by Kat T. Masen
“Watch your step.”
The cool night air and fear of dead people surrounding me causes my skin to break out in goose bumps with my hairs standing on end. I didn’t want to let on I was shitting my pants, keeping my thoughts to myself though my eyes told a different story.
“See this grave here? It belonged to an actor—Jesse Lane. He was a rising star back in the sixties.”
The poor lighting made it hard to read the tombstone. Gone too soon. Those words stood out.
“That’s sad. I wonder how he passed?”
“He threw himself off a cliff.”
I stop breathing, resuming seconds later. “How do you know this?”
“I come here often, just to think.”
“How very Gomez Addams of you.” I attempt to lighten the moment, terrified that I had accidently stepped on someone’s grave.
“Come.”
He leads me through a pathway, down a small hill until we reach a large tombstone. It’s very run-down—almost neglected—with dead flowers wilted against the old stone.
“Adrian Lovelock. Walked into the ocean and never returned.”
My palms begin to sweat as my grip tightens. I hold my breath in, almost choking on my fear. I don’t understand why he brought me here and the thought of these people passing in very unfortunate circumstances terrified me.
“Why…or how…do you know this?” I stumble on my words; my thoughts so scattered and overcome by nerves. “Wesley, please answer me.”
His posture falls, hunched and nothing like the confident asshole who picked me up at my apartment or the person in the club who asked me if I was a nun. Another side to the ever-so-mysterious Wesley Rich.
“This could be me.”
I release my hand from his, taking a step back and careful not to step on a tombstone.
“What do you mean ‘this could be me’? Have you thought about throwing yourself off a cliff or walking into the ocean?”
My tone—though unintentional—comes off harsh. He doesn’t answer immediately, walking us in the opposite direction, the sounds of waves crashing getting closer. Wesley stops at the metal railing; protecting us from the steep fall off the cliff.
“Yes, I have. Their lives, my life, same path.” He lowers his head, slightly turning away.
“So change it. No one creates this path but you. You see a fork in the road, go the other way. Follow your instincts. If it doesn’t feel right then don’t do it.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Look.” I calm my voice to match his, pulling him away from the edge. “I don’t know anything about you. Whatever it is, I’m sure you can change it.”
“I’m not a good person, Milana,” he admits, finally raising his eyes to meet mine. “I’ve done bad things. Things you wouldn’t…” He trails off, the same time an owl howls in the background.
As long as he wasn’t an axe-wielding murderer, it couldn’t be that bad. Nobody was perfect, including myself. Perfection is so overrated.
“Wesley, stop. Please. Give yourself a break from your inner demons. You have so much ahead of you.”
Truth is, I knew nothing about him. I wasn’t even in a position to say ‘you’re only thirty, everyone knows that life begins at thirty-five.’ Wesley rubs his face with the palm of his hands, shifting seconds later to run his hands through his hair with an obvious frustration.
“I can’t stay away from you.”
His words were like fireworks; beautiful yet frightening and loud at the same time.
“But you don’t know me. What is it I’m doing that makes you feel that way?”
“Nothing. You don’t ask me much, you don’t follow me, you don’t hang onto my every word and beg for me to take you to my bedroom and fuck you in every which way because I’m Wesley Rich.”
I clung to every word he said; startled by the way it made me feel. The way he made me feel. I’m not surprised that girls threw themselves at him but that wasn’t me. I wasn’t into that whole lust for a movie star. The men I lusted for did something that set off a trigger warning inside my usually quiet mind.
And Wesley was doing both.
“See, you just don’t say anything. If I asked any other girl to come back with me to the bedroom, she’d be naked in two seconds.” He kicks a rock in front of him, the both of us watching it disappear into the night.
I fold my arms, shielding my chest from the cool air. “But what gain would I have following their actions?”
“Ouch.” He smirks, stabbing his heart in jest.
It takes a moment for my words to click, and quick to correct myself, I add, “I don’t mean it like that…it’s just…argh…”
“You’re rambling. It’s cute,” he whispers.
“Cute is something you say to someone at a theme park, not cemetery. This place is creeping me out. I’ll say that.”
He takes my hand and motions for me to follow him. We pass the numerous headstones and the large crematorium on the left. I’m practically on top of him, drowning in fear till we pass the iron gates and end where we left the bike.
I reach for the helmet, holding it in my hand. “What I said earlier. I didn’t mean you wouldn’t be good sexually. I just…okay I didn’t mean that but I don’t know how to explain it.”
With a grin smothering his handsome face, he leans in and kisses my forehead. His lips linger for a moment, the warmth easing my heightened nerves. Phoebe once told me a kiss on the forehead was the kiss of death. I still don’t know how she hasn’t fallen over more.
“Relax, I know what you mean. Now let’s grab something to eat. I wanna take you somewhere.”
“The last time you said that you took me to a cemetery.”
“This place is much more fun.”
He drove us in the opposite direction to a less busy part of town. When he parks the bike in the parking lot, I pull off my helmet and fix my hair, trying to untangle the knots that formed from the wind. I give up, realizing it was a lost cause. Long hair and wind did not mix.
