by LJ Amodeo
Freddie popped his head out of his musical solo and shouted. “Bethy, whatever happened with my buddy, Michael? Did you guys ever hook up?”
I leaned into the lawn chair, still looking at Samantha’s cynical expression, too riled to answer my longtime friend after Sam’s harsh accusations, but did anyway, biting my tongue. “Yes, Freddie. And we didn’t hook up. We went out for lunch!” I snapped, folding my arms across my chest, irate over Sam’s crassness.
Samantha faced me, tempted to add more wood to the fire. “I’m curious to know, what did he tell you about himself?” she questioned me. Sam pulled her chair in an upright position, placing her Chanel sunglasses on top of her head. This game of hers ignited my mood, burrowing deep under my skin. I sensed Sam was challenging me, amused at watching me squirm like a slug in salt. My mind relentlessly pushed to know why they had both lied about knowing one or the other. Curious to know who Michael really was. Not the Michael who appeared at my doorstep charming and polite. But the Michael that badgered Sam to no end. The Michael she knew from her past. The person I craved to know about that was in my life now.His kind. Am I able to trust his kind? Is he truly hiding a secret? Is he hiding it from me?All these questions buzzed through my mind, repeatedly.
What if Samantha was right? What if there was something in his past that was as disgusting and revolting as Sophie’s? Could I overlook it? Would I be able to live with it? But who was I to judge anyone, when my life was probably as fucked up as theirs, if not more. Maybe I didn’t kill animals or hide a vile secret that could hurt others, but if they knew how I suffered alone with the voices, what would that make me in their eyes? No doubt a freak. A psycho. He didn’t know much about me and I knew little about him, except that I was intrigued by him and was falling in love with him in such a short time.
It was difficult sitting beside Sam, knowing her contempt for Michael, the boy that I obsessed over. It didn’t matter anymore, though. I decided I would handle any hurdle that came my way from that point on. I was used to disappointments. The downfalls and unfortunate events in my life had followed me since childhood. What made this any different? It was me. I needed to change who I was, promising myself from this day forward to follow my heart. My conscience. My soul. To forget what others thought of me or said about me in the past. Today would be the day I’d demonstrate this promise to myself.
I wondered what sort of past the two shared. Michael and Sam. I knew I’d never find out the truth or get a straight answer from either of them, but I had nothing to lose by asking.
“It’s really bugging me, Sam, what you said about Michael. Tell mehow you know this about him. Is it written on his school record? Or is it that the two of you had a history or better yet, dated and this is your payback? Which is it? You seem to know everything about everyone. So tell me, what’s the dirt you have on the guy?” I retaliated, pulling my chair to an upright position. I was ready to give her my full attention. No questions asked, no interruptions, and no judgments.
Freddie quietly observed us from his seat. I was sure he noticed Sam’s arrogance, and my irritation with her, as she blatantly ignored my request, covering her eyes with her expensive shades. Freddie sat back in his chair, still listening to the music that streamed through the tiny headset. Noticeably lowering the volume of his iPod a decibel or two. His eyes occasionally peering over at Samantha.
“I really don’t want to talk aboutthis, if you don’t mind, Elizabeth?” she said coldly, avoiding my eyes. “Today is about spending time with friends and enjoying the day.” She smiled, impervious to my feelings.
“Friends? You call yourself a friend when you can’t even look me in the face and tell me the truth about you and Michael!” I gritted through clenched teeth, hoping to avoid attention from the others at the lake. Sam continued to ignore me as my temper reached its boiling point.
“Okay, then, since you won’t talk abouthim,” I stressed the last word, “Let’s talk about you. What’s going on with you, Sam? You never mentioned anyone in particular in your life. Is there a certain guy that you’ve had your eye on?” I asked with a forced smile on my pressed lips.
At first, her face turned guarded, unreadable staring at me in detestation. I didn’t blink or back down this time, I pushed her until her jaw tensed. “I don’t think it’s any of your god damn business, but if you should know, I’ve had many lovers, unlike you, O holy one.” She replied uptight and peeved.
