18. LOOKING
“Darling,” Frieda says like a grandma. I’ve tried to get out of these traps, but she usually sets them up well and makes sure no escape is within reach. Like now. We’re at a small breakfast place halfway up in the Malibu wilderness after a long winding road took us there in her car.
“I don’t like where this is going with you.”
“No? And why’s that?” I’m being defensive. And sore. It’s hard to sit on the sweet throbbing between my legs this morning. Every time I part-decided I was going to leave Ciro’s funkis bunker, he used his tricks to make me stay. The man has stamina. And the man knows secrets my body hadn’t even revealed to me until he came around.
Also, I’ve got to be honest. With a member the size of my ex’s it’s apparently smart to not go at it five times in one short night. Especially when said five times aren’t of the quickie-type. I need some balm on my kitty, something with a cooling effect. Hell, a bag of ice would do miracles about now.
“You’re still in a relationship with him. He’s a porn star, remember, so not boyfriend material.” She punctuates with a chin jerk.
“I’m so not in a relationship!”
“No? What do you call it then? Serial flings? Or are you just friends sitting there talking in his house? Petting his dog or something?”
“Yeah...” We are that too. Just not just.
“Gimme a break.” She drills her stare into me. “I care about you, and this is freaking toxic. Every time he comes around, you go with him. You’re supposed to remain strong and keep fending him off. If you can’t do that on your own, I’m here to help. I’ll be at the door. I’ll meet him and tell him to take a hike every time until he moves on. Hell, it can’t be that hard for him to get a new chick.”
“Really? You had to say that last part?” Get a new chick. That’s exactly what he’s doing as we speak. He’s probably in makeup with the girl he’s about to sleep with in the chair next to him. They’re chatting quietly. Laughing. Maybe he touches her boob, because they’re probably both in their chairs naked. And then he gets aroused, and she sees it and asks if he’s ready, and—
Stop it!
“Never mind, Frieda. Yesterday was the last time. I just needed to talk through some stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like none-of-your-biz.”
She huffs. Crosses her arms and doesn’t even acknowledge the eggs Benedict the waiter puts in front of us. “If I’m your best friend, then it is my business. So, about what? You needed a closer? A last porn-star fuck?”
“Really, this is how you want me to open up to you? You need to drop the attitude and the harsh language. I can’t even.”
“Gah, Sorry. I’m just... if you were in my position and saw your girlfriend slide down this super-duper slippery slope, you’d be the same way. I don’t want you in the quicksand.”
“Wow with the metaphors,” I mutter.
“And wow with the complaining about everything I say. Tell me, what exactly did you need to hear from him before you let him go for good? Hmm? I bet I could have told you. You wouldn’t even have to leave the house: yes, you’re beautiful. Yes, there are tons of good guys out there who wouldn’t dream of cheating on you but rather try to tie you to them with a ring as soon as they could.”
“Yeah, well.”
“You just need to date is all. It sucks that your first boyfriend since high school had to be Drake Constantine.”
“Agreed. Okay, listen. I had a lot of questions. I really thought I loved him, Frieda. There was nothing between us that wasn’t perfect, and I guess I just needed to learn more about his life. And now I know. He told me things he hadn’t before, about his ex-wife, why they got divorced, how his life is on and offset.”
She relaxes in her chair. “So no sex?”
“Well.” I shift uncomfortably, and she notices.
“Did he hurt you?”
I let out a laugh. “Not exactly. We just didn’t sleep much.”
“Damn, you had sex all night with that monster dick?”
“Shhh!” I look around. “Frieda, please. I figured it didn’t matter anyway. Since I’d given in, I might as well get him out of my system. So I did. I’m over him now.”
“Mhmm.”
“I’m going to text him before he tries to call me. Tell him it’s over forever. He already knows though,” I add because that sounded childish and not enough.
“O-oh, I bet that’ll make an impact. He’s so going to listen this time. Because that’s what he did last time. Your boyfriend, wait ex-boyfriend, didn’t talk you around on the first try and drag you back to his bed by the hair or anything.”
