Beautiful Ruin
Alison Foster
Published by Alison Foster, 2014.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
BEAUTIFUL RUIN
First edition. September 14, 2014.
Copyright © 2014 Alison Foster.
Written by Alison Foster.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Author Note
Coming this fall | MAGNIFICENT RUIN
About the Author
Chapter 1
Under the fluorescent lights of the supply room I silently stare at the sparkling bottles and vases. Each one contains its own distinct fragrance or exotic scent. That lovely calm feeling is interrupted when Ashley returns and pulls the curtain closed to hide the stocked shelves.
The glittering menagerie of glass and crystal vanishes. I was content spending hours just taking in the colors and smells of the elegant essential oils, lotions and diffusions.
“You are not allowed to let customers back here, Grace,” Ashley says. “If they ask for a product that’s not on the front shelves, you come back here to get it yourself. If they try to follow you, you stop them politely. Do you understand?”
Of course I understand. I’m not a fucking moron. Although I don’t know what it would take to convince Ashley of that.
“Why all the secrecy? Are you stashing drugs back here?” I say, doing my best not to look at her. She would not appreciate my irreverent expression.
“Don’t assume you can answer specific questions about the products just yet,” Ashley goes on, ignoring my attempt at humor. “You should direct all those to me.”
I don’t know what her deal is. I get that she doesn’t like me but I fail to see why. We’ve barely exchanged ten words over the past year and it’s not like I have to answer to her. She doesn’t own this place. Taylor does. Taylor likes me. Maybe that’s it. Ashley doesn’t like that I’m Taylor’s friend.
Taylor and I have been friends since junior high and even when she moved away for a year, we stayed in touch. We have always been able to rely on one another for support and honesty. I have to focus on that and not let Ashley get under my skin.
The little aromatherapy shop that Taylor inherited from her late grandmother has always held a certain kind of appeal for me. As soon as Taylor suggested it, I agreed to work for her. She doesn’t pay much but that’s cool for me right now.
I’ve been unemployed for two months, ever since I walked out of my job as an assistant to a real estate agent named Harley Moss. Having worked so long for a chauvinistic and unpleasant man makes Ashley’s condescending tone nothing but a minor annoyance.
Only two things held any value of any sort to Harley. Money and making people – women especially – feel inferior. Nothing else seemed to give him any shred of satisfaction. Add to that the snobbishness and entitlement that came along with most of his Beverly Hills clients and it became obvious that I had to get out of there before I lost my mind. Wealth and elitism make me feel tiny and depressed. The pay was better but not worth the stress.
“You’ll regret it, girl,” Harley told me when I handed him my resignation. “Working for me was your one chance to make something out of yourself.”
I wanted to tell him how sad and pathetic his life was to me, but instead I just said, “Thank you, Harley.”
The bells on the front door jingle. Ashley rushes out to the front of the store to greet the incoming customer. I see my chance and pull the curtain back from the shelves to take one more look at the lavish products I will be handling for the next few months.
I reach out to take a tiny purple bottle of lavender into my hands. Taylor has told me on many occasions that lavender essential oils can soothe a troubled mind and lessen anxiety. My future doesn’t exactly seem exhilarating right now so I undo the cap to sniff the miraculous concentrated essence when Ashley races back with hasty steps.
“Put that back,” she says sternly.
Her appearance is not without charm. She’s a tall, thin girl with beautiful big blue eyes. It’s her expression of constant discomfort – almost as if she’s walking around with trapped intestinal gas twenty-four hours a day – that makes her countenance unpleasant to the eye.
“I’m sorry,” I say and immediately wish I could just defy her and tell her we’re equals here. Taylor runs the place. Ashley might have been working here for almost two years now but we’re both essentially sales girls. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Someone’s asking for you,” she says and in the same breath she turns her back on me and walks back to the front before I have a chance to ask if she means a customer or a friend. If it’s a customer, it will be my first one. What if I’m terrible at convincing people to buy exquisite things?
The light on the ceiling above me flickers for a moment or two returning me to my senses. I work here now and I can deal with anything that’s waiting for me out there.
I step out of the small supply room and take the few steps to the counter where I’m supposed to greet the customers. I slow down just a couple steps away from him. I recognize his long, unruly hair and his old, shabby navy blue jacket.
“Nate?” I say in disbelief. “Everything okay at the shelter?”
In a split second, I manage to imagine all sorts of catastrophes. I end up stuck on the image of Annie, the little honey brown setter that Nate and I adopted when she was brought in at the animal shelter missing an eye, an ear and a big chunk of fur a couple months back. Next, I remember that I have to work at the rescue shelter tonight. I didn’t mess up, did I? I didn’t mix up the dates or anything and ended up missing a shift?
“Is it Annie?” I say, fearful that the little eight-month old cutie pie I’ve fallen in love with might be in trouble.