The rage gnawed at my stomach. I was not uncouth, unappreciative, or selfish like Sam. I was a good person, but being Sam’s friend was tiring. I wasn’t used to this sort of thing, this so-called girlfriendstuff. Freddie was easygoing and walking on eggshells around her many personalities. . .Sam is more of a schizophrenic than I am, I thought.
“Sam. I’m not here to fight with you. And you don’t have to say anything, if you don’t want to,” I said, sitting back in my chair, putting on my sunglasses in a very Samantha kind of way. She sat quietly for several minutes with a sheer look of shock on her face before adjusting her seat. I repressed a victorious smirk.
“There was one,” Sam whispered. Her face reclaimed its natural beauty. Relief washed over me, in hopes that this argument was over, and that I somehow won. I positioned myself comfortably on the chair as well, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, as she unfolded the pages of her life.
“His name was Matteo. We met at Gotham’s Hottest Bachelors premier in Manhattan. He was the hottest guy I’d laid eyes on. He immobilized me. No one had ever stopped me in my tracks like he did. Gorgeous, sexy, and available,” She recalled, closing her sensual eyes.
“Matteo.” My voice pitched nervously. “Sounds cute.”
She creased her forehead, narrowing her eyes at me. “Cute? Kittens are cute! Babies are cute! The hottest man on the planet isnot cute! He’s freaking hot, Beth!”
“I didn’t mean to say that—” I tried to correct myself, but Sam abruptly cut me short holding up her hand. I was not going to let her intimidate me.
“Fine.” I huffed, pulling the blanket tighter still across my chest to keep out the biting winds.
“Matteo was my soul mate! Well, at least I thought he was, that prick.” She pouted, resting her head on the back of her chair seemingly defeated.
“What happened?” I questioned carefully.
Samantha ignored my inquiry and continued exposing her faltered love life in detail. “The big event was at Cipriani’s—a black-tie affair. Everyone who was anyone was there. I wore a red Marchesa design with strappy heels designed by Christian Louboutin.” She paused to look at me, lifting her sunglasses. “Did you know that Christian requires all his shoes to have a red sole?” She lifted her brows.
“No, I didn’t,” I replied, seemingly interested to learn something new about the latest trends.
“Of course not! How would you living in this shit-hole all your life,” she scoffed at my inept sense of fashion. “That’s what I love about Christian. He designs all his shoes with me in mind.” She paused, basking momentarily in her own glory. It was days like these, days spent with Sam that made me appreciate the simple, humble dignity I had left in me.
“Everything I wore was a one-of-a-kind, right down to my Marc Jacobs clutch, made just formoi—so you can imagine how perfectly it all fit together. Daddy knew all the best designers, hair and make-up artists in Manhattan. They were eternally grateful to him. One thing my father knew how to do well was to pamper me. Anything I wanted was at my fingertips.” She snapped her long fingers, boasting gleefully. “Anyway, Matteo, a restaurateur, owned several vineyards in the Piedmont region of Italy. The Amarone Riserva, my personal favorite, was a reserve of delicate blends of pressed flower spices.”
“Impressive how you know so much about these things.”
“I know about them because I’ve lived a good life. I am wiser beyond my years because I’ve experienced life in ways that you could never imagine. You’d be amazed at how much you don’t know about me, Beth.” S
he whispered impiously, with a hard stare that ran cold through my veins, and I imagined through hers, too. Forced to look into her eyes, the bone-chilling similarities to Dante’s portrait and the pale face had me wondering if the sun’s blinding light was to blame for what I was seeing as I stared at Sam, whose lips moved as she poured out her heart. Her words, however, blended into segments of warped, inaudible dialogue. It’s not that I didn’t care to listen to her, but my mind flooded with questions about recent encounters with strange, perverted people; pale-faced, ugly people; and beautiful, extraordinary people.Who are they? Am I the only one who seems to notice them? Can anyone else see them as I do? Are they invisible to everyone but me? Do we share a common bond? Invisibility? I questioned myself repeatedly.
