“What?” I ask, not following her.
“I saved question number six. I know it now,” she clarifies.
“Alright, hit me,” I say, hoping that it’s not something I’m going to have to lie about.
“Are you going to break my heart?”
“Shut up! You did not fucking ask him that? No way!” Sydney screams.
I love that I can knock on her door at 8:00 p.m., unannounced, tell her that I’ll need a ride home, and that we need to talk, and all she does is step aside and says, “I’ll get the corkscrew.” Better than that even, Syd looks at the half-naked guy on her couch and says, “Dude, the bestie’s here; hit the road.”
I tried to apologize and get a cab, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She scurried the Orlando Bloom-look-alike out the door and grabbed a bottle of wine and a bag of chips, while I started recapping every single detail of my night, ending with question number six.
“Yes, I did,” I admit. “I’ve gotta know where I stand.”
“Well, what the fuck did he say?” she asks, bouncing on the couch, spilling red wine in the process. “Fuck! Hold on.” Syd rubs the wine into her couch cushion with one of her throw pillows, and then flips the cushion over. “Perfect, good as new, now what’d he say?”
“Ummmm,” I stall, not wanting to repeat it; hearing it the first time hurt enough already.
“Fucking tell me,” she orders.
“Alright. Fine. He said, ‘Fuck Kathryn, I wanna say no way, but I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you; I don’t want to at all.” I relay, remembering the agonized look on his face as he answered my sixth question. “Then he shook his head, kissed me again, and said, ‘I’m gonna try like Hell not to.”
“Holy shit. That’s like … raw … honest … and hot as fuck,” she exclaims. “Why the fuck are you here and not on your knees in your apartment?”
“Sydney!” I scold, hating when she talks like that. “I don’t know … I’m kind of scared.”
“Scared of what? How fucking hot he is?” she asks.
“Of getting hurt! Syd, he can crush me,” I whine. “It’s so different than it ever was with Theodore.”
“Well no shit! Have you ever actually seen Theodore?” Sydney asks, rolling her eyes at the thought of comparing Theodore and Dre.
It was true though. I’ve spent a grand total of five, maybe six hours with Dre now, and I already know there’s something there, something incredible. Every time any part of his body as much as brushes up against mine, I can feel it from my toes to my neck. I just want to bust out in song, singing, “I’ve got chills; they’re multiplying.”
Honestly, I used to get butterflies and goose bumps when Theodore touched me the right way or whispered in my ear with the right amount of breath and heat. But with Dre, even when he just puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me through a gate, my knees get wobbly, my breath catches and quickens, and my heart skips multiple beats.
When Dre slid behind me on the carousel, I knew for certain that I was getting in over my head, but I wasn’t about to pull back on the reins and make it stop. I’ve reluctantly ridden roller coasters at nosebleed heights and at break-neck speeds, but yet, one kiddie carousel proved to be the most thrilling ride of my life. Everything changed the minute I felt his arms envelope me. I knew then that I would take this until the “complete and final stop.”
I can’t figure him out though and that’s the problem. One minute, he’s romantic and sensitive, and the next minute, he’s crass and cocky. I’m not going to lie; I like the complexity and mystery that he brings to the table. However, he scares me, because this feels like the calm before the storm, the bliss before the heartache. But the bottom line is, nobody ever gets what she wants without going for it. I want Dre Donley. I’m going for it.
“So who was the barely dressed man on your couch?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Ahhh, just a new guy on the set. He’s my co-star,” she answers. “He needs work, but too much for me to handle on my own. You wanna give it a shot?” she asks.
“Are you serious? How could he need work? He’s beautiful,” I wonder. The man was perfect; he was no “Dre Donley,” but was damn good-looking.
“He’s got a two-pump peter; ain’t nobody got time for that,” Syd says, waving him off. “I’m supposed to see if he’s got something, anything, we can work with.”
