by Kim Barnouin
That Gwendolyn a) didn’t like to be called Gwen and b) worked at Ocean 88 didn’t bode well. The woman had to be a total bitch. And not in a good way.
“If that jerkoff is there, I’m leaving,” Sara said. “I like Duncan, but I can only take so much.”
“If he’s there, I’ll get him back for you,” Eva said, pulling out her compact and lipstick and making her lips even redder. She fluffed her bangs, gave her lips a press, then snapped the compact shut.
“How?” we both asked in unison.
“Oh, trust me. I’m the master at making people pay.”
Sara laughed. “You scare me. Make sure I don’t get on your bad side.”
“Oh, you’ll know if you do,” she said.
Sara stood to the side of Ocean 88’s big window. “Clem, look in and see if he’s there. Do you remember what he looks like? Beefy with blond ponytail.”
I peered in. At seven o’clock on a Wednesday, the bar wasn’t crowded; Ocean 88 didn’t serve food, and the dance floor didn’t get going till at least nine. One very hot bartender with longish brown hair and a huge wooden cross necklace was filling steins at the tap. Another male bartender who looked like a grown-up Harry Potter, down to the round glasses, was pouring martinis for four middle-aged women. Across the bar, a couple had their tongues all over each other, and luckily, where Gwendolyn was unloading bottles of beer, there were three empty stools.
She looked just like her photo, but sexier. She wore a tiny black tank top and skinny jeans with high-heeled boots. Excellent cleavage, the kind that made you stare and order more drinks, male or female. I wouldn’t have thought she’d go for Duncan. He was somewhat cute, but this chick looked like she only went out with heavy-metal dudes.
“Jerk bartender’s not there,” I assured Sara, and we headed in, sitting in front of Gwendolyn.
She took our orders, and the second she was back with the drinks, I got the plan rolling.
“I just wish I knew why he broke up with me,” I said kind of loudish, tilting my stool to face Sara and Eva. “He just stopped calling. We were together for over a year and he just stops calling?”
“He owes you an explanation, something,” Sara agreed. “How will you ever move on if he keeps you in this weird limbo of no closure?”
That was diabolically good.
Eva took a sip of her drink. “You should be kissing the floor with gratitude that he did dump you. Anyone who’d just disappear on a relationship the way he did, no explanation, no nothing, has mental problems. He’s probably bipolar.”
“Or maybe he’s just confused,” Gwendolyn said as she placed Sara’s appletini in front of her.
Score.
“Confused?” I repeated. “Why would he be confused? I’m the one who doesn’t know what I did wrong or where we went wrong.”
Gwendolyn put a bowl of taro chips and salsa in front of us, which Eva immediately hit up. “Well, maybe an old girlfriend came back into his life and he fell in love with that person all over again.”
Oh. Sorry, Duncan. That was hard to compete with.
“Sounds like you’ve been there,” Sara said to Gwendolyn.
Gwendolyn took a swig of Pellegrino. “I was madly in love with this guy named John. Wanted to marry him—the works. But he dumped me for someone else. So I met this guy named Duncan, and though he wasn’t exactly right for me, I just fell into it, you know? And stayed for almost a year. But then John came back a couple of week ago, begging for forgiveness and wanting a second chance, and I couldn’t resist.”
“What wasn’t right with you and Duncan?” I asked. “Maybe it’ll help me understand.”
“Well, he’d have to change practically half of everything he is for me to be happy with him,” she said. “And that’s not fair. I’m a vegan. He’s not. I like to go out. He doesn’t. I can’t stand his conservative family. He can—and wanted to hang out with them a little too often. He thinks I should go back to school. I don’t. He was always trying to change me. He’s who he is, right? And he’s fine. But so am I, you know?”
“Yeah, you are,” Eva said, stuffing her mouth with another chip. “What an ass this Duncan sounds like. Wanting you to change for him?”
Sara and I shot Eva a “remember whose side we’re on” glare.
“Well, to be fair,” Gwendolyn said, “I wanted him to change just as much. Go vegan. Blow off his annoying family. Lose the plaid bowling shirts. Lay off me.”
