, but that memory I just had brought it back full force.
“So?”
“Oh, gee, Eric. I have so many plans.” I do an exaggerated sigh.
“Come home with me to my parents’.”
“No way.”
Eric is very kind and caring and the fact that he asked me is super sweet. However, I don’t think I could emotionally handle being thrust into a happy family situation right now. His posture sags and so does his expression right along with it. “Why not?” he asks. “You’d love my family. They’re the best. You’d have so much fun.”
I jump in saying, “It’s not that at all. And I’m sorry you took it that way. Thanksgiving is just a hard time for me.” That wasn’t the best thing for me to say. So I soften it with, “Besides, I have to work on Wednesday night.”
He instantly perks up. “All the more reason for you to come then. Work won’t be a problem. I can leave early Thursday morning instead. My sister and brother will be there, and so will my grandparents. You’ll fit right in, Viv. In fact, you’ll probably think your last name is Thompson and not Renard.”
I set my fork down and walk over to him, where I give him the biggest hug I can muster up. “You are the best roommate in the whole wide world and I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t met you. Seriously.”
He hugs me back. “Somehow, I have a feeling there’s a big but coming.”
“Well, yes, yes, there is. Thanksgiving is one of those holidays that was always really special to me. You know how some people love Halloween because they love dressing up? Or Christmas because they love decorating? I’m like that about Thanksgiving. It was my dad’s absolute favorite. And because of that, I get the blues every year. Pretty bad, too. That’s why I don’t want to come. It has nothing to do with your family. I know if they’re anything like you, they have to be amazing.”
“You can’t be alone, Viv. It just wouldn’t be right. I’ll be thinking of you the whole time and then my Thanksgiving will be ruined.”
“Oh, shut up. Besides, I want to be alone. Don’t you see? It’s kind of my way of having Dad and Mom with me still.”
“It’s hard for me to see it like that.”
“That’s because you still have your family. So go and be with them and do me a favor. Never take them for granted.” Now it’s his turn to hug me.
The next two days go by without a word from Prescott. I stay purposely busy so I don’t think too much about it. I text him to check up on him, and he replies with a short message saying he’s better, but that work has him in a jam. The text is a bit curt, but I ignore it and go on with my day.
I’m pulling a shift at the restaurant and then going directly to The Meeting Place, so I have a long day ahead of me. When I finish at the restaurant, I’m already tired, so I can’t think about how I’ll feel at one in the morning. The amount of money I’m bringing drives me through it.
We’re fairly busy tonight. I guess it’s because tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and most everyone has the day off. It’s also why I agreed to work. The restaurant is closed, which means I can sleep late.
Friday morning I have an interview for a position with one of the hedge funds in town. They need a new software system in their firm and are looking for someone to design one specifically for them. I’m considering giving up hope on finding a real job and maybe just doing consulting work or even these short-term projects. Though I’d love the work, it’s rather disappointing to kiss the idea of benefits goodbye.
“Hey, Vivi, I need some olives, STAT,” Lucas calls out. We keep a backup supply on my side of the bar, but when I go to find some, there aren’t any.
“We’re out. I’ll run to the back and get some.”
“Make it quick. I’ve got a couple of customers waiting on some extra dirtie
s.”
I hand him my supply as I pass, saying, “Use these. I’ll be right back.”
There’s a storage room in the rear of the bar, so I thread my way through the room, dodging customers and tables, until I reach the hallway leading to the bathroom and back exit. The door is to my right, so I open it and flip on the light. The small room is neatly organized, so I quickly spot which shelf the olives are on. As I reach for the jar, I hear the door close and suddenly I’m grabbed from behind and shoved into the wall. A body presses up against me as my arm is pulled and twisted backward so hard I scream. But a hand clamps down over my mouth and nose so I can hardly breathe.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch. You thought you had taken care of me, sent me off for good, didn’t you? Surprise. I’m back and it’s my turn now.”
My mind races as my pulse joins in. I have a single-minded focus and it’s to get away from him. One arm is useless but that still leaves me with the other. Taking my elbow, I aim for what I hope is his solar plexus. I miss, skimming his ribcage, but it gives me some wiggle room. My adrenaline surges. The arm he has wrenched behind me should be screaming, but I barely notice it. I open my mouth, making him think I’m going to scream again and his hand slips inside my mouth. Biting down as hard as I can, I taste his blood.
“You fucking bitch. You’re gonna pay for that.”
He rips my shirt from the back of my neck down and buttons go flying from the force. But I’m not done fighting. I kick back with my foot only to find air. Not stopping, my leg keeps at it like a crazed mule. If he’s going to rape me, he’ll have to work for it, by God. Fear drives me and I won’t stop until I’m either unconscious or dead. My head snaps as he fists a bunch of my hair. In that instant of shock, he spins me around and fires a jab straight to my cheek. The blow jerks my head, knocking it into the wall. I’m momentarily stunned. He’s gained an advantage and punches me in the face again and again until I’m the proverbial rag doll in his arms. He must release me, because I slide to the floor as he kicks me in the ribs.
I won’t make it out of here alive, will I?
Chasing Vivi Page 15