“Oh, sorry. I was coming right back, I swear.” I avoided eye contact with her as I shuffled back to the dinner table.
Carter reappeared in the dining room at that same moment. He didn’t say a word, although, he looked like he might break into tears if he tried to speak. He grabbed his jacket that was draped over the chair and slipped into it.
“You okay, son?” Dad asked. His concern was evident.
Carter simply nodded in response.
“You’ve gotta go?” I cut in, already knowing the answer.
He evaded my stare. I could sense his humiliation from a mile away. “Yeah, I have to go,” he finally managed to mumble.
“Honey, would you like me to pack up your dinner so you can take it to go?” Mom asked.
“No thank you,” Carter said. “But thank you for inviting me tonight.”
There had to be something I could do. The misery in the poor boy’s eyes shot a razor-sharp pang of guilt straight through my heart. I ignored my parents’ warnings. I dashed from the table, and rushed to the front door, but I was too late. That cruel woman shot me an incredulous glare as she tightened her hand around Carter’s arm and yanked him across the street like a ragdoll.
I watched the scene before me, feeling completely helpless. One thought did cross my mind: If I was older—like an adult—I would have ran across the street, grabbed Carter, gotten into my car, and drove off into the night. I would have taken that best friend of mine as far away as we could. Only I wasn’t old enough to do any of that. All I could do was stand there and glare at Mary with all the hate I could muster.
Chapter 8:
Light at the End of the Tunnel
Aiden Storm had only the vaguest recollection of what went down during the party in his penthouse suite. Now that everyone left, he warily surveyed the living room and stumbled upon mounds of scattered beer bottles and red plastic cups. Of course, he had grown accustomed to this type of wild and somewhat reckless lifestyle. Nothing was better than making millions during the day and partying it up all night. Although, Aiden was fully aware that his good fortune came with a price, and that price consisted of everyone wanting to be in his business.
People outside the entertainment industry were unsympathetic to his gripes about being unable to keep a private life. Most of the public thought that if he couldn’t take the heat, he should get out of the kitchen. Aiden tried to ignore such hurtful comments as best he could. No matter what he did, people were always going to judge him, but Christ, enough was enough. He hoped that maybe one of these days he’d be able to walk out of his hotel room without those bastard paparazzi hounding him. They routinely staked him out and attacked him with the flash of their cameras. His attempt at being discreet was useless. The animals always knew who he was with and who he was dating. That was one of the reasons why Whitney Milano broke up with him. The cheating rumors got so intense that Whitney believed the gossip herself. Aiden swore up and down that he never cheated on her, but she refused to believe him.
The night Whitney called it quits—she threw the latest tabloid magazine down at Aiden and screeched, “This is insane. Look what they’re saying now!” She crossed her pencil-thin arms in irritation and pointed at the magazine. “Jessica Mason? Really? How could you—with her? Eww!”
Aiden read the headline: Aiden Storm Kicks Whitney Milano to the Curb while Pop Star Newcomer Jessica Mason Parks at His Front Door.
An awkward silence settled between them. Whitney stared at Aiden harshly as she waited for answers. “What the hell?” she finally asked.
“Baby, you know this is all tabloid bullshit. Those damn piranhas just need rumors to sell.”
“Rumors? Really? Then why do they have pictures of her with you at a club?” she asked, brushing a loose strand of honey-amber hair out of her face.
The girl was undeniably one of the most gorgeous girls he’d ever dated. She had a rock-hard body from her five-day-a-week workouts with her personal trainer to the stars. Her face was as flawless as fine china. At eighteen, she was barely old enough to vote, but with the right makeup and wardrobe, she could easily turn into a twenty-five-year-old sexpot within minutes. Most guys would have killed to be in Aiden’s position.
“I don’t know. I guess we just happened to be there at the same time. It was nothing.”
“Nothing? That’s what you said about the last two girls.”
“It’s nothing but sick rumors.”
“I’m sorry, Aiden. I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.”
“What? Baby, come on! Don’t be like this,” Aiden pleaded as he went to hold her.
“No. Aiden. It’s over.”
A terrible sinking feeling came over Aiden as he watched Whitney grab her purse and barge out the door. For the second time in his life, he felt sheer panic over a breakup. His heart ached for months when he left his first love at fourteen. Whitney had at least helped fill that void for the last couple of years. For that, if for no other reason, she meant everything to him. When she walked out on him, Whitney took a part of his heart with her. Once it was clear to Aiden that she wasn’t coming back, he slowly let himself get over her—with the help of a chain of numerous girls who came in and out of his life.
The penthouse doorbell rang several times. Aiden opened the door with his mind swimming. It took him a few seconds to register what he was seeing. Three scantily clad, gorgeous blonde women stood outside his doorway.
The sexiest of the three, a blue-eyed blonde, jumped up and down excitedly. Her gigantic enhanced breasts bounced beneath a snug and skimpy fabric that attempted to hold her bosom in place. “Oh my God! Aiden, we are so sorry for bothering you.”
The more petite blonde, dressed in a cropped pink tube top that flaunted her perfectly toned stomach, giggled like a schoolgirl, but said nothing.
