“Absence is sometimes just absence without any ulterior motives.” ~ Johnny Outlaw
I thought it would get easier, that I would get used to the silence that fills our home. But I miss the little things. I miss Dalton strumming on his guitar. I miss the way he hogs the bed and covers me with his heat at night. I miss his playful side and the way he watches me as if he can’t take his eyes off of me. I miss his jeans and T-shirts lying on the bedroom floor where he dumped them. I miss those stupid little hairs in the sink that remain after he shaves. I miss the fucking toilet lid being left up.
I miss him.
Dwelling on issues was never a good skill of mine. Usually, I’m more of a tackle and confront kind of person. So I push all my sad emotions away that Dalton’s absence has created and focus on my work, something that I’m better at. Fortunately with the new deals in place, I have plenty to do before the photoshoot.
On Sunday, Tracy and I board a plane for New York. I have no idea what to expect from this shoot and doubts have been creeping in regarding the new brand imaging. Maybe a little guilt as well, though I wasn’t sure what I was guilty of, yet.
Due to scheduling conflicts at the last minute Sebastian, the model had to push our shoot until Tuesday. Tracy was not thrilled since everything else had to be rescheduled but by the time we were on the plane, she was calm and collected again. What I wasn’t thrilled about was this ‘cleanse’ diet Danny suggested. Pushing the shoot one more day meant one more day of me living off herbal waters and lettuce.
I wasn’t good with lettuce. I liked lettuce, sure, but living off lettuce and water wasn’t helping my mood. The flight attendant asked what we’d like for our dinner and I started to drool over airplane food. That was a first. Tracy ordered her pasta with cream sauce with an extra buttery roll and the cheesecake for dessert. I practically growled, “Nothing for me.”
“Holli, you’re thin enough. You always look good. You should eat.”
“These ads are going to be in magazines, including Elle and Cosmo.”
“I know all this, but you still don’t have to starve yourself.”
Her dinner is placed in front of her, the smell wafting in front of my nose as it’s passed over me to Tracy’s tray. “Do you think Giselle eats pasta with cream sauce when she has a photoshoot to prepare for?” I snap, crossing my arms and now totally annoyed.
“You’re not Giselle. You’re Holli. You own a business that you built from the ground up from your mind and creativity, not your looks, so slow the rage and have a roll.” She sets a roll down on a napkin on the tray in front of me, then turns and puts her headphones on and starts eating as her movie on the screen in front of her lights up.
She’s right. Shockingly, I’m not a supermodel. I roll my eyes at my ridiculousness and order, “I’ll have what she’s having.” I can always start back on the water and lettuce tomorrow.
I devour the noodles. Best dinner ever… at least when you’re hungry. But soon after, I get sleepy. My arm slips off the armrest waking me up. I look around to gather my senses and realize we’re still on the plane. Tracy says, “We’re landing soon. Did you get some rest?”
I laugh. “I wasn’t even tired. I think the carb overload made me pass out.”
Just as she begins laughing, the pilot comes on and announces our impending arrival and we prepare for landing.
We get our stuff from baggage claim and head to the long taxi line. “Where are we staying?” I ask after we settle into the cab at the airport.
“I rented an apartment in SoHo. On the last trip, you said you were tired of hotel living and I thought it would be fun to be in the neighborhood since we’re here for a few days.”
“We’re having the Nordie’s buyers over to the apartment?”
“It’s no ordinary apartment.”
And it isn’t.
The apartment is stunning. Wood and marble play together in a modern and clean, but classic way. The wood gives the floors warmth and the marble compass insert is striking. We stand in the grand entrance with our mouths hanging open. She steps forward and says, “The best part. We’re having the shoot here too. Our other space was booked for Tuesday so we’re shooting in the master bedroom and in the living room. Come on. Let’s check it out.”
I follow her through the grand entryway to the living room. A wall of windows greets us with a large white sofa in the middle of the floor. The tones of the room are neutral—white and beige—with a pop of black here and there. “This room is gorgeous.”
“Can’t you just see using the couch with that view?”
The buildings are lit up against the dark background. Even though it’s night, I bet the view is just as great in the day time. “I can,” I reply in awe. We retrieve our luggage from the foyer. “So if we’re using the master bedroom, where are we sleeping?”
She smiles and does a giddy clap and little jump. “You can sleep in the master. The look is messy for the campaign, just waking up and sexy. It will be perfect. Just keep your clothes out of sight.”
