Beautiful and Broken Page 4

  Amy pats me on the head and I can't help but laugh. The server drops our drinks on the table and Amy orders the same thing I'm having. Good. I can always count on Amy to have a drink with me.

  "Early morning cocktails," she says as she pushes her sunglasses up off her face and into her dark hair. "I love it. How was day one back at work?”

  "I'm about to get fired!"

  Megan's face drops and she opens her mouth as if she's trying to find the words to comfort me.

  "Make mine a double," Amy yells after the waiter.

  I drop my head in my hands and shake it. “What am I going to do? If I lose this job, I’ll have to go crawling back to my parents and listen to their I told you so’s. I can’t do it. Not to mention the fact that my mother is insisting I make amends with Jason because I’m making life uncomfortable for her at the country club.”

  Amy shakes her head. “Your mother.”

  “That’s so awful.” Megan folds her arms across the table, giving me her undivided attention.

  “Thanks for coming. I don’t know what I’d do without you girls.”

  “We are pretty awesome,” Amy says with a smile.

  “Oh, shit! Didn’t you have a big meeting this morning?” I ask her.

  "No, thank God. The company backed out when they saw your cousin’s video of the wedding. Me on Youtube kneeing your ex in the nuts isn’t exactly the image that want fronting their company.”

  "I'm going to kill Mia," I say.

  "You and me both," Amy says. “On the plus side, my MMA clients are loving me right now. They think I’m exactly the kind of girl to represent them.”

  “Go figure,” Megan says with a chuckle.

  “Your man called me this morning to ask me if I could be his personal trainer.”

  “My man?” I say, leaning back as if she’s slapped me. Is she talking about Sawyer?

  “Relax, I’m just teasing you.”

  “Did you hear from him?” Megan’s eyes widen and her smile curls up higher.

  “Ah, no. And I don’t expect to.”

  “So what’s going on at work? Did you almost get fired because of the video?"

  "No. I just royally suck as a real estate agent. It was never my calling but I really don’t know what else to do with myself, and if I don't make some sales or come up with some big name clients before the end of the month, I think I might have to start looking for a new career." I down the rest of my drink and wipe my mouth with a napkin.

  "We’ll think of something," Amy says as her phone rings. She picks it up and silences it before snatching a glass of water from an adjacent table and tossing her phone in it. She takes a deep breath as Megan and I glance curiously at her. She shrugs her shoulders and raises her eyebrows. "What? I was going to buy another one anyway."

  “Um…who was that?” I ask her.

  The server comes over and sets our fresh drinks on the table. Amy downs her double. “Charlie.”

  “You could have just let it go to voice mail.”

  She glares at me.

  “Just a suggestion,” I say, my voice tapering off.

  She takes another breath and smoothes her bangs off of her face. “I think I have an idea.”

  I've forgotten what we were talking about. She must see the confusion in my face.

  "I've been invited to a client's house party on Friday—a former actor who's been arrested one too many times for assault. You know, real problems. At any rate, there'll be lots of fabulous people there with lots of money. Score one of them and you might just make your quota."

  "A former actor charged multiple times for assault? Where do I sign up?" I say with a laugh.

  "Don't brush this off, Molly. Chad and his friends have shit tons of money. You want to keep your job, then come to this party. I wasn't even going to go, but after he saw…the video…he decided I might be fun and he insisted I come."

  Megan laughs. "What did you say when he asked?"

  "I told him to fuck off and stop stalking me on the internet."

  Now it was my turn to laugh.

  "Look, I’m not suggesting you take him out for dinner. All I’m saying is that he’s a rich guy with rich friends, and a wealthy client is exactly what you need right now.”

  I sigh.

  Amy snatches my drink and takes a sip. "Another,” she calls out to the server. “And one for my friend."

  Yes. I need another drink. A rage-prone actor with rich friends? That isn't my scene, and I’m still not feeling good about myself after my big dramatic breakup. But what choice do I have? Amy’s right. I need to land a big client. All I have to do is go to the party and smile, and hopefully everything will fall right into place. But at twenty-three, I should know that life does not fall into place for me. Where one door opens, another one shuts and usually smacks me in the face while an unknown assailant clubs me over and over.

