November 2011 - Present Day 1 страница

 

Fall is in the air. There is a cool breeze all around me blowing orange, yellow, and red leaves in circles. As I exit the park to head back to my house, I pass by a bunch of kids raking leaves into piles and then watch as they jump in, carefree, with no worries about what lies beneath. I wonder what I would feel if I were to jump into those leaves.

I have been running almost every day. Running makes me feel human again; it sets my mind free and allows me to forget everything. I ran five miles this morning and felt like I could have pushed myself another five, but I promised Aerie I would meet her for lunch. I have been meeting her for lunch at least twice a week and for dinner almost every Friday night.

Walking through the front door I notice the boxes, some labeled, some still empty, piled in the corners and know I should finish packing up his things. Maybe later. I’ve started sleeping in my room again. On the nights that I wake up thinking he is still here, I end up sleeping on the couch, but that is happening less and less these days and so are the nightmares of his fatal shooting.

After taking a shower in my bathroom, I go out to the garage. His car is parked next to mine, our surfboards are in the corner, and our water gear is piled on the shelves. He’s just everywhere but nowhere at all.

As I drive to the restaurant I notice familiar surroundings that remind me of him as I do every time I leave the neighborhood. He’s at the corner bus stop where he would drop off Mr. Langston, our elderly neighbor, every Wednesday morning. He’s at the drug store,

where he would go whenever he ran out of something, always in a hurry. Reminders of him are everywhere.

As memories flood my mind and thoughts of what used to be cloud my vision, I finally understand what I have to do to get myself out of the pouring rain that I have been standing in for over a year. It is today, as I drive down my street, what used to be our street that I finally realize it is time for my own personal storm to end. No umbrella can stop me from getting wet while living in that house, what used to be our house. It’s like the thunder has finally stopped crackling in my head, and as the clouds begin to move away, tiny rays of sunshine start to filter in. I know I have to move out of the home we once shared.

Walking into the restaurant, I smile as I spot Aerie right away in her jet-black suit and hot-pink blouse, all buttoned up and put together. I glance down at myself in jeans, Converse sneakers, a Bon Jovi 1987 concert Tour t-shirt, and my leather jacket. I am already anticipating the concerned look she’s going to give me.

I sit at the white linen-clothed round table in the middle of the restaurant; she’s on her cell phone, no doubt shouting orders at someone. She hits the end button and places her phone on the table as she stands to greet me. As expected, she looks me up and down before hugging me like I’m made of glass and might break if she squeezes too tight.

“Still not eating,” are the first words out of her mouth before lifting a piece of my hair and wrinkling her nose. “Dahlia Girl, I’m taking you to see my hairdresser tomorrow, and I don’t want any lip from you. Your hair isn’t even blonde anymore.”

Glancing around the restaurant at all the people eating lunch, involved in their own conversations, I give her a mock smile. “So nice to see you too. How are you?”

I continue in a very high-pitched voice with, “Glad you could meet me for lunch.”

I resume my normal voice, rolling my eyes and admonishing, “Seriously, maybe you could start out with something like that Aerie before laying into me.” I try to keep a straight face but I can’t hold back the giggle that escapes my mouth, which sounds more like a snort.

I know she’s worried about me, but we have gone through this little exchange every time I meet her somewhere and really enough is enough. Last week she took me to get my nails done after having grabbed my hands and wincing at the dirt still stuck under my nails from gardening. In my defense, she called me last minute when I was weeding the flowerbed and I only had time for a quick shower. It’s not like I’m walking around dirty and unshowered for Christ sakes.

I decide to move on and tell her my decision. “I had a revelation on the way over here.” “Really? And what would that be?”

Attempting to restrain my voice as much as I could manage, while fighting back the tears, I say, “I’m going to sell the house.”

I see the concern written on her face as she responds, “Are you sure? I mean, are you sure you’re ready? This is kind of sudden. The last time Grace talked to you about the idea, you shut her down flat.”

