“Don’t even think about it.” She was fuming. It’s easy to see that my insight was correct. “He’s a fucking jerk off. Yes, I want you to get back out there and date, but don’t go backwards. And so what if Myles hasn’t called. That just means that you need a few more eggs in a few more baskets. Date! A lot of people.” As if reading my mind, she responded knowingly. “I don’t mean sleep with a slew of guys, but get to know them and have fun for the millionth time. If Myles is a dingbat and can’t figure out how great you are, then screw him,too.”
“Well said and amen to that.” It was easier said than done, but at least she practiced what she preached.
Again, my cell chimed. “It’s him again.” I looked up guiltily.
“Give it to me.” Reluctantly I did. “Hello, Ethan,” she answered. “No, this is not Laila. It’s Brooke. I’m going to say this to you nicely, once. Do not call her again.” The words were slowly spoken, as if to make sure they were clear enough for the Neanderthal that she believed him to be. “It’s over because of you, so don’t think that because you have regrets and you finally realized what you’ve missed out on, that you can just get it back whenever you feel like. She is over you and seeing other people now.”
The muffled mumbling of his voice in the receiver went on and on as Brooke rolled her eyes. Then, her face turned red and she sternly warned him through clenched teeth, “She’s finally been properly laid, so go back to your little home-wrecker.”
A loud gasp hurled from my lips and I could feel the blood rushing to my head. I couldn’t imagine what he said that warranted that information. True, I hadn’t been laid much recently, but I thought she knew that was privileged information. Nice that he knew I wasn’t sitting around waiting for him, but I was mortified nonetheless. He must’ve said something to the effect of being sorry because Brooke really laid into him about infidelity and not knowing the meaning of love. It wasn’t clear exactly who ended the call, but a mile-wide smile colored her face with satisfaction—and my money was on her.
Outside Pepolino’s, we consolidated our bags for the trip back to the hotel. An uneasy feeling niggled at me. What if Ethan and I were supposed to get back together? Maybe that’s why Myles hadn’t called. All the years that Ethan and I were together had to mean something. It didn’t sit right with me that so many years could just waste away like water down the drain. At some point I loved him enough to want to spend the rest of my life with him, enough to want to bear his children. I figured that should entitle him to at least a second chance. I washed his laundry, folded his underwear, and played nice with his snobby friends. I compromised and ended up with snot-colored paint on the walls. Aside from total abandonment, things were mostly good. Movie nights every once in a while. Going out to dinner on weeknights at really elegant restaurants, even if we didn’t talk much. Reading books next to each other in bed. Receiving cards on Valentine’s Day. My mind raced with indecision. I didn’t want to be one of those delusional women who only remembered the good times and miraculously got amnesia about the outnumbering bad times. Those women always seemed so pathetic to me. I pitied them, staying in horrible relationships so they wouldn’t have to be alone. Ignoring the indiscretions and their own decreasing importance in the lives of their men to avoid starting all over again.
As Brooke and I walked off our carbs, I worried that I’d become one of the women I’d pitied. We said nothing for blocks, but she knew what I was thinking. That’s the beauty in our relationship, she could console me without ever having said a word. She knew I needed the silence to clear my head.
“Stop thinking about him,” Brooke offered empathetically.
She spoke softly, but I heard it in her tone. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. I’d been on the receiving end too many times not to recognize it. Brooke would never intentionally hurt my feelings, and I knew that. Still, I felt it all over again.
It was there freshman year in high school. Racine Lawrence was my best friend when we both tried out for cheerleading and only she’d made the squad. “Maybe you can try out for the dance team or a sport, or something. There’s got to be something,” she had said. It was there, as I stood deserted, while relentless stares weighed me down. Every last person, willing their faces to show compassion, while they thanked the heaven and stars above that they weren’t in my shoes. It never was the words that had bothered me. Deep down, I knew they felt sorry for me. Brooke felt sorry for me.
