Beautiful Addictions

by Season Vining

  “There,” Monica said as she stepped to Josie and slid a silk flower barrette into her hair.

  Monica stepped to the side and turned Josie toward the mirror. The girl’s eyes landed on her reflection, and for a moment she couldn’t identify the stranger staring back. This time, she could see a beautiful and happy girl. Having no patience for daydreams, she pressed her fingers to the glass to verify that it was real. There was a new light to her eyes, an unfamiliar lift to the corners of her mouth. She could almost pass for human.

  A knock jolted her out of her scrutinizing. Her heart drummed against her chest and she felt pulled across the room toward the door. She could already feel his energy, his fantastical command over her body. The clicking of her heels against the hardwood floor counted off her steps toward Tristan. After sliding all the locks free, she threw open the door.

  Tristan stood with his hands in his pockets, nervously jingling his keys. Her eyes started at his feet, noticing his shoes, then his jeans, then losing all patience and skipping directly to his face. He’d shaved his face clean and now the edge of his jaw looked so sharp and masculine, like it had been chiseled free from one solid piece of stone. His eyes shone like emeralds.

  “Wow, you look amazing, Stems.”

  Her smile turned up in reaction to the nickname. Tristan’s eyes took in every inch of her form, from the black top clinging to her hips down to her red high heels. Her brown eyes, lined in thick black lashes, seemed to shine. The red flower in her hair lent sweetness to her otherwise sultry, temptress appearance.

  Monica came barreling past, an enormous bag slung over her shoulder, stopping between the two of them.

  “Here,” Monica said, handing her a small red clutch. “I put all your essentials in there, so you shouldn’t need anything else. I’ll get my stuff back from you sometime next week.”

  Monica spun to face Tristan, completely shocked by his appearance. He was not what she had expected. His presence was grand and so masculine while his smile made him appear beautiful and almost childlike.

  “I’m Tristan,” he said.

  “You certainly are,” she answered, slipping her hand into his. “I’m Monica. You guys have fun tonight.”

  Monica trotted down the steps and out of sight, leaving the two alone in her doorway.

  “Ready?” Tristan asked.

  She nodded and locked the door, taking his hand as they descended the single flight of stairs. Tristan led her to his classic car parked at the curb. He opened the door and let her slide in before making his way around to the driver’s seat.

  Josie felt something beneath her and scooted up to retrieve another one of Tristan’s books. She held it up to him as he took a seat.

  “Do you read in the car?” she asked.

  His lips curled up on one side, a wordless answer. Josie tossed the book onto the backseat and shook her head.

  “I guess I should be happy you’re addicted to books and not something like crack whores.”

  “Nah. I gave them up for Lent this year,” Tristan joked.

  “Are you Catholic?” Josie asked.

  “No, but I’ve read the Bible.”

  “You mean you have that entire book memorized?”

  “Ephesians 6:12. ‘For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.’”

  “Wow,” Josie said. “How do you do that?”

  Tristan laughed and turned the key.

  “I don’t do it. I’m just built that way.”

  The car rumbled to a thunderous start. He glanced at Josie’s reaction, watching her denim-covered legs cross and then uncross. His baby always had that effect on ladies. At first, they’d be dazzled by her cherry red paint, clean lines, and whitewall tires. It wasn’t until they were seated in the plush vinyl seat, and she kicked to life, that they fully understood her appeal.

  Josie fidgeted nervously, stunned by the feel of the pulsating seat beneath her. She let her mind drift to their possible destinations and felt her anxiety go into overdrive. The idea of being in a crowded place with tons of whispered conversations surrounding them terrified her. Too many people, too many faces and eyes to see her. The thought left her reeling.

  “Where are we going?” she finally asked, blowing out a breath.

  “A quiet place with a fantastic view,” Tristan answered, slipping his hand over hers.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled again, letting her apprehension and worries slip away into the black night sky. His words and touch soothed her. It was as if he knew what she needed before she did.

  9. Albedo

  A measure of reflective power.

  They sat at the last table on the patio at Edgewater Grill. The restaurant wasn’t crowded, but the low hum of surrounding conversations was enough to give the couple a sense of sociability. Utensils wrapped in soft linen sat just below the water glasses. A single candle marked the center of the table, its flickering warm light washing the two in swaying shadows and a honey-yellow glow. Sporadically, the salty breeze would drift in from the bay, bringing with it the cooler ocean air and a breath of repose.

  Tristan ordered a Stella Artois and Josie asked for a glass of red wine.

  “What kind of red would you like, miss?”

  Josie glanced at Tristan and back at the expectant waiter; she didn’t know the answer. Monica had advised her that self-respecting women ordered wine at dinner and did not get so drunk they had to be carried out. Just as panic began to overwhelm her, Tristan rescued her from embarrassment.

  “She’ll have the 2007 Talisman Vineyard Pinot Noir. Thanks.”

  “Of course,” the waiter said before smiling tightly and turning to fetch their drinks.

  Following more of Monica’s instructions, Josie unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap. She kept her elbows off the table and sat stiffly in her chair. Glancing over the menu, she felt a bit overwhelmed by the choices and the prices attached to them.

