Christmas in LA

by Herb Scribner

  I like that’s he’s morphed into a calmer version of the person I met only minutes ago. He’s calm and kind and understanding. Much different than the ass I met when the door first opened.

  I won’t have many chances in life to live in an apartment like this. In fact, this probably will be the only time I will unless I go hog wild and spend money on a frivolous vacation. Sometimes you should just live for the sake of living. Don’t worry about what it means to other people. Do something for you.

  But what would Derek think, if he knew that I neglected to go home with him so I could stay at some rich guy’s apartment while the guy was still there? Spending the week of Christmas with someone I don’t know, an intimidating and rich man that would surely make Derek feel insecure? Not good. Not good at all.

  Yeah, that’s a recipe for disaster. He’s probably already really unhappy with me.

  Maybe I shouldn’t stay here. Maybe it’s best if I leave. I don’t want to ruin what I have with Derek, even though it’s tattered and broken. This is wrong. The pit of nerves in my stomach make that clear.

  “That’s okay.” I say. “I can find another place nearby. I think there are a few hotels.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I don’t want to be a bother.”

  I slip out my smartphone and begin searching for locations. He heads off into the kitchen for who knows what. As I scroll down the list of potential hotels in the area, the sinking feeling of regret pokes its way into my mind.

  9.

  Ramada. Closed.

  Holiday Inn. Closed.

  Radisson. Closed.

  Hyatt House. Closed.

  I don’t know how many times I can read the word “closed” before I stop looking. It’s more out of habit than anything. I’ve committed to this idea of relocating to somewhere else and leaving the apartment. I have to stick to it. Hopefully one of these apartments or hotels will have an opening.

  The Yelp app doesn’t yield any better results. Just a bunch of hotels and apartments shutdown for the holidays It’s all the more depressing knowing that the airport’s certificate might be wasted if I can’t find anywhere else to stay. I paid for this Airbnb with my own money and plan to reimburse myself with the airline check when I get home. Now if I have to use that too, I’m going to be well out of luck. This seriously sucks.

  I switch over to Airbnb to see if there are anymore rooms here or in nearby buildings that are available. A handful are available. But they’re too costly to even really consider as realistic. A thousand dollars here, five hundred dollars here. I don’t have the money to keep buying all these random apartments for the week.

  Maybe I don’t want to find another place to stay. I mean this place is pretty freaking awesome. It’s worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. It’s probably stacked with all sorts of snacks, video game systems, movies. Just the life. I bet this guy has a personal chef, or at least room service. I mean, this is high-priced living at its finest.

  But I can’t intrude on this guy’s life, can I? That would be extremely rude. I would hate that if I were him. I’d just be as much of an ass as he was when I opened the door. Okay, maybe I wouldn’t be totally naked — who walks around naked like that after a shower? — but still. I’d definitely give him a run for his money.

  Slowly the realization lifts from the fog of my mind that there isn’t an alternative. I have to stay here, don’t I? There’s really nowhere else to go.

  “Any luck?” he asks, walking over to me with his own tall, thin can of mango-flavored La Croix. He casually leans against the couch.

  “Nope,” I say honestly. “Everything’s booked.”

  He pries himself of the couch and walks past the dining room to the back window. I glance over that way and see what he sees. The snow continues to float down amid a black backdrop. There’s no ending the snowfall now. It’s here for the long haul. Hopefully it ends before Christmas Eve so I can reach my flight. But this is some serious snowfall.

  “It’s still coming down out there,” he says. “I heard on the news that they’re calculating freezing temperatures on Christmas Eve. So we’re talking ice, all that. The data predicts that this is going to cause a lot of problems for people.”

  “Oh, the data says that, huh?”

  “Yep. And as we know, the data is everything.”

  No wonder this guy is a tech nerd. He’s already talking about how the data explains everything about the snowstorm. I’m not sure about data, but I know my weather app can tell me that, too.