“No,” Nate says, staring at Ashley who stares back at Nate disapprovingly. He does look out of place in the elegant shop with his unwashed long hair and scruffy facial hair, his plain old clothes that are a size too big, his puffy eyes and the black ink designs across his knuckles, but that doesn’t give Ashley the right to be rude.
“How did you know where to find me?” I say in an attempt to get Nate’s attention back from Ashley.
“You mentioned this place the other day.”
He’s right. We were washing Annie and talking about random things including the fact that I’d be starting to work at the Essence of Life shop.
“You said you’d start today,” Nate goes on. He stops to look at me and then offers a smile. His perfect teeth are an unexpected contrast to his otherwise grungy look. “You sounded excited which made me curious.”
Ashley grumbles before walking off to tend to the window shelves.
“So, did you come to wish me luck?” I ask Nate as I begin to organize some blank index cards on the counter in a deliberate fashion.
“I need a favor,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Can I crash on your couch for a few days?”
Okay, I wasn’t ready for that. Nate and I get along fine at the anima
l shelter where we are both volunteers. We have a few laughs. He’s a man of few words and is uniquely dedicated to what he does, but this? We’ve never met outside of the shelter before. “Oh, am I your first choice?” I ask slowly.
He shrugs. “There aren’t many people still willing to help, Grace. It’s as simple as that.”
The sincerity of his gaze is unsettling because I know exactly what he means. It will be hard to turn him down but not too smart to say yes.
The door opens and Taylor walks into the store. She grins from ear to ear when she sees me and then winks. She probably thinks I’m with a customer. I’m sure Ashley will correct that misunderstanding promptly.
Taylor’s steps are light and effortless, almost as if she’s riding on wheels, with that unique air of satisfaction and confidence of hers. She’s all legs and long, luscious dark blonde hair, and she dresses in long skirts and flowery tops with low cuts. Taylor is so naturally pretty she causes an auto smile reflex in anyone who lays eyes on her.
I turn to Nate to study the impression Taylor has made on him but he has managed to ignore her existence completely. Unless he’s doing a darn good job of hiding his curiosity, he couldn’t care less about Taylor’s charms.
“I’ll understand if you say no,” he says rubbing a hand against his cheek, almost compulsively.
“I’ll have to think about it,” I say. “Maybe we can talk it over tonight at the shelter.”
His face brightens up just a smidge. “Sounds good,” he says. “See you later.”
As he walks out the door, I can’t help but feel that he must have heard the word no often as an answer to this request. Which makes me think there might be a reason people in his life aren’t willing to help him anymore.
“I’d do him,” Taylor says as she brushes by me.
“Excuse me?” I honestly have no idea what she means by that.
“Your friend,” she says sticking her tongue out. “He’s kinda hot.”
“Nate?”
“Is that the guy who just left?”
I nod.
“Then, yes,” she says. “He’s kinda hot.”
Leave it up to Taylor to find hotness in anything that walks in a worn out jacket, an old pair of boots and a three day stubble on their cheeks.
“What? You don’t think so?” she says, sensing my reluctance.
“I’m with Grace on this one,” Ashley says. “The guy is creepy.”
Now this is taking it a bit too far. Nate is not exactly a movie star but he’s kind and laidback and there’s nothing creepy about him. “He’s actually a really cool guy,” I say.
“Oh, c’mon Grace! He’s more than cool. He’s tall, dark and mysterious and has smoldering blue eyes and a cute butt.”
“I can’t listen to this,” I say rolling my eyes.
“You wouldn’t mind introducing us then?” Taylor can be relentless. I’ll have to end the conversation myself.
“He’s all yours,” I say, opening my arms wide. “If you can get him to even notice you.”
“You didn’t really just say that,” Taylor protests.
“He’s gay, Taylor.”
“Oh well, his loss,” she says. Her disappointed expression tells me my little trick is working.
I pat the top of her head. “You idiot, I don’t know what he’s into. I barely know him outside of the rescue shelter.”
A flash of recognition flashes onto her face. “That’s the guy you like working with at the animal shelter. The stoic one.”
I nod. “He’s quiet and loves animals. That’s all I know.”
“My bad,” Taylor says with an apologetic smirk on her face. “I should leave your shelter boys alone.”
Although I enjoy watching her attempt at humility, there’s work to be done. On one level, I’m happy Taylor’s arrival cut my conversation with Nate short but on another I wish I had been more patient with him.
I myself have run out of people I could turn to when in need. Taylor has always been the bright exception. “I’m going to like working here,” I say. “And I have a few questions for you about the bottles and vials back there.”
“I thought I explained everything?” Ashley cuts in, obviously alarmed by my request. Maybe she thinks I’m here to replace her?
“If you knew Grace like I do,” Taylor says with that benevolent smile of hers, “you’d know she’s all about details and getting to the bottom of things.”
