Say You Love Her Page 15

  By the time she reached the 210 Freeway her tears had dried. That was it. No more crying over boys. No more crying ever again! Her mother had died. She’d become closer to her half-sister. She could no longer deny the feeling that it was the end of an era. Her life would change dramatically. A spontaneous sigh escaped her. The thing was, she believed that Charlie was part of her forever happiness.

  Angelina promised herself that she would stop thinking about the sensual way he sucked her lips into his mouth and then circled his tongue around hers. Then there was the way he trapped her nipples between his teeth and how possessed she felt when he held her from behind and slammed his solid penis inside her. She felt comfortable divulging anything and everything to Charlie. When she added it all up and put it all together, he would’ve been really fun to run off into the sunset with. Angelina had no doubt that they could’ve made it last forever if he wasn’t afflicted by a severe case of the “poor me” syndrome. She never would’ve found him and Monroe together if he weren’t so self-loathing.

  Oh well… She sniffed and wiped her eyes. Such is life.

  Angelina found Daisy at home, behind the desk in the office, working on her laptop. Daisy looked so engrossed with her eyebrows pulled together and her thick curly hair disheveled that Angelina didn’t want to disturb her. Since Daisy hadn’t looked up from the screen yet, Angelina was about to quietly back out of the doorway and leave her undisturbed.

  “You’re back already?” Daisy asked. She kept typing while looking at Angelina. “Should I ask how it went?”

  “It was horrible,” Angelina moaned.

  Daisy hurried over to hug her. “What happened?”

  They decided to take the conversation to the den. Daisy poured Angelina a glass of Chablis and fixed herself a cup of tea. They sat on the sofa, and Angelina rehashed the entire scene from earlier in the day.

  “She was giving him a blow job?” Daisy made a face of disgust.

  “I want to forget it, but I can’t. All I can see is his penis in her mouth and him liking it.”

  Daisy rubbed Angelina’s back. “I’m sorry, Angel. You deserve better.”

  “He told me he was sorry and that he didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  “Oh gosh, the dreaded ‘I’m sorry.’ It’s the worst thing a man can say when he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”

  “The cookie jar being Monroe’s mouth,” Angelina hissed.

  “Well, you know what? Screw him. I’ve always given Charlie the benefit of the doubt, but fuck him.”

  Angelina studied Daisy’s face. It was the cutest display of anger inspired by solidarity that she’d ever seen. She chuckled. “You saying ‘fuck’ sounds like an alien from outer space trying to speak Latin.”

  Daisy laughed a little. “I just thought Charlie was for real this time. I bought his act hook, line, and sinker.”

  “I don’t know.” Angelina sighed. “I think he wanted to do the right thing. He’s a self-loather.”

  “Charlie’s not a child. He’s old enough to deal with his shit.”

  “I was hoping that he had figured that out by now. Apparently he hasn’t. He doesn’t even grasp the severity of what he did. He asked me to stay. Can you believe that? And I tried to keep it together, show him ‘hey, no hard feelings,’ but the whole scene is like a loop, playing in my head. Monroe’s on her knees, and he’s sitting there with his junk in her mouth.”

  Daisy shook her head. “I’m going to talk to Charlie about this—”

  “No. Don’t. And please don’t say anything to Belmont,” Angelina said. “Competing with Belmont instead of being fine with himself is the crux of Charlie’s issues. I knew Charlie was a ball of mess before I decided to have sex with him. It’s just that I saw potential, you know?”

  Daisy lifted her cooling cup of tea off the coffee table. “How many girls have fallen in love with potential and gotten their hearts broken by it?”

  Angelina followed suit and took a sip of wine before saying, “Millions.”

  “Trillions,” Daisy said.

  “Gazillions.”

  “Mega millions.”

  Angelina chuckled. “Isn’t that the lottery?”

  “The number is so high that they named a lottery after it.”

  When their laughter simmered down, Angelina realized she was still left wallowing in the wells of sorrow.