  “Well, listen, I hate to circle back to this, but you can totally stay here if it’ll be easier,” he says, shuffling his feet as he walks back closer to me. “I have to do some work over the next few days so I can’t exactly throw you a party. But you can get everything you signed up for. A room, food, TV, anything.”

  “Anything?”

  “Well, within reason. I have a personal food delivery service. I don’t think they’re working right now, but they might be. Sometimes their drone system is good enough.”

  “Drone system?”

  He waves it off like it’s no big deal.

  “Not a big deal,” he says.

  “Who are you?” I ask with a smile.

  He extends his hand again. “Ryan Rain.”

  “No, I get that.”

  “Yeah, but apparently you had to ask twice.”

  “Wow. You’re a jerk.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

  “Well, maybe you should change.”

  “Maybe,” he says with a cocky grin emerging on his face. “But listen, you’re definitely welcome to stay here as long as you paid before. I promise I won’t bother you.”

  Despite the creeping sadness of having to leave, I deny him. “No, it’s okay. I can find somewhere else.”

  “No, you can’t,” he answers for me. “All the other hotels are empty. This is the best deal you’re going to get. And please, don’t spend more money just because of me. It’s stupid. I couldn’t leave before the snowstorm. Seriously. This is my fault.”

  “So why don’t you leave then?”

  Damn Noelle! That was bold.

  He smiles. “I will. On Christmas Eve. I’m out of here on my private jet.”

  “Perfect. That’s when I’m leaving.”

  “Okay. So we only have to stay here together for a few days. That’s not bad.”

  I shrug. “Not bad at all. I can handle you.”

  “And I can handle you.”

  “Good.”

  “I like that we’re already joking,” he says back to me. “We can probably get a long really well if we try. Most people get along with me.”

  What an arrogant jerk. He’s just strutting his stuff, walking around in a robe, thinking that he can befriend anyone he wants whenever he wants. There’s something insanely inconsiderate, rude and arrogant about that idea. I wonder if he’s ever had his heart broken or if he’s ever been rejected. I mean, most tech moguls have faced some sort of rejection at one point in their life or another. But this guy seems to be rolling with success. Like he’s privileged and hasn’t faced any real problems.

  “Well, I guess we will see.”

  “I guess we will,” he says.

  He walks away from me then, dragging his feet across the floor as he heads off to the back of his apartment, sipping his drink. He waves for me to follow him. I assume this is going to be some sort of tour.

  “Come on,” he says. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  Well, I guess this is where I’m staying now. It’s not that bad of a change. This guy is handsome, he’s got all you could want in terms of money, and he seems pleasant enough. Well, except for the overt cockiness. Maybe that’ll wear down once we learn a little bit more about each other. Either way, it’s only for a few days. By the time I’m done, this will just be a faint memory of Christmas past. Maybe I’ll tell Derek, maybe I won’t. It is a pretty funny story.

  Well, here we go. So begins t
he Christmas I spent with a tech mogul. So begins a Christmas in LA.

  10.

  This snow isn’t going to letup at all. The snow falls like rain. Flake after flake after flake. Coming down as thick clouds out there. The gray sky is still that faint orange color from the glow of the streetlights. Any tread-marks made by passing vehicles have been filled. No one’s been out on the roads for a long time now.

  I face the lengthy window that overlooks the nearby city streets of Los Angeles. It has slowly transformed into a winter wonderland. Snow hugs the skyscrapers that kiss the clouds. It’s a city under siege from snowfall. I don’t even want to think about walking out there.

  I’d love to travel back to the airport. Part of me wishes I never left. Now I have to figure out a return journey. That should be fun. Cue the eye-roll.

  I’m still sipping on my sparkling water. I would have downed it by now but I’m not sure when I’ll have something else to drink. I know Ryan probably has any drink known to man in his refrigerator, but I don’t want to risk the chance of not drinking anything for awhile. He might not offer me anything, and I really don’t feel comfortable enough reaching into his fridge.

