Get to You

by Albany Walker

  His engagement to a Lauren Frett is in the last paragraph, it is a mere nine months ago. He gave the actress a glittery diamond ring from a brand she is the spokesmodel of, at a very public proposal that took place at a friend’s winery in Napa.

  No date has been set as of this time.

  The picture posted is beautiful. She is beautiful. Her hair is a deep brown and her skin is sun-kissed. Her hazel eyes look directly at the camera and her head is tipped back in a smile that is equal parts luminous and sexy.

  What's worse though is that Beau looks like there is no one else in the room but her. He wears a smile that I've never seen.

  I can’t believe I had no idea who is was. I feel like an idiot.

  I close the laptop and wipe away tears that leaked out as I read.

  I'm filled with more questions than I'll ever have answers to. Will he tell her, he cheated? Did I mean anything, beyond a lay, before he goes off to get married? Where is she? And the biggest, why?

  Why not just leave me alone? How could he be that callous?

  Does he do this kind of thing often? I find myself questioning everything about him. His character. His kindness. His gentleness and playfulness. Who is Chris Huntington? Certainly not my Beau. The man I know shares very little with the image painted by his Wikipedia page. Unless, he played him in a movie.

  I avoid the other half of my home, like I'll explode if my feet get closer than fifty feet to my bed. I make dinner, watch tv, shower, and get ready for bed, all without looking even once at my sheets. I contemplate sleeping on the sofa but decide there's no use in it.

  I'll have to sleep there eventually anyway.

  Sooner than I'd like, I climb between my sheets. I'm pretending I don’t feel like changing them, when in reality I want to be able to smell his scent linger. Just one more moment with Beau before it fades, leaving only the memory. I bury my nose in the pillow he slept on, but he’s not there. Beau’s gone, and a man named Chris has replaced him.

  I wake the next morning after what feels like seconds after closing my eyes. The morning goes quickly. It’s punctuated with awkward apologies both given by me and directed at me. The only consolation I get is hearing people call Chris a bastard throughout my day.

  I rush home to arrive before the alarm company. A black sedan is parked in front of my building. I slow my stride while pulling my keys out. I'm not sure if I should keep walking or if I should unlock the door and go up. There is no logo on the side of it, so it can’t be the alarm company.

  The driver door opens and a man that looks like a professional wrestler steps out. Holy shit, he is huge.

  "Can I help you?" I ask when he's walks toward me, stopping just a few feet away on the sidewalk, blocking my path.

  His huge paw of a hand extends to me, "I'm Brian," he says in a deep gravelly voice.

  "Um, hello Brian," I have no clue what this man wants, but I'm not getting close enough to shake his hand. He doesn't seem bothered from the slight.

  Instead he offers an explanation, "Beau sent me." It clicks, this is the man Beau said would help me. I recall now that Beau said his name was Brian.

  "I'm sorry for the inconvenience Brian, but that won't be necessary, thank you." My trepidation turns to anger. I brush past him to unlock the door.

  Before it closes he warns, "I think you're wrong. I think you very much need my help. Beau asked me here as a favor, so I'll be working on this with or without your help. We'll get better results working together." I hang my head because I know I need help. I just don't want it when it comes attached to Beau.

  "You can come up," I say sounding defeated. "I have someone coming by at two that I need to be here for," I finish, and he wastes no time following me up.

  I'm nervous with him behind me. I'm not sure how I'm going to handle him coming into my home. I stop on the steps and turn around. I'm wringing my hands together, looking down at him.

  "I don't think I can do it. I don't think I can let you in.” I explain, “I'm sorry, could we maybe meet up somewhere in a few hours?"

  "Who's coming over that it has to wait?" he asks gruffly. What is it with nosy ass men.

  "My alarm company. I'm having cameras installed inside and out."

  He tilts his head, "Beau didn't mention that."

  I scowl, "I didn't tell him or ask for his permission." I snap, "You know what? I can hire someone else. You should go." He takes one step up. Someone hits the buzzer then knocks on the door. He turns around and goes to answer the door.