  “Daisy, could you do me a favor?” she asked.

  “Anything.”

  It would hurt like hell, but Angelina felt she had to do what was necessary to preserve her heart.

  Chapter 13

  The Self-Loathing Man

  There’s rapping on the door as I pack my bags. I freeze. Did Angelina come back? I hold my breath, take long steps over to the door, and open it.

  It’s Monroe. I’m disappointed. “What do you want?”

  “Can I come in?” she asks.

  I hesitate.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to accost you.”

  “Have you spoken to Shane? Does he know what happened?” I ask.

  “Not yet. I’ll talk to him later.”

  I shake my head and step back to let her in. “What is it?”

  She sits in the armchair across the room and says, “You can close the door. I’m not going to bite.”

  I inch it closed. “Did you set me up?” I come right out and ask. The timing couldn’t be any worse for me, but it’s good for her.

  “Do you really think I wanted to be found on my fucking knees?”

  I observe her facial expression and body language. She seems credible. I sit on the edge of the bed, facing her. “Don’t worry about it. What’s done is done. I could’ve stopped you.”

  “Well… No you couldn’t.” She smirks, clearly confident in her capabilities.

  “Right,” I say, although I’m sure I could’ve and should’ve.

  “But a blow job wasn’t going to change your mind about me, was it?”

  I respond by shaking my head.

  “I can’t believe I’m chasing you like this. You’re Charlie Lord, for fuck’s sake! You have the cooties!”

  “What are the cooties?”

  “It’s a disease that Maggie, Cleo, Hannah, and I have given you.”

  “Hmm. Is it deadly?”

  She studies me with a smile. “Do you know how desirable you truly are?”

  “I know girls find me attractive,” I say, shrugging as if it’s no big thing.

  “It’s not only the way you look. Ask anyone here, and they’ll tell you. You’re easy to talk to. You know how to be discreet but domineering. And we can’t forget that you’re loaded.” She snickers. “You’re more than some guy passed out in pissy corners…”

  “That only happened once,” I say.

  “Once is all it takes to form an impression. The point is, you don’t have the cooties, and you’re not a junkie. And you love her, Charlie. Just say it.”

  “Just say what?”

  Monroe shakes her head contemplatively as she turns to gaze out the window. “The night we worked on the script, you were into her then. I tried everything to snap you out of it. I took my shirt off, tried to remind you that I have great tits, but you had already bit the worm on her hook. I wondered whether I’d be with you now if I hadn’t changed the script and Angelina was never asked to fix it. And you know what my instincts tell me? If it weren’t on that day, then it would’ve been in the future. I would’ve been more into you, you would’ve been the same jackass and then you would’ve met her eventually. I noticed the way you looked at her when you first saw her. I want someone to look at me like that, and you never did. So just say it already so I can get over you.”

  I look Monroe dead in the eyes. I recall hugging Angelina against me before she zoomed out of the parking lot. She belongs that close to me. Did she cut her hair? I think she did. “I love her,” I finally say.

  Monroe nods, but I can see that what I just said hit her like a ton of bricks. “Then do
something about it.”

  I keep the stereo off as I drive back to Malibu. I want to hear myself think, but there’s no inner dialogue going on up there. I’m too mentally exhausted. What I need is something that I haven’t gotten in a while and that’s good sleep. I can relax a little, knowing that Angelina’s in town and is staying with Jack and Daisy. I hope she doesn’t say anything to Daisy about what happened. I don’t want to be judged for another stupid mistake.

  I get home and take a quick shower. I dry off, stretch across my bed, and turn on Angelina’s phone. It’s nearly out of power. Her face fills the screen. I pause before opening the camera app to scan her photos. There are shots of the Long Beach Pier, a series of smudges on the walls of her apartment, and the one “selfie” that she uses as the wallpaper. I’m not surprised she doesn’t have more.

  I deliberate on whether or not I should go further and check her messages. The mailbox is full.

  “Shit, why not?” I whisper and start at the top.

