by Kat T. Masen
We walk inside and sit at a booth that’s more toward the kitchen and less visible. The restaurant isn’t overly busy, a few patrons scattered around and mainly older folks. No one seems to pay attention to Wesley or even recognize who he is except for Peggy—the lady dressed in a pale green uniform with large permed hair that towers over her head. She walks over to us as she chews gum with a wide smile. She leans into Wesley, kissing the top of his head.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” she teases, chewing loudly. “So, introduce me to your girlfriend.”
“Uh, just friend,” I pipe up, perhaps too quickly.
“Double ouch.”
“Now… don’t you listen to him. You follow your heart. You got me? Don’t let no boy tell you any different.”
I like Peggy. She seems to have put Wesley in his place. She doesn’t entertain us looking at the menus, instead ordering us her special meal combo. I’m up for anything, starving since I haven’t eaten since Emerson’s place.
“So, do you come here often?”
“When I can. It’s hard to go places these days.”
“I can’t imagine what it must be like. I know Emerson says—” I cut myself off, aware that I’ve brought up the giant elephant in the room. Surely, this would have come up eventually anyway. We both can’t ignore the fact that I work for her, and Logan’s voice replays in my head.
“Sorry.” I watch him, apologizing to be polite but studying his reaction.
He purses his lips, busying himself with his cell and pretending to seem uninterested. “What are you sorry for?”
“Bringing up your ex-fiancée. I know it must be hard.”
Wesley purposely ignores my comment, continuing to tap on his phone. His rude behavior angers me. Odd, since I usually don’t allow this. He lightly throws the cell on the table, the vinyl making it slide to the middle and settling right next to the salt and pepper shakers.
I’m tired and hungry. Mama used to say that the only way to get me to reason was on a full stomach. I can smell the grease in the air—fries, burgers, onion rings—the same time my stomach makes a rumbling sound which I attempt to cover with my arm.
Peggy arrives with our food, offloading three plates in front of us. I thank her, then dig into my burger devouring every bite. Wesley barely touches his food, picking at the bun then shoving his plate away from him.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, stopping mid-bite.
“I need to go.”
“Okay.” I wipe my hands on the napkin and grab my purse. “We can go.”
He stands abruptly, walking toward the counter. For a brief moment, he says something to Peggy, and she looks my way. I’m not sure what I did wrong, aside from mentioning Emerson, and continue sitting here waiting like an idiot.
Peggy walks over as Wesley goes in the opposite direction, toward the exit.
“It was so lovely to meet ya, doll.”
“And you, Peggy. The food’s amazing… I mean, sorry I didn’t get a chance to finish it.”
She pats my shoulder, lowering herself to my eye level. “He’s a complicated boy. Just give him his space.”
I smile politely, thanking her again, and then make my way outside.
On the fast ride home, I think about Peggy’s comment in an effort to stomach my food. Driving what feels like a hundred miles per hour with a belly half-full of burger and fries makes it difficult to concentrate.
Wesley may be a complicated man, but I don’t think I’m crowding him. He keeps pursuing me. Wesley is nothing like Liam. They’re polar opposites. Liam is so predictable. He’s like a safety blanket you carry around. If you need him, he’s there. He never makes you feel unwanted or carry any sort of complication with him.
We arrive at my apartment, Wesley making no effort to move off the bike. The frustration comes over me, gripping his shoulders for support to get myself down from the bike. I take off the helmet and shove it into his body. He removes his, though not making eye contact. “See ya.” It’s all he says before placing his helmet back on and not giving me a chance to voice my frustration at him. He twists the handlebar, roaring the engine before screeching off and leaving me alone on the street.
He’s every bit the complicated man that Peggy said.
And I need answers.
Chapter Eleven
It’s time to get answers.
I stare at the computer, fighting back the excessive blinking from the strain of the flickering screen.
My vision is blurred, a rainbow of colors and shapes that make no sense at all. The palm of my hand is covered in sweat, nervously twitching on top of the mouse. My chest tightens, my heart beating erratically like a crazed lunatic trapped inside an asylum.
The clock on the wall is loud. Every sound in the room is amplified.
Or perhaps, I’ve officially gone insane.
The tips of my fingers move of their own accord, typing so slowly that each key echoes inside our barely furnished apartment.
His name sits within the search engine. All I need to do is hit search. Simple, right? There will be no turning back. No erasing of information that will find a home inside my reactive brain and remain there forever because it has this stupid way of retaining information I don’t need.
Like the time I accidentally read a love letter from my dad to Mama. It started like a romance novel then quickly progressed to X-rated porn. And the time I walked in on my brother helping himself to a copy of Hustler perched on his bedside table. Information I retain, yet am desperate to erase.
Click.
My eyes wander hastily across the screen. Millions of findings and an overload of information that seems too much to handle.
Where do I start?
How and why is there so much information on one human being?
The second finding from the top is a popular website. I figure it will be the most trustworthy resource, and within seconds, his profile appears.
There’s a picture of him in the top right corner, dazzling smile with hair styled like a movie star, dressed in a black tuxedo and matching bowtie. He looks nothing like the man I know. Facial hair non-existent and skin that appears flawless. There’s no dark circles around his eyes and more notably, the scar that scrapes the bottom of his jawline can’t be seen.
