by Xavier Neal
He slides me the container with my buffalo chicken sandwich. “Not that I'm not thrilled you've come by to visit in the middle of a Monday, but why the unannounced drop in.”
“Aside from you not willing to take my calls?”
I lick sauce off my finger. “I'm not really talking anyone's calls.”
“Not even Helen's?”
Especially not Helen's. By the end of the event not only was she obnoxiously wasted, she kept insisting that since I was willingly dating a stripper, I should be willing to share him since I do anyway. That was the last thing I needed that night and honestly? I'm tired of working for someone who treats me like the help. Ha. Joke unintentional.
Instead of commenting, I shake my head and have a bite.
Dad removes the lid from the macaroni and cheese. “You wanna talk about it?”
I take the fork he's offering. “About what?”
“Work?”
“No.”
“Arik?”
“Nope.” After having a bite of the dish, I put my fork down and grab the wine bottle I've been nursing.
What? Why waste a glass?
He prepares to nibble on my lunch yet abruptly stops at the sight of me chugging it back. “Classy.”
I put the bottle back down. “I'm not a huge fan of washing dishes.”
Arik didn't mind washing the dishes as long as I did the laundry. Ugh. I wonder how many of those clothes were covered in the sweat and desperation of other women. The thought alone makes me wanna chug the bottle.
“Uh-huh,” my father skeptically replies. “And how many bottles does that make?”
“For the day?”
“Ari!” While he waits for me to tell him I'm kidding I have another bite of sandwich. The reality that I'm not pushes him to say, “Alcohol won't solve your problems. It just creates another batch.”
“Maybe. But it temporarily makes all the shit bothering you seem non-existent.”
My dad has one bite and leans back against my couch. “Like Arik?”
“Please don't say his name,” I mumble between chews.
Feel like his name alone could give me the clap.
“You know I saw his father yesterday.” When I don't comment he continues, “We played a round. He mentioned how heartbroken his son was. How he'd never seen him like that before.”
Unable to resist the urge, I turn and snap, “Does he want a medal?”
“Ari...”
“Do they give strippers awards?”
“Ari.”
“I know they do to porn stars...but it's basically the same thing.”
“So, you find his broken heart something to just disregard?”
“His broken heart? Because I looked him in the face and fucking lied about what I did for a living? Because I said I wasn't fucking anyone else and then he discovered I was constantly one very small article of clothing away from it as a career choice?”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Are you actually that upset about what he did for a living?”
“Does.”
“Did. He quit.”
A little thong too late.
Through stuffed bites I grumble, “Whatever.” Outraged by his lack of outrage, I snap. “How can you not be more upset? Your little girl was dating a fucking stripper!”
“My little girl, who might I add, is not so little any more, was dating a man who put pure joy in her eyes I haven't seen much since she was a child.” His confession presses my lips together. “I don't give a fuck if it's his job to put the ponies down at the zoo as long as it's legal and he keeps making you happy.”
I almost would prefer the zoo job.
The comment causes me to pick my lunch back up. “Well that makes one of us. I can't date a stripper. I won't. And if, and that's a strong if, I was going to, I deserve the right to make that choice. He didn't give that to me. He took it. He hid it. He lied to me. And I....I already have enough trust issues without having to wonder if every word out of my boyfriend's mouth is the honest truth or just truth enough to let him sleep at night.”
To my surprise my dad questions, “Why do you have trust issues?”
Realization on the remark roams around my mind as I put my lunch back down.
When I was younger we never really discussed how I felt about having split parents. It just happened. He would be there and then he wouldn't. My mom would spew ugly things about him when he was gone and praise him when he was back in her world. Before he married Brenda he tried to explain it to me in a way that would leave no resentment. I didn't try to understand. Why would I? All I knew was someone else was taking my father away and that inevitably would cause my mother to cry more. All I knew was he was going to walk out the door for good and at some point, if my mother was willing, I would get to see him again. Sometimes I wonder how hard he even tried to get custody of me. But we didn’t talk about all of that. I buried it when I moved in. A little seven year old has other things she should be focused on, like coloring.
“Ari,” his voice softly calls to me as he drops a hand on my shoulder. “Talk to me.” Slowly I turn to face him. “Do you not trust men because you're afraid they're going to leave you like I left your mother?”
For the first time I confess, “Maybe.”
“Sweetheart-”
“That's not even the worst part. I'm more afraid that how she handled being alone, being without you, is how I'm going to end up.”
