Chapter 17
Kellan
“This is good,” I grunted to the driver as he pauses at the stop sign outside of Papi’s Bodega around the corner from Carla’s building.
“But we’re almost here,” he said, turning to me, arm on the passenger seat.
“I know, my man,” I said, patting his arm as I slid him an extra twenty for his troubles. “But I gotta try and sober up first, you know?”
He chuckled, pocketing the tip before I could change my mind. “Good luck with that, bro!”
I stood at the curb, the night fragrant and tropical around me as the taxi sped off, brake lights shining in the neon darkness. The bodega was bright and loud as I stumbled in, aiming for the cold drinks section and grabbing a tall can of Joltz, the quickest way to sober up known to man: three times the caffeine of a regular soda, twice as much B-12 as your average multi-vitamin, more ginseng than an Asian kitchen and zero calories.
The cashier was a shrewd SOB and, seeing I only had large bills after my night out on the town, claimed it was “too late” to break my $50 bill for “just” a soda.
I was just buzzed enough to consider shoplifting for a quick second—just running out of the store and seeing what might happen—but erred on the side of caution. Instead, I noticed the fine array of cheap plaster statuettes behind him. One was a golden Buddha, perfect for Carla’s rooftop oasis.
“How much for the statue?” I asked, pointing to it with the $50.
“Thirty dollars,” he said without even glancing in its direction.
“I’ll take it!”
The Buddha was lighter than it looked and fit perfectly in the crook of one arm as I shuffled back to Carla’s place, slurping my Joltz cola and willing it to work. The street was silent and, as I juggled the statue and the soda up the stairs to her fourth floor loft—so was Carla’s apartment.
Only after I’d pounded on her door did I realize I had no earthly idea what time it was! Maybe the cashier back at the bodega hadn’t been a hustler. Maybe it really was too late to cash a $50 bill. Just as the echoes of my loud knock faded and I was tempted to turn around and slink away into the night, the door swung open and Carla stood, resplendent in a silk kimono, her hair was up and loose tendrils caressed her flushed cheeks.
“You have the nerve to stumble home in your condition?” she barked as I did just that—stumbled past her to get out of the hall.
“What condition?” I asked, offering the Buddha as if it might absolve me of all my sins—real or perceived. She ignored it and followed me out to her rooftop oasis, where we’d spent so many wonderful hours since I’d walked into her office that very first day.
“Kellan!” she huffed, following me out on bare feet. “It’s three in the morning!”
I turned, having just set the Buddha in its rightful place between two potted lilies near the fountain in the corner. “Get out!”
“You get out you rotten son of a bitch!”
I thought she was joking. As we stood there, her finger pointing back to the loft, her skin flushed, her eyes wide, I honestly thought she was joking. “Carla?” I asked, suddenly sober in a way 28-ounces of Joltz cola wasn’t able to achieve. “Are… are you serious?”
“Am I serious?” she barked, crossing her arms protectively over her chest as she approached. “Are YOU, Kellan? How could you do that to me all night and then stroll in like I was just going to bend over and take it?”
I stood, nonplussed, empty-handed and fuzzy-headed before her. “Carla, I… what did I do now?”
In reply, she slid her cell phone from one of her kimono pockets and tossed it to me. It was a bold, daring move, considering my alcohol consumption rate that night. Somehow, I managed to catch it, staring at the blank screen.
“Just swipe it!” she instructed, so I did. The screen of her oversized cell phone came to life, revealing the last thing she’d viewed: a Facebook page. But not just ANY Facebook page: Selena’s. I felt a soft tremor of foreboding as I saw the top of a blurry picture, recognizing immediately the neon lights and smoky haze of the nightclub I’d just left—the Cougar Club.
My heart hammered as I scrolled down her feed, shot after shot, pic after pic, of the girls and me dancing. Twerking, jerking, writhing and grinding. That would have been bad enough, but every few dance pics Selena had seen fit to re-upload the ones of her kissing me. Though it had felt innocent at the time, it seemed far more dubious in living color.
“Carla, I…” I handed the phone back but she ignored it, turning and drifting without a word to the sliding glass doors. “We were going to surprise you,” I blathered.
She whirred around, eyes moist, cheeks damp, voice hoarse. “You sure did, Kellan!”
I took a step closer and she flinched; literally, flinched. “No, I meant, she said you were meeting us. She said it was—”
Her face changed then, as if she thought I was lying. “Just stop,” she said, standing aside to let me pass. “You’ve lied to me enough tonight, Kellan. Just go, just leave and don’t ever darken my doorstep again. Here or at Miami Models.”
I paused, just as I passed, and the hurt look on her face—pale and puffy, her mascara running down her cheeks—told me she wasn’t kidding. “Yes, Kellan,” she said with finality as I drifted toward the foyer. “You’re fired!”
The words echoed in my ears long after I’d closed her door, walked down the stairs and found myself on the street, dawn was only a few hours away, and my mind reeled as I sank onto the nearest bus stop bench.
I should have known Selena was up to no good. I did, actually. I knew the minute I met her there was something “off” about that evil witch. I hadn’t trusted her then, but Carla had seemed so desperate to reconnect with, to reunite with, to forgive her former assistant that I’d politely let her handle her own affairs. Little did I know Selena would make it seem like she and I were having one!
As I sank back onto the bench, the quiet night balmy around my wrinkled slacks and unbuttoned shirt, I slid my arms out on either side of me, sliding them across the back of the bench bus. The quiet street faded away, and I saw only my revenge taking shape. Selena had spent half the night talking up Florida Faces and how I’d be a “great fit” there. The other girls had, too. About all the work I’d find, how easy it would be to get started.
Perhaps, I thought, rising from the bench to get started on my own evil retribution, it was time to find a new modeling agency after all…