Okay, breathe. Just read the bits you want to read and forget the rest.
Wesley Wade Richland, born September 3, 1987, known professionally as Wesley Rich, is an American actor. Rich became famous on reality television as one of the leading stars in Generation Next.
He most recently starred in the controversial movie Riding the High playing a troubled man, Dexter Dickson, who was born to an addict mother and shows how it impacted his life. Critics praised Rich on his ability to portray such a disturbed character, and many believed that the fictional story was not so far from the truth.
In 2013, Rich was scouted to appear on an upcoming reality show that followed the lives of young adults and their generation. It was during the first season that viewers watched Rich fall in love with co-star, Emerson Chase. Their relationship became a media frenzy with Forbes dubbing them the next power couple. It was estimated that their combined fortune was over $80 million after negotiations for a third season leaked, and the two stars were reportedly earning $1 million per episode.
At the beginning of Season 3, Rich proposed to Chase in Paris and soon after, the cracks appeared in each episode. Rich had been caught in a drug scandal which prompted his breakup with Chase. Fans took to social media blaming him for his addiction and infidelity that led to the split. Rich admitted on a reunion show that he struggled being in the limelight and spent time in rehab after the season aired.
Rich’s personal life made headlines again, including reports of alcohol abuse and allegations of domestic violence against former co-star, Farrah Beaumont, which resulted in her miscarrying a baby. He was arrested for a DUI in Miami on New Year’s Day—the accident he was involved in caused an elderly man to be in critical con
dition. Rich was sentenced to jail for twelve months, but the judge released him on probation after two months.
Gina Geller, Rich’s mother, publicly came out that her son had been abused as a child by her former husband and billionaire tycoon, Harold Green. Rich responded to her claims on social media calling her a ‘pathetic excuse for a mother’ and leaked information about her four previous marriages. During this heated family feud that played out publicly, Rich was accused of being an accomplice in the Malibu drownings which saw two ladies’ bodies washed up on shore. The judge ruled out foul play, and Rich was acquitted on all counts, but his longtime friend, Max Kane, was charged with sexual assault.
I push my chair back as far away from the computer as possible. The heat inside the room is at boiling point. I run to the window in a frenzy to open it and breathe in the fresh air. The outside noise and hustle of the neighborhood surround me, yet I’m deaf. Words after words repeating in my head and taunting me over and over again.
This man—in my eyes—deserved so much more than a slap on the wrist and a stint in rehab.
He’s also my boss’s ex-fiancé.
He is dangerous.
Danger has a way of finding me, or maybe I’m the dangerous one.
My cell flashes on my bed, a stream of messages from the man himself.
Bad Boy Rich.
I fall onto my bed, the duvet welcoming my fall as I gaze blankly at the ceiling. I’ve stared at this ceiling numerous times. It has almost become a friend—a long-lost pal that opened its arms and let me pour my heart out until I’m all cried out.
It allows me to stare at it the first night here, the night I struggled to sleep with my impending interview the next day. When I miss Mama and everyone back home, it will silently watch me as their voices fill my head, and the memories become music to my ears. We have this bond—the ceiling and me. Perhaps we are kindred spirits, or maybe, I’ve officially lost my marbles.
My cell lights up the room. The vibration is loud and obnoxious with its demanding presence. I guess it’s him. The man who decides to up and leave with no explanation. The man who has so much baggage that the term ‘excess baggage’ would be a complete understatement. He’s carrying a cargo liner of baggage. Destination—wherever you shouldn’t follow him.
But my curiosity gets to me. My hand reaches over, and as I roll to my side, nestling my face into my pillow, I read the texts that flood my cell.
Wesley: I keep fucking up.
Wesley: Milana, answer me.
Wesley: My head, I’m just not in a good place. Fuck. I’m sorry.
I should have responded. It’s the noble thing to do. Instead, I leave him hanging. I’m not his shrink. I will help him as much as I can, but I have my own problems.
Emerson is right.
Peggy is right.
The Internet paints a disturbing picture of him.
I have sense.
I am intelligent.
I will stay away because that’s what good girls do.
Chapter Twelve
It’s an unusually dreary day in Los Angeles. The rain is falling lightly, creating a humid atmosphere and overcasting the normally shining sun.
I’m sprawled across my bed, head resting on my pillow while I stare up at the ceiling with Mama on speakerphone.
“It sounds like you’ve settled in well, sweetie. I knew you would be perfect for that role,” she says as I listen attentively.
“I guess. What about you, Mama? The nurse’s report looks positive. I received it only yesterday.”
A small sigh escapes and echoes through the speaker. “The grounds are beautiful. The staff is wonderful. It’s just that everyone loves to socialize, and sometimes I simply want to sit and read.” It’s the most honest thing she’s said during our call. “Never mind me rambling, tell me how your brother is doing? I spoke to him last night. His gig went well, and I think the music scouts were impressed.”
“You spoke to him last night?” My slight annoyance with Flynn prompts me to sit up. He never tells me a thing. In fact, he storms out of the apartment in his usual dramatic way every time I see him lately. “He’s quite busy. We don’t get much time to chat.”
