Chasing Vivi

by A. M. Hargrove

  Granddad grumbles. “Oh, Prescott. I won’t tell your grandmother about that. She’d chase you around with that old wooden spoon of hers.”

  I’d like to chase Vivi around with a wooden spoon, now that I think of it.

  “I can be very persuasive when I want to be, you know.”

  “I’m sure you can be. I’m old, but I do have my memory.”

  We both chuckle at that one. I’m sure Granddad was a player until he met Grand. He’s still a charmer with the opposite sex.

  “And, Granddad, that idea about Denver …” I let my voice trail off.

  “I understand. We’ll table it. If the need arises over there, we can rethink it at a later date. Just focus on recentering yourself, son.”

  I work well past ten, catching up on things I’ve been slack on lately and then go home to change. When I’m there I start thinking about what Granddad said about telling Vivi. I toss a bourbon back, because the thought of it sets me on edge.

  Picking up the phone, I call Weston. When he answers, I check to see if he has a minute. Interrupting him on a Friday night isn’t something I like to do. He lets me know it’s fine, so I call Harrison and loop him into the conversation.

  “What’s the deal, Scotty? It must be bad to get us all on board,” Harrison asks.

  “Yeah. It’s about Vivi.”

  “Vivi?”

  “Vivi Renard.” And I fill Harrison in on what’s going on with her since I haven’t talked to him about it.

  “Holy shit. I remember you mentioning her when we went to dinner that night. So you’re banging ViviVoom, then?”

  “If you ever call her that again, I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp.”

  “Dude, back it off a little. I didn’t mean anything by it, okay?”

  “She was bullied by those assholes at Crestview. Were you one of them, Harrison?”

  “No! I never did shit like that. It was what the girls called her. Calm it down, man.”

  “Hey, Scotty, it’s cool, okay? He didn’t mean anything by it,” Weston chimes in.

  “Okay, yeah.”

  “So, brother, what do you need?” Weston asks.

  “I have to tell her. The whole fucking story. And you know how I am about that.”

  “Fuck. Listen, just do it, and get it over with. If she’s worth having a relationship with, she’ll be cool and levelheaded about it,” Harrison says.

  “It’s me I’m worried about.”

  “Prescott, I’ve told you this before. The situation was bad but the perception in your mind is worse.”

  “Yeah, well, I doubt that.”

  “Think about Special and me. We had a shit-ton of obstacles to overcome, yet we did it. I know you’ll be good, man.” Weston wears rose-colored glasses ever since he fell in love. I envy the hell out of him.

  Our three-way conversation continues with them eventually convincing me to tell Vivi. They have a point. If she knows, everything about me will be out in the open. So far my opening up has only made her like me more, and I have no reason to believe she’d ever use this information against me in any way. So I agree.

  After we’re done discussing my shit, I’m on my third bourbon, which is stupid, because I need a clear head, when Harrison mentions something about Midnight Drake being home from rehab. I’m only half paying attention because I’m still trying to figure out what to say to Vivi.

  “Good luck with it all,” I say.

  “Hey, same to you.”

  We end the call wishing each other a Merry Christmas in case we don’t talk again. It’s a little after eleven, so I get ready to head to The Meeting Place. Vivi doesn’t get off until one, but I can wait for her there. I’m on my fourth drink and feeling the buzz. My alcohol consumption has decreased significantly in the last month or two, so it doesn’t take me nearly as much to get drunk. Right before I head out, I decide to hit the pipe. A little herbal encouragement might ease the tension between my shoulder blades, not to mention in my skull.

  On the way there, I realize that hit off the bowl wasn’t the best idea. I’m completely buzzed. What the fuck was I thinking? Maybe it’ll be too dark and crowded in there for her to notice. The last thing I want is for Vivi to see me completely hammered.

  When I get out of the car, I stumble onto the sidewalk and nearly fall as I bump into someone. Excusing myself, I head inside. Thank God it’s packed. Weaving my way up to the bar, I spy her as she awkwardly makes drinks with the broken arm. I have to hand it to her, though, she doesn’t miss a beat. She laughs at something a customer says and keeps on working.