“But I’ve learned from my mistakes. You’ll see. He’ll listen this time.”
“Awesome.” My friend drips sarcasm like a pro. “Text him, then.” She juts her chin at my phone on the table.
“Yeah. Later.”
“Oh really, so that you can think about it first? Maybe change your mind?”
“No, Frieda. Did you see the last time I did this? I texted him in the middle of his week in London, and he broke his contract and left to find me. Instead of a career booster and a lot of money, he now has to pay a fine for the contract breach and the director is never hiring him again.”
“Seriously? Are you saying you’re waiting until he’s done filming?”
“I guess. Tonight, I’ll text him.”
“Whoa, you’re in way deep if you care about that stuff.” She reaches over the table and touches my cheek. Her sudden compassion makes me tear up. I’m not at all settled with my decision.
“Anyway, it’s not like we’re a couple anymore. It won’t be a surprise. I don’t have to tell him we’re over in the message because that part’s already done. I’m just reminding him to not try and contact me again.”
“‘Just’ that.” She smiles a little, which makes me smile too. “Good thing your ex isn’t tenacious at all.”
It’s ten fifteen, and I’ve been home from my early shift for an hour. Just in case, to make sure he didn’t run straight to Mintrer’s, I waited with texting him until an hour ago.
I open the door myself. Frieda has informed Sam of my decision in regards to Ciro—thanks, friend—and I had to tell him four times that I wanted to be the one opening for Ciro when he knocked.
“How was work?” I ask what I’ve rehearsed, despite the insane flower bouquet he’s holding. My eyes are steel. His are unreadable.
“Nothing special, unlike you. Can I come in?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Savannah, I’m... I’m off to South Africa for a bit.”
“What? What does ‘a bit’ mean? Days? Months?”
He shakes his head. “May I?”
I open wider so he can come through, a pang going off in my chest, replenishing and repeating in some weird serial emotion.
I’m not ready. I want him around. Not with me, but close enough for me to know he’s here. He can’t just leave.
“Ciro.” Sam is there, gaze brooding.
“Hey, man.” Ciro gets the vibe and doesn’t add a good-to-see-you or anything like it. He always gets the vibe. And that’s a painful thought too.
“We’re heading to the patio,” I say to Sam, as in not to my room. For a second, he hesitates, but then he steps back and lets us through.
“Savannah?” he calls out while I unlatch the backdoor.
“Yeah?”
“I’m here if you need me. Just holler.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
I groan inwardly at how possessive that sounded. That could have been a boyfriend move. I side-eye Ciro but find no response on his face.
“Are you filming there?” I ask, sitting down in a narrow garden chair without armrests, uncomfortable yet handy. I want no room next to me for intoxicating men. No heated skin-against-skin sensation. I need no reminders.
“Yeah, that and an award ceremony. My agent and I have a few meetings set up too, for a couple of sponsorships.” He hands me the flowers, deep red orchids mixed in between the flamingo lilies and hibiscus this time.
“You’re doing well there, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s a strange market to be big in. Sort of a cult thing, it seems, but as Sharon says, it doesn’t hurt us.”
“How long?” Filming, an award show, some sponsorships. Shouldn’t be too long, right?
“Do you mind if I take you somewhere? I don’t want to do this here.” Aqua goes brighter, showing speckles of both silver and gold. That’s rare.
“Yes, I mind,” I say firmly. “If you want to talk, we talk here.” With the arm that isn’t full of his flowers, I gesture toward the chair across from me. There’s a whole table between us. “We always end up at your house anyway.”
“That’s only happened twice.”
I scoff loudly, adding an eye roll for effect.
“I promise I won’t talk you into coming to the funkis bunker. On my honor.” He shrugs, shoulders hard with muscle. I know the feel of them well. “It’s just this place that’s killer at night, and I’d like you to see it with me before I leave.” He locks my gaze. “I’m leaving in the morning.”
“Tomorrow? What? How long have you known?”
“I don’t know, for a while? The trip snuck up on me, and I forgot to mention it with everything we’ve been going through. It didn’t seem important.”