“It’s too bad neither of you accepted the other,” Sara said. “But I guess that’s how you figure out who’s right for you and who’s wrong for you. When it gets to the point where it just doesn’t work, you know it.”
Gwendolyn raised her glass at Sara. “Exactly.”
“But it took you a year to figure that out,” I said, now shooting Sara a “Stop agreeing with her!” look. “So you must have been really into Duncan, right?”
“Look, I know you want your boyfriend to come back,” Gwendolyn said. “But sometimes, two people are just too different. And whatever makes them click just isn’t enough.”
Who could argue with that?
I wanted to, though. I wanted that whatever that made Zach and me click to be enough to make a relationship possible. I was incredibly hot for him, but it was much more than that. There was real chemistry between us. There was growing up on farms—even if his family “farm” was a zillion-dollar ranch empire. There was talking to goats and chickens when we were kids. There was ambition. Determination. The world of cooking, albeit different ends of the spectrum. There was a three-hour drive to get to my dad in the hospital. Generosity and kindness.
So yeah, we were different. But there was something very real between us.
“Just sounds to me like this Duncan really loves you,” I said.
“I know, but it was hard enough for me to tell him it was over. Then he wouldn’t stop calling and texting and showing up here, and so I started getting pissed and ignored him.”
“Pathetic,” Eva said. “Kinda like I was when I kept calling and texting my soon-to-be-ex-husband when he dumped me for some bimbo.”
“Any chance of you two getting back together?” Sara asked Gwendolyn. “I’m just asking because it might give her”—she patted me on the shoulder—“some hope.”
Gwendolyn shrugged. “I don’t know. I doubt it. I’m seeing where things are going with John. Duncan and I are just too different.”
“But what if it’s not over for him?” Sara asked. “What if he’s ready to stand outside your window like that old movie with John Cusack and the boom box over his head? Can’t you at least put him out of his misery? Tell him the truth about your ex.”
“I guess I should,” Gwendolyn said.
At least we accomplished that much. “Maybe when you see Duncan again, you’ll realize you do love him,” I said.
Gwendolyn took a sip of her water. “I haven’t really missed him, though.”
Oh.
“Gwen, take over for me for ten?” another bartender said.
“Gwendolyn” she shot at him. She turned back to us. “Oh, and that first round’s on me. Talking to you guys helped me clear up some stuff I wasn’t even too sure about. I think it’s pretty clear that Duncan and I are wrong for each other.” She headed to the other side of the bar.
“Oh shit, now we have to tell Duncan we helped her realize she doesn’t want to be with him,” Sara whispered.
Damn. We didn’t bother finishing our drinks. Eva wanted to flirt with the too-young-for-her guy doing shots on the other side of the bar, but I reminded her that he was good-looking, which went against her new plan.
“Good point,” she said as we headed around the bar.
I was about to pull open the door when I froze.
Zach. Walking outside, his arm around a very attractive red-haired woman in thigh-high boots.
Out of town till Thursday or Friday. Right.
Well, shit.
I flung open Ocean 88’s door to confront Zach, but t
hree tipsy blondes in identical outfits (minidresses and stilettos) walked in, the last one checking her phone in the doorway. I took a step back, mentally and physically. “I think these chicks just saved me from making a total ass of myself.”
“No, I would have grabbed you before you made it out the door,” Sara said as we headed in the opposite direction Zach and the redhead had gone. “What were you going to say to him? ‘Oh, so you’re away on business, are you? And who’s this?’ ”
“Shit, shit, shit,” I said. “He told me he was seeing other people. And he just made it crystal clear. I have to forget he exists.”
Sara looked at me like I was nuts. “Or you could just go with the flow, Clem. You’re seeing Alexander. Sort of.”
“Not really. I must have been insane,” I said. “Me and a guy who’s opening a steakhouse. Who puts dead deer on his signs. Who lives for steak. I can’t believe I thought something was actually happening between us.”