  Eventually, I get a seat at the bar, but it takes a lot of wedging my way in here and there. At last I order my favorite bourbon from my favorite girl.

  “I wondered when you’d show up.”

  “And here I am. You’re pretty handy there with that arm.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She offers me a grin as she slides me my drink. “You wouldn’t believe what I can do one-handed.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Uh-huh.” Then she races to the next customer, leaving me to my drink and my whacked thoughts. Jesus, why the hell am I so cracked about this? It’s Vivi and she’ll be fine. She knows most of it, except for the finer details.

  Uh, right. Beckham. You left out that little detail where you didn’t speak for a year.

  I guzzle my drink and slam my glass on the bar. She hears it and looks at me with a raised brow. I toss her an I’m sorry look but raise my glass to let her know I need another.

  “Thirsty tonight?” she asks.

  “Something like that.” My words are slurred. It’s loud in here and I hope she doesn’t notice. Maybe I should’ve gotten a table so she can’t count the number of drinks I have. “Why don’t you get me a couple? Then you won’t have to bother with me so much.”

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Sure.” I give her my best smile, but my lips feel a little numb.

  She’s giving me odd looks, but I can’t do anything about that. She brings me two bourbons. At this rate, she’s going to have to walk me home and not the other way around.

  Two hours later, I’m completely shitfaced.

  We get ready to leave and the stagger I unsuccessfully try to disguise is an all-out indication of my state of sobriety.

  “Prescott, you’re tanked.”

  “Completely. Let’s go. There’s a car waiting.”

  “Why did you drink so much?”

  “Because I had to.”

  When we get to the car, I almost face plant on the curb, but somehow, I do a little twirl thing and laugh it off as a dance move. “Weston would be impressed.”

  “Weston?”

  “You wouldn’t believe the way the man can dance. He’s a regular Justin Timberlake.”

  “Uh-huh. And you’re absolutely gray goosed.”

  She made a funny. I slap my knee and howl like a wolf. Then I think on that.

  “Little Wolf is funny.” Then I go, “A-Woo,” in my best wolf imitation.

  She pats me on the back. I’m not sure if she thinks it’s good or not.

  The ride home is a blur but when we get to my place, she half drags me to the elevator as I wave to the guys at the desk. When the doors close, it’s only the two of us and I know I have to say something.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have had so many boo-bons.” Jeez, I’m trying not to slur, but it’s so hard.

  “I can’t imagine why you drank so much.”

  “There’s something I have to tell you, and it scares me. I hate to talk about it, so I guess I got drunk.” My brain tells me I sound a lot clearer to myself than I’m sure she hears.

  We get to my floor and I stumble to the door. When we get inside, she helps me to the bedroom.

  “Let me get you some water,” she says.

  I’m brushing my teeth or trying to anyway when she returns. I have more toothpaste on my face than in my mouth.

  “You look like a toddler,” she says.

&nbs
p; “Ishthatbad?”

  She pulls the toothbrush out of my hand and tells me to spit and rinse. Then she wipes my face off.

  “Can I kish you, Vivi?”

  She gives me a quick kiss. It’s not enough, so I pout. Her hand reaches for mine and then she tugs me into the bedroom. “Lie down, mister. I think you need to sleep.”

  “No, no. I need to tell you something. It’s why I drank so much.”

  Her hand shoves me backward and I plop on the bed. She takes off my shoes and I look up at her sadly.

  “I’m such an idiot. I had it all planned. I was going to tell you my stupid secret. And now look at me. I’m so stupid drunk you won’t listen to me.”

  She lies down next to me and takes my hand. “What is so awful that you had to get so hammered to tell me?”

  I roll on my side, and a dizzy wave smacks me in the head, but I don’t let it deter me. Staring at her, I say, “You’re so pretty. Have I ever told you this? I mean absofuckinglutely smack me in the balls beautiful.”

  She snickers.