“Ari-”
Tears gather in the corner of my eyes. “You left us.”
“I-”
“You repeatedly left me!” Through muffled tears, I cry, “You walked out that door and I never knew when you were coming back! All I remember was the way mom cried! The way you weren't around when I wanted my dad!”
Defensively he snaps, “That's not fair, Ari.”
“What's not fair is being a six year old bawling her eyes out over a father's day card because she's not even sure she still has one!” Babbling through the tears I cry, “Then mom left me. She would rather die than live without you, fuck the child she was supposed to raise who needed her! I grew up with the notion that everyone who really loves you leaves you...And you know what? When I got older I wasn't even sure I could handle another person I love leaving me in some way.” I use the back of my hand to wipe away my running nose. “Maybe that's fucked up logic. Maybe it's an irrational fear, but it's very real to me.”
Suddenly, he swoops me into a firm hug. “Don't cry angel...”
“Sorry,” I apologize through the lingering tears in my throat. “It's been a hard few days.”
The rubbing on my back soothes the tightening in my chest.
Does that make me pathetic to think that way?
In a quiet voice he declares, “Listen to me. I never wanted to leave you.”
“Then why did you?”
“I did what I thought was best for you-”
“How would being without my dad be best?”
He pulls back to look at me. “It wasn't that simple. I didn't want you to be without me. I wanted you to have your mother. A child needs their mother-”
“A child needs their father too.”
“I know that, Ari. That's why whenever she would be willing to let me come over I did.”
Confused I question, “Let you?”
“I wasn't around because your mother refused to let me see you. At first I thought it was just typical break up bullshit and that if I gave her enough space at the right times, we could come to a compromise. I wanted to be with you every day. You were my little girl, Ari, but custody battles are a bitch. And...your mother was smart enough to know she lived in a pro mother county and if she filed for custody the right way she'd win all of it. When she started holding you hostage from me, despite my parents’ wishes, I finally broke down and involved a lawyer. I wanted to be in your life.”
Why didn't he ever tell me that before now?
Dad gives me a sympathetic look. “Ari, you can't spend the rest of your life in fear that people
are going to leave you and never come back. Some will. Some won't. But in a relationship it's a gamble. When you're in love, it's a risk. There's always going to be a chance things don't work out.”
Comforting. See why one night stands are easier?
“However, when it's the right person, come hell or high water they're not going anywhere. They're going to do everything in their power to fight to keep you in their lives. I'm not saying Arik is that person, but I'm not saying he's not. You need to decide if you wanna fight to work things out or if you wanna walk away. Despite whatever you choose, you have to let go of the notion that if a relationship doesn't work out that you're going to take your own life like your mother did.”
“Dad-”
“Ari...by the time your mother got to that point, there were other issues that led her to that choice.”
In disbelief I question, “Really?”
“Yes, but instead of dragging her name through the dirt, I took the blame. I let the world believe it was because of me. Because we couldn't make our family work.” When my jaw drops he sighs, “If I would've known that's the crutch you would use to not open yourself up to others, I would've told you a lot sooner. And I damn sure would've explained to you why I wasn't around when we split up.”
The new information has me reaching for the wine bottle. Almost instantly, the image of my mother being passed out with one on the nightstand beside her lifeless body tears through my mind.
With a shaky hand I put it back down and break down into a fit of tears.
Afraid of turning into her yet here I am. Bottle in the hand, heartbroken over losing the man I love. Funny how things go full circle sometimes.
My father pulls me into his arms and lets me continue to cry. He simply hums my favorite song and strokes my shoulder in hopes of helping soothe the emotions I've been keeping cooped up for years. I cry about the loss of my mother. I cry about never knowing there was more to her story. I cry at the way she treated him and kept him from me like a pawn in a game she was never going to win. I cry about their split, my split, and the possibility that the hole I feel from Arik's betrayal may never fade.
Don't worry. I'll put the bottle down and find a better way to deal with my problems. I won't end up like my mother. I promise.
Arik
The unexpected pounding on my loft door has me hustling down my stairs.
It's most likely not Ari, but can't blame a guy for hoping.
Swinging the door open, the sight waiting for me instantly has me wishing I would've looked through the peephole first.
I lean against the door. “Wood.”
“Arik,” he greets firmly in return. “French would like to see you in her office.”
With a shrug I sigh, “She could've just called.”
“She prefers to speak with you in person.”
“And if I deny her request?”
