The Tour (9 page)

I keep stirring the noodles. They slither around in the oil making a wet sliding sound that makes me just as uneasy as she does. She clears her throat. “Nice to meet you,” she adds, looking at me. “Nice to meet all of you ladies. I’ll go tell the men they can come back in. Everyone’s decent.” She winks, and I feel one side of my lip curl up in a sneer. She trips over the rug by the front door before she gets it open.

Yep. She cheated on Carl with Kolton. She’s dying for me not to know.
Freaking bitch.

I file that away in my mental filing cabinet. If she ever pisses me off, I’m calling Carl Wilshire. I enter the phone number she left on the counter into my phone under the contact,
Carl Cheater Bitch
, and I hate myself a little for wishing her all kinds of harm on her trip to LA.

This jealousy is not a healthy feeling. It feels slimy, like the noodles.

All I eat for dinner is the salad.

Growing Up

I
help Riley get into her pajamas after donning my own. Deloris is going to sleep on the small twin bed that used to be Kolton’s when he was little, but Riley decides to camp out on the floor. We found her a sleeping bag in the garage a little earlier, and when we pull it out of its special green bag and fluff it up, she jumps inside like she’s really camping in the wilderness. I love that when you’re a little kid, you can still find time to play in any circumstance. It’s such an innocent quality. I love that about her.

We don’t have her night light anymore, and she hasn’t been asking for it in the hotel. It seems she forgot she was afraid of the dark. While her breathing slows, and Deloris starts to snore lightly, I take notice of the blue painted dresser under the window, the closet with little boy clothes still on hangers, and the toys in bins in the corner. It’s like a time capsule. I wonder if he’ll ever be able to move these things out of here. But why would he want to? Other than if he decides to move here permanently.

Once I’m sure Riley’s asleep, I walk into the hallway and battle with myself about where I should sleep. With the guy who slept with Carl’s wife some time ago, or somewhere else. I don’t really feel comfortable sleeping in Kolton’s bed anyway. We’ve never had that type of relationship before. I slept in his room just one night before the fantasy ended. I don’t even know if he wants me with him or not. I’m betting on not. He’s still angry with me after the incident at the mall.

I go back out to the living room where Devon and Manny are watching the news—the bad news, that is, because all the news ever reports on are bad things. When they see me, they turn the channel. Kolton must have told them I’m not allowed to find out about what happened on TV. It’s freaking hopeless.

As I stand here, I don’t know what to do. I check the kitchen. It’s clean, so I have no excuse to be out here ‘helping out’. I sit down at the table and pull out my phone and answer a couple texts from Kaya. She’s worried about me, so I let her know we got out of the mall, and we’re fine. All I’m missing are a few pieces of hair… and my dignity. I check Twitter and put in my name for the search.

I scroll through post after post, going back to this morning when I was at the mall. Sure enough, people had spotted me. They’d taken pictures and posted them. Some of the images had nice things to say underneath them. “
She’s so pretty up close
.” Others not so nice. “
Let’s do a good old fashioned slut shame.
”

It burns in my stomach, and I realize I am not in charge of my image, at all. My image is what belongs to them. All I can hold onto, and guard, is the real me—what I know to be true about myself. When those people were looking at me at the mall, it was as if they didn’t really see me. It was the weirdest feeling. How did it become okay in their minds to pull my hair, or take my picture without my consent, or chase me and Riley out of the store?

It’s in this moment I realize, in my haste to provide for Riley, I became a public plaything. They’re allowed to do with my image what they want to—love it or hate it. Put it down, put it on a pedestal and then knock it off at will. Gina can try to sway their opinions, but, in the end, it’s out of my hands what they think of me.

This is my new reality, and as the features of this life become clear, the sharp edges of my cage seem to pull up around me. He warned me, didn’t he? He tried to talk me out of it. I sink into the chair, my shoulders feeling the weight of the worlds’ opinion. The overwhelming solitude that this career, this lifestyle, this boyfriend, will really mean for me rusts over all the fluff I’d imagined would be on the other end of success.

“Aren’t you tired?” Manny asks and I shrug. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to, uh, bother Kolton, and I don’t know where to sleep.”

“You can have the guest room,” Devon says, but his head is cocked to the side like a dog when it’s trying to figure out a person’s expression. “This couch pulls out into one of those sofa beds and that chair is a futon pad, so one of us will sleep on it.”

“I think that would be perfect for me,” I say.

“No, I meant one of us two.”

“You’re both too big,” I decide. I don’t wait for them to talk me out of it. I yank the futon pad off of the wooden frame and pull it over by the long table. “I’m going to sleep right here.”

“You sure?” Devon asks. “Don’t you want to sleep in the master bedroom?”

I stick my bottom lip out and shake my head.

“Suit yourself,” Manny says. “I’ll flip you for it,” he says to Devon, pulling a quarter out of his front pocket. “Your call.”

“Heads,” Devon declares, taking a sip of his Coke. Manny flips and slaps it on the back of his hand, and Devon’s arms jolt up into the air. “Booya!” he cheers, obviously winning the more comfy bed in the third bedroom. I’d peeked in there earlier—it’s a guest room with art materials on a table and a desk. I think it was a place his parents shared to work on their different passions. His mom’s art stuff; his dad’s business stuff. And then a twin bed for company.