  “No, no.” I reach for her hair and take a piece of it in my fingers. “You probably think I tell all the girls that, but I never do.”

  “Prescott, I’m glad. And thank you.”

  “But that’s not what I wanted to tell you. Well I did, but I didn’t. God, you have the most expressive eyes. I used to envision them as I imagined us fucking. I’d get lost in them.” I twirl her hair in my fingers. “I don’t suppose that was a particularly romantic thing to say, was it?”

  “Actually, it was pretty sexy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what did you want to tell me?”

  “Oh, right.” Taking a deep breath, I sort out my thoughts for a second because they’re pretty fucking scrambled right now. “So, my mom committed suicide when I was a kid. I was eight years old when it happened.” I stop for a second as the memory nearly overwhelms me. “When I got home from school that day, the nanny who usually picked me up went to the kitchen to fix me a snack. Mom always met us in there. That day she didn’t, so I went looking for her. She wasn’t out back in the gardens, where she could be found sometimes. So I checked the other rooms. I remember calling out her name. It was weird because she was always waiting for me to get home and so happy to see me. She would ask me all kinds of questions about school. But not that day. So I went upstairs into Mom and Dad’s bedroom. I found her there. In the bathtub. She’d slit her wrists. She must’ve been there a while because there was blood everywhere. Their bathroom was white and all I can remember was the stark contrast of the red against the white tub and white marble floor, where one of her arms dangled over the edge of the tub. I called out her name and rubbed her hair. Mom had pretty hair. It was dark brown and long. I hugged her face and grabbed her arm. Then I sat down on the floor next to the tub and was there when the nanny found me.

  “The nanny called my grandparents and the police. It was obvious my mom was dead. The pool of blood I was sitting in had congealed, but to my eight-year-old eyes, I was unaware. The shock that Mom had even been contemplating suicide threw everyone the biggest curve ball, but most of all me. To me, my mom was the sweetest, happiest, most loving person in the world. I remember her reading me bedtime stories, taking me to the park, playing hide and seek and doing the fun things that moms did with their kids. I don’t have those fond memories of my dad. And suddenly, she was gone with the snap of the fingers. And that was the day I stopped talking.

  “I didn’t speak a word for over a year. My grandparents took me to every specialist, psychologist, and psychiatrist they could find. I was hospitalized for a month. But no one could get me to say a word. Dad yelled at me a lot. But nothing. I lived a mute existence. I wasn’t catatonic, which everyone always asks, because I was responsive. I simply wouldn’t speak.”

  I sigh and suddenly in that space, Vivi is talking.

  “Oh, God, Prescott. First off, you were traumatized. It must’ve been so frightening.”

  My intoxicated self gazes at her eyes—eyes that are glazed and clouded with pain on my behalf. I don’t want her to hurt for me. That wasn’t my intention. I only wanted her to understand the whole story.

  I reach for her cheek and touch her smooth skin. “I don’t remember being scared. I only recall not wanting them to take her away in the ambulance. They stuck her in the black body bag and covered her face, and I kept thinking she wouldn’t be able to breathe. I didn’t understand the concept of death. That’s what the problem was and no one knew how to explain it to me. It really fucked me up, Vivi. It caused me to push away from people, especially women. I’m sorry.” I scrub my face.

  “For what?”

  “Everything. Getting so drunk tonight. Being an ass to you all those times. For not being the man you want me to be.”

  “How can you know what kind of a man I want you to be? You’ve never asked me.”

  “Okay. I’m asking now.”

  She leans into me and kisses my cheek. “As much as I want to discuss this, we need to table this until the morning, when you have a clearer head. This is too important to talk about when your brain is fuzzy with alcohol.”

  “You’re probably right. How come you’re so smart?”

  “I’m not. Look at all the time I wasted when I was pushing you away.”

  “Thank you for listening to me. I was afraid to tell you. I’ve only told about six people this story. Well, now seven.”

  “I Googled you. At the beginning. There wasn’t anything about your mom.”

  “Granddad probably took care of that years ago.”