“You mean, don’t be a slob?”
“Precisely.”
We laugh, and my phone buzzes. I walk to the window. “Hello,” I answer feeling the love for my love.
“Are you in New York?”
“We just got to the apartment. Dalton, you better hold onto your bank account. I might be in love with this place.”
Hearing him laugh makes me happy and I smile. “Spend it. We can’t take it with us.”
“You say that now… before you’ve seen the price tag.”
“Good point.” I hear him exhale as if he’s tired, but he says, “I could be there in less than two hours.”
“Do it.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I would do anything to tempt you right now.”
His laugh is lower, more relaxed. “I like the offer, but I have a show tomorrow night.”
Though I knew he couldn’t visit, I’m still disappointed. Looking at my watch I see the time. “It’s after one in the morning. Why are you still up?”
“I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you made it safely.”
“I made it safely,” I repeat, finding a spot in a chair and staring out the window. “What do you have planned for tomorrow?”
“I’ll check in with Tommy in the morning. I know we have to do some press, but I’m not sure after that.”
Standing up, I confess, “I ate really amazing pasta on the plane tonight.”
“Wow, I didn’t see that coming.”
“I’ve been on this diet for models—”
“Alcohol and cigarettes?”
“Bah da bum!” I chime in. “Actually no. It’s a cleanse. A water diet.”
“Why do I already not like the sound of this?”
“It’s just one more day since the shoot got pushed until Tuesday—”
“Holliday, what are you doing?”
Confused, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what are you doing? This isn’t you. You don’t do Hollywood diets. You don’t do half-naked photoshoots. You work out. You live life. You don’t care what others think. You’re the most you person I know.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you’ve always been exactly who you are. You’ve always known who you are, but right now.” He sighs, frustration clearly heard. “I’m not sure I do.”
My own frustration sets in from trying to explain my side. “The camera adds weight. The tabloids are watching for your baby to start showing anytime, even though I’m not even pregnant. I deal with shit all the time regarding my weight. I just want to feel and look good, and most of all to feel like I look good.”
“That’s very LA of you.” His disdain is obvious.
“Fu—” I stop myself and take a deep breath. “Are you calling me shallow?”
He starts raising his voice. “I don’t want you to change for them. Fuck, you can gain weight if you want, but you sure as hell don’t need to lose any. I’m telling you this as someone who loves you. Don’t let them win.”
Furious, my hands start to shake. “This has gotten blown way out of proportion. I’m gonna let you go before it gets worse. I’ll talk to you later. If I don’t, have a great show tonight.”
“Don’t be mad.”
“I’m tired, Dalton,” I snap. “I don’t want to be lectured. The world is not our enemy.”
“But the paps are. You’re beautiful the way you are.”
“I’m not changing. I just did this for a few days to be in top shape. That’s all.”
His exhale is heavy into the receiver and I can tell he wants to say so much more than he does. But he doesn’t for some reason. “I should go. I love you.”
I don’t want to hang up mad, but I’m still a little irritated. “I love you, too,” I reply before hanging up because even though I don’t like the conversation we just had, I do love him. Grabbing my suitcase, I yell goodnight to Tracy who’s in her room already and go into the large bedroom.
I’m tired from traveling and emotionally exhausted after having to defend myself. But to get to sleep, I still have to unpack a few things. The rest can wait until tomorrow. After closing the door, I get ready for bed and climb under the covers. My body sinks into the pillow-top mattress and I lie there with my arms spread wide. There’s a wall of windows in here as well, giving me a killer view of the city at night. But it’s beyond this city and across the border where my heart hovers.
Taking the remote from the bedside table, I click the button for the curtains and they start to close, shutting off the rest of the world in the process. Once it’s pitch black, I close my eyes and fall asleep.
Knocking wakes me. I roll over and look toward the bedroom door. I sigh and flop back down. “Come in.”
The light is bright as if day has stolen the dark away. Tracy whispers, “You gonna sleep all day?”
“Yes,” I reply, grumpy with my eyes closed hoping to find sleep again.
The bed dips and she rubs my shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I’m hungry and tired.”
“This isn’t like you. You’ve slept over ten hours. How much more sleep do you need?”
“I want to sleep until my husband comes home.”
“But we’re in New York.”
I open my eyes. “Oh yeah, that’s right.” Rolling to my back, I rub my eyes. “Wanna go shopping?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” she says, standing and going to the door. “Get up and let’s go.”