“Maybe because he took a six-hour drive round-trip to a hospital so you could get to your dad right away?” Sara said. “And then paid for your family’s hotel rooms? And then texted to ask if your dad was okay?”
Yeah, no kidding. “Don’t remind me.”
“He’s been acting like your boyfriend, Clem,” Sara said. “I totally get why you’re upset. But you can’t confront him for doing what he said he’s doing.”
“I think she should chase the fucker down and karate chop him in the balls,” Eva said, turning around to peer down Ocean Avenue. “If you run, you can probably find him, Clem. Even in those crazy sandals. Wail him good for me.”
“Wow, remind me that I really don’t ever want to piss you off,” Sara said to Eva. “Also, Clem, how many times have you been out walking with Ty and he puts his arm around you because you just said something funny. Or because you got fired. Maybe Zach is madly in love with you and that chick is just a bud. You never know.”
Eva rolled her eyes. “Sara, you’re sweet. Really. So sweet I might puke. But give me a fucking break.”
“I’m just saying that chasing the guy down and confronting him over nothing isn’t a good idea,” Sara said. “And trust me, when I’m the voice of reason, you know you should listen. It doesn’t happen often.”
“But—” I started to say.
But shit. Sara was right. In the space of a minute, I’d gone from kind of stupidly crushed to being pissed at myself for being stupid again. The guy was a player. Period. A player with some redeeming qualities, but a player.
We walked down Ocean Avenue for a while, but when the zillionth hand-in-hand couple passed us, annoying us with their coupledom, Sara upped her chin at Freddy’s, a favorite little jazz bar. I shrugged and we went inside. The place was half-crowded. We sat at a round table, and Sara ordered us three dirty martinis.
I stared at the edamame in the silver bowl on the table. Dammit. What was this? How could I be so disappointed over a guy I was an idiot for liking in the first place?
“I’m gonna give it to you straight, Clem,” Eva said, sipping her drink. She nabbed the waitress and ordered tapas. “Zach Jeffries is a zillionaire who makes L.A. Magazine’s most eligible bachelors list every year. He can have any woman he wants. You’re a challenge, so he’s interested. But if you’re expecting him to be your boyfriend—an exclusive boyfriend—you’re a dumbass.”
“Comforting, Eva,” Sara said.
“No, honest,” I said. “Necessary honesty. I need to hear this.” And I need to back the hell off of expecting anything from Zach.
“Damn,” Sara said. “I like Zach.”
Yeah, me, too.
Chapter 9
The next morning, while I was making banana/chocolate-chip waffles and thinking of ways to exorcise Zach Jeffries from my mind, like imagining him gnawing on bloody steak, my phone pinged with a text from him.
Back in SM. Dinner Saturday night? I’ll cook. (Something you’ll actually eat, too.) Z
Damn. I put down the phone and stirred the batter so hard a glob landed on the wall. Now he wasn’t gnawing anything. Beagle at his knee, he was standing in his kitchen, handing me his homemade guacamole. Looking like Zach, absolutely gorgeous.
Yeah. Hold up. Back in Santa Monica: no kidding.
My phone pinged with another text. Don’t look, I told myself, popping a chocolate chip into my mouth. Do not look.
I looked.
I have news, too. Z
Let’s see. You have a new love interest? A redhead. You’re getting married after a whirlwind weekend love affair. Or maybe this: I’m as bad for you as you thought I was. Like corn syrup.
“Mmm,” Sara said as she came into the kitchen with her hair in some crazy bun on top of her head. “The smell of those waffles woke me up. Hope you made me some.”
I slid two on a plate and handed it to her, and we sat down at the table. I wrapped my hands around my mug of spiced green tea and told her about Zach’s texts. “He has news, he says.”
“He’s really an alien?”
“That’s not news,” I said, smiling for the first time since last night.
“Fuck. Fuckety fuckety fuck. Okay. Moving on. He’s who I thought, nothing more, nothing less. Moving. On.”
Sara made her “Yeah, I see that” face at me. “Sorry, Clem.”