The place we stop at is a 1960s-style restaurant called Peggy’s. The neon lights along the roof covered the parking lot like in classic movies. Coming out of the front of the establishment is half a Cadillac—red with white stripes and wheels.
I stare in awe, impressed with how authentic the place looked. “This is pretty cool.”
“Yeah, been coming here for years. Peggy cooks a mean burger combo.”
“You mean there’s an actual Peggy?”
He laughs. “Yes, let’s go meet her.”
We walk inside and sit at a booth that is towards the kitchen and less visible. The restaurant wasn’t overly busy; a few patrons scattered around and mainly older folks. No one seems to pay attention to Wesley or even recognize who he was except for Peggy—the lady dressed in a pale green uniform and large permed hair that towered over her head. She walks towards us as she chews gum with a wide smile. She leans into Wesley, kissing the top of his head.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” she teases, chewing loudly. “So, introduce me to your girlfriend.”
“Uh, just friend,” I pipe up, perhaps too quickly.
“Double ouch.”
“Now don’t you listen to him. You follow your heart. You got me? Don’t let no boy tell you any different.”
I liked Peggy. She seemed to have put Wesley in his place. She didn’t entertain us looking at the menus, ordering us her special meal combo. I was up for anything; starving since I hadn’t eaten since Emerson’s place.
“So do you come here often?”
“When I can. It’s hard to go places these days.”
“I can’t imagine what it must be like. I know Emerson says…”
I cut myself off, aware that I brought up the giant elephant in the room. Surely, this would have come up. We both couldn’t ignore that I worked for her and Logan’s voice replayed in my head.
“Sorry.” I watch him, apologizing to be polite but studying his reaction.
“Bringing up your ex-fiancée. I know it must be hard.”
Wesley purposely ignores my comment, continuing to tap on his phone. His rude behavior angers me. Odd, since I usually wouldn’t allow this. He lightly throws the cell on the table; the vinyl making it slide to the middle and settling right next to the salt and pepper shakers.
I was tired, and hungry. Mom used to say that the only way to get me to reason was on a full stomach. I could smell the grease in the air; fries, burgers, onion rings, the same time my stomach makes a rumbling sound which I attempt to cover with my arm.
Peggy arrives with our food, offloading three plates in front of us. I thank her, then dig into my burger devouring every bite. Wesley barely touches his food; picking at the bun then shoving his plate away from him.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, stopping mid-bite.
“I need to go.”
“Okay.” I wipe my hands on the napkin and grab my purse. “We can go.”
He stands up abruptly, walking towards the counter. For a brief moment, he says something to Peggy and she looks my way. I wasn’t sure what I had done wrong, aside from mentioning Emerson, and continue sitting here waiting like an idiot.
Peggy walks over as Wesley goes in the opposite direction, towards the exit.
“It was so lovely to meet ya, doll.”
“And you Peggy. The food was amazing…I mean, sorry I didn’t get a chance to finish it.”
She pats my shoulder, lowering herself to my eye level. “He’s a complicated boy. Just give him his space.”
I smile politely, thank her again and then make my way outside.
On the fast ride home, I think about Peggy’s comment in an effort to stomach my food. Driving what felt like a hundred miles per hour with a belly full of burger and fries made it difficult to concentrate.
Wesley may have been a complicated man but I didn’t think I was crowding him. He kept pursuing me. Wesley was nothing like Liam. Polar opposites. Liam was so predictable. He was like a safety blanket you carried around. If you needed him, he was there. He never made you feel unwanted or carried any sort of complication with him.
We arrive at my apartment; Wesley making no effort to move off the bike. The frustration comes over me, gripping his shoulders for support to get myself down from the bike. I take off the helmet and shove it into his body. He removes his, though not making eye contact.
“See ya.”
It’s all he says before placing his helmet back on and not giving me a chance to voice my frustration to him. He twists the handle bar, roaring the engine before screeching off and leaving me alone on the street.
He was every bit the complicated man that Peggy said.
And I needed answers.
It was time to get answers.
I stare at the computer, fighting back the excessive blinking from the strain of the flickering screen.
My vision is blurred; a rainbow of colors and shapes that make no sense at all. The palm of my hand is covered in sweat, nervously twitching on top of the mouse. My chest tightens, my heart beating erratically like a crazed lunatic trapped inside an asylum.
The clock on the wall is loud. Every sound in the room is amplified.
Or perhaps—I’ve officially gone insane.
The tips of my fingers move on their own accord, typing so slowly that each key echoes inside our barely furnished apartment.
His name sits within the search engine. All I needed to do is hit search. Simple, right? There would be no turning back. No erasing of information that would find a home inside my reactive brain and just remain there forever because it had this stupid way of retaining information I didn’t need.
Like the time I accidentally read a love letter from my dad to my mom. It started off like a romance novel then quickly progressed to X-rated porn. And the time I walked in on my brother helping himself to a copy of Hustler perched on his bedside table. Information I retained yet was desperate to erase.