I hate that I’ve just lied to Mama.
“He called me, same time he calls me every night.”
“He calls you every night?”
“Honey, what’s going on? You sound upset.” Mama softens her voice, worried.
“Nothing. I mean, he’s just a lot of work. I don’t know how you deal with him.”
Mama laughs, soft and angelic, easing my frustration. I miss her terribly. I’m never shy about telling her this.
“Give him time. The two of you never see eye to eye on much. Let him be, and it will work out. There was a time when you were a handful. A parent’s job never ends.”
“Again, I’m sorry. I don’t think I understood the magnitude of being responsible for someone until we came here. He got a piercing, Mama.”
“I know. He told me, actually showed me a picture.”
Flynn’s secret phone calls with Mama are getting on my nerves. “Nice, so what else is new?”
We spoke for a few more minutes until the ‘Jenga’ crew called Mama for their Monday game. I hang up, grabbing my pillow and staring at the wall.
It has been three days since that night with Wesley. I haven’t heard a peep from him, resorting to Googling his whereabouts only to find out he’s in Louisiana filming a movie. I feel pathetic for doing it, even more pathetic for ignoring him because I think giving him a taste of his own medicine will be fun.
I promise myself I won’t think about him. I don’t need that complication in my life. It isn’t like I’m in love with him or anything, I’m just looking for someone to have fun with. I am deprived of that bad-boy interaction, at least, that’s how I sell it to myself.
Phoebe would have given me the exact advice, though this time, I purposely hold this from her.
We talk almost every day, mainly about people back home or her love life. She’s intrigued with my job, begging me to tell her who my boss is. I also choose to withhold that information. If Phoebe knew anything that went on, she’d book herself a one-way ticket and be permanently crashing on my couch.
It’s easy to busy myself with work, though every time I’m alone with Emerson, I want to ask her questions about Wesley and them. My mind burns with curiosity, but I know we have a professional relationship and don’t want her to think that anything is going on because it isn’t.
We are nothing and whatever went on in our few encounters is just that—nothing. A momentary lapse of judgment on both our ends seeking something from a stranger.
By day five, I’m able to catch a few more hours of sleep, which improves my mood. The more I distance myself from Wesley, the easier it has become. After lying in bed for an hour and watching the sunrise, I make the executive decision to completely forget about him, full stop. A combination of ‘in the too-hard basket’ and my late-night call with Liam.
Liam wasn’t shy in telling me how much he missed me, suggesting that we FaceTime. It was fun, a walk down memory lane until he wanted to take it a step further.
“I miss you, all of you.”
His words, sweet, full of honesty, made it difficult for me to lie to him. I missed him, but the guilt will overcome me, and I struggled to say the words back.
“You’d hate it here. Too many people and the traffic is on another level. Would you believe I got stuck on the freeway from the beach to my place for almost two hours? It’s normally a thirty-minute drive.”
“I wouldn’t hate it if I were with you.” He slows down his words, heavy breathing following. “Milly, take off your shirt.”
Liam is lying in bed, wife beater on, and his bed hair sitting on his pillow so messily. He looks good. I miss him. I miss his touch, the way that everything about him is so comfortable.
“Liam,” I offer a smile. “I can’t do that. Flynn is home. Maybe when he’s not home?”
I tried my best not to offend him, but I could see by the way he struggled to maintain eye contact he was offended and he shifted the conversation to a quick goodbye, and that was that.
I think about calling him now, but instead, chicken out and send him a quick text.
Me: I miss you too. I’ll call you tonight when Flynn is out xx
No longer wanting to be alone in the confinement of my room, I grab a tee and place it over my tank, exiting my room and leaving my cell behind. The bathroom is between Flynn’s and my room, and when I open the door, I jump with shock screaming as a stranger stands before me.
“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me.” I clutch my chest, riding through the pain.
“Sorry.” The woman smiles sweetly. “I just needed to pee, or I’ll get a UTI.”
“What?”
“You know, after you have sex, you need to pee, or you’ll get a UTI.”
I walk away and straight to Flynn’s bedroom, banging on the door with a vengeance until I open it myself. The room reeks of sex and testosterone. He sees me, ignores my presence, and closes his eyes.
“Are you kidding me with all this right now?”
His eyes open, tired and uninterested in what I have to say. “Just because you ain’t getting any doesn’t mean everyone else has to suffer.”
“How do you know I’m not getting any? Not that this is about me.” I shake my head, confused by how the conversation turned. “You can’t bring random girls to our place. And why didn’t you tell me you speak to Mama every day?”
“Because it’s none of your fucking business.”
I raise my finger, pointing it with anger. “You know, this emo phase is so 2002. As for the women, they better not steal any of my shit…” I turn to leave, but fling the words back over my shoulder, “Oh… and use protection!”
It feels like Flynn is a lost cause. I’ve failed at being a good big sister. The more time I spend with him alone, the more respect I have for Mama. With that thought in mind, I lock myself in the bathroom for an hour and decide to use my day off to hit the beach. I need out of here and time to process my lingering anger toward my own flesh and blood of a brother.