An hour and a half later, we arrive at a street filled with high-end fashion. We blow through some money and the afternoon—filling our time with laughter and great clothes. By seven, the granola bar I had a few hours ago has burned off and I’m starved. “I can’t buy another thing unless I eat.”
“Then eat we shall.”
We head back toward our apartment and right into a trendy restaurant in SoHo. We’re seated right away in an area that’s open to the exposed kitchen. It’s fascinating to watch the behind the scenes play out for entertainment purposes.
“I like the wine,” I say, and take another sip.
“I like the view,” Tracy says.
“Yeah, it’s a really cool setup.”
“I’m not talking about the setup or scenery.” She nods toward one of the chefs that happens to be looking in our direction.
With my eyes wide, I whisper, “Stop. He can see you.” She laughs loudly, so I ask, “Are you drunk off half a glass of wine?”
“No silly. I just don’t go out much these days. It’s nice to get the attention.”
Leaning forward I rest my chin on my hand. “What’s going on with you and Adam?”
She starts waving her hand around. “Oh nothing. He’s great. We’ve been talking about having kids. It’s just been too long since I’ve had a girl’s night.”
“We have the next few days too.”
A spark of excitement sets in her eyes. “I know. It also feels good to get out of LA. Manhattan is always so different. It’s a nice change of pace.”
The waiter brings a plate of poutine to our table and says, “Compliments of the Chef.”
We both look in his direction and he sends us a small smile and a wave. I say, “Tell him thank you.”
As soon as we’re alone again, I drop my head into my hands. “I can’t resist French fries. You know this. I’m weak. Don’t they smell amazing?”
“They do,” she replies, stabbing her fork into them. With her mouth full, she says, “And taste heavenly.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “You’re really terrible, you know that? Mean and terrible.”
“Eat one. Just one.”
They do look so damn good. I pick up my fork and stab a small bite. I inhale the deliciousness first then savor the bite as I chew. “Heaven. This is Heaven.”
The plate is empty, just a sad reminder that something amazing was once there and now is in my belly. I set my fork down and rub my stomach. “So good.”
She takes another drink of her wine, and asks, “So good. So earlier, PP—pre-poutine—I was going to ask about you and Johnny.”
“What about us?”
“How are you guys doing?”
Looking around the restaurant, I hesitate. “He’s touring. End of story really.” I suspect she can pick up on the change in my tone and body language.
“How much longer?”
“Two more months.”
“You can visit him. I’ll arrange your schedule so you can.”
“Thanks. I think that will help my blues.” I smile just as our food is served… or should I say my water with mint and lime squeezed in. I already cheated with the wine. I’ll try to balance the bad with the water. Her salad sure does look divine though. “You gonna eat that tomato?”
She bursts out laughing and shakes her head. “Nope. Go right ahead.”
Two women in their early twenties are drinking next to us and getting louder and more raucous as the night rolls on. I hear one saying, “See? Told you it wouldn’t last.”
I peek over and see her holding her phone in front of the other girl’s face. Her friend replies, “But I liked them together. She made me feel like we had a real chance with Johnny Outlaw.”
“Apparently, we do now,” the first girl laughs.
My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. I want to run away from this conversation and forget I ever heard that, but like a train wreck, I’m glued to it, waiting to hear the gossip.
His name being spoken draws Tracy’s attention to the girls and she points to the phone. “Is that a picture of him?”
“Yes, he was seen out on a date tonight…” She smiles and her hot pink lip-glossed lips sneer. “And not with his wife.”
Leaning forward, I ask, “Where were they?”
The second girls answers, “Toronto. They played a show. He was at an after party with some other woman.” She eyes me and maybe it’s the booze speaking or maybe she’s just always that rude, but she adds, “I think you might be a little old for him.” Flashing the phone at me with the photo on display, her condescending tone makes me want to punch her in the silicone-injected lips. “As you can clearly see, he prefers younger women.”
“Like you?” I ask, sardonically.
“Yes, exactly like us.”
“Since I’m so old, how about I take my walker and shove it right up your a—”
“Check!” Tracy announces, cutting me off. Her eyes lock on mine. “Time to go.”
I stand, tossing my napkin. Needing to say one last thing to these plastic Barbies, I add, “I’m apparently not that hideously old since the chef sent over a dish just—”
A waiter arrives at their side with the same dish and says, “Compliments of the Chef.”
Totally defeated, I grumble, “For fuck’s sake.” I grab my purse and go. “I’ll meet you outside.”