  “Relax, Josie,” Tristan teased, nudging her foot beneath the table.

  She loosened her posture just a bit, wondering if everyone could tell she didn’t belong here. Selections were made, food was ordered, but conversation was mostly absent. Tristan wondered why Josie was at ease with him within the confines of her apartment, but here she seemed unreachable.

  Josie’s eyes scanned the bay, the black glossy surface dotted with specks of light on each ripple. Boats sailed by, returning from their sunset cruises, cutting through the water with no resistance. Josie had never before noticed the sleek lines and curves of these vessels and suddenly longed to sketch them out on her pristine napkin. She recognized her need to return to consoling habits, but with no tools available she sipped her water instead.

  There were so many sets of eyes here and she felt like all were bearing down on her. Josie resisted checking the faces at each table. She knew that they weren’t here, the eyes of her longtime demons. This place was too refined for them, for her too, if she was being honest. Like a shadow that followed her even in darkness, Josie always feared running into her foster parents. She knew they still lived here, though she’d made sure they couldn’t take in any more kids. Most of the time she could ignore that they lived in the same city.

  “Are you okay?” Tristan asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she offered.

  “‘I’m fine’ is the biggest white lie ever told.”

  “Because it’s easy. Usually, when people ask how you are, they don’t really care about the answer anyway. So they take for granted that you’re telling the truth,” Josie said. “And what is a white lie? Why white? Are there other color lies?”

  “No, it’s based on the idea of opposites. White meaning good and black meaning bad. White lies are thought to be harmless and trivial, lying without ill intent.”

  “Harmless. That’s a joke. I’ve told that lie hundreds of times and
no one cared enough to call me out on it.”

  “I care,” he said softly.

  Josie shifted in her seat, her eyes scanned the restaurant again, getting stuck on a familiar face.

  “I know that guy.”

  Tristan turned toward the main dining room.

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “The Asian waiter with the glasses.”

  “How well do you know him?” Tristan asked.

  Josie smirked, loving how easily he was baited.

  “Well enough to know that he wears boxer briefs and likes to be spanked.”

  Tristan felt the possessive anger bubbling up inside and it was all he could do to not growl when the kid passed by.

  “Something wrong?” she asked, feigning innocence.

  “No. I’m fine,” he hissed. “We all have a past. It doesn’t matter who you’ve slept with.”

  “Good, because I don’t remember half of them.”

  Tristan slid closer to the corner, allowing his leg to lean against hers. Beneath the frosted glass tabletop, she watched as his hand slid from his own thigh to hers, resting just above her knee.

  “I know what you’re trying to do, Josie. It won’t work.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You’re trying to make me jealous. I’m not a dog pissing on my territory here. I don’t need to sleep with you to prove that you’re mine.”

  Josie scoffed at the idea. Of course he needed to sleep with her. How else would anyone believe that he was with a girl like her?

  “Do you believe that people, in general, are good?” Josie asked, abandoning one heavy conversation for another.

  “I guess it depends on how you define good. I don’t think there’s any genetic predisposition toward the idea of being good. I mean, Nazi youth were considered righteous, suicide bombers are honored by supporters of their cause. Does that make them good? I think becoming a good person has more to do with your environment, your caregivers, and society.”

  “Look at my environment, my caregivers. How could I possibly be good?”

  Tristan was confused by her question. Of course she was good. She was everything.

  “Buddha said, ‘Neither fire nor wind, birth nor death can erase our good deeds.’ Before you suffered at the hands of those evil people, you were raised by two loving parents. Even though you may not remember it, I believe those ideas and values are ingrained into who you are.”

  Josie looked down at his hand still covering her thigh, his thumb tracing a small sweeping arc across the denim. She could feel the heat coming from his palm, the slight squeeze as his fingers curled around her. It was hard to believe that she was good, but she wanted to. She wanted to be good for him.

  “Tristan, there are things that you don’t know about me. Things that…”

  Just as the words stuck in her throat, the waiter appeared, sliding their dinner onto the table. The sight and smell appealed to her starved senses and she forgot what she had wanted to say.

  As much as Tristan wanted her to open up to him, this was not the place. He knew that Josie thought she could scare him away with her past, but she underestimated his dedication.

  They ate in silence, though it wasn’t the uneasy kind. It was peaceful and amicable. The wine was flavorful and Josie never remembered tasting food so good. She wondered if the company had anything to do with it.

  During dinner, Tristan tried to keep himself from staring. She was always beautiful, but tonight she was otherworldly. Even with the anxious energy, she was the most stunning creature he’d ever seen. Sometimes it still floored him that she was here, alive and in his life. He often became overwhelmed when holding her or kissing her, remembering how he’d once begged for such a gift.

  “Do you ever think about what would have happened if I’d never moved away?” Josie asked.

  She’d thought about nothing else since she’d learned of their connection. She imagined a different life, where she could become someone her parents would have been proud of. She could have been on the honor roll and yearbook staff. She could have gone to college and studied art. She could have ruled the world with this man by her side.

  “I’ve thought about it a lot since the day you left.”

  “Tell me,” Josie requested, folding her napkin and laying it on the table.