Ah this is upsetting! Not because of now, of course, but because of before. He should’ve told me while we were still dating. “How can you just forget like that? ‘Didn’t seem important.’ Well, it’s important to me!”
“It is?” His eyes run over my face, quiet wonder making them even more beautiful than usual. Gah!
“That’s total betrayal, right there,” I blabber on, “to not tell your girlfriend that you’re leaving for a really long time on a trip. And then you finally decide to tell me the night before. What kind of treatment is that?”
He closes in and kneels in front of me. Gaze content and sad at once. I get it. I see what he’s thinking. He can’t think that. I open my mouth to say more, but he embraces me, and I don’t want him to let go.
“Asshole.”
“Sorry, baby girl.”
We’re quiet, sitting like this. He doesn’t try to kiss me. It’s just his arms keeping me warm in the chilly California night.
Sam clears his throat from the door. “Savannah.”
“Yeah?” I sniff. Apparently, I need a Kleenex too now.
“You all right? You want me to throw him out?”
I shake my head into Ciro’s shoulder.
“Dude, Savannah’s gotta get up early tomorrow,” Sam rumbles in a voice more gravelly than his normal pitch. “Make it quick. I don’t want her to lose any more sleep.” Implying everything and not saying it out loud.
“Got it.”
And in that moment, I feel patronized by every man around me. It’s when I decide to listen to myself and only myself. As soon as the door creaks closed behind Sam, I loosen Ciro’s hold on me.
“I’m coming with you. Let’s watch whatever it is that you want to show me. And then you’re driving me right back home. Understood? There will be no, absolutely no coercion.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Ciro’s hands tremble on the steering wheel. I’ve seen him worked up before. Sad. Even angry. But I think that he’s nervous now.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
He glances at me before his stare returns to the road. “Nothing.”
“Are you going to tell me how long you’ll be in South Africa?”
“For two weeks. Fifteen days, to be exact.”
Pang. It could have been a few months, a year, but I’m not even thinking. “Fifteen days? What the hell? That’s a long-ass freaking time!”
He turns, brows lowering then relaxing.
I can’t take my eyes off of him. I can’t, because in a few hours he’ll get on a plane, and it’s not just for a few days to London. No, it’s to a continent I don’t know anything about, and it’s far, far away. What if he doesn’t come back?
“Not what you expected?”
“No! I thought you were going for a few days to, like, Germany.”
“Yeah? A few days is fine?” He’s indulging me. With that voice, it makes him impossible to deal with. If only he could do something stupid. That voice—it’s not helping at all!
I just came along to be nice. Okay, so I’m curious about whatever he wants to show me, but my goal is obvious: I’m backing out. Heading off. Recreating Status Quo. Returning to B.C., i.e. Before Ciro.
“Do you have any idea how long fifteen days is?” I burst out.
“It’s a hell of a lot of hours,” I blurt again.
“That’s true. Are you saying you’ll miss me?” Soft, sweet caresses. Goddamn beautiful voice. No, this is Ana’s fault. Ana’s the one moaning like him. I never want to see her again.
I definitely won’t miss him. I’ve got my life. Classes have started too. I love my marketing classes. It’s where my future lies now that I’m branching out a little. Heck, even if he were a normal guy, I wouldn’t have time for him.
“Savannah?”
“Whatever. Maybe I’ll miss you.” And then I throw my hands over my eyes, and I start to bawl. What is wrong with me?
He doesn’t screech to a stop. He doesn’t keep on driving either. Instead, he does the used-to-PMS-thing and drives calmly until he finds a good turn-off where he stops the car.
“Baby girl.”
I wish he didn’t call me that. It makes me even more susceptible to emotional rainfalls. He takes me in his arms and clutches me tight, and I just can’t bear it.
“Do you want to leave?” I sob.
“I’d like it better if you came with me.”
“I don’t remember being invited,” I sniffle. Then I claw a Kleenex out of my purse and dry my nose.
“Done deal. I’ll message Sharon asap. I’d love to have you with me. You could be my date at the award show.”
