“No.” Her voice shook with anger. “You don’t get to use that excuse with me ever again. You don’t get to cook for me, and laugh with me, and take me on romantic weekend getaways, make love to me, whip me, talk about politics, help with my crazy pop star, cook me chicken soup when I’m sick, punish me to teach me that I’m worthy, tell me you love me in French, and then say it was a mistake. It means nothing, because once—in the beginning—you said your magical get-out-of-jail-free phrase.”
She continued. “Life happens, Gabriel, and emotions change. You don’t get to deflect my love and deny your own feelings just because you—at the very start—said it would never mean anything. Those words don’t give you diplomatic immunity.”
He was silent. Tears trickled down her cheeks. “We talked, a long time ago, about living two choices at one time. About having two choices, and being able to pick only one of them. You wanted me as your sex sub, and then sometimes you treated me like a special lover. I can’t be both anymore. Now it’s time to choose one. I picked the love, and you didn’t. So we’re done.”
His voice was wild. “Je ne sais pas quoi faire! Myka—I don’t know what to do here. I don’t know.”
She fumbled in her purse and found the sand painting picture he gave her that weekend in Maine. She broke it in half and tossed it at his feet. “I know what to do. This is how you make me feel. Broken. This journey is over.”
She put up her hand blindly as a cab slid to a stop, and tossed herself into the back seat. “Just drive away,” she mumbled. “Please drive, start driving, I don’t care which direction. Get me out of here and I’ll tell you the address when I can.”
The cab lurched and took off, and she buried her face in her hands, not looking back.
* * *
The Dora the Explorer sleeping bag on the floor of Lourdes’ bedroom was grubby, and that meant that Myka didn’t need to care about spilling Indian takeout onto it. It was also thin, and her sore ass hurt each time she moved and felt the hard floor beneath her. It would probably be a few more days before her butt was back to normal, and she didn’t care, because the pain in her heart was far worse.
Lourdes sat beside Myka and ate some of the chicken tikka masala with her own fork. “I’m so sorry, Myka. So sorry. He’s a—” she took a breath, “a stupid idiot asshat jerkwipe douchebag shitsucker fartbomb. How do you like that?”
Myka couldn’t smile. “He is. He is all of that, and more. And also he’s completely smart and sexy and clever and witty and amazing, and he won’t love me.” She sobbed into her hands.
Lourdes hugged her from the side. “You’re going to survive. You are a tough, strong woman. Resilient. Brave. Amazing. You’ll get through this, you will.” She didn’t add, “like I am going to,” although both women could feel it in the air between them.
“I know. But right now it hurts.” Myka stared at the vivid flowers on the sleeping bag. “I used to sleep in a mansion on silk sheets with a sex God. Now I sleep on the hard floor on a Dora sleeping bag made in China by children who probably work seven days a week in a hellhole sweatshop and could only dream of being your cousin who spilled apple juice and spaghetti sauce on here, and then left it in your house accidentally-on-purpose because it’s all sticky and kind of ugly now. And those Chinese children? They’re happier than I am right now.”
“God, Myka.” Lourdes sounded half-amused, half-dismayed. “You can have the couch, you know. It pulls out. And now I’m going to have to burn this bag, which is going to make mi prima Marisol sad. And start buying American only.”
“You know what I’m going to do?” interrupted Myka. “I’m going to start giving anti-motivation speeches for depressed people. I’ll write little pamphlets for us. Here’s an example.”
She cleared her throat noisily and pronounced, “Living for the moment is fine, until the moment is over and a new one appears, a rough and ugly one for which you are completely unprepared. And suddenly you are the grasshopper, looking at the ants marching to their warm food coffers, not believing this can happen to you, even as the ice creeps up your body and the silent snow covers you, ushering in a soft death before you have figured out how to fully live.” She sniffled and ate more chicken. “And then there will be a picture of a dead grasshopper, maybe with some blood and brain squash. Just to show how gruesome bad choices can be.”