When I turned to her, there it was square on her face. That unintentional, diabolically deplorable look. The same one I had given many times over. Whether she knew or not, I couldn’t tell, but it was unmistakably pity.
sixteen
By the time I made it home to Vegas, all I really wanted to do was veg out on the bed and do nothing. I lay there in the darkness, still deflated. Light and sound muted, only the deafening reality of my thoughts. Brooke’s words hung in the air, “stop thinking about him,” she’d said looking at me, feeling sorry for me. Lying in the bed, thinking about Ethan and Myles’ intentions was pathetic. Wondering why he hadn’t called, was pitiful. I couldn’t just lie there and keep regurgitating the past, it was ruining me. Something inside me was pleading for me to do something. Anything. But, it had to be drastic. An urgency washed over me, as if being inside a second longer would literally suffocate me.
It still wasn’t clear what possessed me, but the next thing I knew, I was in the Cosmopolitan, weaving through crowds of twenty-somethings who’d spontaneously combusted with sex and booze. At the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor of the Chandelier Bar, Swarovski crystal curtains enveloped a velvety heliotrope haven. Hues of aubergine and teal made up most of the decadent décor. Viridian sofas lined the outskirts, though all the seating was arranged for socializing. Just off the winding stairwell, directly ahead was a beautiful and formidable bar.
Off to the left, I found my place in a cushy cove. Everyone was mingling, but I opted to enjoy the scenery from afar. Something about the way people mixed and mingled amused me. The constant effort to uniquely conform. That delicate balance between fitting in and sticking out, similar to the way you can only tell the maid of honor in a wedding was more important because she wore a different dress in the same color or the same dress in a different color. Never diverging too far from the rest. Deep down I wanted to join in and let my head fall back with laughter at some moderately funny joke someone in the crowd told. Or, sip on a cocktail with an outrageously suggestive name. All the magazine girls in their designer mini dresses and stilettos seemed to make up most of the circles, but I never did see myself fitting in. Knowing what to say would be the least of my worries compared to how I’d be sizing myself up to them. So, as usual, I located the quietest corner to crawl into and let my ears open and my mind wonder.
A scantily clad waitress immediately found me and took my drink order. At first I thought about my old standby Midori Sour, but on such a freeing festive occasion, I lied and told her it was my birthday and to surprise me. She sauntered away, and again I was left with only my thoughts. A lifelong skill acquired over time, the ability to feel alone in a roomful of people. The ebb and flow of the crowd was comforting in the way that routine becomes.
If it weren’t for the deafening silence in my head, I might’ve missed the low moans off to my left. A kissing couple, inching their way to intimacy. His hand slid beneath her hemline. Her tongue slid just as slyly into his ear. Looking around, no one appeared to notice but me. My temperature rose by the minute, as if I’d intruded on something I wasn’t supposed to see. But my eyes wouldn’t turn away. Where was that waitress with my drink?
Repositioning herself to straddle him, my eyes only bulged. It occurred to me that no one else cared because it was normal. When I was younger, that sort of thing just didn’t happen in public. As her dress gradually climbed her thighs, he slouched farther down. As it was strapless, he only seemed more euphoric as her ample bosom dangled in his face. She writhed and gyrated. Sighs of exhilarat
ing pleasure. Only then did I begin to wonder if she was wearing panties. Pulsing rhythmically atop him while their searching hands played with each other, if it wasn’t sex, it was certainly sexual. Getting hornier as I watched, I knew I needed to get back on the dating scene because my rendezvous with Myles only awakened my dormant libido.
As her hand reached beneath her, utter shock overcame me. Along with gaping eyes, my mouth crashed to the floor. There was no way no one else was watching, I thought as I scanned the room only to lock eyes with a guy at the end of the bar closest to me. He wasn’t hard on the eyes, which only made me more self-conscious. There was no one remotely close to me, so I knew he was looking at me. But it was his smile that took me aback. Immediately, I was embarrassed. Had he seen me ogling the borderline porno? As if he heard me, he turned to the couple, then back at me, still smiling. Before I knew it, he was off his chair and walking toward me. Unlike his calm cool demeanor with the prowl of a jungle cat, my clammy, fidgety hands gave my nervousness away.