Sydney Rogers dropped out of college after her sophomore year of school. Syd likes to say that she “dropped out,” but that’s debatable. Academic probation and her 1.9 grade point average could have a little to do with it as well. It was mind-blowing that she scored high enough on the SAT to actually attend Georgetown, but she did. I’m still not sure how that was possible. Our high school was a joke, so her grades were high enough, I guess.
But anyway, Syd is not the most academic person around. Shortly after she dropped out, she started waiting tables at a local bar in D.C. When she realized that her tips were not paying the bills, she began stripping at one of the upscale joints in D.C., a place frequented by Senators and Congressmen. It wasn’t long before Sydney made a name for herself, bringing in the big bucks.
Sydney’s too pretty to be a stripper, even if she was making over a grand a week in tips. She knew she should be taking her talents elsewhere. Where she took them wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Sydney quickly became Ivy Sterling, adult movie star. Ivy is in high demand, because she does it all and takes it all on. I tried repeatedly to talk her out of these decisions, but the more I pressed, the more she was certain that “acting” was the career she wanted to pursue. Kyle, her brother, came to D.C. to help me talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t budge. Sydney loved the limelight, even if it only shined a dim, gray light on her.
When I got the job in Charleston at the Seaside Literary Agency, I convinced Sydney to become a “remote” actress and move to Charleston with me, so I could keep an eye on her. Whenever Syd’s director needs her, she flies to location and films. Sometimes, the film crew even comes to her in Charleston, which I prefer the most. I hate that she chose this avenue, but I can’t judge her for the choices she makes. I just have to be the friend she deserves and pray like crazy that she’s happy and safe.
I do have to admit; she’s pretty good. Sydney actually made me sit down and watch her movies, all 17 of them. It was the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been in my life, but she said that if I were a true friend, then I’d watch them and not look away. I’m scarred for life and may remain celibate for eternity, but at least I have the title “true friend.” When she is recognized in public, Sydney’s usually mortified—if I’m with her. When she’s recognized without me around, Sydney disappears, and Ivy becomes the life of the party or the restaurant or the gas station, wherever she happens to be.
Overall, Syd’s a pretty good actress with a killer body. If she were more ambitious, then she could’ve been a real model or a real actress, but she’s not. I’ve accepted it—for the most part. I just pray that someday soon some rich mogul will snatch her up, marry her, and take her out of this lifestyle. I don’t want this to be her forever; Syd deserves way more than that. Plus, I don’t know how long the career of a porn star can really last.
“Good morning, Pebbles. I’d have brought you a coffee, but I know you don’t like it,” I say, leaning against the building as Kathryn gets out of her car.
“Hmmm … I’ve nothing clever to say,” Kathryn responds, frowning. “I’m exhausted; I was up all night talking about this guy I went out with last night.” My heart rate quickens, which pisses me off, because I don’t want to be that guy, that whipped douchebag, that I could so easily turn into in her presence.
“Yeah, I heard you were with a pretty irresistible guy last night,” I brag.
“Really? You heard that? Hmmmm … that’s interesting. He was actually very resistible. I spent the evening at my girlfriend’s house,” she counters.
“Ouch,” I say, grabbing my heart. “I guess I’ll just drink this extr
a-sweet sweet tea myself then.” I start to bring the straw to my lips.
“Man, I’d do anything for that sweet tea and caffeine,” she teases, eyeing the drink in my hand.
“Anything?” I say, grinning. “Have lunch with me today, then.”
“Done! Now hand over the tea,” she says, greedily. I hand her the cup, but leave my hand on it. Our fingers overlap, and all of my senses kick into gear, revving up. Goddamn, I’m losing it.
“So Dre, did ya roll out of bed and sprint over here to see me this morning? I wouldn’t have minded if you showered and changed,” she asks, pointing out that I’m sporting the same outfit that I wore last night—and to bed.
“You could say that,” I admit sheepishly. “Or you could say that I’m about to go work out with my buddy at his hotel and plan to shower and shave after the workout … to take you to lunch.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan,” Kathryn smiles as she turns to enter the building. “However, if I were you, I’d leave out that silly shaving part. Some girls like a little scruff. I know one in particular who does.”