When she joins me outside, she says, “How are you?”
“Shitty.”
She nods. “Hey, don’t jump to conclusions. Okay?”
“Sure. Right. Okay,” I say, my mind reeling in a haze of messed up emotions. “But I don’t understand.” My head is pounding, so I rub my temples.
“Who’s the woman?” Tracy asks.
One word. “Ashley.”
She sighs, “Did you know the most common name for crazy girls is Ashley. Go figure. I thought they were always so innocent years ago when I was into Laura Ashley dresses.” Throwing her arm up, she hails a cab.
Feeling sick to my stomach, I say, “They’re not.”
“Clearly.”
Three glasses of wine is not good when you’ve only had a few fries and a tomato to eat. With my head against the car window on our way back to the apartment, I close my eyes, but my mind whirls making the world spin. I reopen them quickly while spreading my arms out to anchor me to the car.
“We’re almost there. Can you make it, Holli?” Tracy asks.
The driver says, “She better not throw up in my car.”
“She won’t,” Tracy barks back. When she turns to me, she looks at me like she doesn’t believe her own response.
“I won’t,” I reassure her and the driver. “I just need to get back.”
“We’re not far, thank goodness.”
I nod, focusing my energy on feeling better. The car pulls over and Tracy drops some bills to him as I climb out. Once we’re on the sidewalk, she takes my arm and leads me into the lobby.
Before we even make it onto the elevator, my eyes are filled with tears. She says, “Aww, don’t. Please, Holli. It’s okay. I promise you. This is just a misunderstanding. He would never hurt you like that.”
One tear, then another slips out and down my cheek. She pulls me into a hug as the elevator dings each passing floor. “Hols, honey. It looked bad, but it’s a tabloid. It’s their job to make their photos more scandalous.”
My body is numb as my insides hurricane out of control. A sob breaks free just as the door opens. “Come on,” she says, taking my hand. Once we’re in the apartment again, I try to say goodnight and make for a quick getaway, but she’s not having it. “Call him. Talk to him.” She sets the stuff down and digs into my purse. She hands me my phone and sits on the couch. “Call him.”
With it in my hand, I stare down at the phone. “What if it’s true?”
“It’s not. You know in your gut it’s not.”
I nod automatically, then take the plunge and dial without any debate. Each ring makes me more anxious while I stand there. My foot starts tapping and I find myself muttering, “Answer. Answer. Come on, Dalton. Answer.” When my call is directed to voicemail, I turn my back to Tracy and leave a message to call me right away.
When I turn back, I whisper, “I’m going to bed.”
She stands suddenly. “Are you sure?”
“I am. I need some rest before tomorrow and I can’t just stand here waiting for who knows how long for him to call me back.”
“I think sleep is good.” She comes over and hugs me. “It will all be explained when you talk to him. I promise you. I know he loves you more than anything.”
“Thanks.” I give her a big hug, release, and go into the bedroom.
Immediately, I open my laptop and search for the photo to see what the story says. When I find it, I read:
Johnny Outlaw was spotted out with a mysterious woman after playing a live show in Toronto. His wife, Holliday Hughes, was spotted out with friends in New York City. Could this mean it’s over already? We’ll be updating this story as it unfolds.
I stare at the photo, analyzing every possible reason she would be with him, leaving anywhere, with him, and why he would be reaching for her hand and be that close. None of this makes sense. He wouldn’t cheat on me. I know he wouldn’t, I repeat silently closing my eyes and praying on every star in the sky.
Tracy knocks lightly, then peeks in. “Hey, I wanted to check on you one more time. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, looking up from the computer and flat-out lying to her.
“That’s good. You know how the tabs blow the most innocent thing out of proportion, twisting it to fit their storyline.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I’m gonna go to bed. You should get some sleep, but if you need me, just come in.”
“Thank you, Trace,” I say, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” She leaves me with a sympathetic smile before closing the door.
Picking up my phone, I call, again. My call goes to voicemail, again. This time, I say, “I’m going to bed. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Trying to keep my better sensibilities intact, I take two deep breaths and exhale slowly before going into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I set the phone down on a towel and stare at it, willing it to light up with Dalton’s name. But it doesn’t.
I spit and rinse my mouth, exhaustion getting the best of me. I turn out the light and climb back into bed. I’ve developed a terrible headache and my head is spinning. I close my eyes needing to deal with this mess in the morning. I hope to have a better perspective on the situation by then.