Lourdes pulled her closer. “You’re scaring me.”
“I think it will be super popular. You know they say misery loves company? All the sad heartbroken women out there will pay tons of money to hear my dismal fables. I can profit from my distress and then sob until my stupid greedy eyes pop right out of my dumb head.”
“Myka. Stop it! Seriously. You need to stop. I mean, do I need to call someone? Are you turning into Kylee here?”
That snapped Myka out of her fit of indulgent self-pitying. “No. I feel pissed and sad. But the thing is, although I want to be pissed at him—and I am, oh, I am—I have to be mad at myself, too. Because I went into this knowing what could happen, and I did it anyway.”
“At least you can still eat.” Lourdes eyed Myka. “You know that you don’t need to stuff your cheeks like a chipmunk, right? I don’t want you choking on me.”
Myka swallowed and grimaced. “Sorry. It’s a coping mechanism. Can you pass me the rice?”
“Yeah.” Lourdes patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll pass you whatever you need, my friend. I’m here for you.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Myka’s voice was dull. “You were right about putting my feeling into a temporary hotel. But I wanted it to be real and he didn’t. He doesn’t want that. I don’t understand how we can be so close, so matched, so good together! And yet he doesn’t want me.” She started sobbing again. “What’s wrong with me?”
Lourdes hugged her. “Oh, Myka. There’s nothing wrong with you. You tried something that didn’t work. You fell in love. It’s life. This will get better.”
“Right now I feel like everything is so sad,” Myka sniffed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again. You were right. I jumped into the deep end, I bit off more than I could chew, I planted myself in the hotel, the flowers died, and I’m going to probably get arrested by the bad metaphor police on top of everything.”
Then she broke down into real sobs, her attempts at humor doing nothing to lighten her grief, and she fell asleep in her friend’s arms. She awoke alone with her cheek smashed into Dora’s wide happy grin, her drool mingling with the dried spaghetti sauce stains on Dora’s perky brown bob to create the most unholy morning breath scenario imaginable. And that was the best part of the day.
* * *
The next week was especially difficult, because the band was preparing for a trip to Milan, and there were new lighting sequences to program. Kylee popped back into Latch Mode and called Myka repeatedly, asking for advice and help, demanding to know where she was, making various oddball food requests on a whim, changing her dance routine and lighting needs daily.
Myka, who didn’t want to say she was crashing at Lourdes’ parents’ house because her hotel room made her feel like leaping out of it, was evasive about her whereabouts. This led to a meltdown from Kylee, who complained that Myka was spending too much time with her boyfriend and not devoting enough time to the tour and to her, Kylee.
After three days of this, Myka finally returned to the hotel. As she came up to Kylee’s room to deliver three cans of Coke and a bag of M&M’s, a burly man passed her on the way down, bumping into her and hurrying on with a muttered “Sorry.” Myka shot him a glare, and rubbed her shoulder in irritation as she passed over the snacks.
“So, are you ready for Milan?” she asked, offering the words out with care, as if stretching out a peanut to a feral squirrel. “Christopher’s back today, just in time for us all to leave tomorrow.”
“My songs are ready,” announced Kylee, cracking open one can and slurping the soda eagerly. She sang a snippet from her newest pop hit. “Down the hatch! D-d-d-down the
hatch!” and swayed her hips. “This is totes number one in all of Italy.” She picked up a bulging manila envelope from a coffee table and stuck it inside a dresser drawer, then turned to Myka. “Christopher better get in here immediately when he lands. It’s so frustrating when you come to rely on someone and they just—disappear on you.”
“Yeah, I know.” Myka shook her head, unwilling to share just how much she knew all about that. “But he had a family emergency, right? So did the doctor help you? How is your stress level?”
“I want to keep my medical stuff private, Myka.” Kylee frowned. “I’m feeling better, that’s all I want to say. But I wish you wouldn’t take off for days at a time. I wanted to talk to you yesterday and you weren’t around. I wanted to do the breathing exercises and I need you to coach me through them.”