  She let her fingers trace over the ink on his skin, outlining the trunk and limbs just below his cuffed sleeve. Tristan smiled at the hundreds of memories surrounding the old oak.

  “The night before you moved to New York, you came over for dinner. My mom made your favorite fudge peanut butter brownies for dessert. My parents tried to make us enjoy ourselves, but you were a mess and I was really angry. We spent the whole meal sulking.”

  Tristan took a cleansing breath and finished his beer. Just the memory of losing her made his chest ache again.

  “After dinner, we went to sit in our tree. You wore my favorite blue shirt and the jeans with holes in the knees. I remember pretending to play with the hanging threads just for an excuse to touch you. We sat in silence for a while, ignoring the time counting down. When it got late, your dad called to say he was coming to pick you up. My mom yelled for us to come inside, but you wouldn’t budge. You clung to me and begged me to stay up there with you. You figured if you didn’t come down, you’d be able to stay in Louisiana.”

  “Sounds like my logic,” Josie said sarcastically.

  “An hour later, after threats from your dad and a million promises between us, we climbed down together. That was the last time I saw you.”

  Though Josie couldn’t recall the scene like Tristan could, it hurt her all the same. In a way, she felt lucky that she had none of those memories. She wasn’t sure if she could have survived all the old hurt and new hurt. It may have killed her long ago.

  “Did I cry? I bet I was a crier.”

  “No. You didn’t. You were so strong.”

  As Tristan paid for dinner, Josie wondered where that strength had gotten her, half dead and with no memories.

  They walked hand in hand through Seaport Village, pausing to window-shop, though neither one paid much attention to the items. Tristan focused on the way her tiny fingers wrapped around his, the click-clack rhythm of her shoes against the pavement, and their distorted reflection in the shop windows.

  “What does this one represent?” Josie asked, tapping her finger over a watch face tattooed on the inside of his left wrist.

  “My birth, the exact minute I joined the living.”

  “What about this one?”

  Josie reached up to the side of his neck, running her thumb along the two lines of script below his ear.

  “‘Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt,’” he said. “Vonnegut’s protagonist in Slaughterhouse-Five coins the phrase regarding death. Sort of something to look forward to.”

  Josie’s eyes searched his own, getting lost in his ability to make her understand such complicated notions.

  “Come on,” he said lightly, tugging on her hand.

  He dragged her into a hat shop, where they tried on hats and laughed at each other until their sides hurt. Tristan stuck an enormous beach hat onto Josie’s head and tugged on the floppy brim. She smiled and slid a fedora onto him. He pulled it down over one eye, and they stood in front of the large framed mirror.

  “You look hot,” she said, staring at his reflection.

  “Sold,” Tristan replied, winking at her.

  Josie blushed and placed her hat back on the shelf while Tristan paid for his. She found it odd that despite all the deviant things she’d done, she’d never felt timid. Tristan could bring these alien feelings to the surface. He had a way of making her believe she was worthy of innocence.

  When they stepped into Upstart Crow, a coffeehouse and bookstore, Josie could see how Tristan delighted in being surrounded by the written word. She just knew he could spend hours scouring every shelf for books. While she didn’t share his passion, she loved seeing him happy and in h
is element.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll limit myself,” he said, placing a kiss on her cheek.

  He pulled her down row after row of books. When something caught his attention, he would examine the cover as if studying a painting. Then he’d flip to the back and read whatever review or description was there. Last, he’d fan the pages a few times. Josie marveled at the ritual and smiled every time he handed her one to buy.

  Thirty minutes and four books later, they shared a piece of cheesecake and an iced mocha in the coffeehouse.

  Tristan persuaded Josie to ride the carousel with him, so they parked themselves on the bench surrounded by parading animals. The golden lights and mirrors reflected the couple, and Tristan couldn’t help but think about what a sight they were. As the ride began to move, he pulled her in closer with his arm around her shoulders.

  “Did you know carousels were first used as combat training devices by the Turkish? There’s proof of their existence all the way back to 500 A.D.”

  Josie smiled at his fact reciting, loving all the useless information.

  “Really? Tell me more,” she teased.

  Tristan rolled his eyes and placed a soft kiss below her ear. They watched as children bobbed up and down on their horses and tigers. The organ music lulled them into a state of ease as they spun, like two lovers rotating around their own axis.

  When the ride was over, he led her to the water, where they stood beneath one of the lamps dotting the bay. One by one, the shop windows went dark. The day finished with Closed signs and locked doors. Tristan leaned against the rail, his back to the water, and pulled Josie in against him. He tilted his chin down and captured her lips. Josie moaned into his mouth as his hands slid down to her lower back. She could feel his racing pulse against her body, his warmth and heat surrounding her. She wanted more. She always wanted more.

  Tristan spun them and held Josie against the rail, trapping her with his arms on each side. His body pressed into her back as she sighed and looked out over the water. The lights from Coronado shone from the island, bouncing off the water like rippling ribbons. The sky hosted a blanket of stars and the waxing moon shone just for them. Josie closed her eyes, wanting to memorize every bit of this moment. She just knew it would never get better than this.