I shift a little in my chair and take a sip of water. “Yeah, I’m sure. Everything about the house reminds me of Ben, and it’s not just the house, it’s the whole damn neighborhood. I need to do this. I know I do.” As I tell Aerie how I feel, as I finally start to open up to her for the first time in such a long time, I realize that I just said his name. I actually used his name. I said Ben. I said the name I must have said over a million times until almost two years ago, and I know my emptiness is starting to fill back up. I know I will always have him in my heart, but Ben will forever be in memories not in life. My whole body tenses and locks up at the realization, and my eyes rim with tears. I battle with my internal emotions to relax and will these drops not to spill over.

Aerie reaches across the table and gently wipes one of my cheeks where a few of the persistent tears flowed against my will. She takes a deep breath, and I see her eyes start to fill with tears as well, having realized that I said his name. “I think it’s a good idea Dahlia. I think you need to remove yourself from the things that prevent you from moving forward.”

I take my napkin and wipe my mouth for no reason. “I know I need to, I just don’t know if I can.”

The waiter approaches and takes our order. Once he leaves, Aerie looks directly at me with concern still etched on her face. “Yes you can, you are stronger than you think, and you have me, you have Grace, and Serena too. We will all help.”

Putting her napkin on her lap, she gives me a slight smile. “I think moving is the best decision you’ve made in a while.”

Her voice cracking a little as she adds, “And this is none of my business, but you know that has never stopped me before, so I’m just going to throw this out there for you.”

She pauses looking anywhere except at me and then continues. “I was thinking, why don’t you give his car to Trent?”

Her words come out fast and I can see the tears begin to well in her eyes. After all this time, Aerie still hasn’t been able to say his name to me, probably for fear I will break down.

The atmosphere in the open restaurant is causal, but I suddenly feel stifled as tears fill my own eyes now, and I’m sure I’m going to surprise the shit out of her with my next quick response.

“You know what, that’s a great idea. In fact I’ll call Serena and see if it’s okay. I have actually been thinking about that for awhile, since Trent turns sixteen next week.”

I take a piece of bread and rip off the crust. I dunk it in the olive oil in hopes that my eyes will stop stinging by the distraction.

“I think Ben would have wanted his nephew to have his car, he loved that car and he loved Trent. I know Trent misses Ben too, surfing with him, and driving to the beach with him. Trent always told Ben his car had so much power and gumption and loved to go anywhere with him.”

Shaking my head and laughing a little, I think about how happy this will make Trent. I’m also trying not to cry at the thought of Ben’s car not being parked next to mine, as I chew on the piece of bread that I feel I might choke on.

Aerie laughs a little too, but tears are rolling down her cheeks. “Power and gumption,

those are two great words to describe him, not just his car.”

She picks up her napkin and dabs the tears off her cheeks. “God he did love that damn car.”

Her laughter fades as she reaches her hand across the table and sets it next to my plate, silently asking for mine.

“Dahlia, you know how much he loved you.”

She pauses a minute like she’s trying to decide if she should say something or not as she starts to pat my hand.

“And because of how much he loved you, you know he would want you to move on and live your life. I think he would be happy with your decision.”

Removing her hand from mine, she clears her throat. Smiling, and just barely laughing now, she adds, “I also know if he were here, he would have kicked your ass for not making that decision sooner.”

Aerie pauses again, raising her water glass and waits for me to do the same. Then she clinks her glass to mine. “To bright days ahead, Dahlia girl, I know they’re coming.”

And before either of us can cry, our food arrives.

We spend the rest of lunch just chatting about nothing, and I really enjoy the food and the company. As we finish, Aerie’s look becomes more serious and determined. “I need a favor,” she says, tilting her head to the side and smiling at me. “Tom quit yesterday, and

I need you back at work, I’m really short staffed in the photo department at the magazine. Dahlia girl, please I need you.”

I sigh knowing I’m not ready to commit to anything full-time, and without thinking, I quickly answer, “I’d be happy to help you out until you get someone else.”

Aerie’s face contorts slightly as she says, “No, I mean come back to work full-time.

Take Tom’s job. I need you.”

Crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair, I look at her. She’s a vision of beauty with her slightly wavy bright blonde hair, her perky little nose, and petite toned body. Underneath that beauty I know lurks a beast. I have a feeling I’m about to see that beastly side as I bring this conversation to an end.

“Aerie, come on, don’t ask me to make such a big decision. Don’t say you need a favor and then not like my answer, it’s not fucking fair.”

She knows I can never resist a request when someone asks with such need. I’m just a sucker like that—always have been. “I only just decided to sell the house. Let me get through that first and then we can talk about work, okay?” I look her straight in the eyes and add, “But I will help you on my terms. So, is working only on an as-needed basis okay for now?”

Surprisingly, Aerie’s irritation seems to smooth quickly. Sighing, she takes a sip of her water and just looks at me. As she pushes her plate aside, she smirks and says, “That’s called freelancing, and in my defense, I didn’t know you were going to come here and tell me you decided to sell your house. So I’m sorry. Okay?” She sticks her tongue out at me for good measure.

I take my napkin off my lap and smile as I roll my eyes at her. “Whatever. Do you want my help or not?” She just laughs and so do I.

Aerie started working at Sound Music right out of college while I went to grad school. She worked her way up the ladder quickly and now manages the main features department. Once I graduated I went to work for her as a photo stylist. My love is photography but my passion is music, so with my degree in place I was able to meld my love and passion together into what became a dream job. I hadn’t gone back to work since the day Ben died, but maybe now it’s time.

 

 

A week later, it’s Thursday night. My routine consists of putting on my pajamas, brushing my teeth, and lying down on the couch to watch Vampire Diaries. Every Thursday Ben and I used to watch Vampire Diaries together. He told me he hated the show, but he always watched it with me. I used to think he secretly had a crush on Elena. We would pop popcorn, get my quilt and pillows out of the closet, and lay feet to feet on our giant sofa. I’ve continued the tradition, only without the popcorn since Ben was always the one who ate the whole bowl anyway.

Just as I settle on the sofa, with the quilt my mom and I made together, and turn on the TV, my cell phone rings. Aerie’s name flashes across the screen and I roll my eyes. “What!” I answer.

“I know, I know. Vampire Diaries! But listen, and do not say anything, and do not say no. I have you on the eleven o’clock flight tomorrow morning to McCarran International to conduct the initial photo style interview with River Wilde.”

“What? Are you crazy? No! No fucking way!” I tell her, shaking my head for emphasis even though I know she can’t see me.

Aerie ignores my outburst and tells me she has already arranged for me to meet the lead singer of The Wilde Ones at Sound Music’s corporate headquarters in Las Vegas tomorrow afternoon. She stresses, “The lead singer, you know, River Wilde,” in case I’m for some reason unclear as to who he is. Aerie tells me River is in Las Vegas for some kind of promotion and had a last minute change in his schedule. She has no one else to do it and his schedule change is only allowing a small window of time for the magazine to meet with him on Friday. Then she stresses, “And Dahlia girl, this is a huge opportunity for me and the magazine, please.”

Turning down the volume on the TV and looking around at everything I have to pack, I say, “I can’t go on such short notice, you know that. I just put the house on the market.”

“No, I know no such thing. Having your house up for sale isn’t the issue. Being gone one night won’t make a difference. I’m not dumb. I know you. I know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, and this has nothing to do with your crush, I promise.”

She stops a minute, pauses, and then continues. “You’re afraid to see him, your secret rock star crush, but come on Dahlia. He probably won’t even remember you.” She says it so matter of factly I actually feel a little hurt.

I think to myself while mentally correcting her words in my mind, that actually, River

Wilde was my crush before he was a rock star, and no matter what she says, she’s obviously setting me up so I can’t say no. Aerie knows I secretly swooned over him after we met at the USC Campus Bar many years ago. She knows he’s the singer whose songs were always on repeat, not only on my iPod, but also in my head. And she knows he was the one singer I never talked to Ben about, and now she wants me to meet him, again.