Myka sighed. “Want to do them right now?”
“No. I’m not in the mood. But I want you to help me arrange my makeup kit. You know how I need my lipsticks organized, right?”
“Yes, Kylee. I can help with that.” Myka began to line up pretty vials and containers in the reverse rainbow pattern that Kylee preferred. At least this kind of busywork kept her away from the computer, doing web searches on Gabriel. What she was hoping to find was beyond her, but she kept doing it, partially enjoying the sick stab of pain that occurred whenever she saw his handsome face.
Her day got worse when Christopher summoned her for a talk. His tired face and baggy eyes made Myka wanted to feel sympathy for his personal tragedy, but his attitude made it challenging.
“Myka, this isn’t working. I want to cancel your contract immediately,” he told her. “Your continued attempts to undermine Kylee’s success are getting ridiculous.”
She shrugged. “Do it. I want out.”
Warring emotions played across his features, and irritation settled. “I would, but Kylee said she needs you on twenty-four-seven call for Milan because she’s going to change her song order again. You’d need to train your replacement for lights and the website stuff. I’m thinking that Sam has enough knowledge to pull it off until we get a new lead IT up to speed. One month.”
Myka shrugged again. “One month is fine with me. Sam will be more than adequate. And honestly, I want to leave. You are difficult to work with. And Kylee is so demanding. I think she’s in serious trouble. You need to rethink your whole attitude toward her, Christopher. I think she’s about to blow up herself and this tour. She needs professional help. I mean it.”
Christopher scowled. “Why do you keep trying to handle her personal life? You’re making things worse with your meddling, don’t you get that? I heard from her that that doctor was back. Do you have any idea of what a mess that is turning out to be for me? I have no idea what that doctor is telling her, or worse, giving her. And who knows if the press has seen her coming or going. You really fucked things up, Myka.” He tapped his fingers on the low table.
“Christopher! Listen. I see her self-destructing, and you are doing nothing to prevent it. And she’s the one who wants the doctor.”
“Sure, she thinks she does. But you’re the one who keeps putting that idea into her head.” He sighed and rubbed his swollen eyes. “I can’t even think straight right now.” He pulled some paperwork from his briefcase. “Here’s your updated contract with your new release date, one month from now. You’re not getting penalized for early departure, but you’re also not getting the year-end bonus. Confidentiality still in play, of course. I’ll find a replacement and you can do the data download and training when we get back from Milan.”
Myka read it, signed. “Fine.” Her voice was hostile.
“And from now until then, you leave Kylee alone. I know what I’m doing here, Myka, and you don’t. This is beyond your understanding. I’m the one who gets what she needs, so please, please, back off.” His voice was almost pleading. “I know what it takes to get to the end of this tour, and I am going to make it happen. Don’t ruin this.”
Myka shook her head in disgust. “The almighty dollar is a tasking employer, isn’t she, Christopher? Well, good luck to you. You’re going to need it.”
She hurried out of the room, not bothering to be polite. Soon, apparently, she’d have an entirely clear slate. What she was going to do with it, though, was still a mystery.
* * *
The trip to Milan was a whirlwind of frenetic energy. Kylee made multiple last-minute changes to the song sequence, forcing Myka and the lighting crew to work overtime to keep up with the new orders, and because the trip was so brutally short, there was no time to see the city. Myka’s jetlag and lack of sleep had her nearly hallucinating by the time they landed back in L.A. All she wanted was to sleep for days, but Kylee called her urgently to the suite.
“Myka!” Kylee’s voice was as ragged as her nails. “Christopher said you’re quitting?” Her voice was incredulous. “How can you do this? Didn’t I tell you that I wanted you to stay on?”
Myka sat down, choosing words carefully. “Christopher decided I’m not going to be the right asset to your tour, long-term. He’d prefer to find another person to work with the IT area in the future. It’s not personal.”
