“There’s not much else to do,” he says. “How are you doing with your medication?”
“Oh, right now, I’m feeling fucking spectacular,” I tell him.
He smiles and, with a chuckle, he says, “I meant the chemo. You’re almost done with this round, isn’t that correct?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of hit or miss on whether I feel up to getting out of bed, but the other medication does seem to be helping with that.”
“Are you having any nausea, vomiting, diarrhea?”
That line of questioning right there is precisely the reason I don’t think things with Jace would work out so well, even were he to drop his baggage at the gate.
“A little of one and three,” I tell him. “I haven’t puked, though.”
“That’s good,” he says. “What about body aches? How’s your appetite?”
“Depends on how long it’s been since I’ve imbibed,” I tell him.
“You know,” he says, “the word ‘imbibed’ actually means to drink, but that’s neither here nor there. Have you noticed any weight loss?”
“A bit,” I tell him, “but not as much as I was expecting. You see people with cancer, and they always look totally emaciated.”
“Well, I think the fact that the cannabis seems to be helping your appetite is helping with that,” he says. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, “I do actually have a couple.”
“Okay,” he says. “What’s on your mind?”
“What kind of nimrod do you have to be to make up with a woman who cheats on you the day that you figure it all out?”
That may not be the kind of question he was referring to.
“Excuse me?”
“It just seems to me like you’re selling yourself short,” I tell him. “I mean, you’re quite the dish, and I’d bet that you’ve even got some money stashed in the mattress. What’s keeping you with someone like that?”
“You know,” he says, “I think that while we’re in the office, it’d probably be for the best that we keep it professional.”
“Ah,” I answer and pull out my phone. I find the number and wait for an answer.
“Marquis Escorts,” the voice answers.
“Yeah, this is Grace Miller. I’ve used your service a few times before, and I was wondering if my usual gentleman would be free this evening, say maybe in an hour or so?” I ask.
Jace makes a noise that’s closer to a growl than anything, but he doesn’t say or do anything while I’m making my second appointment of the day with him.
When I hang up, he finally says, “You do know that you could just ask me if I’ll stop over, and it’d save you a lot of money.”
“Yeah,” I answer, “but if I did that and the wandering saline container called your other office to see what you were up to, you’d get in trouble.”
“They don’t give out that kind of — let’s just talk about it later,” he says. “For now, as your doctor, I’d say just let me know if you notice any new or worsening symptoms, and we’ll go from there. As for now, I don’t think it’s going to be necessary to adjust your medication, but do let me know if things get any worse and we can make a change as needed.”
“All right,” I answer.
I get up and make my way to the door, opening it just in time to hear the sound of his pager echoing through his office and waiting room.
Chapter Eight
Finding My Inner Douchebag
Jace
I run home before going over to Grace’s. It’s a little ridiculous that she actually made an appointment with my service while I was sitting across the desk from her, but it’s good to have an excuse to leave the house.
Melissa didn’t protest last night when I told her I felt more comfortable sleeping on the couch. Tonight, those roles are going to be reversed.
I’m headed over to Grace’s apartment now, and I’m really battling myself on what to do here.
The truth is that I like her.
She’s a patient, and I’m not unsympathetic to that fact, but she reminds me of someone I haven’t seen in a long time, someone I’m trying to get back in touch with.
Grace is challenging and spontaneous. Even with the specter looming over her, she’s still hanging onto her ability to take things into her own hands.
It’s inspiring, really.
That said, she scares the shit out of me.
She’s successful, but that’s not the source of my intimidation. It’s that she’s so true to herself and for the last few years, I’ve been wondering when or if I’m ever going to remember what that feels like.
Tonight, though, I think I’ve taken my first step in that direction.
I get to the apartment and knock on Grace’s door. From inside, I can hear her calling out, “It’s unlocked!”
Turning the knob, I’m just curious as to where tonight’s going to lead.
I walk into the apartment and close the door before making my way into the living room.
“Where are you?” I call.
“In the bedroom,” she replies. “I’m still getting dressed.”
“Need a hand?” I ask, testing the waters to see if I can still pull off facetious and charming.
“I think two would be better,” she calls back, “but I’m almost done.”
So, off to a good start.
Why the hell am I so nervous?
Grace comes into the living room, wearing a black tank top and a pair of jeans.
“You look nice,” I tell her. “Kind of like an eighties metal chick with better hair.”
“Thanks,” she says. “It helps being able to change it out on a whim. So, do you know where we’re going tonight, stud?”
“Now you’re talking like an eighties metal chick,” I laugh. “No, where are we going?”
“You,” she starts, taking graceful steps in what must be at least three-inch spikes, “are going to take me to the amusement park.”
“The amusement park?” I ask. “I didn’t know we had any of those around here.”
