by Davis, SJ
At last the tears resurfaced and she turned on some heavy metal ballads to drown out her crying.
There was a reason you couldn't find trouple in the dictionary.
The word didn't exist.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jason lifted his paintbrush and tossed it aside. The painting was finished and he was done. He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head pretty sure he just gave himself an unintentional blue stripe.
"It's beautiful." His mother entered the kitchen and put her hand to her chest.
He wiped his hand down the front of his shirt, staining it like he stained everything else.
"Maybe you should call them and show them." She came around the back of him and gave him a hug.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"If you need to cry it's all right." She grabbed a paper towel and waved it in front of her.
"I don't need to cry." Maybe he did. He didn't deserve to cry. Lauren cried that afternoon. She sobbed and thought by turning the music up they wouldn't hear, but he did, he was sure Russell did, and neither of them went to her. They told her they loved her and then dropped her. "I don't even know where Lauren is." He shut his eyes. For the first time since he found her he could honestly say he misplaced her.
After the fight and the box delivery, she ran away. He could have predicted that move. What he didn't see coming was her not returning that night, or the next. For some reason he also thought she would have left the Jacques box.
The first night he stayed in the house. Russell stayed in his room and Jason returned to his. They didn’t speak and Lauren didn't come back. When Russell went for work the next day, he packed his art and his clothes and left as well.
He drove around for hours, winding up in Beverly Hills. Part of him wanted to go by Russell's office, part of him wanted to try to track down Lauren, part of him wanted to go find Victor. He did none of those things.
He went home.
Of course his parents took him right in. They didn't ask questions. His mother guided him to his old bedroom, turned their breakfast nook into a place to paint, and when at last he confided what happened they stared at him as if he were either a victim or a villain.
The next day his father took him to the dealership, his mother made dinner and straightened out his art supplies. He lay in his twin bed that night and stared up at the glow in the dark stars and planets he painted on the ceiling when he was a teenager.
After reaching for Lauren more times than he cared to count, he got up, stumbled into the kitchen and began to paint.
They may not be together, but they remained his muses.
"Call her cell phone." His mother interrupted his thoughts.
"I can't." Once more he picked up the paintbrush.
"Don't over paint." She took the brush from him. "Why can't you?"
He spun toward her. "Because I'm a child. I came home to my mommy and daddy. I let her leave. I let Russell escape. I did this." He braced himself on the counter at finally voicing it. If anyone deserved his parents it was Russell who wanted to be adopted by them or Lauren who wanted a family. He had everything, and now he had to own his actions. He couldn't buy Lauren what was in that lime green box. He couldn’t help Russell face his demons. All he could do was come up with schemes to get what he wanted.
His mother put the brush down and patted his back. "Are you sure about the art?"
He shut his eyes. Of course he wasn't sure about the art. "This is the art that has to be shown."
"Because your agent thinks so?"
He hit his fist into the counter. Victor created stars. This was his chance. He would make some money. "They can't take care of the wounded artist anymore, I have to be a success."
"Is that the art you wanted to show?" She wrapped her arm around him.
"I created it." He straightened up.
"For you and Russell and Lauren, or for the world?" She took hold of his chin and made him face her. "You wouldn't even let me see it."
He stared into that face. His mother's face. She would accept anything he doled out including supporting erotic art if that was what he wanted. The only caveat was it had to be what he wanted. "I want to be an artist."
"You are." She kept hold of him.
"I want to be something."
"You are." She put her other hand on his cheek.
He put his hand over hers. "I need to show this art. I need this. They need me to do it."
"Then get them to the gallery and show them what you see." His mother let go of him.
He retrieved his paintbrush. "They need me to do this."
***
Sunday night blues. The sick, sad sensation one got when they realized there was nothing on television and they had to go to work the next day. Since the day she crawled through the boxes to Jason and Russell, Sunday night blues were in the past, something experienced by single girls, not by a woman who had two men.
Now single again, the Sunday night blues came back in full-force, seeping through her like bad medicine, making her dizzy, antsy and nauseated all at the same time. The only problem was this was now Monday morning and today would make it one week since she walked away from her fantasy and in to horror movie.
Every morning she woke up in the hotel alone with only herself, the bottomless pit in her stomach, and a black Valerie bag with silver fittings. She finally got the monster to chase her only in this case it was the bag. It wanted to suffocate her and take everything she ever wanted.
"Oh my God." She scratched her nails through her hair. The bag wasn't what she wanted, the green box, the purple ribbon, the oversized Jacques bag that in itself was a collectable. "I don't want it."
Not unlike the horror movie of her life, the walls of the small hotel room she checked into last week seemed to close in on her, forcing her to face the bag. All she could do was back up, move as far away from possible and shut her eyes. "I don't want it."
Her eyes ached from the nights she spent crying. Right when she thought she was done, the tears would start fresh. Sometimes it was wracking sobs, complete with sniffing and snorting and other times her eyes simply leaked, but either way, the better part of her week was seen through the blur of salt water that wouldn't stop, as if her tears were trying to block out the horrible images of the three of them the day before, each with their own demon, embracing the monster rather than addressing it and banding together.