  Before he opens it, he barks, "No!"

  "No, no what?" I ask confused.

  "I will be taking care of this now. I said it's better if we work together. I've had a lot of experience with this kinda shit, so trust me when I say it can go bad fast. The quicker you accept my help, the better off you'll be." He opens the door demanding identification, as he looms over two smaller men. They rush to pull out lanyards from around their neck. Both check out before he steps aside, letting them enter.

  "Tell me what she's ordered," he demands, and the men explain my request. "Scratch that, this is what I want. Two cameras outside, four here in the hall," he points to four areas. "I'll assess the loft and tell you what I need in a few. If you don't have the materials with you go pick them up.” His voice turns serious, “You do not leave until this job is complete. Understood?"

  Geez, I think I know where Beau, Chris, or whatever his name is, learned his abrasive questioning technique.

  I open the door, kicking my shoes off and walk into the kitchen. The day is only half over, and I'm done with it.

  I want to be busy, distracted enough so Brian doesn't feel the need to stay longer than necessary. I look through the fridge and freezer for something time consuming to make for dinner. I have next to nothing. Well that's not stopping me. I don’t want to leave with a bunch of strangers in and around my studio and building. I do something I rarely ever do, because I know that while the service is offered it can leave them shorthand. I get it delivered.

  I call in an order to my small grocer and the only thing they don't have is a few of the mushrooms I was looking for. I'll make what they do have. I hear Phil shout that he will be there within the hour. I hear cans being knocked over in his haste to complete the order. Melinda groans at his antics, but for the first time today, I smile.

  “I haven’t seen her in days, Mel,” Phil must be right next to her now. “She’s gotta be near out of groceries.” He isn’t wrong. “We can’t have that.” I smile saying goodbye to Melinda and see you soon to Phil.

  I grab a loose tee shirt and yoga pants. I trade them for the jeans and top I wore to work.

  In the bathroom, I throw my long hair into a messy bun. I laugh, thinking I have three men in my house, and I couldn't care less what I look like. When I wore something similar in front of Beau, I was worried I looked like a bum.

  Brian is still busy with the alarm guys, so I check the store email to see if we have any special orders. We don't. I have nothing to keep me busy. I just wait, hoping Phil keeps his promise to be here soon.

  Phil leaves with a fifty-dollar tip that he tries to decline three times. I insist, saying he is my hero and has no idea how grateful I am. He smiles at the first part and concedes, tucking the tip into his shirt pocket.

  I am so grateful to have something to do, especially since it's cooking. I've only made the recipe I want to make once, so I grab my laptop to confirm the steps. When I open it Beau's picture pops up, because I didn't close the browser. I let myself look for a moment, before typing Epicurus into the tool bar.

  Forty minutes later, I'm not even halfway done. Brian is in the studio now and has been on the phone for the past twenty minutes. He hangs up and comes over to the kitchen.

  "Beau explained your situation, but I'd like to know what you haven't told him." He looks pointedly at me. I continue to chop up onions.

  I don’t look up, but reply, "Straight to the point huh? The only thing you need to know is it would have went f
urther if I didn't leave when I did. He didn't get the chance because I ran.” I press down on the knife harder, “I changed my name, so if it is him, he knows my new identity. The cards that I received had the name Samantha on it. I've gone by that for the past seven years."

  He nods, "Who helped with the new dets?"

  I scrap the onions along with carrots off the cutting board and into a Dutch oven, "I'm not sure. Rita, my mother’s best friend, handled everything, and I can't ask her because she died of cancer two years ago.” I look up at him and shrug, “She had a lot of money though, so I assume she went to someone good." I turn back to the stove, "Nothing has been questioned. I have bank accounts, I own the store, this Studio, and it all held when Rita left me everything. So, I think my papers are good. I have no idea how he would've found me."

