Chapter Five
Mila
Reality Bites
“Oh, my God. Don’t tell me you’ve been here all afternoon.”
I look up from my laptop screen as Claire bursts into the living room of the apartment we share. I knew she’d come looking for me sooner or later. It wasn’t like me to stay away from the shop, but today I just needed my own time and space.
“Guilty. Sorry I didn’t call you after lunch.”
Claire tosses her oversized designer purse on my couch and flops down next to it. “I don’t mind you working from home, you know that. But did you have to leave me holding the bag when you knew we had a meeting with Starla Banks at two o’clock? The woman’s a soul-sucking harpie. I nearly threw her pencil-skirted ass out of the studio after all the revisions she asked for.” With a gasp of relief, she pries her four-inch heeled shoes off her feet. “I could have really used your moral support, Mils.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put extra stress on you. I just wasn’t feeling well after picking up the new paper samples, that’s all. And I did get a lot done on the new brand package for Lump & Grind. What do you think?” I swivel my screen so that she can see the layouts I’ve drawn up for a new coffee bar that’s opened up down the street from us.
“Nice!” Claire exclaims, rubbing her soles. “Brilliant, as usual. I forgive you.”
“Thanks.” I save the files and shut down my computer. I don’t think I can work anymore today, anyway. I feel bone-tired. Even my brain is exhausted. I’m ready for bed, and it’s not even five-thirty. I yawn and rub my eyes.
“Are you okay? You said you didn’t feel well... Are you coming down with something?”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” I say. It’s far worse.
“Well, maybe you should see a doctor. And by doctor, I mean a shrink. You’ve been like—depressed—ever since we got back from vacation. I miss the sun and sand too, but jeez, you gotta snap out of this, girl. We have a business to run.”
“I’m not depressed,” I insist. “Not clinically, anyway.”
“Well then what is it? You’re not still moping about that lifeguard, are you? For heaven’s sake, it was a one-time-only deal. A fling. I thought we agreed that what happens in Australia never happened?”
My stomach gives a twist as Claire brings up the subject. If only it were as easy to do as it is to say. “Derric,” I remind her. “His name is Derric.”
“Right, sure. I know that. But you said you weren’t interested. That he gave you his card but you never called him. He’s half a world away. Long distance relationships never work out, you said. Yes, he was freaking gorgeous, but c’mon... he’s a beach bum. You’re an up and coming New York designer. Not a good mix.”
I cringe at not having told Claire the whole story. I told her I went out with Derric after she passed out, but not about our wild night of sex. Or what he really did for a living.
“You seemed interested enough in him,” I say.
“Hello... fling?” Claire says pointedly, waving her hand at me. “He’d have been a great lay, but I probably wouldn’t have remembered it the next day.”
“No, you were too damn drunk.” She’s right—I never called Derric. Every time I thought about doing it, I came up with a reason not to. Too early, too late, too busy, maybe tomorrow. There was a big time zone difference. Then tomorrow became a week, a month. Now I’m afraid he won’t even remember me. And if that’s true, knowing it now would break my heart.
I grab the remote and turn on the TV. I’m stalling at the same time I want to tell Claire everything. Because I can’t keep it a secret much longer.
“I’m not sick, Claire.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
I stare at the screen, trying to find the right words. “I didn’t tell you all of what happened between Derric and me. I thought you liked him too, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, or seem like I was bragging.”
“Hey,” Claire says, leaning forward to grab my hand. “No dumb-ass dude will ever come between us. You liked him, and he liked you. I just wanted you to have a good time.” She looks at me with a salacious twinkle in her eye and a naughty smile curving her lips. “Did you?”
I want to join in her enthusiasm, but instead feel tears building and threatening to spill over. “Oh, Claire, it was the most incredible night of my life,” I say. “We went for a drive, then back to his place, and you wouldn’t believe the apartment he has, it’s like a penthouse...”
Claire shakes her head. “I don’t give a shit where he lives, tell me about the sex! You had sex, right?”
I nod. “The most mind-blowing sex ever.”
“I knew it! I knew you were holding out on me. Deets, woman, deets!”
“I’m sure you don’t want every smutty detail, Claire. But he was amazing…” I sigh in bittersweet remembrance of that wonderful night. “Do you know what an Aussie kiss is?”
Claire shakes her head. “Clearly something I never got,” she jokes.
“It’s… it’s a Frenchie down under,” I say, in the best terms I can think of to describe it.