Taylor leads me to the supply room and immediately begins waving her toned arms around in her blue and pink flowery shirt with her long, perfectly polished nails pointing at this oil and that perfume, laying out a long line of beautiful, intriguing names for me: angelica and cedarwood, marjoram and thyme, roman chamomile, sandalwood and peppermint.
“What was your question?” she says tilting her head.
“Hmm?”
“You said you had questions about my babies here.”
“Oh, that. No, not really. I just wanted to stick it to Ashley.”
Taylor’s face gets serious. “Honey, please don’t tell me you plan to get into catfights with Ash. This is a tranquility shop. We all need to be civil.”
I keep quiet, whispering as many essential oil names as I can remember in my mind. It seems it’s not just the oils that are magic. The names themselves can actually soothe one down.
“I know Ash can be a bit overbearing and suspicious but she’s a good kid. And she needs the money,” Taylor goes on.
“Don’t we all?” I blurt out.
Taylor’s disappointed expression grounds me instantly.
“Taylor,” I say. “I’m not going to cause any problems. I’m grateful for the opportunity to work here and pay my rent. I’ll be a doll to Ashley. Promise.”
“I know you will,” Taylor says giving me a hug. “Now, what’s up with Jack? Has he repaid that loan yet?”
My good mood darkens instantly.
Chapter 2
The milk smells bad enough to make me put it back in the fridge with the intention of throwing it out first thing in the morning. That and I also have to figure out what is wrong with my ancient coffee maker that refuses to work anymore. It’s of no use trying to solve any of this right now. I have to be at the animal shelter in less than forty minutes. Maybe I can have a bite on the way and worry about groceries tomorrow.
I get in the shower with my flip flops still on. Taylor would have a fit if she knew how I live or how I feed myself ever since I quit my job at the real estate agency. It’s a blessing in disguise that she’s been busy renovating her place and traveling to visit her estranged father for the first time in years in San Francisco and so hasn’t stopped at my place in a while.
The too hot water shoots through my blood making my skin turn red. I turn it a bit colder and close my eyes, repeating the magic word that Taylor has instructed me to use after a long, stressful day. Peace, peace, peace.
Goose bumps emerge when I turn the water off and hear some kind of disturbance at my front door. I wrap the towel around me and quickly tiptoe out of the bathroom.
The closer I get to the door, the more nervous I become. What I mistook for an animal – a raccoon or a coyote maybe – scraping my apartment door with its claws turns out to be a key turning inside the keyhole.
I let out a scream when the door opens and Jack steps into the entryway. I stare at him a long while unable to understand what’s going on. His green eyes are bloodshot and he looks almost as flabbergasted as me.
“Hey,” he says.
“You still have the key to my apartment?” I say, pulling the towel tighter around my wet body. I could swear he returned his key when we broke up but maybe he had a spare.
“Your doorbell isn’t working,” he says avoiding my question. “I knocked a couple times and when you didn’t answer, I thought I’d wait for you.”
I keep my eyes on him doing my best to remain calm. Jack has always had a unique ability to infuriate me over the smallest things.
“It t
ook me forever to find the right key,” he goes on. “I hope I didn’t alarm you.”
“Give me the key, Jack,” I say.
He ignores my request and starts to walk around my little living room with the leather loveseat and the second-hand coffee table he helped me pick at a flea market almost five years ago.
He stops in front of my Himalayan salt lamp and studies it intensely. “Do these things work?” he says. “Do you feel better when it’s on?”
“It’s a gift,” I say. “Listen, I need to change. I have to be at the shelter in like ten minutes.”
I don’t wait for his response. I get back to my bedroom as fast as I can and close the door behind me. His behavior is strange to say the least. This is not the Jack I’ve known since middle school and fell in love with as a teenager. It is not the good natured Jack who jokes about everything and blames his inappropriate humor on his Irish ancestors. And it’s definitely not the Jack who hasn’t spoken to me in over a year.
I throw on a pair of jeans and a brown T-shirt and grab my keys and purse. When I return to the living room, I find him sitting on the loveseat, gently caressing the velvet cushion beside him.
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he says. “A lot, to be honest.”
“Good for you, but I’m really late. Whatever you have to say, can it wait?”
He gives me a defeated grin before grabbing my hand and forcing me to sit with him. “I might never walk again,” he says.
Immediately, he lets go of my hand and glances away from me.
My patience starts to run thin. I feel like he’s going to use an elaborate scheme to trick me into doing something. “What are you talking about?”
“Why did we even break up, Grace?”
This takes the cake. “Is this a joke?” I talk slowly, trying to process what is happening. “You cheated on me, Jack. More than once. We were not happy anymore. I have to go.”
I used to be able to read him quite well but I’ve lost that ability. Jack and I broke up over two years ago after a seven-year relationship that started when we were both teenagers. But we’re not teenagers anymore. We’re in our twenties and have experienced years of disillusion.
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