“You are going to owe me so big, you know that right? I’ll do it, I’m sure he won’t remember me anyway and even so it’s not like anything embarrassing happened, you know?” I finally manage to croak out.

“Thank you so much, I really do love you Dahlia girl,” Aerie croons and then spends the next hour telling me the highlights of River’s career.

After we hang up, my mind wanders back to how I felt that night I met River. How that was still the only time someone’s touch sent goosebumps up my arms. I remember the feelings I felt then, feelings I have long since buried. I hope to God they don’t resurrect tomorrow. How could they? Those were feelings of a young college girl who was in love with someone else anyway.

Every now and then I have thought about our intense connection that night in the bar and wondered if it might have been more in my mind than it actually was. More like it was okay to want to believe in something you knew couldn’t possibly be.

Besides, even if the connection was real, River is somewhat famous now and I’m sure he has a lot of women after him or possibly a girlfriend even. What does any of that matter anyway? I’m still a broken girl struggling through the stages of my grief, trying to reenter the real world without the man who is still a part of me.

I haven’t paid much attention to River’s career since Ben’s death. Curiosity takes over and I Google his name. I read a few articles about him and download his latest songs. I slip into my bed around eleven not even realizing I never watched Vampire Diaries.

 

 

BEGIN AGAIN

 

 

I’ve been spending the last years Thinking love will always leave you

I wondered if it would all begin again Memories of years ago flood my mind And I can’t help but think of you.

 

 

Shimmering through the desert haze of Nevada is the most dynamic city on earth. My plane is just about to touch down on the ground that’s often referred to as a latter-day El Dorado. My stomach is in knots. It’s a mix of nervous excitement and downright fear. I’m nervous because this is my first day back to work in almost two years. I’m excited because I finally feel like I’m doing something productive after so long. And I’m fearful because of who I will be interviewing to prep for his upcoming photo-shoot. Well, I’m not really fearful as much as uncertain or maybe even apprehensive, or dare I say, eager to meet with him.

We’ve been circling the airport waiting to land for almost forty-five minutes. I’m sitting in the plush leather seat of the plane listening to the music I recently downloaded. Looking out the window and past the clouds, I can see the crowded and famous Las Vegas strip. I’m trying to comprehend how I allowed myself to be talked into this job. How is it that in just a few short minutes I’m going to be seeing River again?

Earlier this morning Aerie texted me a list of hygiene items I might want to attend to before hitting my first ‘freelance’ job. These items included shaving my legs and blow- drying my hair, both of which she knows I’ve done very infrequently since Ben’s death. She also rudely advised me to put some thought in my wardrobe selection.

Last night I carefully picked out what I was going to wear today. I had decided on a white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and the standard high-heeled black pumps. However, after listening to The Wilde Ones’ album this morning, their music actually inspired me to want to go to work today.

I happily showered and used my favorite grapefruit-scented shampoo. I not only took

extra time to lather it in and repeat the process, but I decided to ditch my chosen business attire in favor of something more fun. My showers are usually the five-minute quick in and out kind, but today it lasted much longer. I can’t say why, but I just felt different, maybe even excited in a way I can’t really describe. I actually danced around my bedroom before getting dressed. I hadn’t done that in a while.

Feeling concerned about my appearance for the first time in a long time, I decided casual was better than trendy, and then decided sophisticated was better than casual, and in the end went with a mix of all three. I opted to wear black skinny jeans and my most loved white swing top with the words The Kinks scripted diagonally across it and the word Lola underneath in black faded scroll. I threw on my gray moto leather jacket with the hoodie snapped off, and a pair of black open toed wedge booties. I haven’t been shopping in so long, I don’t even know if the shoes are still in style, but they are comfortable. I added some eyeliner, mascara, and lip-gloss and I was ready to go.

As the plane finally lands, I take a deep breath, and walk down the jetway. I laugh as I read the sign at the end of the walkway that says, “What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas.” As I make my way through the airport, I smile again as I hear the sounds of the slot machine handles being pulled and bells ringing for the lucky winners gambling in the Las Vegas Airport. After collecting my luggage in baggage claim, I set foot on Sin City’s pavement and wait for a taxi to take me to my destination.