Claire squeals in delight. “Oh, my God, you’re kidding!”
“Nope. For reals. It was incredible.”
“Oh, my…” Claire rolls her eyes and pretends to swoon like some Southern belle of old. “Jesus, I’d have done more than call him. I would have dragged him on the plane with me and chained him to the seat. What’s wrong with you!”
What’s wrong with me. That’s the million-dollar question—or should I say billion-dollar question. Being so foolish as to not insist on a condom, that’s what. I reach into my pocket and withdraw the object that’s burned like a hot coal through my jeans since I got back from my errands this morning, and hand it to Claire.
“I’m pregnant,” I say, my voice finally breaking. “I’m fucking pregnant! I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
Claire holds the test stick gingerly, like it’s about to burst into flames, and looks up at me with an expression of pain, love, and sympathy all rolled into one.
“You’re not stupid,” she says. “You just got carried away in the heat of the moment. I don’t blame you one bit. He’s the stupid one to not even wear protection.”
“I’m twenty-six years old, Claire. I know better than to take chances like that,” I moan out.
Claire drops to her knees beside my chair and wraps me in a hug. “What are you going to do? Are you going to tell him? How can I help?”
“I don’t know yet. I can’t just call and blurt out, ‘I’m pregnant’.”
“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? And he’s responsible.”
“There’s something else. He’s not a lifeguard. Well, he is, but...” I sniffle and suck in a deep breath. “He’s loaded. His dad owns Faris Media, a big player in Australia. Derric’s the vice president and executive producer. He told me everything the next morning. He drives a Ferrari for heaven’s sake, and the view from his apartment is to die for. How can I tell him without sounding like some gold-digging skank? It’s probably not the first time some woman’s tried to baby-blackmail him.”
“Shh… you can’t think that way, Mils. You just have to trust that he has feelings for you and will do the right thing.”
“And what’s the right thing, Claire? I don’t even know. I hardly expect him to get down on one knee. More likely he’ll offer to pay for a…” I can’t even say the A-word. It’s too much to contemplate right now. I’m only a few weeks along according to the test.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Claire straightens and grabs me by the arms. “Call. Him. Don’t wait another second.”
“It’s the middle of the night there,” I say glumly. “It’ll have to wait until morning at least.”
“Oh, all right.” Claire huffs in resignation. The six o’clock news theme plays on the TV. “C’mon,” she says, pulling me over to the couch. “Wipe your eyes and let’s watch the news. It’s one thing guaranteed to make you see there are worse problems in the world than yours.”
I give a weak laugh. Bless you, Claire. What would I do without you?
We sit, and I watch the screen blindly, my mind numb. After a commercial, the entertainment segment blares to life.
“The biggest talk in the media world this week is the announcement of the new, Australia-based live streaming network ROO TV, which will run as a FOX affiliate and plans to launch this fall. ROO TV is owned by Australian media giant Steven Faris, owner of stations TEN-10 Sydney and TVQ-10 Brisbane.”
I snap to attention as a video of a handsome older man appears on screen, talking at a press conference.
“Mr. Faris indicated that he’s handing the reins of this American venture over to his son Derric Faris...” The video pans out, revealing a smiling Derric seated next to the elder Faris, the resemblance unmistakable.
“Oh, my God, there he is,” Claire gasps out, pointing at the screen.
Anxiety rises in my chest, and I start to hyperventilate. It’s him alright, every inch as beautiful as I remember. I hang on every word as the news anchor continues:
“... Derric, who is rumored to have been romantically linked to U.S. singer-songwriter, Belle Luna, for many months, is expected to...”
The screen cuts to a video of the provocative Belle Luna in concert. She’s a cross between Katy Perry and Lady Ga-Ga.
Claire grips my hand and swivels her head toward me, mouth open. “Belle Luna? That bastard. Who the fuck does he think he is?”
My mouth goes dry. He has a girlfriend. A famous girlfriend. Of course he does, you idiot. He’s probably the most eligible bachelor on the planet. I fell for the phony lifeguard act. He said it himself. He only does the job to meet pretty women. Pretty, gullible, impressionable, foreign women. Throwaway women, not serious love interests. I feel dizzy, like I’m going to blackout. Claire grabs me so tight I see stars.
“Oh, Mils... you’re white as a sheet... you should lie down.”
I bow my head to stem the sick, rushing sensation of impending unconsciousness. I can’t call him, not now. I need more time to think... to process... to decide. But if I wait much longer, the decision may already be made for me.