Which I won't. Talking to her was on my list of things to do today as is finding a new gym. I fucked her over this past weekend. Of course I'm going to apologize for it. Don't look at me like that. I'm trying to say sorry to my girlfriend. No. Don't call her that. We're not broken up. We're just on...a break. Fuck I sound like a chick.
“That's why I'm here.”
“Sounds like French,” I mumble. “Give me a minute to grab my keys.”
Wood nods his head and I grab them, my wallet, and cell phone under his supervision. He escorts me downstairs to the vehicle waiting for us.
There's only been one other time she's sent a car. It was when she hired me. My first day to report to The Castle there was a limo waiting for me outside of my apartment. Interesting how the hiring and firing process are similar. Hell, at this point I'm just glad she didn't send Wood here to break my knee caps.
After a brief drive to The Castle, he slides his key card to give us access inside.
You didn't really think she wasn't going to turn mine off immediately, did you? You've met French, right? Actual kindness is a foreign concept to her.
Wood continues to follow me until I'm right outside of her office. I give the door a single knock before I'm summoned inside. To my surprise he stays on the outside as I enter the last room I'll probably ever see alive.
I'm just saying this gig didn't come with a retirement plan and I've never heard a word about the previous performers. Feels a little mob like, don't it? No. This has nothing to do with me watching The Departed on T.V. last night. I've been watching a lot of T.V. to try to make sleeping alone easier. You would think watching shows about ships and the water would help like they used too. Well they don't. Now they just remind me how I'm missing something I love.
“Arik,” French says warmly.
My face twitches at the sound of my full name.
So much worse than meeting with your high school principal. I count the number of times French has used my real name on one hand. When she hired me and now.
“French,” I quietly reply.
“Sit please.” Her hand motions at the chair. Once I'm seated she leans forward with a bright smile. “You look better than I thought you would.”
“Like for a dead man?”
She rolls her eyes. “If I was going to kill you I wouldn't do it here. You're not worth damaging my favorite pieces of furniture.”
I twitch a smile. “Good to know.” Silence briefly falls between us. Pushing through the tension that I'm beginning to think I'm the only one feeling, I ask, “Is this the part where you chew me out for not showing up?”
French folds her hands together. “I knew you weren't going to show up.”
Surprise lifts my eyebrows. “What?”
“I knew you weren't going to show up,” she repeats. “I was counting on it.”
“You...you wanted me to flake?”
“I expected you to be where you were,” French's correction causes me to lean forward. “Arik, I'm not an idiot.”
“Would never call you that.”
“I know when there are changes happening to my princes. I knew this was never a life-long goal for you when you started. This was just something for you to pass the time with while you waited to pick a path for your musical career. This was just an excuse to live in the present and not focus on your future.”
Interesting since I never discussed that with her.
“Over the last few weeks it was obvious your days here were finally numbered even if you couldn't see it. When I brought the ultimatum to you, I had every vote of confidence you were going to that charity event. That you were going to choose Ari over me.”
“How do you-”
“What I did just say?”
“You're not an idiot.”
“I'm not a fucking idiot.” She sighs and leans back. “It is my job to know what's going on in your personal lives if they're going to affect my business.”
In disbelief I question, “So...you're not pissed off at me? You're not fucking livid I'm leaving?”
“Contrary to popular belief around here, you're guests, not prisoners. You can walk away from this bullshit any time you're ready. Freedom is a state of mind, Arik. It's not until you as princes decide you're ready to move on that you do. I'm not in the hostage business. Quite the opposite actually. Wanting is what pays. You want to be here. Women want to feel wanted. Forcing either of those doesn't bode well.”
I can honestly say I didn't see this coming.
“Now.” She slides a piece a paper across the table. “Sign your termination papers.”
Picking up the pen, I scan the document. “This doesn't say you get my liver or anything, does it?”
“No. It's a nondisclosure agreement similar to the one you signed when you started. Basically I want my secrets kept safe. No exit payments. No special goodbye fees. What you have made is yours to keep.”
Effortlessly I sign my name.
She's never fucked me over before. Why start now?
“Speaking of secrets,” I start when I place the pen down. “You've got a fly in your punch bowl.
”
“Helen,” French says coldly.
Did you feel that draft?
“No need to be concerned about her any longer. I've handled that situation.”
My head slowly cocks an angle. “Do I wanna know what that means?”
Bluntly she states, “No. And you don't need to know either. All I can say is on behalf of The Castle, we express our apologies for her choice to ignore her end of the discretion contract and assure you she will no longer be an issue.”