It seemed to take all morning, but Alex got packed and put into a car and he’s on his way to Las Vegas. And I’m sitting in the kitchen with almost a week’s worth of time on my hands and I’m not sure what to do first. The thought of so much time on my hands boggles the mind.
Tish is occupied, she’s with Kim.
And I DO have my project to think about, because I was given the go ahead by Mr. M to take the house and do what I want with it. He’s into making changes now, what with all that’s going on in his head, and has given me carte blanche, which I have no intention of taking advantage of. Credit cards with no limits on them give me the willies, and I know that Juliette and Alex think I’m crazy using the checkbook for everything, but until they demand that I use plastic, I prefer to do things my way. Frequent flyer miles be damned.
So that’s at least one thing I can do today. I can go shopping. More like browsing. There are so many interesting places right in the area, too, although I could probably go all over three counties searching if I want to.
Instead I find myself lighting another cigarette and sitting at the table over a cup of coffee.
It’s very quiet around here without Alex in the house. I realize that he’s been around much more these days, and that although I’d never call him noisy, I always seem to know when he’s here. Lately he’s been hanging around when I’m in the kitchen, too. Not that I mind, I don’t, and I’d love for him to pick up a knife or spoon some day and give cooking a crack. He always looks so, so in awe of what I’m doing and it would demystify the whole process of putting a meal together for him. Then again, he can be clumsy with his hands. No, that’s not right. Not clumsy; twitchy. Nervous. He’s got nervous hands. I’ve already done my time in the emergency room with him, so I never feel like handing him any sharp objects. It seems like it would be just asking for trouble.
Well, I know the kitchen is about the last room I want to tackle in this house; there’s not a lot of room for improvement here. The living room and the den come to mind first. They’re opposing rooms across the entrance hall, and I think I’d like to make them match, for starters, and that I’d like to make them reflect something of Alex’s tastes. I know enough about him now; he likes clean rooms and uncluttered environments, regardless of his slob-like tendencies. He’s partial to modern lines, modern art. I think if he had his choice he would prefer a very industrial look, but an industrial look just doesn’t fit into the stucco and plaster rooms that just scream for the more mellowed look of a Spanish hacienda. Still, I do think that there are ways to incorporate some of his preferences.
Now I remember that I have something of a plan for myself today, too. I need some clothes. Not a lot, nothing fancy, but I need to get out of the jeans and T-shirt uniforms I’ve been living in. I know that Alex doesn’t care. I know that no one else cares but me. Only, now that I’ve been making some money, and the checks from Errol showed up, I feel secure enough to invest in something other than thrift store wares and Wal*Mart knock offs.
So I’ll shop for a little this afternoon before Tish comes home, and maybe more tomorrow WITH Tish, because she needs some summer things herself, and while I’m at it I’ll wander through a few shops and look at furniture.
I wonder if Alex would mind if I redid his floors? More tiles would be nice.
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This is totally weird.
I miss Shi.
I’m on a private jet and we’re just circling Vegas and I could care less. Somewhere along the line this all turned into a shitty idea. I wanna go home. I’m hatin’ bein’ on this plane. I’m hatin’ these people I’m with. I don’t WANT to live in a hotel for the next week. I want to go home.
I can feel it in my chest. It’s the mother of all anxiety attacks. I know, I KNOW, that I forgot my meds, my socks, my wallet. And I know that that’s not true, too.
“Man, are you flippin’ out?” my friend Marcus ask me. Marc is one huge motherfucker. He NEEDS a private plane, or first class seats, ‘cause he don’t fit in coach. It’s a damn good thing he’s a bodyguard, ‘cause if he wasn’t, I don’t know what the hell someone that wide does. Like, football? I guess if you dig sports. Marc has been my bodyguard for years. Now he’s more like a buddy. Someone I like to travel with, ‘cause he knows what the hell he’s doin’, and someone I just like, ‘cause, ‘cause I do. He’s been through all my shit with me, good and bad. And he still don’t mind hangin’ out.
But he knows me, and that’s why he’s askin’ if I’m havin’ a freak out, which I am. I nod.
“You need anything?” he asks. Marc is good at gettin’ your needs met. He can get you anything, twenty-four seven. Nothing is a problem. Well, right now there’s a problem ‘cause what I need is to be off this fuckin’ plane and put in a limo and driven right the hell back to Malibu.
“No,” I tell him, shaking my head. ‘Cause there’s nothing he can do.
“We’re landing, man, it’s almost over,” he says, as if he can read my mind. He knows I hate to fly. Maybe that’s all this is. Maybe I just want on the ground and off this plane. Maybe. But I still miss Shi. I wonder what she’s doing right now. I wonder if she’s makin’ dinner for herself, or if she will at all ‘cause I’m not there, or if she and Tish’ll eat out, or what. I can see her in the kitchen, those coupla pieces of red hair comin’ undone behind her ear as she’s bendin’ over pots and pans.
