Finding Willow (Hers)

by Dawn Robertson

  “I know the feeling. I put you in the next room over. Number one. If you need anything, just come over here and let me know. The name is River.”

  He hands me a key and smiles again. Maybe he’s being nice because he recognizes me from some porno he watched on the internet. I get that a lot.

  “Thank you.” I accept the key and put my license and credit card back into my purse. I turn for the door, and he speaks again.

  “One lost soul to another? This place is good to get your shit straight. I'm outta here at six if you wanna catch a bite to eat.”

  I nod in his direction and head for the door. Am I really that fucking transparent? Do I really look that fucking lost that some kid barely old enough to buy a beer has me pegged?

  Whatever.

  This was probably a really fucking bad idea.

  I look at the old yellow bathroom vanity inside the motel room, which is now covered in dark brown hair dye. I can't dye my own hair. I have tried for years, but every fucking time it turns into a nightmare. I am going to have some serious cleaning to do before the dye starts to stain shit.

  I squirt the cheap, store-bought hair dye into the last spot of blonde I can see, while I wish I had eyes in the back of my damn head. I toss the bottle into the garbage can and start to clean up the mess before me. As I scrub the dye off the edges of the sink, I fall into my mind again. Which is exactly what led me to think the two dollar box of dye would be a good idea.

  I want to be a new person. I don't want to be Star, the porn star, even though that label is going to stick with me as long as I’m alive. I want to be Star, the woman who wants the American Dream. I want to be Star, the amazing painter, the artist. I want to channel the talent I’ve never put to use. I want to re-invent myself. I want to change my life so one day Willow can say, that is my birth mom, and actually be proud of it.

  Maybe this is finally me growing up? It’s probably something most average people go through at fucking nineteen, or maybe even twenty-one. Not damn near fucking thirty. At my age, this shit is just a fucking mid-life crisis.

  I think about all the shit I fucked up over the years. Most of it was fueled by whatever drug I decided was fun that week. It’s been a few days, and I don't have a single desire to get fucked up. I never realized how bad being numb actually made my life.. It wasn't about not feeling or about being an addict; it was about the party. And that is clearly over.

  Maybe jumping into the marriage and kids thing would be a mistake. Not like there are any stable men in my life anyway! Love really isn't on my list of shit to do right now. Speaking of my list, after I got to my room, I actually pulled my laptop out and wrote one.

  Star's List of Shit to Do

  Find Willow

  Establish a new Career

  Dye my hair

  Find a therapist

  Buy a house

  It really doesn't seem like a lot. It seems downright pathetic really. To me, though, it’s everything. Once I find my daughter and work on repairing that relationship, if I can, I need to do some simple things for myself. At least I can cross dye my hair off the list.

  The alarm on my cell phone goes off, letting me know it’s time to jump in the shower and wash the dye out of my hair. I crank the hot water on and let it run until the temperature is no longer arctic chill. I make quick work of washing the sludge-like dye out, shampooing twice before turning the water off and getting out.

  I grab the white towel hanging on the dated metal bar next to the shower and slightly dry my hair before wrapping the towel up on top of my head and drying the rest of my body with the smaller hand towel. Little-by-little, I wipe away a bit of my past. With every pass of the towel, I make a new promise to myself.

  No more drugs. No more alcohol. No more porn. No more Blue. Over and over again, I wish away everything I never want again. I will get healthy. I will re-claim my life. I will be everything I never thought I could be. And I will do it all on my own.

  Dressed in a loose fitting pair of blue jeans and a fitted black Bettie Page shirt, I look in the mirror. My new short, dark locks are exactly what I needed. The light brown hair rests chin length around my round face. My bright blue eyes slowly start coming back to life. I thought I would never get their slight twinkle back. Kicking the drugs worked wonders. I mean, I still feel like a bag of ass throughout the day, but it beats my life wasting away. Complaining about withdrawal is for pussies anyway. Seven would punch me in the cunt if she heard me.