She got my mind off Zach by telling me she was damned sure she’d get another callback for the Attractive Friend commercial today. Hell, yeah, she would. Sara was always incredibly awesome, but ever since she became a Skinny Bitch, she’d begun developing a kind of confidence that went beyond talk—it was real. She ate her last bite of waffles then went into her room to practice making “friend smiles” in the mirror for the callback. And the more I sat there, looking through the living room window at that dead deer sign, I kept thinking about Zach, walking past Ocean 88 with that woman. Over and over and over. The happy expression on his face. The way his arm was around her shoulder.
I needed to get the hell out of the apartment, go breathe some air, take a long stomp, and maybe do some hot yoga on the way back. I grabbed my bag and clomped downstairs, and because I couldn’t think straight, I walked left instead of right, the huge dead deer sign staring me in the face.
The more I stared up at that gross sign, the more I imagined Zach eating that bloody steak. Stealing my perfect dream location for Clementine’s No Crap Café. Messing with my up-until-then very well-guarded piece of crap heart. Ben had managed to crush me, and I wasn’t walking eyes wide open into another episode of “Clementine Gets Smashed.”
He took my perfect location—so it was time to find another. Another place to keep the dream going, anyway. I walked up Montana, looking in the storefronts. A bakery. A coffee lounge. More yoga. Used books. The dancing Laundromat that blasted music and had a dance floor, seriously, between the washers’ and dryers’ sections. Every kind of restaurant—Indian, bar and grill, Mexican, Italian, Thai. Frozen yogurt. Between Flo’s Fro Yo and a tae kwon do dojo was an empty spot with a sign—FOR LEASE. Former fifteen-table restaurant. Small outdoor dining area in back. I pressed my face against the glass and peered in. Fugly now, but with paint, Ty’s interior design skills, Sara’s elbow grease, and my ideas, this would be perfect for Clementine’s No Crap Café.
I want this more than I’ll ever want you, Jeffries, I said to myself.
Although if I were really honest, they had been kind of neck and neck for a while there.
I peered in again, mentally decorating the place. The walls, the floor, the rugs, the kind of tables. The waitstaff’s uniforms. The flowers for the garden dining area.
Clementine’s No-Crap Café, you are mine.
The sound of drills and banging woke me up at the crack of hell the next morning. Barely eight o’clock. I trudged to the window and shoved aside the gauzy curtains. Two huge guys in hard hats came out of The Silver Steer and lit up cancer sticks and started jabbering. I would have yelled down at them to shut it, but the drilling started up again from inside the restaurant
. Assholes. I closed the window and crawled back under the covers, but my phone rang a second later.
My sister. She was on her way to her second meeting of the day, which sounded horrid, but wanted me to know she’d just spoken to our parents and that my dad was getting stronger every day. Also, my brother, Kale, and his longtime girlfriend, also a marine biologist, were “taking a break” and he was miserable, and I should give him a call and send him my family-famed peanut butter chocolate chip cookies to cheer him up. She asked way too many questions about how my Skinny Bitch business was going, and I was barely awake, so I said Sara was calling me and tried to fall back asleep. But the phone rang two minutes later. No one wanted me to sleep.
Not my sister again. This time: the sexy British accent of Alexander Orr.
“Hey,” I said. “You didn’t even wake me up.”
“Good, because I have a huge favor to ask and wouldn’t want you already pissed enough at me to tell me to sod off.”
I turned over onto my stomach, trying to imagine Alexander Orr naked and eating strawberries. Or red grapes. I could imagine that. I wondered what he was like in bed. Which made me wonder what Zach would be like in bed. Shit. “What kind of favor?”
“As I said, huge and a pain in the arse. My awesome cousin Sabine is getting married tonight—she’s eloping here, getting married at the pier, and I’m hosting the party at my place. The wedding cupcakes are my gift, but I have no time to make them myself without serious help, and I need forty-five Dr. Who cupcakes—you know that sci-fi TV show about the time-traveling alien bloke? The cupcakes have to be dairy-free and gluten-free. And I need them by six o’clock. Tell me you bake.”