“Keep up with me, Beth!” Sam snapped her fingers in my face, redirecting my attention back to her failed love life. “I was saying how we lived in total bliss, most of the time. At one point in our relationship, he stopped coming home. Traveling, scheduling meetings, trips. He became very much like Dante, and I became more like my mother: alone and obsessively shopping to keep time moving until his return. I got bored easily. I was young. What was I supposed to do all day? I hated being alone with no one to talk to or spend the day with except the hired help!”
“I can’t understand how your parents allowed you to move in with this guy at our age? My mother would have never gone for that!” I commented.
“Lucky for me, I wasn’t raised by your mother, now was I?” Her insolent voice turned distant and raspy as she practically lunged at me from her seat. I glanced at Freddie, wondering if he, too, witnessed Samantha’s odd behavior. Snapping at me like a rabid animal. He lounged on his chair, tapping his foot to the music, instead. But knowing Freddie all too well, his attentive eyes and fisted hands told me he was on his guard.
“I had everything I could ever want,” Sam continued, “Everything but his attention. It was great in the beginning when things were hot and sexy between us. Eventually, our days became few and far between.” She muttered, with an inert and empty leer. I watched Sam, this time with a change of heart. Watching her transform from a woman, to a lonely desperate girl. She was troubled in her own way. And it hurt me to see her like this, knowing she felt empty inside. Like me. A girl all alone, left to fend for herself on such a cruel and lonely earth. The same earth that let me down time and again. Born to wealth and power, I assumed she had no choice but to grow up before her time. To become a resilient, independent, and demanding young adult. As I saw it, she would always succeed, finding comfort in the finer things in life. Buying whomever she wanted with her money and sex appeal, yet it would probably be her ego that would destroy any of her friendships. And I feared that one day, she’d wallow in her own lonely world.
“Sam.” I whispered, feeling an overwhelming empathy for her. Guilt extinguished the happiness I shared with Michael. Her reluctance to Michael was palpable. Perhaps, like any true friend, she was worried that I, too, one day would be hurt by the one who claimed my heart.
Sam continued to recount her hardship. “I ended it. I thought I loved him. Instead, he did nothing but repulse me. His good looks were the only thing he had left. The rest of him, was a lie that I wanted to rid myself of!” She spat, irritated by his image now.
“Where is he now?” I asked apprehensively.
She let out a loud shrill. “He’s alone, like the scum that he is. He’ll never have anything good in his life, after having me. Never!” she growled.
“You can’t know that for sure.”
She nodded her head avidly, grinning. “Daddy shut him down! Sent him where he belonged!” She shrieked a loud eerie laugh. Samantha’s dark side was the interior to her beautiful exterior, and as time moved slowly, it had become more evident. More frightening.
“Your father shut him down? I don’t get it?”
“Let’s just say that daddy knew all the right people for all the wrong reasons!” Sam snorted. She unexplainably intrigued me, synonymous to uncharted grounds or forbidden territory. The curiosity to live her life; to wander and look about, made me thirst to walk in her shoes only for a day. To dissect what lay beneath her flesh. To understand her mind.
“Your father must have been a very powerful man. A feared man.” I whispered.
“Better to be feared than liked, I say.” She gritted her teeth.
I winced, thinking about how powerful a person Dante was in life, wondering exactly what kind ofbusiness he had been in. Samantha’s personality was perhaps a smaller replica of her father’s. Hard. Mysterious. A bit sinister, too. She was certainly strong-willed and determined, no doubt. What about her brother? Was he one to fear, as well? “Luca. What’s he like?” I asked, becoming increasingly eager for insight of her family history. Freddie continued to eavesdrop.
Her eyes moved left under her lush lashes to glance over her shoulder at Freddie, then back at me. “My brother is . . . a lot like my father, just not quite as powerful, yet. Your typical tall, dark, and handsome . . .blah blah blah.” She whined, uninterested in discussing Luca.
“Really, Sam—what’s he like?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my lap, piqued with interest, as Freddie, apparently was, too.
