Without Scars (6 page)

We sang at the top of our lungs when the DJ threw in some classics. My throat was actually strained after two back-to-back remixed Aerosmith songs. I was sure we sounded like a pair of injured parakeets during the high parts of “Dream On.” When the DJ went back to Top Forty, we headed for the table, which was crowded now. In a flash, I was shaking hands with Deacon, Charlie’s roommate; Brody, Charlie’s other roommate; and Shaw, a friend they’d gotten to know from the club scene. Each one remarkably represented a stage of intoxication, the steps from buzzed to blitzed. A benefit of being sober all the time was seeing how ridiculous everyone else looked drunk.

“What’s the move? Deek says he can’t be here all night…” Ghost said.

Mouth full of quesadilla,
Deek
gaped at my chest. All the alcohol in his system didn’t really allow for inconspicuous ogling of my boobs. Although this guy didn’t seem like he would do it any differently if he were sober. “This fucking place is shitty, Charles,” he said to my nipples. “Let’s go to Glass. What made you pick this dump, anyway? I mean the food’s good, but the dance floor is loaded with fives and sixes. I only say sixes because I’ve been drinking and it’s dark. Probably mostly fives. Or fours—”

“Finish up. Then we can figure it out.” Charlie grimaced as he tossed some bills onto the table.  “You wanna get some air?” he asked me and I nodded.

Ocean Drive was serving up typical South Beach nightlife around us outside—eclectic beats, droves of people on the sidewalk, and outfits that towed the lines of decency. “They’re drunk as hell; they’re not going to make it to Glass,” Charlie said. “Do you really want to go?”

“I haven’t been but Denise loves it, which means I’ll probably hate it. A lot,” I said, laughing. “Plus, we haven’t settled on who I’m playing on your show yet. How do acting auditions work, anyway?”

“Well, they tell me about themselves, usually, and then—before Hillington—I actually just made them read the newspaper out loud before reading lines. The way the character would. Anyone can prep the same lines over and over and come in and be perfect. I like to see them think fast on their feet. Improv. I think I have an old paper in my car, actually…” He ticked his head in a direction.

“Really? Such a serial killer thing to say,” I teased. We walked just down the block and he aimed a fob at his car, which was parked on the other side of the street. Charlie crossed the road and opened the driver-side door but I stayed where I was. “You’ve been drinking. You shouldn’t even be sitting in the driver’s seat,” I said. He rounded the car and got in the passenger seat much to my relief.

“Don’t worry; I’m leaving it here and we’re cabbing back home. And…told you there was a newspaper…” he said, reaching behind the seat. He handed it to me. “
See
…not a serial killer. But you’re probably judging me based on my friends now…”

“That Deacon seems…interesting.”

He grinned. “Ha! That’s one way to describe what Deacon is…” Damn. I noticed earlier that when Charlie smiled the curve tended to dominate one side. I thought it was incredibly sexy. Again, my panties were staying on tonight, but he’d probably end up as masturbatory material when I got home. “They’re all good guys. Even him. Sometimes.”

“I could say the same about you. Ghost told me what you did for me with the bill today.”

He raised his eyebrows. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever the reason is that he gave me a discount for the work, thank you. But it’s not blackmail, is it?” I asked, half-joking. “Like…a naked video?” He huffed out a laugh. “So there’s a naked video.”

“Jesus.
No.
”

“Sex cult?”

“Not…that…I…know of…what?”

I sighed, laughing a little. “It would just make me feel a lot better if I knew why. He was in that shop longer than he needed to be. I feel bad.” I wore guilt like skin.

“Fine. We all know the story but you can never tell him I told you. Deal?” I nodded. “Ghost and I are the same age, and we were in the same fourth grade class in elementary school. Anyway, everyone in the class got to have a birthday party. You know, your parents bring cupcakes and the class sings “Happy Birthday.” You get to waste the last hour of school. Well, Ghost didn’t get that. And I asked my mom why. I don’t remember what she told me but I didn’t like it. I learned years later, though, that he’d bounced around from group home to group home—that’s actually how he and Deek know each other—and he never really got to experience even the little things, like a silly class birthday party. Anyway, I insisted that we throw something for him. Mom didn’t agree at first. But I wrapped up some of my favorite toys and books to give to him, and I guess she realized I was serious, so she worked something out with our teacher. She baked some cupcakes, and he got to have a party. Ghost and I became really good friends after that. We just look out for each other whenever…I guess.”

“Wow…that’s really sweet of you.”

“Yeah, but Ghost’s been incredibly supportive of me, too. He was our one-man street team when we launched
How to Fuck up a Friendship.
”

“So, are you ready for your meeting tomorrow?”

Charlie shrugged. “Sort of. Made my mom prep me earlier tonight. She’s a mergers and acquisitions attorney and spends a lot of time negotiating, so I figured she was the one to talk to if I need to push hard with those Hillington guys. My stepdad played one of the men from Hillington. They’re really excited about the whole thing.” His face lit up as he talked about his parents. I loved that they were close. I used to have that. I still had that, but it was pure once.

“They believe in your dreams.”

“Yeah, and I’m so grateful, but it’s a lot more fuckin’ pressure. They’ve invested emotionally—and financially—so I want to make them see that it was completely worth it. My stepdad grew up in a tiny village outside of Mumbai, and my mom’s family is from one of the poorest areas in Puerto Rico. I’ve seen how hard they’ve worked to get where they are.” With a heavy sigh, he slumped down and shut his eyes. “Succeeding is about them, too, you know. They’ve done everything to make sure my sisters and I never want for anything, and I don’t want to screw this up. It’s part of the reason I’ve been working so hard on getting the scripts right and making sure the story is strong enough and the acting is good and everything looks amazing on screen.”