  My stomach rumbles, and I look at the clock; it reads quarter to six.

  I pull on my black hoodie and head over to the motel office. I figure I’ll take River up on his offer for dinner. Even though I know a good amount of people in this town, I don't have any real friends. I cut all the ties years ago. A new friendly face could help me immensely, even if he is just a baby. Plus, the fact that he doesn't know me or my history is a big plus.

  As I reach for the office door, it flies open and a rock hard chest crashes directly into my body. Fuck, that shit hurt. What the hell? I growl. Legit growl. Like a fucking dog. I am pissed and in pain.

  “Watch where the fuck you’re going!” I say.

  I look up to see a mountain of a man. Tall, dark, and handsome wouldn't even come close to describing him. He is extremely tall, at least six-four, dwarfing my five foot five frame. His head is shaved bald. I laugh to myself when I think about rubbing it. Would a genie pop out?

  But then I meet his eyes. He has the most beautiful pair of warm caramel colored eyes. The slight hint of wrinkles around their edges shows mystery, depth. They scream of untold stories, a weight of burden. How do I know? Because I wear the same baggage on my very own face.

  “Shit, I am sorry,” he mumbles as he continues his long strides toward a motorcycle parked on the far side of the lot. I can't help but watch as he walks away. The way his jeans fit snug over his delectable ass. The way the white long sleeve shirt bunches on his forearms, exposing dark shaded tattoos. The way the black leather cut hangs from his shoulders, unbuttoned and moving freely with every step he takes.

  A large patch spreads across his back reading, Hell’s Renegades. He is dangerous, gorgeous, hot, and sexy. Fuck, I could go on and on with various adjectives to describe him. None would do him justice. I continue to stare like a child. The motorcycle roars to life, startling me from my thoughts. Like that, he pulls out of the dirt parking lot, and onto the small two-lane road running through the center of town. He is gone, and I’m still frozen in the same spot. What the fuck just happened?

  I shake my head and walk inside the office. River stands behind the counter, looking pissed. He doesn’t even acknowledge me. Maybe this isn't a good time. Maybe dinner was a bad idea. Or maybe he needs the company tonight just as much as I do?

  “Bad time?” I question, and his glare swings in my direction. His face softens, and he cracks a smile. Good to know I can make someone smile these days; it hasn't been one of my strong suits recently. I can't help but smile back at him. It is totally fucking contagious.

  “No, actually. I could use company for dinner.” He pulls a jacket off the back of the chair behind the counter.

  “Any preference? There isn't much for choice around town, but there is a diner that is pretty good.”

  Maggie's. I remember it well. My parents never had much money, but every opportunity I had to scam some money, I ran there for French fries smothered in American cheese and gravy. Still, to this day, any time I step foot inside a diner, it’s a must.

  “Maggie's is good,” I tell him, and I pull the keys to my car from my pocket. His eyebrow lifts with curiosity. He’s finally taken a good look at me. The changes. The hair. Let the questions begin.

  “You drivin'?” is all he says, though. I let out a sigh of relief, but I’m sure as soon as we’re packed into the snug booths at Maggie's, he will start with the questions. Maybe instead of investing in a therapist, I will just hang out with this child. Seems like an easier remedy.

  “Yeah
, you wanna ride with?” I jingle my keys and press the fancy remote on my keychain to unlock the doors. I don't think I’ll ever get over the excitement of having my own car. It’s not even a Volkswagen bus, or an actual school bus converted into a fucking home.

  “Sure.” he reaches for the door handle and lets out a laugh. “But where am I supposed to sit?”

  I realize I still have half my music collection sitting on the passenger seat. I climb into the driver’s seat and start chucking CD cases into the back.

  “Sorry, it was a long drive.”

  And like that, we’re off.

  “So, you know Maggie's?” River asks, as he picks up the petite glass of water off the table and chugs it back. I take a minute to think about exactly how much I want to dish to him before I know his story.