“Oh, really? How’s it not personal? You were always here for me, doing what I asked. And all of a sudden you’re gone, poof, just like that? How am I, like, supposed to handle this now?”
“You’ll be fine,” Myka kept her voice soothing. “You can keep seeing that doctor, you know, even if Christopher doesn’t like her. If you need a break from the tour schedule, just to relax, that’s your choice. Your health needs to come first.”
“My health is fine,” snapped Kylee. “It’s my emotions that are upset. If you wanted to stay, you’d fight Christopher to make it happen.”
Myka shook her head. “I don’t feel that I’m giving you what you need. I think you’ll be better off in the long run with a new IT and lights person.”
“That’s a bunch of crap.” Kylee picked up a pillow, twisted it in her hands, and her mouth flattened into a line. “I thought you cared about this tour.”
“I do! I want your tour to be a great thing,” Myka argued. “But I need to think about my own personal priorities, too.” She stopped. This wasn’t the right way to argue with Kylee.
“Because of your cheating boyfriend.” Kylee’s words were harsh. “And your stupid aerospace company. That’s what you really care about. Right?”
Myka started. “How do you know where I consult?”
“Please, Myka. It’s easy to find things out.” Kylee’s voice was full of emotion. “And you want to know what I think? I think that you’re, like, making a huge mistake.”
Myka stood up. “I’m sorry. The decision’s already been made. I’m going to train my replacement, and you know Sam? From the crew? He’s going to be the lead temporarily. All the lighting stuff will go fine, I promise. And you’ll be fine too.”
She walked quickly to the door and slipped out. Soon enough, Kylee would barely remember that she’d ever called Myka ten times a day. She’d find someone new, right?
* * *
Now that the decision to leave had been made, things moved quickly. Christopher introduced her tersely to her replacement, a twenty-something young man named Michelle, who wore thick black eyeliner and high heels with his skin-tight leggings, and was an absolute genius. He picked up her projects even faster than expected, and Myka felt good about having someone so conscientious to carry on her work. Even though she was glad to leave, she’d poured a lot of sweat and soul into her work here, and it was gratifying to pass it off to someone who had the skills and desire to keep it alive.
Without fanfare, her last day with the tour came and went. When Myka came to the last team meeting to say her farewells, Kylee tossed her hair and strode from the room. Christopher’s eyes followed her warily, but he gave a small polite speech thanking Myka for her work and wishing her well in the future.
Myka was gratified by the outpouring of support and even tears from some o
f the crew. She got a lot of hugs, cards, and even flowers. Many people came by to wish her well personally, even whispering in asides that they’d always loved her positive attitude. That was nice, but despite a few teary moments, Myka felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders as she walked away from the tour job for the very last time.
Sunday morning, Myka did some polishing to her work for the final aerospace presentation the next day, while eating a bagel at Lourdes’ kitchen table.
Lourdes hummed and checked her favorite local gossip sites. “I know this stuff is stupid, but I’m addicted.” Silence. Lourdes added to nobody in particular, “London Marriot made a sex tape while she was here in L.A.? They’re saying that her ex leaked it and it’s breaking the Internet.” More silence. Suddenly Lourdes drew in her breath. Her voice changed to something serious. “Oh, my God. Myka. Did you see this?”
“See what?” Myka leaned over and peered over Lourdes’ shoulder. “You know I’m not interested in—”
A grainy picture of herself and Gabriel, arm in arm at the steps to the BDSM club, startled her into silence. Her face was not visible in the photo, but it was obvious she was naked except for heels, the white negligee and a G-string. Nobody would recognize her from the back, but she knew who it was. The caption read, “Local investor Gabriel Chevalier leads a woman into his private sex dungeon!” A wave of nausea rolled over her.
Another picture showed Gabriel smiling, a publicity shot. A caption read, “Kinky Secrets for Millionaire?”
“Oh, God.” Myka put her hands to her face and sank back into her chair.
“No, it gets worse. Myka, your name is in here. It’s not good.”
Myka and the Millionaire Page 29