For the Best

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For the Best Page 7

by LJ Scar


  Tanner actually nodded, acknowledging them as he possessively cast his arm around me his hand coming to rest on my hip and steered me away.

  We made our way to the keg. Tanner pumped then poured. I held tight to a water bottle I’d brought.

  “Hanner…what’s up?” The voice was so grating, and the guy was so disgusting. One of those types that had been popular in high school but when you saw him a year after graduation you wondered what had put him on that social level.

  I felt Tanner’s fingers dig a little into my side as he guzzled his first beer. “Hoping soon it will be my blood alcohol content.”

  They laughed, I didn’t. “Excuse me,” I said extracting myself from the group to join the bathroom line that snaked out of the laundry room off the kitchen. A tall guy in front of me gave me shelter. I watched Tanner continue talking.

  Once I finished, I looked around. Tanner was no longer in sight. My skin became heated - crawling as if infested as I wove through the crowd. He’d disappeared, possibly to find a private spot with some other girl but more than likely he was popping a few pills. The living room was wall to wall people, I exited through the kitchen door that led out to the garage, skirted around a single car and found a side entry door.

  Underneath the garage lights, the line of cars on the street and in the drive was heavy. I looked left and right…made a decision.

  Along the sidewalk I ran, and kept running. Past the familiar roads leading to the beach, past the shops and restaurants I hadn’t been able to afford in the last year. My feet ached in my flip flops still I kept going until my old house was in front of me. A fresh coat of paint, new landscaping and mulch...I started to cry wishing I had put those needed touches into the place. Minutes passed as I said goodbye.

  Slowly, I walked the route I knew so well, found my car where I’d left it in front of Tanner’s and slid inside. I sent him a text wondering how long until my words were read.

  Chapter 14

  June

  July

  August

  September

  Tanner

  The night of my graduation, she’d disappeared on me. I’d been so self-involved on top of being drunk and high I hadn’t missed her until hours had passed. When I checked my phone, I saw her message but the words didn’t compute.

  Tanner, it’s over.

  Peyton took the phone out of my hands and giggled.

  The next day the message was deleted. I couldn’t completely recall what it had said.

  I called. I texted. No response.

  I dropped by her dad’s bearing flowers. Lainey was the one who told me she was gone. Unbelieving I ran to their shared room, looked…nothing. Not even her scent remained.

  Frantic, I filled her voice mail box and sent text after text. Two days later her cell digits became a non-working number.

  I went to Trev. She could give up on me but not him.

  Hanna

  I had finished the warmer months volunteering at the dog rescue. Once my money ran out I found work as a waitress in a ski village where I moved in with three older girls. They were fun loving, uninhibited and unwilling to show restraint. So many overnight guests flitted through our rental that I crated Gator when I was gone.

  From encounters with friends of friends and strangers I met Ansel. He stood out, not just because he had dark blonde hair worthy of a rock star, green eyes like the sea, and a lean body obtained from hours on the slopes.

  “So Ansel…is it just a coincidence on your first name mirroring another famous photographer?” I asked the first time we met and he told me he was a photo journalist.

  “My mother was a big fan of his, so I’d be lying if I said no,” he admitted.

  “She must have been pleased to see you following in the footsteps of your namesake.”

  He cleared his throat. “Actually, she died when I was five.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “My style of photography is a little less noble than Mr. Adams’.”

  Pondering his last sentence I hesitated then probed, “What do you mean my style? What kind of photography are you into?”

  “Mostly tabloids and entertainment TV shows. Basically I stalk celebrities, heiresses, the occasional producer and ex-girlfriend on the slopes for a living.” He smiled mischievously.

  I studied him. “Those magazines and shows get sued frequently.”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes. I’m under their protective umbrella.”

  “You know any good lawyers?” I asked.

  “What kind?”

  I considered my future - then told him my story.

  Tanner

  College…not as liberating as I would have hoped. So much of what I thought my “adult” life would be like was the unenlightened creations of some guy who I no longer had much in common with.