“Luca is a ladies’ man. A player while dad was strictly business. He’s doing his residency in neurology in Quebec, and having a heck of a time with the nurses at the hospital. He goes by the nicknameDoctor Sizzle,” she snickered, in a lighter mood.
I giggled openly at his epithet. “Is that what they call him? That’s hysterical! So he’s living in Quebec, then?” I asked, suddenly remembering that Michael lived there, too. Luckily, Quebec was a big place, unlike Caneadea.
“Yup!” she replied, studying my expression momentarily. “You should meet him. He may be able to help you ” She loosely pointed a finger toward my skull. “—with your problem.”
“My problem?” I answered, shrugging off her insensitivity as another one of her sour moods. My mom was right; Sam had such emptiness in her life, making her unbearable at times. She needed a balance, like Freddie was mine.
Sam abruptly stood up looking around the lake. “I’ll be back in a few. There’s something I need to take care of, ASAP,” she said, waving her cell phone in her hand. She excused herself and disappeared through the woods.
The sun started setting in the horizon by the time Sam returned to the lake. Sophie and her friends gathered their belongings, saying their goodbyes, before turning to face us, “I’ll be seeing you at school. Expect invites in the mail.” She waved goodbye, with a cocky smile.
“’K. I’ll be looking for it then.” I waved back, noncommittally.
“You’re definitely going to Soph’s party, Beth?” Freddie asked, suspiciously.
“Maybe, if Sam goes. Besides, she’s the one Soph really wants at her party, not me.” I replied, unaffected by the reality of it.
When Sam dropped me off, I was surprised not to see Prince barking madly at the front door. Mom was seated at the kitchen table picking at some pumpkin pie. She was occupied, scanning through papers from her third graders’ spelling test. Her frameless glasses were perched on the tip of her nose. “How was the lake?”
“Cold.” I said, as I picked at the pie. “Hey, where’s Prince?” I asked, looking out the kitchen window.
“Isn’t he out back?” Mom replied.
“I didn’t see him out there. He didn’t come running over to me like he usually does.” I answered.
“Come to think of it, I haven’t heard a peep out of him all day,” Mom said, removing her eyeglasses.
“By the way, here take this before I forget,” she held a piece of torn paper out in front of her, as she continued looking down at Steven Stein’s test paper. I took the torn piece from her hand and looked at it inquiringly for a moment. “What is this?”
“Michael’s home number. He asked me to give it to you when he called earlier,” she said, still looking down at Steven’s papers on the table. My jaw dropped
open, trying to contain the squeal that was forming in the back of my throat. My heart beat vigorously. Mom, looked at me from the top of her spectacles for some time, as I stood there ogling at the little numbers scribbled on the paper.
“I should probably call him…to see what he wants. It may be important—for school.” I stammered.
Mom narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “Uh-hum,” she moaned, removing her spectacles. Her lip curled up to one side, smothering a smile.
I sauntered toward the staircase, while my heart soared. At the top of the landing, I didn’t waste any time dashing for the phone in my room. With shivering hands, I dialed Michael’s number. I hung up several times, fumbling with the small square digits. I recited the words I’d say to him. Each time, starting with a different greeting. The more I practiced, the harder my nerves stirred in my stomach. I wanted so much to be like Sam, only when it came to boys. How easy it was for her to strike a conversation without breaking into a sweat or stumbling her words. I craved to be able to speak freely with Michael, to prove to him that I was experienced. That I wasn’t afraid. That I was a woman. After much consideration, I dialed and a ring tone hummed through the receiver. His dreamy voice answered the telephone. “Hello.”
I remained silent for a moment, taking in the sound of his voice. “Hello?” he asked, sounding lovelier still.
“H-hi. It’s me.” I choked.
“Hey, I’ve been waiting for your call,” he whispered softly.
“M-m.-my mom, said you called?” I stuttered, sounding ridiculous. So much for being a woman.
“Just wanted to hear your voice. Wanted to make sure you’re feeling better,” he murmured.