“And not seeing the tears in the crowd,” I said.

Charlie’s brow furrowed before he reopened his eyes. “The
what
?”

“I was in
Swan Lake
, and I got to play Odette and Odile. If you learn nothing else about ballet, know that these are the roles nearly every female dancer wants when her company puts it on, especially if she gets to play both. We will spend every waking moment—forgoing food and sleep—perfecting it. On opening night, while I was performing, I analyzed every move I made. Everything felt wrong, and I was furious by the time it ended. A woman from the audience came up to me after the performance, bawling her eyes out. She said she’d never seen anything like the way I danced that night. I thanked her but I blew it off in my mind. All I told myself was that it should’ve been better. I picked at it for days, finding every flaw I could, until it became the worst performance I’d ever had, in my mind. Earlier today when you were tearing your work apart the way you were, you reminded me of
me
. Look, it’s okay to want to work harder, to improve, but enjoy
succeeding
, too. And enjoy how you’ve touched people. You can’t let yourself forget—”

“The tears in the crowd,” he said, nodding, getting it.

“Exactly.”

“I like that…and I’ll try.”
No. Oh fuck.
He was doing it again. The smile thing. It got me hot
again
, too. “Hm. You are
something
, Nikki…”
Do NOT sleep with him tonight. Pretend your underwear has a chastity belt.
I wriggled around in the seat.

“Something?”

“Yeah. Something.” He took his iPhone out of his pocket and plugged it into the auxiliary hole on the car’s dash. “Turn on the engine. I hate a world without music.”

“Me, too. Is that a song lyric on your arm?” I asked as I turned the key. Charlie shook his head but didn’t explain.

“So…don’t expect anything as amazing as your collection, but…” He shuffled through the songs, barely letting one play for more than a few seconds before moving on.

“Whoa. I haven’t heard this in a while.” I grabbed his wrist. “Can you keep it here?” I turned the volume up on Kings of Leon’s
“Wicker Chair.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows, but his gaze was stuck on my hand. The warmth I’d felt earlier when he touched my back returned. “This song is
always
playing in my car and no one
ever
knows it. I’d believe you if you said you were really a fan.”

“You know how when you first discover a band and they’re still playing mostly on college radio? You know they’re struggling to break out as artists, but it’s just so damn good. It’s urgent and anxious. It’s painful and passionate. It’s not mainstream radio-friendly. And you’re singing songs no one else really knows? I love that. It just feels like
you
own it. ‘Youth & Young Manhood’
was that album for me. It got me through a rough patch. I was looking to connect with something. And I wanted a voice in my head that wasn’t my own…when I was in rehab.” I cleared my throat. “So…how much do you actually want to know? About my real story. About this dancer with a past…”

“Anything you want to tell me, Nikki, which could be nothing at all.” His eyes were almost black without much light in the car. Yet there was a soothing quality about them. “No pressure. We
did
just meet a few hours ago.”

And maybe that was why I wanted to explain everything. But as I took in his kind smile, I hesitated. I never had before with anyone. Nothing about the way he was looking at me said he was trying to probe or guess what I was going to say. He was just…
waiting.
For me to talk, or not talk for that matter. It was sweet. So, speaking felt like a risk now because…he was something to lose?

What? I don’t even know him. But I want to. And I want him to know me. It’s important that he does.

I took a deep breath. This was normally the time when what I said broke my relationships with others. But I still refused to close off or shut down or run away. I didn’t want the accident or alcohol to define me, but they were both as present as any tangible part of me. “I had my first sip of alcohol when I was about fifteen. At a party. It’s hard to explain what happened but…it just made everything
better
. And they weren’t even
bad
. Ballet is so much about control and perfection. When I was drunk I didn’t have to be that. It was different. I wanted to be out of control sometimes. See how the other half lived. Being drunk is fun. That’s a universal fact. And I drank on and off for years without a problem.

“At So Cal, I started drinking mostly
to relax
on the weekends. Then it was Thursday nights, too. Then Wednesday, because the middle of the week is rough, right? Pretty soon I had to drink to get out of bed in the morning. And then I was doing it just to function, period. I was a mess—missing rehearsals, too hungover when I was there, and embarrassing my friends when we went out. My company finally got sick of my antics, and I was fired midseason two and a half years ago. I moved back to Miami, and I was blaming everyone for my problems, yet still drinking and partying all the time.

“One night, I had a bit—a lot—to drink at a bar while I was waiting to pick my dad up from the airport. He was tired and he fell asleep on the drive back. I hit another car straight on. A man, his wife, and their daughter. They’d just had a great week on vacation and were on their way home from Disney. When I hit them, the daughter…” I looked away from Charlie and stared at the stream of headlights going by. “Camryn…suffers from a Traumatic Brain Injury now.”

And in spite of the damage I’d so callously caused, the Andersons, still bandaged and bruised, had pushed for probation for me. They insisted I learn the consequences of my actions by volunteering at the TBI center where Camryn did her rehab. Going there was how I’d gotten close with Lea, too. “I needed to become friends with you so I could stop hating you,” she told me one day.

“She’s different now because of me. It took her a long time to get where she is developmentally and intellectually. They don’t know if she’ll ever be where she’s
supposed
to be, though.” Not everything I had shattered could be put back together with science. “I want to be there for her through it all, so I go to her rehab sessions almost every other Saturday.”

“Wow.” Charlie exhaled heavily several times. Probably trying to process. “You’re in her life. And her family lets you be there. Says a lot about all of you…”

“I hurt my father, too, that night. I had a few bumps and bruises and a headache, but I walked away. I was literally able to get out of my car on my own.” I sighed. “Those bottles you saw…that’s just my therapy. I destroy them. It’s how I deal.” Well, it was out. All of it. “There. That’s the story. That’s the past part.”