  I didn’t pledge like Didge. My classes were generic pre-reqs aimed towards some major I couldn’t seem to choose. I had no idea what I wanted out of life anymore. If I knew where Hanna had gone I would have chucked my whole education and went to find her just to have a goal again.

  She was always in my thoughts. Past events weighed heavy on my mind. Halloween was no exception.

  Last year, we’d done a haunted house with some friends. She was in front of me. I was holding her by the waist as blinking strobe lights brightened black lit glow in the dark images, an occasional grabbing ghoul, and decapitated bodies catapulting our way. One scene was a hospital room with a sparsely haired middle aged woman hooked up to IVs. Open sores oozed from her body. I didn’t recognize her but she must have known us because she rose up and looked straight in our direction screaming, “Hanna” over and over again.

  Hanna started crying, sobbing actually right there. I led her down a corridor the haunted house had labeled wimp escapes.

  There was no consoling her that night. In hindsight, I could say it was another night of hundreds I’d just made her feel worse.

  Hanna

  Thanksgiving came. I worked late into the small hours because I got double pay and big tips from tourists who felt sorry for ruining my holiday.

  Coming home, I noticed the remnants of a celebration. The kitchen counter was littered with baked on food pans and empty bottles. The lingering smells of turkey and stale booze overwhelmed me. In my bedroom, I discovered Ansel clad only in boxer briefs under my covers. Moving in closer, his tainted breath could have peeled the paint from my walls.

  I nudged him to wake. “Ansel, get up. I’m not sharing my bed with you.”

  He garbled some words.

  My body was spent. I couldn’t stand on my feet another minute. Begrudgingly, I joined him in bed. He was so toasted it was doubtful he’d be able to move must less make a move.

  The next morning I felt him stir. I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me. My heart clenched and his expression said volumes. I jerked away as I fully recalled our night together, how tenderly he held me, how I’d caressed his body in the safety of the darkness. I could still feel him, the weight of his arm slung casually across my stomach in the night, the heat of his thighs brushing mine.

  “Don’t go all shy on me now.” Hushed words followed a smile.

  I jumped from the bed we shared, righting my clothes. I could feel my face warming as I flushed, and felt sudden anger. “I don’t appreciate coming home to find some drunk guy in his underwear in my bed.”

  “First, I didn’t plan on crashing here.” He pointed to Gator lying in the floor. “I took the dog for a walk, then came back to wait for you to get off.” He ran his hand over his face. “Second, I’m not a stranger. I’m sorry I invaded your space but I’m more sorry that I fell off the wagon.”

  Hesitantly, I asked, “Are you an alcoholic?

  He nodded. “A recovering one.”

  Why was a sucker for guys with addictions? I thought. “I didn’t know.”

  He stayed in bed following my movements. “I didn’t tell you.”

  Forcing myself st
eady, I sat on the edge of the bed. “Alcohol is everywhere. Is it hard?”

  “Only in certain aspects. I can take a beer or a glass of wine and stop. But in the midst of a party, hard liquor becomes my weakness,” he admitted his expression remorseful. “Sorry, I stepped over the line.”

  A guy apologizing, this was new for me. I relented, “I was sober. I let you cross it.”

  He smiled. An awkward silence settled between us.

  Finally, he said, “My dad’s buddy – the lawyer I recommended. He told me you’d been in touch.”

  “I was.”

  “You want to fill me in?”

  I threw him his pants and shirt. “Yeah, get dressed. You can treat me to breakfast since I gave you a free place to stay last night.”

  Tanner

  One day at the beach I learned Trev wasn’t the only person Hanna had remained in contact with. I recognized a dog she used to walk.

  I approached the guy attached to the leash, a twenty something surfer who looked less than pleased with the antics of his Rottweiler carrying a discarded, barnacled boat bumper in the grip of his jaws.

  “My girlfriend used to walk him.” I pointed to the beast.