  Seven of them are from me. I ponder whether or not I should delete them. I decide not to. However, I do delete the ones from Donald. Speaking of the devil, the phone rings in my hands, and it’s him calling.

  “Fuck!” I shout. My blood is boiling.

  I hate that he has her number. If I didn’t have her phone, then he could be talking to Angelina right now.

  I slide the answer button. “What do you want?” I bark.

  He’s silent, and then he ends the call.

  I grit my teeth and punch my pillow. “Do something about it,” Monroe said. How in the hell can I do something about it after Angelina caught her blowing me? I should’ve stopped her. If I had, I would be making love to Angelina instead of invading her privacy. I recall how it felt to be inside her hot, wet, tight pussy. I can’t even rub one off because it’s no substitute for the real thing. I want to race my tongue around her nipples and run it around her clit until she screams my name. It turns me on when she gasps and cries “Charlie” the way she does when I’m fucking her.

  I can’t work myself up into another case of blue balls that I’ll have to rub out to get rid of. So I put the cell phone on the nightstand, get under the sheets, flip onto my side, and close my eyes.

  Way later, an alarm buzzes. It must be six a.m. I forgot to turn it off. I roll off the bed to fish my cell phone out of the pocket of the pants I wore yesterday. I’m still woozy, but at least I caught some decent sleep last night.

  Jack and Daisy usually have breakfast at nine. Angelina is an early riser. She might be awake and sitting at the table, reading the newspaper or flirting with the cook—although Jack’s cook is a woman, whose name I can’t remember. I think it’s Candy or Cynthia. I put on a pair of dark blue jeans, a lightweight gray shirt, and my gray suede sneakers. I study Angelina’s phone. Once I give it back, I’m done. I’ll have nothing tying me to her. Part of me wants to skip going over to Jack’s house and keep her phone here until she has to stop by and get it herself. But all I’ll manage to do is piss her off if I do that. So I snatch up her phone and make sure I have my own.

  It takes ten minutes to walk up the shore to Jack’s house. I have a key, so I use it.

  “Hello!” I call as soon as I’m inside.

  “In here!” Daisy says.

  I go to the kitchen where she’s sitting at the table eating buttered toast and scrambled eggs.

  “Hey,” I say, searching the room. “Where’s Angelina?”

  “Gone,” she says in a sharp, dry tone.

  “Gone where?”

  “Home.”

  I take her phone out of my pocket and hold it up. “She was supposed to stick around so I could give her this.”

  “Well she didn’t stick around,” Daisy says coldly. “She took a red-eye flight to Baton Rouge at around one a.m.”

  My legs get wobbly, and I take a seat in the closest chair. “Fuck.”

  “She told me what happened yesterday.”

  I fix my gaze on Daisy’s face. I hadn’t noticed until now, but she’s not looking at me with the same softness and fondness as usual. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

  “But it did happen, Charlie.” Shit, she’s peeved.

  “And I own it.”

  “And so what? She’s supposed to forgive you because you own it and because you’re sorry?”

  I’m taken aback. I didn’t think Daisy was capable of taking that kind of tone.

  “I don’t know what to say. If I could undo it I would, but I can’t.”

  Daisy grimaces. Then she closes her eyes and squints as though she’s in pain.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “I’m fine,” she says, rubbing her pregnant belly.

  “Is Jack here?”

  She’s still frowning as though she’s still feeling the discomfort. “He’s asleep. He got in early this morning.”

  “Daisy, it doesn’t feel good to have you this pissed off at me. I hurt your sister, and I know it.”

  She adjusts in her chair as though she’s trying to get more comfortable. “You know what she said?”

  “What?”

  “She said that you were self-loathing. She also wanted me to tell you that she’s getting a new phone and number and she’ll call you when she’s able to get the picture of you and Monroe out of her head.” Daisy delivers the distressing news with an air of nonchalance and it irks the hell out of me.

  I scratch the back of my neck. I can’t fucking believe this is happening. “Is that all?” I grumble.