  “Grew up in Woodstock,” I say, deciding to really lay it all on the line. This is the new and improved Star; no need for games. I’m not going to come out with the long, sad, sob story of why I’m hiding away in the mountains, but I am not going to hide trivial bullshit, either.

  “I've been here for five years and never once seen you,” he responds with a sly grin. He’s right. I haven't been back during that time. It’s been almost eight full years since I made it a point to come back to this hell hole.

  “Haven't been here in about ten years. Maybe a little longer, but I haven't been keeping track.” I take a sip of the watered down Sprite in front of me and try not to gag on it. Nothing like outdated diner soda to remind you of home.

  “What brings you back to this podunk, piece of shit town?” Well, that was blunt. Why don't you tell me how you really feel, oh youngen filled with angst.

  “Change. I need to slow down. Re-evaluate my life. Start over.” It’s the truth. I think those factors, and Willow, are exactly what brought me upstate. I could hang around here for a while, try and blend in with the locals. Be a little carefree, and take in nature. Stop to smell the roses, something that is damn near impossible in New York City. Even though Woodstock harbors so many negative memories for me, there is so much beauty in the town. Rich culture from the hippies who never left after the memorable music festival. Believe it or not, many actually became productive members of society in this little tourist town.

  “What about you, River? What brought you to Woodstock?”

  The easygoing expression starts to fade from his face, and a more serious look takes over. He takes a long sip of the water again and places it down on the table a little harder than a normal person probably would. It’s a sore subject for him. I won't pry, but I must admit, I’m curious. He lets out a sigh and then begins.

  “Five years ago, my parents died. I was sixteen, so I had no choice but to move in with my oldest brother. He was twenty-nine at the time, and he had no interest in raising me. He left me to fend for myself. I guess I’m grateful for having a roof over my head, and food to eat, but I got stuck taking care of my little sister, Scarlett. I became her live-in babysitter.”

  I can feel the resentment in the air. His distaste for responsibilities is clear, like most kids his age. But he shrugs it off and continues.

  “But it’s life. No one expected our parents to get killed. You never think you are going to be taking care of a five-year-old girl when you’re sixteen. Don't get me wrong. I love Scarlett, but my brother's lack of presence in our lives made everything harder. It's his job; he is on the road. I get it. I was just never ready to be a surrogate parent.”

  For such a young kid, he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I genuinely feel bad for him. It’s been a long time since another person sparked that kind of emotional response from me. Especially a virtual stranger.

  “I'm sorry to hear that. Your problems make mine look like a fucking paper cut in the grand scheme of things, River.” It may not be true, but then again, we can't play a game of who has a more fucked up life, either.

  “I’m cool with it now. It just gets under my skin every time I happen to talk to my brother. Whether I like it or not, he is still Scarlett's legal guardian because of my parents’ will. I have asked him to reconsider but he won't. It always turns into an argument.” Here I thought I was coming to get shit off my own chest. I might as well have him lie down in the booth and charge him a couple hundred bucks when we are done.

  “Tell me about your problems. It looks like you want to get something out,” he says. Am I that fucking transparent? Probably. Seven can read me like a book. I guess I don't have the killer poker face she does. Mine was lost long ago.

  “My problems are pathetic. I'm a coke-addicted porn star looking for a new start. There isn't much more to it,” I lie. I’m good at lying. I hate that I’m good at lying, but it has helped me through life. I may not have the emotionally evasive poker face, but I can lie like a fucking politician. I know I want to lay it all out on the line, but I just don't want the world to know exactly why I am in Woodstock. My negative thoughts only have everyone trying to help whoever Willow is living with, hide her from me. Yup, I always think of the worst case scenario.

  “That is where I know you from!” His voice echoes through the quiet diner. “You are fucking Star Bloom!” His excitement level is at a three hundred and seventy-two, and I need it at a fucking negative sixteen.

  “Yes, that’s me.” I shrug as our food is delivered. River apparently thinks he is dining with some kind of celebrity now. The smile plastered on his face can't even be removed by the shitty diner food, or the heavy convo flowing this evening.