“We totally snuck up here,” said the third blonde, the least attractive of the three, although she was still a knockout by most standards. She had a killer tan and thick, long hair that Aiden just wanted to run his fingers through.
“It’s cool. Why don’t you ladies come on in?” he said, unable to resist. They sauntered into his room, swaying their hips back and forth. Aiden couldn’t stop himself from staring. “Would you lovely ladies like a drink?” he offered, still feeling extremely woozy.
“Totally,” they all said at once.
Aiden went to the wet bar and brought back three ice-cold beers. The four of them took a seat on the black leather couch and sipped their drinks. Aiden looked all three girls up and down, prepared for any possibility. There were thoughts going through his mind and things happening in the lower regions of his body that he could not deny. He was, after all, a guy.
“So what are your names?” he asked, as if it mattered. He was certain at least one of them would say, “Bambi.”
The sexiest blonde twirled a strand of her white-blonde hair and said, “I’m Tina.”
“Courtney.”
“Amanda,” the petite blonde replied. “We’ve been fans of yours for, like, soooo long. Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re right here!” she squealed. The trio giggled and clutched their chests as if they might pass out. “We’re, like, soooo lucky!”
Aiden peered down at Amanda’s cleavage at the first chance he got. “No, no, trust me—I’m lucky to have such loyal and beautiful fans as you three.”
It wasn’t like him to be so subdued. Truthfully, he didn’t know how much longer he could continue the flirting without getting physical. As he tried to keep his mind off inappropriate thoughts, Aiden continued drinking, but the booze only made it worse. He was beyond shit-faced and horny. These girls were some kind of torture—like somebody bringing liquor to an AA meeting.
“Are your tits real, Courtney?” Aiden asked, bluntly. “I would love to find out.”
Courtney giggled. “These babies are all natural. Go ahead and feel them if you don’t believe me.” She grabbed his hand and shoved it down her bra.
Aiden felt no sham
e in copping a good feel of someone so willing, so utterly demanding. Courtney let out a soft moan as he gently fondled her breast. She then kissed him on the lips, and Aiden returned the favor by kissing her back. Amanda and Tina proceeded to follow Courtney’s lead. Tina nibbled at Aiden’s ear, while Amanda brushed her hands between his thighs. Her long red nails rubbed against the denim of his jeans and the lump growing underneath it.
“You girls are driving me crazy,” Aiden said in ecstasy.
Amanda gently pushed him down on the couch. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Storm. Just sit back and let us take good care of you.” She unbuttoned his jeans as if she’d unbuttoned plenty of jeans in her lifetime. “You have no idea what good hands you are in.”
***
Despite such an inauspicious start, I worked diligently to get my life back on track for the next two years. I learned through trial-and-error that if I didn’t get my act together, I’d lead myself down a dismal road. Thankfully, Mom was there to guide me along the way. It grew easier to accept Dad’s death as time passed. Mom was all I had left, and it took me a while to realize how lucky I was to have her in my life.
I finished continuing education school and got my first part-time job at a women’s clothing store called, Fashion Land. I have nothing against retail, but my real passion was makeup artistry. Although, Fashion Land made it possible for me to save up money and reevaluate my life.
I had researched all the makeup artistry schools in Orange County. The Bellini School of Makeup Artistry was the first to catch my eye out of the few of them. Unfortunately, this school was financially impossible on my budget, but I wasn’t going to let something as ridiculous as tuition stop me. I’d figure out a way, even if I had to work day and night to get there. I was determined to get in to that school and make something of myself.
I managed to save up enough money by working at the store over a period of several months. A flash of satisfaction surged through me when I finally arrived at the Bellini School of Makeup Artistry. For the first time in my life, I accomplished something on my own.
On the first day of class, Isabella Bellini, the owner and instructor, stood before a massive oak desk with a textbook in her hand. Despite her austere front, she appeared sophisticated and attractive. She had a petite, rail-thin frame and wore her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Isabella looked more like a ballet dancer than a teacher. Isabella walked up and down the aisles like a drill sergeant as I sat in a desk that reminded me of high school.
“Welcome to my school. During your study here, you will undergo nine months of vigorous training. I’ll be honest. Most students drop out within the first few weeks. It takes a strong-willed, determined individual to make it through my class. If you are afraid of constructive criticism, sarcasm, or hard work, I suggest you head out the front door. Find a job immediately, because you just wasted a lot of money.”
A couple of students snickered.
“Oh, you may think it’s humorous now, but in a month, you’ll be singing a different tune,” she retorted.
I sucked in a sharp breath and looked around at the people around me. Clearly, many of them were hopefuls like me. Others were probably there only because mommy and daddy had paid their tuition so they wouldn’t sit around wasting their lives like so many trust-fund babies do.
“This may come as a surprise to all of you. I didn’t list it on the agenda, so listen well. On the last day of class, there will be a career fair. I will invite industry agents from several different unions to visit our classroom in a search of new talent. By that time, you all should have an impressive portfolio. A good percentage of my students do get signed on that day. Take a good look at the people around you, for they are your competition. On the last day of class, I will be hiring one of you to be my paid intern.”