  She stands up, clutching her belly. “That’s all.”

  I take a step toward her but then stop. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “It’s not me you hurt. Well…” She narrows one eye. “You did hurt me. I hoped you had changed.”

  “All I can say is I’m sorry about what happened, but when I asked if you were okay, I meant physically. You look like you’re in pain.”

  She grimaces. “It’s just pregnant women stuff. Get your life together, Charlie.”

  I watch her as she walks out of the kitchen. I stand up to leave, but I see a newspaper on the table in the sunroom. There’s a pen beside it. I walk out to I pick up the folded page. It’s the Arts and Entertainment section. I trace the words that are written in ink on the top right-hand side.

  “I will know when you know, and I will meet you on Mars,” I read. It’s Angelina’s handwriting.

  I go back into the kitchen, get her cell phone that I left on the table and place it on top of the newspaper.

  I’m self-loathing?

  I nod.

  I am self-loathing.

  I need a drink.

  I don’t want a drink.

  I can’t stop thinking about Angelina’s last words, relayed to me by her angry sister. Shit, it felt as though Daisy wanted to have my head. Drowning my sorrows in a couple of rounds seems like the “self-loathing” thing to do, so I skip it. Instead I take Betty with me onto my rooftop patio and pluck her as I look out over the beach. The shirtless dudes are jogging in twos. There’s supposed to be a full moon tonight, so the waves are already baking and the surfers are spattered across the ocean waiting to catch one. I’m lonely as hell. This house is too big, and I’m tired of seeing man-nips every time I sit on the roof deck to play.

  A couple of girls gallop through the sand below in bikini bottoms and tight cut-off T-shirts. One of them waves at me. I squint, wondering if I know her.

  “How are you, Charlie?” she calls.

  I guess we do know each other. “Hey!” I lift a hand lazily.

  Here she comes, smiling from ear to ear. She’s cute like every other chick who gallops on the beach looking to get noticed. I think she lives in that model’s house that’s about a half-mile up the way. “Tonight we’re getting together at Moonshadows. Why don’t you drop by?”

  I’m stumped by how casual she is about inviting me to her “get together.” Now that she’s close, I faintly remember her face. I probably fucked her once and
not while sober.

  I wave and say, “Not tonight.”

  She pokes her hip out and turns slightly to the side. When chicks do that, they’re looking to hook up. “How about I stop by later, then?”

  “Nah, that’s okay,” I say.

  She’s still twisting her body in a way that says “I’m yours if you want me.” “Do you remember who I am?”

  I scratch the back of my neck. There’s no way in hell I’m going to remember her name. “I don’t, sorry.”

  “Four months ago.” She points at me. “You were sitting right there with your guitar. I was walking by and you invited me up.” It sounds as if she’s trying to jog my memory.

  “Was I drinking?”

  She frowns as though she’s just been struck by a revelation. “I guess so.”

  “Let’s go, Fiona,” her friend says. She’s giving me that look girls give when they think you’re being a jerk.

  Fiona lifts a hand, telling her to wait. “I came over a couple of times, but you’re never home.”

  “No, I haven’t been here a lot.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  That’s the question of the year. I don’t have a girlfriend, but I want one, and not just any girlfriend. I take a step toward the door. There’s nothing about this girl that I’m attracted to. “Listen…” I squint, working hard to remember her name. “Fiona,” I say as though I just scored a field goal. “Have fun tonight. I don’t need or want company.” I wave as I turn away from her. I’ve come to a conclusion—there will be no more banging chicks just because I can.

  James made steak, whipped mashed potatoes, and a garden salad for dinner. I’m not hungry, but I eat anyway. I used to be content eating alone but not anymore. After eating, I try to watch Chinatown since it’s one of my favorite movies, but it fails to take my mind off the rift I caused between Angelina and me. So I welcome the exhaustion that hits me like a ton of bricks and hike up to the bed that Angelina last slept in. Maybe her scent seeped through the mattress and I’ll still be able to smell her even though the linens have already been changed.