This morning, without any tears to blur her vision, she saw she was stuck in this hotel room with her monster, but the monster was only disguised as the Valerie bag.
She took a breath and gathered the strength to face the monster head on, walked across the room, and picked up the purse.
Two months ago all she wanted, dreamed about and schemed for was this moment. Dr. Dalton gave her the bag and a note. He wanted her.
Two months ago, if she would have received this gift she would have called her boss and told him she got another gig. The next rep would be coming to her to buy the plumping agents, and she would be the wife who guarded her husband more closely than this unattainable bag.
Two months ago she would have told Anne she got it all, and tried not to gloat that her so-called friend was still selling antibiotics.
That was two months ago.
Today, two months later her fantasy moment wasn't when she held the purse, it came true the night Jason slipped and said he loved her. The dream was made complete when Russell whispered the same. Two men loved her. The two men she loved.
Two men, but as she said to Russell Thanksgiving night, it was the two men, not any two men.
Of course now she didn't have the two men. One thought they should be on display, the other wanted to hide them.
She studied herself in the mirror. Bag on her shoulder, bracelet on her wrist, if she played her cards right she could have the baby and the Botox. The picture would be perfect, everything would be planned and she would be set. "I don't want it."
She walked over to the green b
ox, moved aside the purple tissue paper and laid the Valerie bag back inside. With a nod she ran her fingers across the leather once more, put the lid on and slid everything back into the collector bag along with the note from Dr. Dalton. Even now she couldn't get herself to think of him as Greg.
She took a breath when she picked up her own bag. No, not a Valerie bag, it wasn't born on Rodeo Drive, it didn't have a waiting list. This bag came from an artisan in Hollywood and housed her wallet, her makeup bag and had a special slot for her tablet computer and her cell phone. The compartments pleased Russell who tilted his head at it twice as he helped her change purses. The fact that the bag was one of a kind pleased Jason who told her this purse was true art. Though she had her designer bags, this was the one she always wore. It was unconventional and different, no other strap sat on her shoulder without slipping, nothing fit her better.
Nothing fit her better.
Before she took the coward's way out. Traveled down the freeway of bags, babies and Botox, she swooped the Jacques bag into her arms and dashed out of the hotel room.
The moment she entered the elevator her cell phone vibrated and she balled her hand into a fist. No matter what happened, what kind of shambles her life was in today was still a workday. She reached into the slot on her purse and froze. Maybe, just maybe, it was one of them. The vibrating stopped and her heart seized.
If one of them called would she run? If it were Russell could they work through his issues? If it were Jason could she believe they really had love and the art only got in the way? If it were her could she tell them she didn't want the purse and all that went with it? Could she?
The elevator doors opened and she walked straight out onto Wilshire Boulevard. Dr. Dalton's office was only two blocks down. She couldn't just tell them she didn't want the bag she needed to prove it.
Her body shook. Once she made the decision there would be no backtracking. If Jason and Russell didn't want her back did she still not want what she was offered?
She made it to the corner and glanced up at the red light. Dr. Dalton's office was only two blocks down. She needed to check her phone, but if it were someone wanting to order a dozen syringes she may lose her mind.
A scant few people joined her on the corner. This was one of the only places people did walk in LA.
The light turned green and everyone but her stepped off the curb. She had only two choices. Go to Dr. Dalton and return the purse. Go to the Dalton and accept the purse.
Her phone vibrated again. This would give her the answer. She retrieved her phone and letting fate take her, she answered the phone without glancing at the caller id. "Hello?"
"If I say I'm sorry really fast do you think we can meet for lunch?"
She clutched the bag tighter. "What do you need, Anne?" Was this the sign? Anne called before Jason or Russell?
"I miss you and I feel bad for what I said."
The light turned red. "I really have a lot going on right now."
"Did something happen? You sound upset."
"I'm fine." The light turned green again, and some people pushed passed her. "I just have to get somewhere."
"I know you have to be near Rodeo. Let's meet and talk."
She narrowed her eyes. "How do you know that?"
"Come on, don't tell me you don't like the favor I did for you. You didn't expect to keep two men all to yourself. I spoke to Dr. Dalton and he told me expected to see you any second."
"You spoke to Dr. Dalton?" She shook her head.
"Last week. He was so infatuated by what you were doing I think it made him want you more. Us girls have to stick together, you needed a back up plan." Anne laughed. "You are quite the catch, maybe you can teach me your tricks."
She squeezed her phone and gritted her teeth. The cryptic, strange conversation with Dr. Dalton, the purse, everything fell into place.
Her phone vibrated again. "I can't see you, I have something to do." She hung up.
The light began to flash, a sign in Los Angeles not to stop or slow down, but to hurry up. She lifted her phone to her face. "Please let it be them and I promise I'll never ask for anything again." She stepped off the curb.