When he reached me, he didn’t take the seat adjacent to me right away. He continued to stand until he had my permission. Normally I wouldn’t have minded, but given the circumstance I was a little uneasy that he would think I was a stalking voyeur despite their unabashed display.
He put his hand out for mine. “I’m Dante,” he introduced himself.
I told him my name and shook his hand, but my nerves did not find solace in his courteous gesture. Still wondering what his intentions were after seeing me eyeballing the couple, I could only politely smile and nod.
Light stubble trailed along his structured jaw shaped into a clean goatee. Though his hair was a disheveled mess, it suited his easygoing demeanor. Something about him felt relaxed, like he was within his element reading a book at the beach or tossing back a few brewskies at a bar with friends. I figured he wanted to buy me a drink and shoot the breeze. Then he hit me with, “Do you want to watch together?”
“I’m sorry…what?” I needed him to repeat that.
“If they’re bold enough to have sex in public, they must not object to an audience.” He smiled again and shrugged.
Maybe once or twice in my life had I watched porn, but never had I seen anyone have sex in person. It was a bizarre idea to start with, but with a stranger only made it that much more awkward. But I was brand new and my goal for the day was to do something I had never done before.
“Got any popcorn?” I giggled lightheartedly.
We sat there silently, but our body language said a mouthful. On more than one occasion, Dante adjusted his collar. After he doffed his blazer, his posture went from completely erect to a weird contorted pretzel lean. My legs alternated from crossed on the right to crossed on the left. Neither was comfortable, so I ended up with crossed ankles. Then I developed some sort of nervous twitch at the ankle as I flicked my shoe on and off. Meanwhile the couple hadn’t even come up for air. When her dress had no more inches to go up and made the flip above her behind, I nearly fell off the sofa. A glimpse of her G-string positioned to the side for easier access, answered my earlier question. Not that it made much difference. After their rocking convulsions subsided, she attempted to pull her dress back down. Her eyes opened as she stumbled to remove her mouth and stand. As the haze most likely began to clear her mind, she tried to walk, but appeared to have lost the sensation in her legs. The guy reached for her and put her arm around his shoulder to hold her up. A drunken half-smile covered her face, “What was your name again?” she asked.
Dante and I laughed. By then, any ice left between us had broken, or more accurately, melted. You don’t watch semi-porn with someone and then get shy. We talked about everything under the sun. Apparently gut-wrenching breakups were in the air because he’d just ended a seven-year relationship the week prior and needed to get out of his mope. He’d bought all new threads and a got a new haircut for the occasion. In fact, the blazer still had the tag on it because he was debating whether or not he wanted to return it. He hadn’t anticipated spending five hundred dollars on one article of clothing. I was really enjoying myself. The conversation just flowed between us. No awkward silences. A couple of times we even finished each other’s sentences, which at the time, I thought meant something in regards to compatibility.
I had such a good time, I gave considerable thought to his invitation back to his room. My conscience wouldn’t let me go through with it. Especially since I’d have been a total hypocrite after condemning the drunk girl. All the same, I stood my ground and we exchanged phone numbers with the promise that he’d call me the next day. The entire ride home I was beaming with excitement, thinking about talking to Dante the following day. Like a restless kid the day before school started back, I was too antsy. I felt rejuvenated and hopeful. There was something to look forward to.
Everything may have felt new again, but it was the same old game. Me pacing and waiting on forever. Dante never did call the next day. I didn’t want to believe it, but he wasn’t different. He just wanted sex, like Myles. It could’ve been worse if I’d slept with him. Still, I couldn’t help wondering if I was ever going to find someone who was on the same page with me when it came to relationships. Hit it and quit it, had never been my motto.
With the grand opening of The Sweet Tooth fast approaching the following week, I’d all but forgotten to pick out an outfit. And while I’d been gallivanting to New York and The Strip, my errand list hadn’t stopped to wait on my return. My list seemed never-ending. Receipt paper for the cash register, a printer, merchant bags, invoices, and a few other odds and ends. I’d planned on heading to Fry’s down by Town Square anyway. There were a few shops I knew would have something suitable for the opening. Besides, there weren’t many more therapeutic things to do to soothe a bruised ego than shopping.