It’s early November and the weather is crisp and mild. I’m sitting in the back seat of a taxicab, feeling the bright sunshine through the window permeate my skin. I embrace the warmth and take a few deep breaths, trying to curb my sudden onset of jitters. I have so many emotions going through my head as I think of the two extreme outcomes of meeting River again today. How will I feel if he doesn’t remember me? How will I feel if he does? The answer to both questions... I have no idea.

Knowing I’m in a hurry, the driver tells me he will take the fastest route he can. As he’s explaining that it is the longer way, mileage wise around the strip, but much shorter, time wise, I zone out. God, what if he doesn’t remember me when I’ve never been able to forget him or what if he does and we still have that instant connection? Is he still adorably charming and utterly charismatic? Why am I even thinking this way and why do I care? I’m here to do a job and that is all I need to be thinking about. River is just a person I have to interview to prepare a photo-shoot for. I’ve done this job a thousand times. “Just do your job, that’s all you have to do,” I say to myself over and over again.

I watch the multitude of people walking down the sidewalk, men and women, couples and families, winners and losers, I think about how they’re all here to forget about their everyday lives. I decide today is the perfect day for me to do the same. I’m going to get lost in this city too. Today I’m Dahlia London, the photographer. I can be that girl. I was that girl. I am that girl. Today I will not be Dahlia London, poor girl whose fiancé was killed in front of her.

The sunlight streaming through the cab window is reflecting off the diamonds of my bracelet. As I look out onto the street I see a man dressed in a suit, walking while checking his phone and I can’t help but think of Ben. Ben was always multitasking, able to accomplish more in a single day than I ever could in a week. Today these thoughts

aren’t sad thoughts. Instead I smile at the memory they provoke of the man that was so driven and so successful at such a young age. Taking deep cleansing breaths, I look at my bracelet again and remember the reason I will never take it off. The promise I made to myself to have no regrets. Those thoughts are what I will take with me as I interview the one man I had an almost dalliance with once, a long time ago.

The taxi is approaching the office building located on East Harmon Avenue, just a few blocks east of the Hard Rock Hotel where I will be staying. Since I’m running short on time, I decide against dropping my bags off at the hotel first.

I hop out of the cab and I hear my phone’s familiar ringtone. I answer it while grabbing my suitcase and messenger bag to make my way into the building. With my shoulder holding the phone to my ear, I open the large double doors to the building that houses Sound Music’s office. The lobby is quiet; it’s Friday afternoon so I suspect many employees are gone for the weekend. Aerie is on the other end of the phone frantically screaming that I’m late and telling me to get up to the seventh floor immediately because River is already there. After reassuring Aerie that I’ve arrived and am on my way up, I exit the elevator and hit the end button on my phone.

Practically running to get to the conference room, I trail my suitcase with my messenger bag on top of it behind me. I turn the corner and start down the hallway where I can see through the conference room’s glass wall. There he sits, River Wilde, looking down at his phone. My heart is pounding at the mere sight of him, and the feelings of the young girl crush I had on him five years ago come flooding back.

I slow down my pace, take a few deep breaths, and pause to straighten my jacket. The shift of my body weight causes my messenger bag to fall off the top of my suitcase, making a loud noise on the marble floor. Looking around the empty hall, I pick up my bag and continue walking, but as I lift my eyes and River Wilde comes into view, he’s no longer looking at his phone. He’s watching me instead. He’s still just as captivating as he was so long ago, but this time the word ‘dangerous’ no longer applies.

My legs are shaking and my stomach is doing flip-flops as I make my way to the conference room. I’m not a nervous person by nature, but the fact that I asked myself, ‘Could love at first sight be real?’ when I met him that night makes me nervous as hell. The silence in the office adds to my anxiety; the only sound that can be heard is that of my shoes clicking across the tile floor.