It took a minute for her words to penetrate. Then, at the realization of such a grand opportunity, everyone in the room simply gasped.
“This entitles sending someone out on jobs that I am too busy to attend. It could be anywhere from a photo-shoot to a fashion runway show.”
After I shook myself out of a daydream about brushing elbows with A-list celebrities, I looked up to find Isabella standing in front of me, and I went stiff.
She gently lifted my chin, and studied my face quizzically. “Oh, dear. I see some of us need help in our own department, don’t we?”
As if on cue, everyone in class laughed, leaving me to feel horribly humiliated. Who did she think she was criticizing me like that? No one ever made negative comments about the way I did my makeup.
Isabella sat down at her desk and opened up her text book like nothing had happened. “Let’s begin by opening your books to chapter one, the ‘Introduction’.”
***
“How was your first day?” Mom asked, that night after class.
I explained about the teacher and her strict teaching structure. “She’s a tough one, that’s for sure.”
“Don’t stress about it, honey. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“I’m scared, Mom. If I don’t pass this class, what am I going to do? I have nothing to fall back on.”
She grabbed my hands before the question left my lips, and squeezed them lovingly. “You pushed yourself through continuing education class to get your GED, and now you’re going to challenge yourself and make it over this hurdle as well.”
“But it’s different this time, Mom. What if I’m just not good enough?”
“Stop talking like that. I have faith in you. I’ve seen what you can do when you put your mind—and your creativity—to it. One day I’m going to see your name during the end credits of a movie. You just watch.”
“We’ll see,” I said to myself.
I replayed the day over in my mind. The question was: Would I truly be able to survive nine months of Isabella Bellini? I had no choice but to give it a try.
***
Fashion Land was one of those typical more-for-less clothing outlets. With the illusion that it was a high-fashion store, the front window always displayed the cheapest, yet trendiest clothing. I never saw more than a handful of men come into the store without a woman hanging on his arm during my employment. An attractive man approached me one afternoon, in a flustered state. It surprised me to see him browsing the store, solo.
“How can I help you, sir?” I asked in my most professional voice.
“Well, if you were to pick a blouse, which one would you choose?” He expelled a frustrated sigh and held up two of the ugliest blouses we had in the store. Both had been on the clearance rack for months, as if waiting there to die. He unknowingly made the mistake of picking a yellow and red polka dot V-neck and a floral-patterned spaghetti strap.
“Well, neither,” I said, trying to let him down gently.
“Oh geez. I’m that bad, huh?” he asked, running his hand through his jet-black hair.
“I’ll plead the fifth on that,” I said, playfully. “I could lose my job if I insult a customer.”
He let out an endearing laugh and said, “Okay. I’ll let you slide on that one.”
I stole a quick look at the man in front of me. My gaze skimmed down the entire length of his body. He was tall and lean with an athletic build. His olive skin told me he was either Spanish or Italian. And he had massive green eyes that sparkled like emeralds. He worked in an office somewhere by the looks of his light blue business shirt and gray tie.
“Why don’t you let me give you a few suggestions?” I offered, walking him over to a dress rack. “Are you shopping for your girlfriend?” I really couldn’t tell based on the blouses he picked.
He chuckled and said, “My mom actually. It’s her sixtieth birthday. I want to get her something special. I’m just totally clueless when it comes to shopping for a woman.”
“Well, do you know what she likes?”
“Hmm. She dresses like a normal mother does, I suppose.”
His answer didn’t help much. In my experience, there’s no such thing as a normal
mother. I managed to pull out a few dresses and explain each style until he finally decided on a conservative brown sundress.
“Thank you so much for your help,” he said as I rang him up on the register.
“No sweat. It’s my job.” I folded the dress and placed it in a shopping bag. “I hope she likes it.”
“Me too. Thanks again.”
I briefly considered asking his name, but instead, I watched him walk out the door.
“Wow,” Marcia, one of the sales girls, said. “Who was that hottie?”
“I wish I knew,” I answered truthfully.
I had yet to experience a real relationship, and often wondered what it would be like to have a serious boyfriend. Unfortunately, with school in full bloom, I had no time for love.
That same alleged “hottie,” came back to the store the next day. This time I found him looking through a rack of skirts.
“Hello again,” I said, less professionally than on our first encounter.
“Oh hey,” he said, somewhat nervously. “I wasn’t sure if you would be working today.”
“I’m pretty much here every day.”
“Well, I wanted to mention that my mother loved the dress you picked out.”
“See. I knew she would. You did good.”
“Yeah, so now I thought I would come in and get her a Christmas gift.”
“In the middle of August?” I asked skeptically.
“Better now than at the last minute,” he said with a shrug.
“I won’t argue on that. You are the paying customer.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Scott.”
He was so attractive that I found it a bit uncanny. Guys who looked like him were never friendly to girls like me.
“I’m Alexa.”
“Alexa, do you think you could help me find something else for her?”
I seized the opportunity, and helped him pick out several blouses. This routine repeated for the next several days much to my surprise and delight.
Forever Blue Page 11