She goes a little pale and sits down in her chair. "Yeah, that's my fault."
I take a step towards her so we're even closer. "Not entirely."
"I'm the director."
"You're used to saying cut not hearing it. I could have stopped kissing you. I didn't."
She looks up at me, painful hope in her eyes. "Why?"
"You know why." All the emotions that I've been pushing down are surfacing. I've tried to be distant, it didn't work. I tried to be angry, it didn't work. Devastated didn't work either. Fuck. I clear my throat. "I'll find you tonight," I say, and walk away. Because when we start this conversation, we're going to finish it, and this isn't the place.
My cock is rock hard again as I walk to wardrobe to change back into my own clothes. I'm going to have to figure out one hell of an image keep myself from getting in this state while filming, because no matter the outcome of our conversation tonight, I can't imagine a time where she's not going to turn me on.
I realize as I'm walking away that it doesn't matter what she says. Even if I have to just watch her from a distance on this set and then let her go. Amber is the one, and if that's all of herself that she'll give to me, then it will have to be enough.
11
Peter
Past
Mom went out to get some personal things at the store five hours ago. Obviously something is wrong, but I haven't been able to get a hold of her. I've been calling her phone obsessively, but no answer. She took my car, so I can't go looking for her. Shit. This feels way too familiar. But it's probably nothing, right? She'll be fine. She isn't the same. She's got her life back on track.
I call her phone again. Nothing. I should call Aunt Lily, but I don't. Not yet.
It's another hour of phone calls and nothing before I hear footsteps on the stairs. I open the door and she's there, hands with a couple of grocery bags and a big smile on her face. "Hi Peter!"
"Where have you been?" I ask as she pushes past me.
"Oh, you know, here and there."
I take the bags from her and put them on the kitchen counter. "It's been six hours. It doesn't take six hours to go to the grocery store."
"I was just taking my tiiiiiime, you know?" She flops down on the couch.
That's not the way she speaks. At least it's not the way she speaks when she's sober. There's a knot in my stomach and I turn back to the grocery bags. She said she was going to get tampons and make-up remover, and that she forgot a couple of other toiletries. But that's not what's in the bag. What's in the bag makes me dizzy, sending my mind flying backwards in time to the worst part of my life. In the bag are oranges, goldfish, some cheese sticks, and butterscotch candy. The other bag has a twelve-pack of beer.
Before I can think, I'm striding for the bathroom, making it only seconds before I'm retching over the toilet. Barely anything comes up, but it's enough. Enough to have me swirling in memories and anger. The urge to empty myself doesn't go away, my body trying to expel everything that has to do with this. I'm not sure how long it takes.
When I can finally keep myself from heaving, I flush and wash my face. And then I steady myself, because this is not going to be easy or fun. I walk back into the living room. "You're high?"
"I'm not high," my mother says dreamily, "I'm just really relaxed."
"Don't bullshit me, Mom. We've been here before. You don't think I recognize those groceries? Those are the things you bought every single day before you found whatever local dealer you could and snorted away the rest of the money." Only Amber knew that the smell of oranges still makes me nauseated.
Mom looks at me, and he eyes are glazed and bloodshot. I'm not sure how I missed it when she was coming up the stairs. "You know, Peter, for being my son you're way too uptight."
"Mom—"
"I'm so proud of everything you're doing, but you need to relax. You're too young to be so stressed out. You should be more like me. See? I'm not stressed out. I'm haaaaappyyyyyy."
I feel something inside me snap. "I should be more like you? Really? Thanks mom, but I'll pass."
"That's rude," she says.
"It's not rude. Not when I'm sure the rest of the money I gave you to buy the things you needed went to whatever you're on, and you still don't have the things you said you needed. I wasn't lying when I said I forgave you for what you did, but I didn't say that I was okay with you doing it again. You're going have to leave. I'm not going to be a flophouse for you to get high. You have a house in Virginia, and if you want to get high, go there."
"I don't have a house in Virginia."
I freeze. "What?"
"They kicked me out. Tony kicked me out. I don't have a job, or money. Please, you're my son. Just let me stay. I promise I'll be good."
It feels like an entire bucket of ice water has been dumped on my head. She lied. She lied about everything. "So you came here sober just so you would have a place to stay to do this again? I thought you were trying to get your life together. What about the salon?"
She grins at me. "What salon?"
That grin tells me everything I need to know, and I think that I'm going to throw up again. She made it all up. All the funny stories and the people she met. Tony is probably real but I know that she didn't meet him cutting his hair. She may have even rehearsed what she was going to say to draw me in. "I'm not going to do this, Mom. I'm not going to watch you throw your life."
She's suddenly angry, on her feet and in my face, her voice vicious. "You know what? I don't owe you shit, Peter. I gave birth to you. Without me you wouldn't be alive, so it's a little late to be so high and mighty. And you know what else? This is who I am. I'm not gonna change. You want me to change? That's fucked up."
I cross my arms and clench my jaw. "I don't think it's fucked up for me to want my mother to stay alive."