  "If it's him, it's simple.” He states, “How many twenty something's would Rita leave a fortune to. All he had to do was a simple search of the probate court records." He's right, I know he's right, and I want to throw up all over my Coq Au Vin.

  "He's still in Alabama though, right?" I put down my wooden spoon and meet his eyes.

  "It seems so,” his brow furrow in thought, “I won't promise that unless I go and see him there myself. Right now let's just concentrate on getting things as safe as possible here.” Brian crosses his arms over his chest, “Which leads to our next issue. No more walking to and from work alone, no working by yourself, and you shouldn't be here alone either." He says it like I have a choice. I don't have anyone to stay with me.

  I inform him of this, "That's gonna be a problem. I don't have anyone. I have some other properties that Rita left me. I guess being at a different address could help, but my studio is the closest to work. I think on it for a second, then say, “If he found me through the will he'd know about her properties as well."

  He has the nerve to look sheepish while saying, "We have a solution for that."

  When he says we, I baulk, "We as in you and I, or you and the people you work with?"

  "We, as in me and Beau.”

  I throw my hands up, "Why are you calling him that? It's not his name.” I raise my voice, “I'm not letting him stay here. Did he tell you what happened? He's fucking engaged. "

  He puts his hand up in surrender, but replies, "It's not that simple Samantha, and there are explanations he needs to give you that I can't.” I turn my back to him to focus on browning the carrots and onions, “The only reason he's not here is because he knew you wouldn't let me in if he was with me. He's been waiting outside since I came in."

  "Fucking shit," I say with disgust, encompassing everything I feel.

  Brian smiles, and it looks strange on him. It softens his stark features. His brown eyes crinkle at the corners.

  "He was so right about you. Sweet and sassy. Give him hell Samantha."

  "I don't think you understand. I---we--," I stop there because I don't know what to say. Should I tell Brian I like Beau? Like I like him, like him.

  "Let him explain Samantha."

  13

  I hear the buzzer about five minutes after Brian's announcement. I ignore it the first time, chopping up garlic instead. About thirty seconds later it buzzes again, this time repeatedly. I toss the garlic into the pot and wipe my hands on a towel before eyeing Brian. He’s sitting at the table looking down at my laptop. The corner of his lips tip up in attempt to suppress his grin.

  I pick up the receiver and huff, "Hello."

  "Sammy”—his voices goes out, I think he hung up, until I hear—"Can I come up?"

  "Ha,” I turn around so I’m facing away from Brian, “I've heard that before, jackass." Brian barks out a laugh.

  "Sammy, if you let me up I can explain."

  “I can hear you just fine,” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “So can half the people walking down your block,” His point is proven when I hear laughter from a passerby. Someone seems to find his situation fun as well. “Please Samantha, can I come up?”

  "Fine," I grit out through clenched teeth. I hit the button to open the door and return to the kitchen. The front door is open with the security guys moving around.

  I'm almost ready to add in the Cognac and chicken into the Dutch oven. The door creaks open and an unsure looking Beau walks in with no hat and his hair pulled back from his face. The gray tee shirt is a little looser than what he usually wears, but it still strains at his biceps. His jeans are well worn, feet are again covered with only flip flops. I look back down at the food cooking on the stove before he sees me watching him.

  He speaks with Brian for a few moments. They speak low, and I don’t bother listening to it. Brian slaps him on the back laughing before he folds up my laptop and walks towards the door.

  “I’ll keep the security guys out of your hair for a bit.”

  Beau makes his way over to the kitchen and sits at the stool.

  "Smells really good," I don't acknowledge the compliment, just keep working. I lift up the heavy pot and place it in the oven, setting a timer.

  "Sammy will you look at me?" I look up but still say nothing. This is his show, not mine. I don't have a fiancé hiding under the bed. He breathes in and starts with, "When I ran into you at the market, I thought it was a fluke you didn't recognize me.”

  “You’re not that famous,” I roll my eyes partly, because he really is.