I huff a desperate laugh. “And the rest of the time, I can wait in your breakroom until you’re finished fucking someone a wall away? I don’t think so.” I expect him to freeze, be offended, but as always, nothing shocks this man.
He nuzzles my neck, kissing me.
“When are you going to stop subjecting yourself to this? Are you ever going to give up on getting a regular girlfriend?” I lean out of his embrace because I need to see his face in all of this. His eyes are moist. Goddammit, I hate it when his eyes are moist.
“Ciro, don’t cry. Please.”
“Nah. I’d never pity myself over my own choices, Savannah.” He angles his head back so he looks down on me from above his eerily perfect nose. Long enough to be masculine, its bridge is ruler-straight, and this pose makes him look majestic. I know it’s just that, a pose, a way to stop me from seeing how he truly feels when tears just gleamed in his eyes.
“My mess is on me. I broke out of old money to live off of my sexual urges. I’m not alone in the industry having issues with relationships. A lot of us just give up and stick to flings. Those are easy. Even the serial flings are. But then there are those of us who do what I do.”
“And what’s that?”
“Serial-love.”
“That sounds trustworthy.” I grab a small tub of gum from my purse and offer it up as he pulls back onto the road. He takes one. I take two and swallow the last remnant of my breakdown with the first sugary explosion.
“If you know what’s good for you and you’ve got some self-preservation, serial-love is how you get back on your feet when a girl tosses you the pink slip. When she waves goodbye after shouting every dumpster-word she knows your way, you better have a backup plan.”
“So that’s your defense mechanism?”
His silhouette is still against the window. When he doesn’t reply immediately, I continue, “What do you do if—when it’s finally over between the two of us?”
He presses his mouth together, making that sweet plump chunk stand out at the center of his upper lip. I wonder if he knows what it can do to a woman.
Of course he knows.
I can tell him nothing he doesn’t know.
“You had to go there?”
I shrug like I’m justice and assassin while I’m just some PMS girl with a sickened heart. “It’s up to you. I’m not holding you to answers. Just wondering.”
“Yeah.” His pitch breaks before he moves on. “Usually, I go to a club where the girls recognize me. I grind some. Choose a girl or two and take them home.”
To smooth, deep red silk.
“Do they snuggle with Princess?”
“What?”
“Forget it. Then what?”
“I’ll work, keep my mind off things. I don’t like to sleep alone the first weeks after a fallout. Generally, I do serial flings, but sometimes it’s just friends spending the night if they’re single and have nothing better to do.”
“Colleagues?”
“They’re just being friendly, you know.”
I don’t.
“So you have sex with them outside of work, and they sleep over?”
He chuckles soundlessly. “Pretty much.”
I swallow. I guess I get it.
He pulls the car onto another dark turn-off. “Once I’m me again, I do it again. I hurl myself out there like an idiot looking for a better half all over again.”
He turns toward me, a swift moment of focus before he checks out the road bumps ahead. “See, I don’t learn. My mother, back when we had any contact, used to say that it’s a Geminis’ nature to need someone around at all times.” His smile is curt. “Later, she said I’m over-the-top in the passion department for my sign. Being close to someone is okay, see? Just not me-close.” His face breaks in a brief, breathtaking grin. “She’d never approve of me-close.”
“I do,” I breathe for me, not for everyone else, and I’m glad he doesn’t react to what I’m doing. “You’re a guy with a zodiac complex,” I add.
“Funny.” His smile is sweet now. “At my age, having done what I’ve done, there’s no way back. I’ve made who I am: Drake Constantine. I can have anyone for a second. I can have no one for a lifetime.”
He winks at me like it’s funny.
“Where do you look for us?” I whisper.
“For my good half? Everywhere. At work. At clubs. Among my fans. You name it, and I’ve tried it. I’ve even done online dating.”
“And me?” I ask, because god.
As the car disappear into the darkness, to where no streetlights reach us, the dashboard illuminates my ex-boyfriend’s sincerity when he says, “With you, I deviated from everything I’ve ever tried.”