But she doesn't stop, her tirade is at full speed now. "You know who else wanted to change me? Your father. He wanted me to change me so much that he hurt me. He used me and hurt me and then he threw us away. Threw me away. You gonna be like that too? You're going to throw me away?"
"I would never just throw you away, but I'm not going to let you destroy yourself in my house with my money. I'm happy to have you back in my life. But sober, looking forward. I can't have you here like this."
I can't. It'll kill me. I'm having a hard time concentrating because of all the memories that are surfacing. All the similarities. All the things I never told anyone, not even Amber. Like how the entire reason I decided to tell Amber's mom about her condition was because my mother begged me not to call the police while she was overdosing and dying. I was seven. All the times she went out and didn't come back for hours because she 'just got carried away' while she was high and having sex with people.
All the stories she made up about the places we would go and the things we would see just as soon as we had the money. It's all complete, terrible, lies. And it hurts. I want her in my life. I do, but not like this. I want to help her, but I know all too well you can't help someone who doesn't want help. "I'm leaving," I say. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. You can leave or you can stay. But if you stay you're going to get help. If you're still here, still high, and don't want to go to rehab, I'm going to call the police."
I grab my keys and my wallet and leave before I can change my mind and turn around. I can hear her calling my name through the door, crying. But I know that cry and it's not real. It's stopped by the time I make it down the stairs when she realizes it's not going to make me come back. That’s when the screaming starts. “You’re trash, Peter! You’re never going to make it as an actor. That’s a stupid job anyway. I don’t know why you’d ever think you’d be able to do that. You’re stupid and you’ll never make it.”
She keeps going but I shut off my brain. I won’t listen to that. It’s not real.
Somehow I drive to Aunt Lily's house. It's auto-pilot for me. And when she opens the door, I know she sees it on my face. "Come inside."
I sit down
at her kitchen table and she makes tea while I tell her what happened. “Feel free to say I told you so,” I say miserably.
“Of course I’m not going to say that. I didn’t want this to happen. I’ve just known your mom forever. So I knew the odds.”
“I just really wanted it to be different this time.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand like I did with my mother just a couple of days ago. “I know.”
“What am I going to do if she doesn’t go?”
“You have to do what you said you would. Because going back on your word only enforces that you don’t mean what you say.”
“Yeah…”
“I’ll go with you,” she says. “I’ve done this enough times, and you don’t need to do it alone.”
“Thanks, Aunt Lily.”
She smiles, and I’m thankful for her. Our relationship while I was living here wasn’t great, partially because I wasn’t great to her, and partially because she was afraid that I would turn out like my mom. We’re both in a better place now, and I’m so glad that I had a place like this to come when I needed it.
I’m so tired. On top of all the work just trying to get somewhere, I’m exhausted from life. It felt like everything was ripped out from under me with Amber, and I just kind of felt like I was getting back on my feet when Mom called. Now it’s all crumbling again. “I just want to sleep for like a week.”
“You can,” Lily says, laughing.
“I can’t. I have to work. I need the money.”
She takes a sip of her tea. “That’s true, but you can at least take a nap now. Sleep on the couch until we go back to your place.”
I feel suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to shut my eyes, and I don’t even protest. “Okay.”
Curling up on the couch, I think I’m asleep just seconds after I lay down, and I barely feel a blanket being pulled over me.
I wake up to a hand on my shoulder and I startle. “Sorry,” Lily says. “We’ve got to go. Need to be on time for this. She needs deadlines.”
“Right,” I say, scrubbing my face with my hands. I put on my shoes quickly and we’re out the door, driving the short distance to my apartment.
I know something’s not right the minute I come upstairs, because the door is open. My mom isn’t in the apartment, and I hear Lily gasp behind me, because neither is anything else. I walk to my bedroom, and most things there are gone too. The bed is still there, but that’s because they probably couldn’t move it. Anything that’s of value, anything that could possibly be sold, is gone.
She probably called that guy that we dropped off the present to. The present that was almost certainly drugs. No wonder my mom wanted to take the train. Security on trains is far lower than on planes.
Lily is shaking her head when I walk into the living room. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I should have seen this coming.”
“No,” I say. “Don’t feel guilty for not seeing the worst in someone. I wouldn’t have seen this coming either.”
Walking into the kitchen, my mom’s phone is on the table. A clear sign that she’s cutting ties, since that’s the only way that I had to contact her. She’s made her decision, and I’m not it. I think it should hurt more than it does, but when you’ve felt as much pain as I have, you get used to it.
12
Amber
Present
Fantasia is one of the worst kept secrets in Los Angeles. It's technically a speakeasy, with the entrance through another restaurant, but the bar nearly always has a line to get in, so the restaurant has a crowd of people waiting to get in. The food at the restaurant is pretty good too, so I know a lot of people put their name on the list to get into Fantasia and then sit down to dinner. It works well for both the bar and the restaurant—who pretend that they have nothing to do with each other even though they're the same place, technically.
Tonight I have the rare privilege of being able to go to the front of the line and get in immediately. That's nice. It's been a long time since I've been to Fantasia. It was only once, and it was with Clay Markham. It's his favorite place.