“Duck Dynasty here I come,” I threaten.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she says before entering the building.
After Rory and I worked out, I head over to Ariss’ Oyster Oasis to help Lanette Ariss with a few odds and ends around the restaurant before it opens. When I first got to Charleston about a year ago, I stumbled into the Oasis for a drink, just as they were closing for the night. Lanette was the only “front of the house” person working since it was so near closing time. A couple that occupied the booth in the back got into a pretty heated argument. The guy started roughing up his girlfriend, and Lanette tried to break it up. The bastard pushed Lanette back, and she fell backward, hitting her head on the bar. I’d had a pretty fucking bad day already, so I welcomed the outlet for my rage and pent up anger.
Immediately, I checked on Lanette, making sure she wasn’t hurt. Being in her early 60s, she was pretty shaken up, but relatively uninjured. The girlfriend was sobbing when the thug turned back on her. I punched him in the face, tackled him to the ground, pinned him easily, and called the cops. He was a total drugged-out loser.
The son-of-a-bitch had a domestic violence charge already. The police cuffed him and brought him down to the station. Lanette let the girlfriend take a few minutes to calm down. Lanette gave her a piece of pie and milk, and offered her a place to stay for the night. Probably not having anything else to do or anywhere else to go, the girlfriend accepted the offer. However, some time in the middle-of-the-night, the girlfriend snuck away, bailed her boyfriend out of jail, and accepted what I’m sure where heartfelt apologies and promises to never strike her again.
I’ve seen them around downtown from time-to-time, and I always have an overwhelming sense of anger to pummel the bastard and shake some sense into the girl. However, the bruises and marks on the girl remind me that people have to find their own sense of self-worth before they can better their own lives. You can’t force people to see what you see and do what you want them to do.
“Dre Donley! Thank God, you’re here, Sugar,” Lanette rushes toward me, embracing me in a bear hug. “The kegs came in a day early, and I can’t get ‘em back to the cooler alone. You know these puny busboys can’t carry them.”
“Glad to help, Lanette,” I say, smiling at her. In the past year, she’s become my confidante, a go-to person when I need a little motherly advice.
“What’s with that shit-eating grin, Doll? You holdin’ out on me with somethin’?” she asks, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Nah, I ‘d never hold out on my number one gal … But I did just want to make sure you had a table available for lunch today … out on the patio?” I question.
I hate outdoor seating, but Kathryn seems to love it. I guess I can sweat my balls off to make her happy. But really, nobody should sit outside to eat in the middle of the afternoon in South Carolina.
“Dre baby, you knows I’s always gots room for you … Wait just a second. Hold on one minute. Why you checking with me first?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips and tapping her toe.
“I just wanted to make sure, that’s all Lanette,” I say.
“How many people gonna be at this table, Dre?”
“Two,” I reply
“Rory comin’ wit ya?” she asks.
“Nope, he’s gotta work.”
“Spill it! You ain’t brought one person here before today. Now tell me what’s going on,” she orders.
After Lanette hears about my month-long stalking saga of Kathryn, she’s as giddy as a schoolgirl, making plans for my lunch date. Lanette’s more excited for my date than I am. Well, maybe. She even makes one of the bussers go steal some camellias in the gardens from some of the neighboring houses, so she can put a special bouquet on the table she’s planning to reserve for us. Lanette loves flowers and greenery, but she’d never cut down any of her own.
“Dre, I just can’t wait to meet her. I’ve been wondering about you,” she admits. “All pretty boy and never bringing any young women around. It’s good to know my instincts were right. You’s just a picky one—not a prissy one,” she says, laughing loudly.
“Lanette! You didn’t really think I was gay, did you?” I ask, somewhat offended.
“I hoped not, but ya never know in this day in age. Everyone always experimentin’ with something … or someone,” she says, shaking her head.