As I approach the door, I can see him running his hand through his hair. He’s walking around the conference table towards the door, and we reach it at the same time. With a nervous grip, I grab the door handle, dropping my eyes from his as my Cartier bracelet hits against the glass, causing a sharp pain to radiate through my wrist.

I wince as I stumble into him. Once our bodies meet, my nervousness evaporates and it is replaced by a bevy of heightened senses. I’m so close to him. I can smell his soapy, just-showered scent that I remember so well. I can feel his hard body, and as I look up, I can see the smoothness of the skin on his face, which makes my knees buckle beneath me.

Goosebumps run up my arms and down my legs. Our collision has awakened something in me. It’s something as simple and pure as desire. Something I haven’t felt in

a very long time.

Gaining all of my composure I look up into his gleaming green eyes, the intensity is still so powerful anyone looking into them might never get out. I already know I don’t want to get out. I’m sure I’m staring as I continue to gaze into his eyes searching for that same look he gave me long ago, but before I can find it our contact is broken.

He takes a step back and I notice his gleaming eyes studying the length of my body. Remembering I am supposed to be Dahlia London, the interviewer, I try to push the wanton girl aside and replace her with the professional one. However, trying to manage multiple personalities has never been easy for me. I drop my eyes to escape his power and begin to speak a mash of garbled words that make very little sense even to me. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry, thank you, and oh shit.”

Shifting my gaze into the room, embarrassed by my lack of professionalism, I somehow manage to look at him again. I take in his faded jeans, black Doc Marten boots, and gray t-shirt with the word Fender scripted across in black. He’s still so overwhelmingly attractive. He looks just how I remember him; no, he looks even better. The guy I had talked to one night at a bar five years ago is now a man.

Still grinning, he chuckles and crosses his arms. “No apology necessary, that’s the kind of crash I wouldn't mind having every day.”

Giving him a polite nod, I continue to stand there, and I’m wondering if he really doesn’t remember me.

“Let me get your bags for you,” he says as he takes hold of the items in my hand. Crossing into the room, he sets my black messenger bag on the table in front of us and then, picking up my suitcase, he casually walks to the corner of the room and sets it next to his guitar case, which is leaning against the wall. I can’t help but notice his walk is still a sway and still full of confidence.

Turning around, he strides back to the conference table, showing no sign of recognition and I begin to feel a little deflated. He stops at the table where I first saw him and we stand across from each other, the table as our divide.

Glancing at my suitcase and pointing to the glass wall he asks, “Are you sleeping here? Because there isn’t much privacy.”

I let out a soft laugh and he chuckles to himself.

Trying to decide if I should mention we have met before, I decide against it. I’m not sure he remembers me; actually I’m pretty sure he doesn’t, so why further embarrass myself?

Garnering all of my composure and remembering I’m here to do a job, I remove my jacket and stand up straight, extending my hand. “Hello, I am Dahlia London from Sound Music. I’m so sorry I’m late.”

River extends his hand to meet mine, and I think I see a little glimmer in his eyes but I’m not sure. “Dahlia, hmmm... a flower. Well it’s nice to finally meet you,” he remarks as his lopsided grin returns.

“Aerie has been texting me your location for the past hour,” he says glancing at his phone.

“You already know who I am, so we can skip that part of the introductions. Agreed?”

he asks smirking, as he sits down and motions for me to do the same.

“Sounds great,” I say, sitting down and taking in this man in his entirety. Reflecting back to that night so long ago, which now seems like yesterday, I try to see through his words. His words make me start to question my first impression that he doesn’t remember me. So does he or doesn’t he? Is he playing with me? Well this time around, I’m not playing a game. This is a business meeting, so let’s get down to business. With that thought, I unzip my bag, take out my tablet, pen, and paper, and avoid looking into his eyes at all costs.

Glancing around the room, I notice the stark surroundings. The room houses simply a conference table, chairs, and a credenza. There is no white board, no easel, nothing to make notes on. Pulling a larger tablet and colored pencils from my bag, I place them in the center of the table. River looks inquisitively at the items. “For our final layout,” I say with a grin.