The interior is a riot of color in Art Nouveau style. It's jarring at first to see neon with the gentle designs of the prohibition era. But once you get used to it, it's pretty cool. Today, it's a party. The music is loud and there are plenty of people dancing. A lot of people are already well on their way to being drunk and it's still early. I see Clay holding court at the bar and give him a wave. He enthusiastically waves me over, but I'm not quite ready for that. I motion to the bathroom, and head in that direction. When you get pulled into Clay's circle, there's often shots and more shots, and I have more than one conversation that I need to be at least mostly sober for tonight.
I take up a position near the wall where I can see the whole club, or at least most of it. I try to ignore the way my eyes keep checking the door, but I need to know if he's coming. He surprised me with his admission earlier. Maybe he's not as angry as I thought he was? Maybe. There are too many maybes and I know that I'm going to feel so much better after we talk. If I'm honest, I'm hoping that this evening is going to lead to more than talking, because even though it's only been like three days since we slept together, I need more.
It's like I had gotten clean of an addiction and the first taste of him I get I'm craving him constantly. I'm sure it will wear off after a while, but I don't know if I want it to. Granted, that depends a lot on whether we decide we're going to be together. I want to be, and based on what he said a few hours ago, I think he wants to too. I just need to apologize, and maybe beg a little. Tell him how stupid I was to pull the plug so quickly.
I don't think I was wrong to be concerned, but we could have worked on it together instead of me freaking out. He's still not at the door. Come on, Peter. I bite my lip before remembering that I have dark lipstick on and it’s probably all over my teeth now. I'll fix it in a minute. Looking out over the dance floor I see Gloria dancing with a cute lighting technician from the show. She thinks no one has noticed the way she keeps eyeing him, but I've noticed, and the way they're dancing now, I would be shocked if they don't go home together.
I laugh to myself. I'll have to keep an eye on her now, make sure she's not sneaking off to have sex at work. That's not exactly fair. Gloria is a professional. But considering the fact that I never thought I'd do it and then definitely had sex in the wardrobe closet, I'm not going to count anything out. I bite my lip again. Dammit, Amber.
Ducking into the bathroom, I lean into the mirror to see, and yeah, there's an absurd amount of lipstick on my teeth. And that's when I hear the moan. I freeze. All the stall doors are shut behind me, but there's a shuffling, and more breathing and another moan and I blush. There are people having sex. Here. Now. I don't move. Did they hear me come in? Do they know that I'm here?
There's a low grunt of effort and a slap of skin, and no, they have no idea that I'm here. Probably for the best. I scrub the lipstick from my teeth and quickly pull mine out of my bag to re-apply. The sounds of sex get louder, the distinct sound of thrusting, and the girl saying yes, over and over again, a bigger blush covers my cheeks. I put on my lipstick quickly and exit the bathroom as quietly as I can. I don't want to be there for the grand finale.
I don't care if Peter's not here yet, I need a drink. I'm walking to the bar when he's suddenly there. So close that I almost run into him. "Hi," I say.
"Hello." He smirks. "You're blushing. Why?"
"No reason."
He's smiling, and God I love that smile. "That's a lie."
"I just heard something a little scandalous, nothing major."
Peter raises his eyebrow, like he wants to know more, but he doesn't ask. But then it’s like he sees me. He takes me in, looks up and down my body, and I watch as his eyes darken. This doesn’t do anything to help the state of my blush. Words. I need words. "I was just going to get a drink," I say.
"I'll get it for you. I have a table reserved in the back. I thought since we were plann
ing to talk, as much privacy as we can have here would be a good idea."
"Yeah," I say. "Thanks."
"What would you like to drink?"
I shake my head. I honestly don't care. "Surprise me."
There's that little half-smile that makes me weak in the knees and wet in the panties. "I'll try."
Over where he pointed, there is a table with both of our names listed, Michael and Clay's too, so we'll have to be conscious of visitors, but the staff member making sure only those who reserved the tables sit there smiles and lets me through.
The alcove the table is sitting in is dark and cozy, the back of the circular bench seat lined with velvet that feels good on my skin. I wore a dress tonight because I wanted to look sexy for Peter, and I don't know for sure if it's working but I think that it is. The dress has a swooping low back and a plunging front that makes it clear that I'm not wearing a bra. Only a small strap on the back of my shoulders is keeping both sides of the dress from slipping down and causing a fashion faux pas. The lower half of the dress is knee-length and flowing. I thought it would fit the feel of Fantasia. It leaves something to the imagination, and this place is all about imagination.
It takes a few minutes for Peter to navigate the crowds at the bar with our drinks, but he comes back with a drink that's an amazing shade of purple and hands that to me. His drink looks like a classic tumbler of whiskey or something darker. He settles in beside me, and I notice the deliberate way he's looking at my face and not lower. So he has noticed then. He's noticed and doesn't want to let himself look until we've talked, ever the gentleman.
I take a sip of the purple drink and holy shit that’s good. “What is in this? It’s amazing!”
“White rum is the main ingredient, I think. Simple syrup, Pineapple, and a couple other things.”
“I think you just created my new favorite drink,” I say, laughing.
For Us: The Girl I Loved Page 6