Kathryn and I are laughing hysterically as we enter the Ariss’ Oyster Oasis, which visibly thrills Lanette. On the way over, I attempted to woo Kathryn and make her swoon, but I inevitably made myself look like a total douchebag instead. I mentioned how I loved a certain book (the book I saw that she was raving about on Facebook). I’d picked it up at the library and tried to get through it, but it was a snooze fest.
Seriously, it’s amazing what people find entertaining. I tried to “wing” it, but she caught on immediately, and asked me about what I thought about so and so and this and that. I answered like the scholar I was pretending to be. However, the events and people she mentioned weren’t actually in the book. Kathryn had caught me, and instead of making it a big deal, she was actually flattered by my effort. I do however have to finish it before she’ll see me again. Kathryn drives a hard bargain, which means I’m going to be doing some serious speed-reading when I get home today, because I plan to see her tonight. I’m going to need a good six hours or so of uninterrupted reading time if I plan to get through it.
“Dre baby, you didn’t tell me that she’s as pretty as the sunset over the marina … and oh honey, you’re just a tiny little thing,” Lanette oozes, staring at Kathryn. “Come on over here and give me a big old hug. Any girl that’s got Dre in a trance is number one in my book.” Great. Perfect. At no point did I ever claim to be in a trance.
“Lanette,” I say through gritted teeth. “She’s on a short lunch break,” I warn, eyeing the table out on the patio.
“I know; I know, Sugar. I’ve got ya all set up. I even have your favorites all ready to go,” Lanette says, leading us through the door to the patio. The patio is the best thing about Ariss’ Oyster Oasis. Lanette and her late husband really did turn the place into an oasis, complete with beautiful gardens, ponds, and waterfalls.
Lanette and her husband wanted to buy a little restaurant on the marina or right on the beach, knowing how well waterfront businesses do. However, the real estate for such places was entirely out of their price range. So the two of them created a “waterfront” establishment on their own. The place is gorgeous, putting all those other restaurants to shame.
“Oh Mrs. Ariss, Dre told me about this place on our way over, but nothing in my wildest dreams could prepare me for this,” Kathryn swooned.
“There ain’t no ‘Mrs. Ariss’ here, young lady. You walk in here with Dre, and we’re instant family. I’m ‘Lanette’ to you,” Lanette says, beaming at Kathryn. “And thank you dear, my husband Roland, bless his soul, and I built this from th
e ground up.”
Lanette steals Kathryn for longer than I’d have liked, showing her the many different flowers, ponds, wishing wells, and waterfalls. Kathryn doesn’t seem like she’s “being polite” for the sake of good manners. Kathryn is clearly impressed and smitten with the beauty and magic of the oasis, just as all customers are. It’s easy to fall in love with the place and with Lanette as well. She’s the mother people wish their mother could’ve been like.
“And this one right here,” Lanette points, “is the waterfall of everlasting love and passion.” What? I’d never heard her say that before. What the Hell? “Legend has it, if you kiss your lover under this waterfall, then you’re guaranteed an eternity of passionate love and happiness.”
“Whose legend? Yours?” I ask embarrassed.
“Of course mine,” she says, matter-of-factly. “The day we finished this patio area, Roland kissed me under that waterfall. We weren’t in the water, but a mist of water sprinkled on us from the side. And I’ll tell you what, I loved that man passionately our entire lives together … still do.” Lanette recalls, getting misty-eyed.
Wrapping her arm around Lanette, Kathryn says, “That’s the kind of magic everyone dreams about.” Lanette beams at Kathryn again, and in that moment, their friendship is sealed.
Kathryn strolls over to the wishing well, retrieving a penny from her purse. Lanette pulls me aside and whispers, “Ya done good, young man.” I smile, knowing full well that Lanette’s seal of approval means everything to me. “I can already tell she has what you need … be honest with her, Dre.”
“What?”
“About your situation,” Lanette states.
“I wish I could, Lanette. I wish I could.”
“Honey, I gots me feelings about things and this one … this one’s a keeper.” Lanette says, nodding toward Kathryn. “She’s got beauty and heart. Hard things to find these days.”
Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall) Page 7