Her hand trembled and with the glare of the sun she couldn't make out anything on the screen of her phone. No matter what, she had to talk to them.
Still walking across the street, she shielded her eyes and blinked, but before she could focus, the honk of more than one car jolted her away from her phone, and she looked up with only enough time to drop her phone as a red sports car headed toward her.
Her world went black.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
"So what's up with this impromptu invitation?" Ken leaned over the table and handed Russell a screwdriver.
"Yeah since when did we score dinner on Russell?" Tom straightened out the rest of the tools.
"What do you mean?" Russell sat back and assessed his latest challenge, an early 1990's Mac computer. He remembered when those came out. His parents bought him one, it had an 80-megabyte hard drive and he was the envy of everyone in the computer club. Even Jason was impressed. Now the flash drive Lauren kept misplacing was sixteen gigabytes. Times were different.
He put his hand on his pocket. She left the flash drive in the kitchen. He found it on night two of his solitude when he rearranged the kitchen. Today every drawer, cupboard and crevice had been cleaned and organized. Everything except the bedrooms and the once studio.
Now he slept on the couch watching the oil lamp he rehung so he didn't have to step into Jason's old room. As he headed into night three, he was sure he going to end up running through here pulling his hair out and screaming or spending another night cleaning and looking out the front window waiting for car lights. After a week, he decided he needed a straight jacket, hence the invitation. "It was about time we had a guys night." Yes, times were different. He tightened his grip on the screwdriver and went in for the kill. "After we eat I got a movie, and I set up the video games."
"Gee, I wish I would have brought my sleeping bag, and the three of us could camp out in the living room and make a tent with your extra sheets." Ken laughed and took a swig of his beer.
Russell swallowed. He guessed the guys didn't want to spend the night.
Tom reached over and grabbed the screwdriver.
"Hey." He kept his grip on the tool.
"Where are the other people who live with you?"
"Yeah, I was hoping to see Lauren." Ken looked over his shoulder.
The doorbell rang.
"They forgot their keys!" Russell dropped the screwdriver, pushed himself away from the table and dashed toward the door.
Before he rounded the corner to the living room, he skidded to a stop, grabbing the doorjamb before he tripped. The last time the doorbell rang Lauren received a present that would take him months to save up for.
She walked away too fast. Disappeared without a note or a call. For all he knew she was with that doctor right now showing off whatever was in that box. No wonder she left half her stuff here. She didn't need it anymore.
The doorbell rang again.
"Dude, are you going to get the pizza or what?" Tom came over and hit him on the shoulder.
Where he was starving when he got home, now the vision of melted cheese, sauce and chunky toppings caused a sour sensation to rise in the back of his throat and work its way through his body. "Can you get it?" He reached in his pocket, trying to ignore Lauren's flash drive, and fished out some money.
"Sure." Tom gave him a pat, snatched the money and trotted away.
Russell returned to the table. He sat and reached for his beer. Once again he stopped himself. This was the brand Jason got him. The bribe brand.
No doubt Jason went to his parents. Right now his mother was probably helping him get ready for the show. She probably even gave him every reason why he should show his grand art.
He narrowed his eyes and tried to think what Cecelia would say. "You love them and it came out in the art.
The world should see it."
"What?" Tom hit the table.
He blinked and shook his head, not meaning to say the words aloud. "Nothing." He took his time exhaling. Was it possible this was a labor of love and not profit? Jason hadn't strayed once since he concocted his plan. In fact, he was the one who turned out to be jealous and possessive. He wanted to wear the three of them on his shirtsleeve, show the world, and it came out in his art.
He stared at the beer bottle wanting the answers. Unlike Jason, he went to any length to hide them, even after he said he wouldn't. He even lied.
Ken returned with the three pizza boxes and placed them on the kitchen counter. "Looks like we are ready for our night. You ordered a ton. Are we expecting the rest of your crew?"
"Something's wrong with him." Tom pointed to Russell. "He's talking about the world seeing his art."
"What's up, Russ?" Ken put the boxes in a row and opened them. "Where is everyone?"
Russell turned and assessed what he ordered. The vegetarian for Lauren because she felt the vegetables diluted the cheese. The pineapple and ham for Jason, who was convinced he invented the concept of fruit on pizza, and the cheese for him, though Lauren and Jason would both sneak a piece of that pie. "What if I told you I was with Lauren?"
"I would ask you why she wasn't here serving us this pizza." Ken grimaced at the pineapples.
He was about to tell his friend to try it, he may like it. Lauren and Jason may steal the cheese slices, but he would swipe theirs as well. Pineapple was his favorite.
"I would say tell me something I don't know." Tom got up and examined the food.
"Okay." Russell got up and put a slice of Jason's pizza on Ken's plate. "I have another question."
"Shoot." Tom took a bite and tilted his head.
"What if I told you that Lauren…" He cut himself off and cleared his throat. If he couldn't own it now, he never could, and he would have to leave things as they were. He would have to spend the rest of his life sleeping on the couch, watching the oil lamp and waiting for them to come home.