  “Hanna,” the guy said her name like they were good friends.

  “Yeah.”

  “You been out to Utah to visit her?”

  I blinked hard. Utah...why the hell was she there? Trev had said when she called she’d talked about heat and red rocks. I’d assumed she was in Arizona. “You wouldn’t know her new number would you? We kind of parted on bad terms.”

  The guy seemed to consider me for a minute then said, “Next time she calls to check up on Bowzer I’ll ask her to call the guy who still refers to her as his girlfriend.”

  As he disappeared down the beach, I cursed Hanna for being more concerned about a dog than me.

  Chapter 15

  Hanna

  I hadn’t grown attached to Utah. Ansel was another matter. The desire I felt the night he passed out in my bed I brushed off…it was for the best. As for him, he never made any overt signs of affection. I took it to mean he wasn’t interested – at least beyond friendship.

  With a little convincing from him, I moved closer. Over the internet, I found an efficiency unit an hour north of Ansel’s place in Los Angeles. He’d landed me an interview with a winery. I traded one service industry job for another.

  He and I killed a lot of time together - mostly in LA at his apartment. Nights were spent talking, him lying on one end of the sectional in his apartment, me on the other. We shared similar stories of love and loss. He listened without judgment when I told him every sordid detail of my relationship with Tanner, and all the heartbreak of my mom and dad. He told me about an old girlfriend who had done him wrong and about being raised by a single dad. We kept no secrets. We had no illusions.

  Tanner

  Spring semester was better than fall. Still no closer to knowing a career path my courses were basically all major generic. Routing her own destiny outside of classrooms made me jealous of Hanna.

  Eight months with no word other than the bits I’d pieced together from Trev. He kept her Christmas postcard taped to his dresser mirror like a badge of honor. I dreamed about heading out to Utah, but I feared she wouldn’t want me or worse she had found someone else.

  For Valentine’s Day, she sent Trev a shot of her hand holding out a heart shaped shell. In the background were a beach and a turbulent sea. She’d written.

  “Tell Tanner the waves in California are gnarly and I’m still afraid to go out past the breakers.”

  Probably I read too much into her words but the fact that she thought of me and let me know where she was made me feel a little lighter.

  Close to Easter I saw Lainey for the first time on campus. Of course, all I wanted to know was anything to do with Hanna.

  “She hired a lawyer. He is collecting unpaid child support for Hanna as well as his legal fees.”

  I blew air from the breath I held. I admitted, “Her dad hadn’t paid child support since our junior year of high school.”

  “Even so it doesn’t change that he and my mom are about to blow a gasket.”

  “Why? He can afford it.”

  She shook her head. “Support wasn’t ever calculated correctly in the first place. It was supposed to be based upon his income including IRAs and stock options. Since he dropped her from his insurance there is some legal clause about insurance premiums. The amount he owed was huge times 18 months of being a deadbeat dad. He says the payoff is $17 grand.”

  So Hanna was exacting some monetary revenge on her father. “I’m not feeling much sorrow for him.”

  She looked down and fingered this machine distressed hole in her designer jeans. “It is really hard seeing my mom get down.” She batted her eyes up at me.

  Uneasy, I responded, “Lainey, when you’re feeling bad for your mom do you ever muster any sympathy for what Hanna has gone through.”

  “She’s going to come out of this rich.”

  I studied her. Did she not understand the pain Hanna had endured? “Seventeen grand is not rich.”

  “It is when you tack on the rest coming to her. The lawyer my stepdad hired says her attorney has also filed for refunds from the IRS because the early withdrawals from her mom’s 401k were taxed at applicable income levels and a 10% penalty. He said she should have qualified for a hardship case because she needed to prevent foreclosure, provide tuition, pay un-reimbursed medical expenses and she was terminally ill, divorced, with medical debt exceeding her adjusted gross income. Hanna has another $6k coming from that if it is accepted.”