After Devon claims his prize, I shuffle off to find Manny and me some blankets and pillows. The linen closet has that old sheets smell. I don’t like it, but I don’t have much choice. I help him put the sheets on his mattress and put a pillow and felt blanket down for him. I take the yarn blanket in its many shades and shove the bench out of the way so I can put my little pad under the table. It just feels safe, cave-like.

It reminds me of playing fort with my mom and dad when I was really little. We’d pull the dining chairs out and drape blankets over them to make a tent. Mom would bring me apples and peanut butter to eat. She’d climb under the dim light of the fort and we’d make up stories that had to do with my toys, usually.

One time, Dad came home when the tent was still up. He awkwardly slid himself under, and told me a story about when he was a little boy growing up in Alaska, and his family went on a fishing trip that lasted a week. One night, a bear had come into their camp. He said it smelled worse than anything he’d ever smelled, including an outhouse. The only thing they could do was be extremely still and wait for it to realize all the food was locked up. I was riveted. What if he hadn’t made it out alive? I wouldn’t even have existed.

That thought feels like the blackness of the universe not near enough to a sun. It’s such a weird feeling to think that it was a series of choices that were made that led to me being born and living this life. Choices.

There are just too many of those in life. And I am choosing to hide in here rather than allow Kolton to confront me with just how naive I am. About how he warned me and shouldn’t have to babysit me.

“Where is she?” Kolton’s voice asks the dark, occupied room.

“Hey, boss,” Manny says, his voice sounding raspy and full of yawns.

“Where’s Mia?” he asks again. His voice is tight and he sounds …nervous.

“Under there.”

“Wha—where?” Manny must’ve pointed or something because Kolton clears his throat.

“Come out, Mia,” Kolton says, but he sounds slow and groggy. I don’t move. I refuse to. I hear him walking toward the table before I see his bare feet peeking out of his grey sweats. “What are you doing under there?”

I say nothing and he bends down, meeting me eye to eye. Tears pool from my stubborn eyes and I close them so they can’t give away the feelings I don’t want to share. “Come on,” he says, waving his arm inward. He looks drunk from the pain meds that adulterous doctor gave him.

“No,” I croak and the bench is pulled back, the scratching sound of the legs pulling against the tiles piercing my eardrums. He waits for a second, as if he’s giving me time to come out before taking further action. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. I want to be alone,” I tell him.

He drops down and takes hold of the futon mat as if he’s going to pull it up and yank me over his shoulder, caveman style. But he thinks better of it, crawls inside instead, and flops down next to me. I see his wound now, over his heart. It’s been stitched with clear wire, obviously by a plastic surgeon. It looks perfect. We’re not touching, but I feel his body so close to mine that the hairs on my arms are standing, all of me aware of his influence.

“If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you,” he says. “Not as comfortable but it’ll work for a minute. Come to bed.”

I flutter, everywhere. His presence is like a drug. The scent of his skin, the heat coming from him—I have to bite my bottom lip. He smells like sandalwood. Clean, and I can tell he’s taken a shower. Now if his thoughts were cleared of everything Katharina, just as his hair is, I’d feel a lot better.

I hear Manny rustling the covers and then he opens the front door; smoke break and privacy granted. As the cold air comes into the room like a melody, I get the courage to speak.

“I don’t want to fight,” I whisper. “I know I caused this whole thing but I don’t need to hear it from you. I taught it to myself when some girl was ripping hair out of my head and those people were looking through me. I don’t need an ‘I told you so’.”

He blinks slowly, thoughtfully, as if what I’m saying has to travel through the drugs and takes time for him to make sense of it. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way,” he says, wrapping his arm over my stomach and cupping my hip with his hand. I want to push him away but my body betrays me. My heart speeds up, and I have to swallow. My hip presses itself into his hand.

“Don’t. Don’t feel sorry for me,” I say, putting my hand up to his arm. He winces and his head falls back. He reaches up to the wound.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck!” I realize I’ve touched him where he’s cut.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, my hands up, wishing I could console him.

“I wasn’t mad. I was
scared
, Mia. Don’t you get it?”

“I know you think I can’t take care of myself and I need my sugar daddy to come save me,” I answer. His eyes narrow on me and I press myself into the legs of the chair behind me.

“Your what?” he asks, blinking a few times before he backs away. At first I think he’s going to yell at me, but he laughs. The ends of which get under my skin, causing it to turn boiling hot. My eyes squint and my jaw tightens. “If I’m your daddy then I’m going to put you over my knee,” he says.

“Fuck you.”

“Not yet,” he retorts, meaning it. “First we’re going to talk, and when you’re done blaming me for your mistakes, I’m going to spank you, and then I’m going to fuck your raw little ass.”

I feel my mouth open in shock and anger as I slam the chair out of the way and climb out from under the table, stomp to the door, and walk outside into the cold. While I’m pacing the porch, my warm breath warring against the chilled air, I see Manny leaning against a tree smoking. He doesn’t want to talk to me any more than I want to talk to him. But I don’t have shoes, so I can’t walk anywhere. And I’m not going back inside. He can just deal.

Why did I call him my sugar daddy? I wanted to hurt him. I did it on purpose. Part of me wants to go in there and say I’m sorry, but another part wants to call this whole thing off. Maybe what’s at the root of this fight is our age difference. He’s always going to be so far ahead in every way. Is that what I want? And maybe what I did today, although really stupid, I did because I need to learn from my own mistakes.

He’s just going to have to deal, too. I still have some growing up to do.

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