  “Prescott, I’ll never ever breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  “I know. It’s why I told you.”

  She gets up and I ask her where she’s going. “To borrow a T-shirt. I can’t sleep in this.”

  “Ah, all right. Hurry back.”

  All I know is everything feels right with the world as I close my eyes. That’s true until I open them again to the blaring sun and a pounding hangover. Fucking bourbon.

  Chapter 30

  Vivi

  Prescott fell asleep before I could make it back to bed. I lie here thinking about his tragic story. How awful to find your mother dead in a pool of blood. The terror of that alone, but then to not be able to express yourself about it for over a year? The puzzle pieces fall into place as I think on his behavior and the dominant part of his personality. His need for control isn’t surprising after how utterly out of control he must’ve felt as a child. And now, the way he’s extending himself, reaching out to me, makes my heart clench, because I can’t begin to imagine how big of a leap this is for him.

  In the morning, he sleeps soundly, allowing me to watch him unobserved. His face is relaxed and free of the usual lines that crease his forehead. He looks so innocent lying here, without a care in the world. I wonder if he’s dreaming. I decide to get up and surprise him with a pancake breakfast. After I brush my teeth, I go to the kitchen where I find everything I need.

  The refrigerator is stocked, thanks to his housekeeper. Gerard, his cook, has left dinner here, but not breakfast. Pulling out everything I need, I get the bacon started first. Then I brew some coffee. Prescott will need some juice, water, and ibuprofen, so I gather those together and leave them on his nightstand with a notecard. All it says is: For you.

  Back to my pancakes, I whip up the batter and start cooking them in batches. They can keep warm in the warming drawer. The bacon is ready, so I pop it in there too, after stealing a piece. There’s nothing tastier than crispy bacon.

  All the pancakes are cooked and in the warmer, so I cut up some oranges to look pretty on the plates. Everything is ready, so all we need to do is serve it up. As I make sure all the counters are wiped off, my phone buzzes. It’s Vince calling.

  “Hey, Vince.”

  “I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. I’m headed out of town for the week to visit family and then I’ll be back. Sorry we didn’t catch u
p for lunch, but between studying, exams, and work, I didn’t have a chance to break away. You doing okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m better, actually. I, uh, landed an IT job at Whitworth.”

  “At Whitworth? Would that have anything to do with a certain guy you went to school with?”

  I let out a happy giggle. “It might. I’ll explain it all when I see you. Is Milli going with you?”

  “She is. I’m introducing her to the family for the first time.”

  “Ahh. Good luck. I’m sure they’ll love her. Have a great time and Merry Christmas. Call after the first. We’ll get together then.”

  “Sure thing.”

  It was nice to hear Vince’s voice. I hope his family likes his girlfriend since it sounds like they’re pretty serious. I’m sipping my coffee and reading the news on my phone when I hear a loud groan.

  “Uurrgghh. My head.”

  Laughing, I say, “That’s what too much bourbon will do to you. Did you take the ibuprofen I left for you?”

  “Yeah. Thank you.”

  He comes up to me and kisses me. “But it won’t work fast enough.”

  “You need food. Hydration and replenishment.”

  He nods and sits next to me. I start to get up, but he stops me.

  “Vivi, I just want to, uh, I …”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No. I want to talk about what we talked about last night. My memory is fuzzy. Did I tell you?”

  “About your mother?”

  “Yeah.” He looks almost scared.

  “It’s okay, Prescott. You told me everything. How you found her and didn’t speak for over a year.” I move to put my arms around him.

  “And you’re okay with this?”

  “No, I’m not. It’s awful you had to go through that. It’s a terrible thing for anyone to endure, but for an eight-year-old—well, it’s just horrific. I’m so sorry for you.”

  “I don’t want your pity.”

  This is going to be a difficult thing, I realize.

  “Do I look like I pity you? I empathize with you, but not pity you. My gosh, to go through that and then to live locked in silence, where you couldn’t explain your feelings to anyone must’ve been torture.”