The high for the day was about a hundred and five, and even though the air felt more like a blow dryer to the face than a summer breeze, I let the windows down on the drive over and turned up the music. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much traffic either. At Fry’s things were equally as smooth. One by one, I checked each item off my list. By the time my bags were stowed neatly in my trunk, I figured I had enough time to spare for a quick bite. California Pizza Kitchen was busy with the tourist crowd, but the heat easily deterred them, so I chose a cozy table for two nuzzled in a corner of the patio. When the waiter arrived, I opted for the Caesar salad focaccia sandwich and iced tea. Sweat beads formed on my forehead, but I didn’t even mind the dewy stickiness. My thoughts drifted between the shop and men. The year hadn’t really even gotten into the thick of things and already, so much had happened. Lena’s engagement, the rise and fall of Myles, the whole new dating thing, and Ethan’s imminent return. Through all of it, I really hadn’t focused on what exactly I wanted. I asked myself if I wanted to be married like Lena? What did I really know about Myles? Or, Ethan for that matter? Everything I thought of as stable and constant, hadn’t panned out.
I pulled out my journal and a pen and vented on paper. Minutes turned to hours and my quick bite had taken the better part of three hours. The waitress gave me the stink eye and I knew I’d worn out my welcome. Quickly, I left enough money on the table to cover my bill and a generous tip, just in case. As I shuffled out of the patio gate, I faintly heard my name and looked over my shoulder. No one was there. The gate slammed so loudly, I almost didn’t hear my name the second time it was called. Dead in my tracks, I stopped to look around. A familiar voice came from Brio.
All the gall inside me wanted to smack him right across the face and turn my back. But it was the opportunity I’d been waiting for. The chance to show him this so-called new version of me. That his selfish failure to call hadn’t fazed me in the least. And so my acting began. “Myles?” Purposely with a question, as if I never sat on edge with an egg timer, awaiting his call and feeling sorry for myself. As if he wasn’t important enough to waste storage in my memory bank.
“Yeah. Laila, how’ve you been?”
“Well!�
� I said a little bit too loudly and high-pitched to be believable. “I’m doing great. How are you?”
“Everything is good. Busy as all heck trying to book gigs, you know how that goes. Same old grind.” He hadn’t stopped staring yet.
It amazed me that he gazed at me so endearingly, as if I was the one who didn’t call him. Like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting me out of his sight for a second. I refused to look him in the eye, but it was hard not to notice that extra care had been put into his dress today despite the heat. Jeans and flip-flops had been replaced by pressed khaki slacks with cognac leather oxford loafers and a matching belt. Usual loose fitting T-shirts swapped with a light blue dress shirt and a navy blue and kelly green striped tie. Abruptly, I lifted my head to him and then back at the table from which he came. Again, back to the table, where a beautiful brunette bombshell sat, expectantly eyeing the two of us. A closer look at her expression, she seemed more than a smidge perturbed to have been interrupted by someone with the likes of me. Hurt crept in further bruising my fragile ego, as I tried to make a clean break before the swelling in my tear ducts gave me away.
One more look at her anxiously teetering foot, and the façade of my bulletproof exterior cracked. “I better get going.”
“Laila?”
“Myles, you better get back,” I whispered as the woman rose from her chair, impatiently. I wondered if she was the one he went to the concert with.
He looked back at her, and without regard for her feelings, he returned his gaze to me. All but pouting, she left in one direction as I did in the opposite. Myles followed me without a moment’s hesitation, which made my heart skip a beat, but didn’t begin to excuse him from not calling.
“Now I know why you didn’t call me.” I stopped abruptly. With him right on my heels, Myles fell right into me. His chest pressed firmly against mine, the scent of his cologne intoxicating. Why do I always fall for guys who are either unavailable, liars, or plain old creeps? I know this about men. Practically wrote the creed on it, but an undying need inside me had to know why he didn’t want to talk to me. Did he just get what he wanted and it was over? Was I just not his type?
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