  The apartment is ghostly quiet. Where did he go? I know he said he might have some work activities to take care of, but I figured that would be for the morning or afternoon. Maybe he’s already working on his latest venture. I still have no clue what company he works for or what his job entails. For all I know, he lied about having a ton of work and decided to settle down for the night. That wouldn’t be the first time I’ve faced rejection from someone I’ve just met.

  My mind floats back to David. Sweet and kind David. He probably wouldn’t be thrilled to know what’s going on with me tonight. Though he’d probably celebrate for saving money by holding onto the airline check, his cheeks would flare up and his voice would grow tired when he learned about me staying with Ryan. He’d probably grow quiet for a little bit as he sifted through his thoughts on the matter, and then he’d express how angry he was. We didn’t normally outright fight, even though I can be a lot to handle and he can be quite the jerk when he wants to be. Our seldom arguments are passive aggressive comments that soon turn into jokes.

  Should I call him? Probably. But then again, calling him means I’ll have to talk to him about what I’m doing. And I definitely don’t want to lie to him about all of that. I am definitely not in the mood nor do I have the headspace to really open up about everything.

  Ugh. I’m tired. I’m less funny when I’m tired. And that’s sad because comedy might be the only thing that’ll help me survive all of this. That and the hope that I will soon return home and see my family again for a festive Christmas celebration.

  The snow just won’t let up. I guess I can keep staring at this for the entire night, or I can do the responsible thing and fall asleep.

  That sounds great.

  I walk around the corner and reach the last hallway where the rooms are. The room at the far end of the hall glows with a blueish hue. Ryan sits at a desk there, typing away feverishly. He’s wearing a pair of thick black glasses, a plain white t-shirt and blue stripped pajama pants. At least he’s dressed now.

  Is he going to be working late into the night? How long will I have to wait for the room to be free.

  I walk down the hallway and knock twice on the door. He leans backward and cocks his head so that our eyes meet.

  “Hey!” he says. Spinning the chair completely around. “Ready for bed?”

  “Yeah,” I begin, scratching my right arm. “Is this my room?”

  “Yes, sorry” he says, taking his thick-rimmed glasses off of his face and standing up from the desk. “I was just finishing up a project.”

  “Oh, no worries.”

  He waves me into the room and I follow his offer. The bed is made with a throw blanket of Santa’s face laying on top. Thick pillows angle against the wall. A bottle of water, a sleeping mask, an iPhone charger and sole piece of chocolate sit on the nightstand like a gift package.

  “Sorry if this is a little much,” he says. “But I don’t get company very often.”

  “Do you leave this for all of your guests?”

  He shrugs. “Not me exactly. My guy does it.”

  “Your guy?”

  “Yes. Chives.”

  “Oh, so, like a butler?”

  He chuckles. “No, no. Not a butler. He’s my guy. Need a bottle of water before bed, he’ll snag you one. Need a pack of Skittles at 3 a.m. Chives is on it! Seriously. The dude deserves so much reverence for what he does.”

  Sounds to me like a butler. But who am I to complain? This is the high life. Might as well embrace it until it’s gone, which will surely be soon.

  “Anyway. Enjoy all of this. I feel like Chives might have gotten here before the storm since he knew someone would be renting the room eventually with me gone. So, use that candy with your discretion.”

  I point two finger-guns at him. “You got it.”

  He walks past me, smelling of a cool and refreshing cologne of pine and peppermint. I’m surprised he’s wearing it this late in the night. He spins around and leans against the door frame in that too-cool-for-you sort of way. Slanting light hits his face. He’s a pretty attractive fellow, what with the chiseled chin, the thick and muscular arms, the kind eyes. I wonder what the body is like.

  “Alright, well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” he says through a soft breath.

  “Yeah see you then.”

  “I’ll have coffee for you when you wake up.”

  “Double-pump latte?”

  “And a low-fat muffin,” he jokes.

  “Sounds great.”

  “Good night, Noelle. And thanks for taking a chance on me,” he says, slowly stepping backward and walking down the hall. That’s an odd for him to say. Do people not normally take chances?