  I gritted my teeth and held back from saying angry words defending Hanna. There was nothing to be gained. A long road of misery, some of which I’d enabled, had befallen my girlfriend. “Well, thanks for the update. If Hanna ever makes an appearance, or calls tell her I miss her.”

  I left without saying goodbye. I couldn’t keep up the charade.

  Hanna

  Being friends with Ansel peppered my life. We talked or texted frequently when I wasn’t working. We liked the same movies and music, had similar opinions, but the best was we both had a huge sense of adventure we satisfied with car trips whenever we could. He took me to spots only a true Californian would know. Lonely canyons, beaches you had to hike to reach, snowcapped mountains a novice could climb. Without him, my Pacific coast adventure would have narrowed to my job at the winery.

  The type of job he held was a downside to our relationship. It was a career of cheap shots embarrassing and hurting people who wanted to maintain private lives. Still sometimes I accompanied Ansel while he worked. With me sitting at a table beside him at restaurants, clubs or just sidewalk benches he looked less vulture-like than the other paparazzi. He realized I was an added work tool. Dress me up and plant me at a celebrity frequented bar, eventually I would be approached.

  “Check this out.” Ansel showed me the digital pic from his camera. It was me with my head bent in my hand staring into a pretty colored drink placed in front of me. A handsome guy was penetrating my body space.

  “Do you know who was coming onto you?”

  “No.”

  He said his name and it didn’t compute. Stuff like that didn’t matter to me. “Do you mind if I use it? I won’t mention I know you.”

  I wanted to tell him it made me feel like a $20 hooker placed on the best corner by her pimp. When he gave me a cut of the money no amount of reasoning on my part made what he’d done any less reminiscent of what Tanner had done.

  I pictured Tanner on campus having raucous parties with friends in the warm sunshine of Florida before the spring semester ended. Maybe he was thinking about me. Maybe he was wishing the guy he was sharing a dorm room with was someone else. I wondered.

  In a moment of sheer despair I called him. The call was answered by voice mail. Just as well, I thought. I couldn’t bear his questions. I left less than a minute message telling him of what I considered both
our loss.

  Feeling lonely and depressed, Ansel suggested we dress up and hit the strip. I was under the mistaken impression he’d taken the night off for me. Turned out that was just wishful thinking.

  Bowing my head against the recent howling winds, we darted for the door. The warmth inside the club was comforting, even the dimly lit room. I cringed catching myself in the gilded mirror hanging on the wall – windblown and sad eyed.

  “Do your thing. I’ll do mine.” Ansel dropped his arm from my waist and disappeared in the crowd with a hidden camera.

  Seating was across the dance floor. Pretty people moved in rhythm as I wove an erratic path to the bar. I took a seat and waited the night out in disappointment.

  Later…

  A handsome stranger had taken a seat beside me at the bar and unlike the roach like players dredged from the crevices of the club who’d been plaguing me he’d sensed my sadness.

  I confessed I’d lost my childhood dog earlier in the week.

  After offering condolences, he asked, “You want to get out of here.”

  At that point, all I wanted was to be anywhere but there. If my intuition was correct, those male asses his eyes kept darting on meant I was not a contender in his romantic pursuits.

  In his Mercedes, I got a little nervous. “I really should go home. Can you drop me off at a bus stop?”

  He scoffed at my idea, “You can’t take the bus from here on a Saturday night. Come back to my place. My chef made some lobster bisque that is to die for coupled with a Pinot Noir.”

  No guys I’d hung with said phrases like “to die for.” I was hungry, he smelled really good and his car had heated seats. If I was going to be treated like a cheap whore, I might as well play it safe with a man who was never going to invite me into his bed.

  We talked the night away. As if I hadn’t figured out by that point how shallow, unscrupulous, and fickle Hollywood could be he enlightened me further. I felt sympathy for the guy. He was very sweet and if he wasn’t exaggerating might soon be out of work because he couldn’t live up to the image his studio wanted.

 

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