Click.
My eyes wander hastily across the screen. Millions of findings and an overload of information that seemed too much to handle. Where do I start? How, and why, would there be so much information on one human being?
The second finding from the top is a popular website. I figure it would be the most trustworthy resource, and within seconds—his profile appears.
There’s a picture of him on the top right corner. Dazzling smile with hair styled like a movie star, dressed in a black tuxedo and matching bow tie. He looks nothing like the man I know. Facial hair non-existent and skin that looks flawless. There’s no dark circles around his eyes and more notably, the scar that scrapes the bottom of his jawline can’t be seen.
Okay, breathe. Just read the bits you want to read and forget the rest.
Wesley Wade Richland (born September 3, 1987), known professionally as Wesley Rich, is an American actor. Rich became famous on reality television as one of the leading stars in Generation Next.
He most recently starred in the controversial movie Riding the High playing a troubled man Dexter Dickson who was born to an addict mother and shows how it impacted his life. Critics praised Rich on his ability to portray such a disturbed character and many believed that the fictional story was not so far from the truth.
In 2013, Rich was scouted to appear on an upcoming reality show that followed the lives of young adults and their generation. It was during the first season that viewers watched Rich fall in love with co-star Emerson Chase. Their relationship became a media frenzy with Forbes dubbing them the next power couple. It was estimated that their combined fortune was over $80 million after negotiations for a third season leaked and the two stars were reportedly earning $1 million per episode.
At the beginning of Season 3, Rich proposed to Chase in Paris and soon after, the cracks appeared each episode. Rich had been caught in a drug scandal which prompted his breakup with Chase. Fans took to social media blaming him for his addiction and infidelity that led to the split. Rich admitted on a reunion show that he struggled being in the limelight and spent time in rehab after the season aired.
Rich’s personal life made headlines again, including reports of alcohol abuse and allegations of domestic violence against former co-star Farrah Beaumont which resulted in her miscarrying a baby. He was arrested for DUI in Miami on New Years’ Day; the accident he was involved in caused an elderly man to be in critical condition. Rich was sentenced to jail for 12 months but the judge released him on probation after two months.
Gina Geller, Rich’s mother, publicly came out that her son had been abused as a child by her former husband and billionaire tycoon Harold Green. Rich responded to her claims on social media calling her a ‘pathetic excuse for a mother’ and leaking information about her four previous marriages. During this heated family feud that played out publicly, Rich was accused of being an accomplice in the Malibu drownings which saw two ladies’ bodies washed up on shore. The judge ruled out foul play and Rich was acquitted on all counts but his longtime friend, Max Kane, was charged for sexual assault.
I push my chair back as far away from the computer as possible. The heat inside the room is at boiling point. I run to the window in a frenzy to open it and breathe in fresh air. The outside noise and hustle of the neighborhood surround me yet I’m tone deaf. Words after words repeating in my head and taunting me over, and over, again.
This man—in my eyes—deserved so much more than a slap on the wrist and a stint in rehab.
He is also my boss’s ex-fiancé.
He is dangerous.
Danger had a way of finding me, or maybe—I was the dangerous one.
My cell flashes on my bed; a stream of messages from the man himself.
Bad Boy Rich.
I fall onto my bed; the duvet welcoming my fall as I stare blankly at the ceiling. I’ve stared at this ceiling numerous times. It has almos
t become a friend—a long-lost pal that opened its arms and let me pour my heart out until I was all cried out.
It allowed me to stare at it the first night here, the night I struggled to sleep with my impending interview the next day. When I missed Mom, and everyone back home, it would silently watch me as their voices filled my head and the memories became music to my ears.
We had this bond—me and the ceiling. Perhaps we were kindred spirits, or maybe—I’ve officially lost my marbles.
My cell lights up the room. The vibration is loud and obnoxious with its demanding presence. I guessed it was him. The man that decided to up and leave with no explanation.
The man that had so much baggage that the term ‘excess baggage’ would be a complete understatement.
He was carrying a cargo liner of baggage. Destination: Wherever you shouldn’t follow him.
But my curiosity got to me. My hand reaches over, and as I roll to my side, nestling my face into my pillow—I read the texts that flood my cell.
I keep fucking up.
Milana, answer me.
My head, I’m just…not in a good place. Fuck. I’m sorry.
I should have responded. It would have been the noble thing to do. Instead, I leave him hanging. I wasn’t his shrink; I would help him as much as I could but I had my own problems. Emerson was right, Peggy was right. The Internet painted a disturbing picture of him.
I had sense.
I am intelligent.
I WILL stay away because that’s what good girls do.
It was an unusually dreary day in Los Angeles. The rain was falling lightly creating a humid atmosphere and overcasting the normally shining sun.
I’m sprawled across my bed, head resting on my pillow while I stare up into the ceiling with mom on speakerphone.
“It sounds like you’ve settled in well, sweetie. I knew you would be perfect for that role,” she says, as I listen attentively.
“I guess. What about you, Mom? The nurses’ report looked positive. I received it only yesterday.”