“I’m sure we’ll find one,” she says.
“All right, but we’d better get going. Otherwise, it’s going to be closed.”
“That’s kind of the point,” she says.
“In that case,” I tell her, trying to bury my fear of breaking in anywhere, “we should probably give it a little bit longer.”
“Oh, we’re going to make a couple of stops on the way. I hope you don’t mind,” she says, “but I have to talk to a man about a semi-hostile takeover of a lesser known TV station in the Midwest.”
“Sounds exciting,” I mock. “Seriously, though, where are we going?”
“I’m completely serious. I was just going to have you take me to a park so you could go down on me on the swing set, but I’ve got to do a little work tonight.”
“You know,” I tell her, “I never know if you’re serious when you say stuff like that.”
“Yeah, me either,” she says. “You’ll get used to it.”
I’m sure I will.
Tonight, Grace had requested that I pick her up in my car, so I did. Melissa looked at me funny when I grabbed my car keys, but she didn’t say anything. My bet is that she’s going to try to use this as ammunition for our next argument, but right now, I couldn’t care less.
I haven’t left her. I haven’t kicked her out. I don’t even know if I’m actually done with the relationship, but as for right now, today, I do know that I’m not going to let her hold me hostage in my role as her lesser man.
Grace and I get to my car and I hold her door as she gets in.
I walk around to the other side and, as I’m getting into my seat and buckling the belt, Grace says, “This is a nice car. How many old ladies with older money did you have to sweep off their feet to afford something like this?”
“I lost count a while ago.”
We’re on the road and everything’s going well. There’s good banter, even though I’m
over-thinking it to the point of absurdity.
“You’re going to have to tell me where I’m going,” I say.
“Just follow the sultry sounds of the computerized voice,” she says, pulling up the GPS on her phone.
“You don’t know where it is?”
“I do,” she says, “but this way we can carry on a conversation. You know, I should tell you that I generally prefer my hire-a-skanks to be more intelligent than what you’re bringing to the table.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter.
The sad thing is that I don’t know what else to say.
Ever since she booked my services back in the office, I’ve had this utopian idea of what tonight was going to be: we were going to throw off the fetters of convention — or at least, I was going to take a good crack at it — and I was going to rediscover my lost youth.
Okay, I’m only twenty-seven, but when you’ve lived a much more sedate version of your own life for any significant amount of time, any chance to get back to not caring so much about complete bullshit is the kind of thing you jerk off thinking about in the shower.
The computerized voice says, “Your destination is on the left,” and I’m actually starting to sweat.
I’m dropping the ball here.
Sure, Grace really isn’t saying anything either, but I think she’s just trying to see if I’m actually capable of unwinding.
“I’ll be back in a little bit,” she says. “I would tell you to come up, but I don’t want you to have to see my work persona.”
“What’s the difference between your work persona and your normal, everyday self?” I ask, hoping for some common, more boring ground.
“It’s about the same as my every day persona, but there’s a lot more talk about markets and acquisitions and sweeps week and that sort of thing. I wouldn’t want you thinking I’m just another business woman,” she says, adjusting her dark purple wig in the mirror.
“Not much chance of that,” I tell her. “I’ll find a spot to park and I’ll text you its location.”
“My hero,” she says and gets out of the car.
I find the entrance to the parking garage and park in an open spot and text the space number to Grace.
The one thing I hadn’t counted on with tonight was the waiting.
Ever since I found that video, I’ve done my best to keep my mind occupied. When I don’t, invariably, I end up watching it again or trying to think through how I’m going to get my content life with Melissa back.
The worst part is that I know that content part of my life is over and that even if I could get it back, I simply don’t want it anymore.
Still, it’s like going to camp: you can’t help but miss being back home.
I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t need to watch the video again to remember why I don’t want to go back to the downtrodden eunuch I’ve been for the entirety of my professional life, but I’m about half a breath away from calling Melissa right now and asking her what I can do to make things right.
It’s idiotic and I know it, but this is the life I’ve spent so much time building. Isn’t it natural that part of me would want to hang onto that, preserve that as long as possible, even if I know that the whole thing is doomed to failure?
A text message comes in, and I’m just hoping that it’s Grace telling me she’s on her way back out, but I’m not so lucky.
It’s Yuri, writing, “Hey boss, I’m probably not going to be able to make it in tomorrow.”
This has happened every Sunday night since I hired her. All things considered, I probably should have fired her a long time ago, but she does have an incredible way of building rapport with the patients and, when she’s not completely shirking her duties, she’s actually a phenomenal assistant.
I write back, “Why’s that?”
A couple of minutes pass before I get another message.
I look down at my phone, reading, “I want to have sex tonight.”