  Without missing a beat, he picks up, “You dismissed me, sort of like that, and it made me curious. Here I was trying to hide from anyone that might recognize me. Then you ignore me, and I want nothing more than your attention. It was wonderful and shitty all at once." Beau's hands run back and forth over the counter as he talks, "I found you so intriguing and genuine. I heard you telling the cashier you'd be by before you opened the store, so after you left I asked her what store.”

  I give him my full attention, leaning my butt on the counter, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “That night I found the bookstore online and the Facebook link. I couldn't stop myself. I had to try and see you again. I noticed the book club was meeting in a couple days and hoped you'd be there."

  “That’s a bit—” I struggle to find the best words, “I wouldn’t expect that from someone who’s entire life can be googled.”

  Beaus brows furrow as he thinks about my comment.

  I open the fridge and hand him a water, for something to do now that all the cooking is left to the oven. He seems grateful. He smiles and tips it back, gulping it down.

  "I'm not sure what my intentions were when I came to your store. I wanted to see you again.” He looks bashful, “I’m sorry for cyber stalking you.” His eyes dart around the kitchen, glancing at the ingredients still left out on the counter. He continues, “When those women stayed I almost took off, but I wanted talk to you. I helped you clean up as an excuse to stick around.”

  Beau pulls his hands down to his sides, forming fists. “But those women behaved just like I'm used to. Like I'm theirs for the taking, a prize to be had. I heard you telling them to grow up, to knock off the bickering. It was nice to have someone be nice to me, stand up for me, and not because they know who I am."

  Beau rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flex, and his shirt pulls tighter around his form. It pisses me off that I notice, especially after what he just said. I start gathering the empty cartons and leftover bits of unused ingredients to put away or toss.

  "Shit. After that Sammy, I was a mess. I came, and I left just to come back again. I didn't know what to tell you, how to tell you, or even if I should tell you.” He struggles a bit to finish, “I’d left that life behind. It’s too fucked up for me to deal with, and it’s not worth it.” He looks up at me, “I couldn't stay away even with it being difficult to explain everything to you. Once, I realized that, it scared the shit out of me.” He breathes, “I was fighting a losing battle, so I decided I wanted more with you.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it. I seriously thought that you ran because of what I told you.
..about my past.” I’m still in disbelief about what he has confessed.

  “I know I didn’t handle it well,” He shakes his head then rubs his hand over his face. “You were already dealing with so much, it just seemed pointless to say, by the way I'm a world-famous actor.” He searches my eyes as he says, “I’m grateful to you Sammy, for treating me like a human, liking me for me, not because I can help you land a role, or even because of this," he points to his gorgeous face.

  “It was the flip flops that did it for me,” I gesture to his face much in the same way he did, “I guess I can deal with that, but I’m really all about the toes.”

  He laughs at my silly comment; it helps to lighten the seriousness of the conversation. His shoulders ease for the first time since he entered my studio.

  Beau sends me a killer smile, "Sammy, you are so beautiful, inside and out. You make me feel real, instead of someone’s fantasy.” He shakes his head, “You are sweet and a little mouthy. I don't want to lose what this could be. Please say I haven't." He takes a few steps closer, moving past the island. He stops before he can crowd me into the limited space. Every word softens my resolve. This is why I shouldn’t have let him up.

  "Beau,” my voice breaks. “You’re getting married," I shake my head sadly. I will not allow myself to cry, but it’s a struggle. "I can't be around you. I have feelings for you, like real feelings, and that wouldn't be right. I will never settle for second place.” He gives a quick shake of his head in denial, but I push on. “I'd rather be alone. I can understand not telling me about being an actor or being famous, but not telling me your getting married. Especially before we”— I can’t finish saying it. I sigh, “It's not fair to any of us.”

  I throw both of my hands in the air feeling every bit of the same frustration I felt earlier. Nothing is resolved by talking to him.

  “Sammy I’d never be with you while being engaged,” He interjects.

  My eyes go round. I’m in utter disbelief. “Then what are you doing right now? Where is she in all this?"