  “Seriously. You are, like, one of the best porn stars ever! The deep throat queen!” Once again, his voice echoes, and the embarrassment starts to seep in. I wanted a peaceful dinner, and now I have a deep throat fan front and center.

  “Can we talk about something else? I am kind of trying to put that all behind me.” It was a huge portion of my life, but it is done now. I can't go back to that lifestyle and I think I am going to stay away from the drugs. I realized that when I made the decision to leave the city. It wasn't the drugs that I was hooked on; it was the lifestyle. They go hand-in-hand. I always thought I was an addict, but it wasn't until tonight that I realized I craved the acceptance of the crowd I was running with, not the drug itself; I’m doing just fine without them now.

  “It's cool. I get it. That’s why we moved up here. My whole family needed a change of scenery, especially my brother. If we stayed in Brooklyn much longer, he would have ended up in jail, and been completely useless to us.” His brother sounds like a real fucking winner. But then again, who am I to judge?

  I can't help but smile. This dinner is exactly what I needed. I happily pig out on my cheese fries with gravy, savoring the greasy diner taste of every last one. It is so refreshing to have my appetite back. Two days have gone by and each day I feel a little bit better. I feel healthy, stronger. Like I am regaining the control I have been desperate for my entire life.

  “I was on a bad path. I got shit I need to figure out on my own.”

  River nods, and continues eating. The conversation continues for hours. We sit there like old friends, going back and forth about trivial shit. The deep part of the conversation is over and carefree nonsense flows. We laugh about pop culture bullshit. He makes fun of my tattooed sleeve of My Little Pony's and he feels like the little brother I always wanted. Sorry, Journey and Paisley, but there was way too much fucking estrogen in our family.

  We both pay our respective tabs and drive back to the motel, still continuing to laugh and joke like old friends. I pull my car into the dirt parking lot, occupying the same spot as earlier, when I notice the black motorcycle pulled up on the walkway in front of the office again. He is here.

  We go our separate ways, making plans for another “family dinner” the following night. I think the boy is searching for something more than I can give him. But then again, most kids his age are. I just know I can see a good friendship developing between the two of us, and that is as far as I can let it go.

  I lock myself in my
room and open the shades so I can view the dark and empty lot. I hope to catch another look at the hot stranger on the motorcycle again.

  An hour later, I’m sitting in front of my laptop when I hear the slam of a door somewhere. Maybe it’s him? I find my body working on autopilot and heading for the door. I grab the car keys and pretend I desperately need something out of my car. Without a sweatshirt to protect me from the cold New York fall night, I make my way for the car.

  The cold November air is fucking freezing, and I realize this wasn't the best thought out plan. I pop the trunk and start rummaging when I hear his voice. Deep and sultry.

  “You are gonna get yourself sick like that.” He’s serious. His voice is fatherly and stern. A distinct tone of authority rings through it. Before I can turn around, I can feel his body towering over mine. He’s standing directly behind me. I’m not sure if I am scared or fucking thrilled. But there is one thing I know for sure; his voice alone has my cunt slick.

  “I'm a big girl, but thanks for the concern, Dad,” I sass him. I’m pretty sure it was a bad idea, but I can't help but laugh to myself. I don't turn around and he continues to stand behind me. I figure he is thinking about his next move. I find the rogue shoe I was searching for in a cheap attempt to attract his attention. I stand upright and slam the trunk closed.

  “Does Cinderella have a name?” he asks as I turn around, and when we make eye contact, I am completely sucked in. Done for. My fucking will is gone. It is replaced by animalistic desire for this sexy as fuck stranger.

  “I prefer Cinderella, but if you must know, my real name is Star.” I give him a wink and head for my room. Heavy steps follow me; with each step, his boot meets the dirt with a loud thud. Not surprising for such a large man. I stop at the door, reaching for the keys.

  “You following me, Prince Charming?”