I wonder what she’s gonna do to my house? I’m not exactly nervous about it. I know that if I don’t like it, I’ll just change it myself. Or not. I’m not exactly particular about that kinda shit, which is probably why I’ve always let my girlfriends do the decorating. They always seem to get such a charge outta it anyway, what the hell, right?
I wish they would land this fucker.
I wish I had a drink.
This week is gonna suck. I’m gonna be in Vegas, and there can’t be any booze, there ain’t gonna be any women, and I’m gonna be stuck golfing every goddamn day. Why? Why did I do this?
My stomach feels the acceleration of the plane as we drop close to the runway. Marc is lookin’ out the window. I can’t look. Freaks me out. I just sit here holdin’ my breath, willing the wheels to touch the ground. It seems to take forever. Fuckin’ forever. Then there’s the bump, that familiar hop down the runway.
Some of the tension goes away. For a minute I think that it’s completely gone, but then we’re taxiing to the terminal and going through all the shit of unloading the luggage and clubs and all and no, the tension is still there. I’m even finding the heat annoying. I love heat. I love the desert. I love Vegas. And I want to go home. I want to be by my pool, watchin’ the ocean, drinkin’ one of those frozen fruit things that Shi makes for me, smellin’ her cookin’ and just doin’ nothing.
Marc looks at me. I know that he’s not gonna say anything to me right now, but when we’re alone, in the room, he’s gonna ask me questions. There’s too many people around right now for him to just ask me what the hell is wrong, but that look let’s me know it’s comin’.
Rene is bullshittin’ with the driver of the car who’s loadin’ the luggage. He brought this other AA guy with him, Todd. I sorta know Todd, and he’s cool. Makes a good fourth. Doesn’t babble a lot, and doesn’t know every little goddamn thing about me and my bullshit, either, so he don’t care and he’s not gonna be askin’ me a whole lotta questions, he’s just along for the golf and whatever trouble we can get ourselves into. For me, that’s not gonna be a lot.
I don’t want trouble. This place, Vegas, it’s always crawlin’ with paparazzi. There’s no way that I want a scene, or that I even want anyone to know that I’m here. I’m gonna just play golf and bake and go out at night with these guys and chill. Like I planned.
If I could only get rid of all this nervousness. My stomach feels like it wants to heave. My breakfast is almost at the back of my throat.
I slide into the car. It’s cool inside; the leather seats are soft and it’s very quiet. I rest my head back and close my eyes for a minute, but not before I notice Marc take up a position blockin’ the car door, his huge back and ass fillin’ up the window. I guess it’s automatic to him, goin’ into ‘protection mode’ like that, givin’ me the space I want, even if it’s only for a few minutes in this car.
I think about Sarah, and my stomach twists into painful knots. She’s why I’m here, her and her goddamned arm around that goddamned Robin. Not the gig. Not the not tellin’ me part. Not the ex. No. Robin. And the arm. She meant for me to see that. It may not have been planned, but she MEANT it. That was her way of lettin’ me know that there’s no time soon, if ever, that I’m comin’ back into her life. Kinda like it was my way of tellin’ her I wasn’t gettin’ married when I got caught with the other woman.
That’s some sick shit.
Up until right now it never even came to me how sick that was, or how sick what she did is, or why I have to treat someone that way and make them do the same goddamn thing to me. It’s not just sick, it ain’t right.
I push it all away. Try and block it out. I don’t wanna think about Sarah any more. Not today. Anything else. Which is why I’m here, damn it, I’m here to bake in the sun, to fry her outta my head, to play golf and get aggravated by my game and ONLY my game. Not think about the wrong things I’ve done, or the things that are bein’ done to me.
I take a deep breath. And I think about Shi. It’s early yet, just about lunch time. I wonder if she’s still at the house. She’s so fast, I’m sure she’s like, you know, changed the sheets and made the bed. I’ll be the laundry’s about done, and that the only smell in the house right now is the coffee. Maybe the leftover smell of the pancakes she made me for breakfast, all plump with blueberries. Shit. Her food is lethal. I can still taste the way the hot berries popped in my mouth, how the juice just exploded outta them.
Christ. I’m gettin’ excited over food.
And I miss her. I miss knowin’ that she’s around. That she’s takin’ care of shit, even though she’s probably right there, where I think she is, takin’ care of shit.
The guys pile into the limo. My stomach doesn’t feel so bad now. Shi is right where she should be. Maybe she’s even walkin’ through the rooms, figurin’ out what the hell it is she wants to change there. I don’t care what she does. I’m real curious about it anyway. I hope that something’s different when I get back there. That thought calms me even more. So does havin’ the bulk of Marcus beside me. That’s a familiar sight, a familiar feeling. He takes care, too.
Only he sure ain’t as cute as Shi.
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