I’m relieved when I look at the sender to find that it wasn’t Yuri’s text, but it’s from a number I don’t know. The answer’s on top of me before I even have time to wonder, though.
Just to be certain, I check the message that Melissa sent her boss and, sure enough, it’s him texting my phone, somehow having gotten my number confused with hers.
I guess it’s not that hard to figure out: this is the number from which he got the video.
Grace is coming out of the building and scanning the lot, looking for my car, and I’m not sure what to do here.
It’s entirely possible that Melissa simply hasn’t gotten a hold of Ty yet to tell him that their relationship or whatever it was going to turn into is over, but I’m nowhere near hopeful enough to believe that kind of nonsense.
I pull out of the parking space and drive over to where Grace is standing, still looking for my car.
If anyone would know what to do here, it would be her. I may not know her that well yet, but she’s the one that figured out Melissa was cheating on me in the first place.
She’s got to know what to do.
Grace opens the passenger door and gets in, saying, “That went quicker than I expected.”
“How’d it go?”
“Quicker than I expected,” she repeats. “We really do need to work on your listening skills, you know that?”
“I meant, was your meeting or whatever a productive one?”
“Oh, not at all. My boss, apparently, left for the day about half an hour ago, but he did make sure to leave a message with his secretary who, for reasons entirely alien to me, was still at her desk.”
“What was the message?”
“‘I’m still your boss,’” she answers. “‘If you try to go around me to push your agenda again, I’m going to fire your ass. I’ll be the one laughing on the other side of the glass when security comes to escort you out of the building.’”
“Shit, what did you do?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. Are you ready to go see if one of us can figure out how to work the tilt a whirl?”
“I think they cut the power to the rides after the park closes,” I tell her.
“You think? I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
I want to ask Grace what she thinks I should do about Melissa’s boss, but to tell you the truth, I’m finding it less and less palatable talking about that whole situation with her. I’m just not sure if it’s a respect thing or if I’m just scared of the fact that she probably has an answer.
There’s something about wallowing that I’ve never quite been able to overcome, so when an opportunity like this comes along where I can justifiably feel like complete shit about something, I tend to hang onto it.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Grace says. “I was hoping you’d get past that by the time I got back.”
“Are we going somewhere local or should I get on the freeway?”
“Nice deflection,” she says. “It is a ball and chain thing?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” I tell her. “Let’s just focus on finding an amusement park to break into.”
* * *
“Will you just shut up and grab my ass?” Grace asks in a hushed voice.
Her strength gave out just before she was able to make it over the final fence to get into the Paroxysm Amusement Park.
I take a breath and put my hands on her upper thighs to give her a push.
She asks if I failed anatomy class in med school, but I’m able to help her get over the top of the fence.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” I ask her. “You should be taking it easy.”
“Well, since you didn’t bother telling me that until I got all the way into the park, I think I’m just going to ignore you, if you don’t mind,” she says. “Now, hurry the fuck up. I really don’t want to get the beat down from some security guard.”
“You know they have cameras in places like this,” I tell her, but still climb over the last fence to join her on the other
side.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” she says.
“Why? Do you know one of the owners or something?”
“No, I just wouldn’t worry about it. We’re already in, so we may as well have some fun before we get thrown out or arrested.”
This isn’t exactly the kind of thing I had in mind when I was looking forward to a spontaneous night.
“Come on, you pansy,” she says.
I have no clue where she’s leading me, and I’m even more uncertain exactly how nobody’s come to dive tackle us, stun gun in hand, but I follow right along with Grace.
She’s moving slower than she was when we got out of the car, but that’s to be expected. Tomorrow’s her last day of chemo for the month. The fact that she’s out and moving around, much less breaking into an amusement park, it’s actually kind of inspiring — you know, if you squint.
“I’ve never been here,” I tell her. “I don’t know where everything is.”
“You’ve never been here?”
“Nope,” I answer.
“Then you, my good trollop, have never lived.”
“When we’re not together, do you just sit around with a thesaurus and look for alternate words for prostitute or what?” I ask.
“No,” she answers, “I was in a band back in college.”
What that has to do with anything is beyond me.
It’s already dark enough outside that it’s taken me this long to realize why we haven’t been confronted by security: the amusement park isn’t just closed for the night. It’s been closed down for a long time.
Everywhere are bits and pieces of old carnival rides, many of them rusted into near oblivion, although here and there are almost completely assembled rides, though I seriously doubt I’d even get near one, much less on one.
“There’s the tilt a whirl,” she says. “I was fucking with you earlier about trying to figure out how to turn the thing on — that ship sailed a while ago. Still, I bet we can get a pretty good view of the sky in that one with the open end facing the hill.”
She leads the way as if she’s been here a thousand times before, and I can’t be certain that she hasn’t.
Costars (A Standalone Romance Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) Page 34