  “No problem, Ryan. Goodnight.”

  I close the door and get ready for bed. I’m only awake for another five minutes before the darkness of sleep takes me.

  DAY TWO: DECEMBER 22

  11.

  That night, I dream of Derek. His luscious black locks, his piercing blue eyes, the way he looks at me like I’m the most important person in the world and the only one who matters. His sweet and kind smile that fills me with warmth. In the dream, we spend much of the time eating dinner together. His hand lingers onto mine, squeezing tightly and firmly, a confident squeeze to let me know that he is there for me. That he will always be there for me. We made that promise to each other. We never planned for an engagement, at least not yet, but we did promise we’d be there for each other until the very end, no matter what role that might be. Is it love? Is it friendship? Whatever it is, we’ll be there together. All the way until the end.

  Is this the end? Spending the holidays apart after a huge fight?

  My body aches and my mind is caught in a thin fog. Where am I again? Oh, yeah, some rich, tech mogul’s apartment. The world at my finger tips.

  Waves of guilt wash over me. I shouldn’t be here. Derek will be so upset when he finds out. And I rejected his idea to go home and ended up … here? How is that even remotely acceptable?

  A waft of the smell of coffee wakes me from my sleep. Groggily I step off the bed, finding my footing like I’m an evil doctor’s monstrous creation. I sneak a glance at myself in the bedroom mirror. My sandy brown hair’s all astray, pointing this way and that, my skin is pale and packed with pimples, as it normally is before I have the time to drop the cake on it. The knapsacks under my eyes have ventured off to parts unknown, but the sunken curves remain there, just in case they decide to return.

  The coffee’s breath pulls me out of my room and into the hall, its grip as tight as leather. A spicy and sweet smell, bold and strong, hangs in the air. There’s also something faintly familiar about it. All my mind points me to is Derek. Did he give me this coffee before? Did we buy it from a store before and brew it together?

  In the kitchen I find Ryan
standing at the island counter. Bright red cups stare at me from a cardboard cup holder. He’s holding one as well, as his eyes stare at the iPad sitting quaintly before him. He drags his finger on the screen and then sees me standing across the room.

  He raises his cup. “Morning.”

  I groan. That’s all he’s getting from me this morning. No jokes, no flavorful dialogue, just groans and minimal conversation. I want to tell Derek the truth when I explain that literally nothing happened when I stayed at this rich guy’s house.

  “Ah, not a morning person,” he says.

  “Nope.”

  “Good. Neither am I. So you won’t mind if I completely ignore you.”

  Is it just me or was that insanely and utterly rude? Nope. Not just me. Anyone who listens to him must see him as rude and unwelcome. His tone is so sneering and utterly blunt to a fault.

  He slurps a sip from the top of his cup, locking his eyes on the tablet screen again.

  I rip one of the cups from the cardboard container and sip it slowly. Best not burn my lips and embarrass myself in front of this guy. The coffee is sweet, spicy and bold like I imagined with a hint of nutmeg and cinnamon. Why does this taste so familiar? What does this remind me of? I slurp down another quick sip and soak up the full-bodied taste.

  “What?” he asks me.

  “What the heck is this? It tastes so familiar.”

  “Starbucks.”

  “What?”

  “Starbucks. It’s their holiday spice mixed with their Christmas blend coffee.”

  I take another sip to confirm what he tells me. And indeed, now the coffee appears even more familiar. This is Starbucks, both the holiday spice drink mixed with the Christmas blend. An odd seasonal combination that I’m sure I’ve had before.

  Thanking him seems in order. He did secure a cup of the good stuff for me. The least I can do is thank him for braving the elements outside.

  But wait. That doesn’t make sense. How did he get it? I look the coffee cup up and down. It’s not this year’s holiday cup from Starbucks. The 2017 edition is white with several different holiday pictures pasted throughout. This one is a solid red and there is no Starbucks logo anywhere to be seen. So what’s the big deal with this cup?