  Four

  MY MOTHER INVITES me to dinner one night during the week, only to bring along a ‘good’ friend of hers who also happens to be a psychologist.

  When will I ever learn?

  I cry myself to sleep every night, except for the nights I don’t sleep at all. And I don’t talk to Jason. I don’t call him and he still hasn’t called me. As much as I wish I don’t want him to, the truth is, I do. I miss him. Maybe more than I did before. It’s like the pain inside of me is still climbing up a very steep hill and the higher I climb, the more the pain overcomes me. I pray it peaks soon.

  Work is just as pathetic. I don’t nab a single client, nor do I find any clients looking for a new home. I can’t imagine getting fired and having to report that to my parents. It would be like giving them carte blanche to take over my career and my life. This party is my only chance at keeping my job.

  Amy and I get ready together. She wears a baggy red top with black leggings and chunky sandals. Her hair is curled and pulled back in the front, and her makeup is immaculate. With her pouty caramel highlights accentuating her high cheekbones and her smoky eyes, guys are going to fall all over her tonight.

  Suddenly I feel completely hopeless. I have a white summer dress on and sandals. No makeup except for lipstick and mascara, and my wavy hair isn’t behaving tonight, so I had to pull it back in a high ponytail. She looks hot, while I look like a girl playing dress up.

  Against her protests, we take my car. I know she’ll drink and I have no intention of it this time. I need to be on my game tonight if I’m going to salvage my life and my career. I need to be charming, funny and irresistible. My chests hurts at the very thought of it.

  My car is a piece of shit. I get in first and unlock the door for Amy before she slides in. I see her face drop a little as she gives my car a once over. So I’m not a clean freak—not even a little.

  “Don’t say it,” I say as I slip the car into gear.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she says. But I can tell when she bites her lip that she’s itching to complain. Amy has a maid that comes to her condo twice a week. She does her cleaning, her laundry, cooks her meals and stores them in her freezer—she hates to cook or clean. She cites this as a big reason for her failing to stay in relationships; she won’t conform to the traditional roles of a wife and mother. She wants a stay-at-home husband and not one that wants her for her money, which she usually assumes they do.

  “Okay, where am I going?” I ask as I drive straight ahead. The dying sun hits me straight in my eyes. I pull the visor down and squint to see.

  Amy gives me incomplete directions and we end up in the suburbs. A drive that would normally take twenty minutes has somehow taken us an hour and a half. We only find it after I stop at a gas station to ask for directions. Amy makes me go in because even though she has to use the bathroom, she won’t go inside. "It looks dirty," she says with a crinkled nose.

  We pull up to the gated community and I feel sick to my stomach. Amy should have driven her Beamer. The guard just looks at me and his eyes take forever to scan the length of my silver Saturn. He raises his
eyebrows at me. He’s judging me and it makes me feel uncomfortable. All I want right now is to go home—until Amy lays a hand on mine to steady me.

  “Name, please?” the guard says as he stares down at his clipboard.

  Amy leans over me and smiles widely. Her teeth almost glow under the dashboard lights and her hair looks ethereal. Man, I wish I could bottle her genes and sell them. I’d be rich.

  “Amy Madison plus one,” she says in her husky voice. “We’re going to Chad Spencer’s house.”

  Chad Spencer? She never said his full name to me before when she suggested this idea, and I hadn't bothered to ask. All I needed to hear was that I might be able to get a client. But this Chad guy is famous. I mean, sure he's an actor, but I've heard his name many times over in the news. I remember seeing photos of him in Sun magazine. He was half naked with girls draped over him. And I’m pretty sure he made a sex tape that went viral. I can't help but roll my eyes. I must stay strong and keep my temper in check. Be nice. Nab some clients. Then again, Amy seems to tell it like it is and everyone loves her for it. Wish I had the same amount of charm.

  The security guard’s frown turns upside down. I can see down Amy’s shirt and her cleavage is out of control. Something tells me his view is just as nice. Suddenly, his eyes soften and fine wrinkles appear around the corners of his mouth. He’s almost salivating. One of the things I least like about my best friend: I feel like a leper in her company. Next to her I’m Kibble. That’s not to say that I’m completely wretched, because sometimes I actually think I’m cute. But next to Amy, yes, I’m chow.

  The car jerks forward as I almost stall, making Amy and I lurch forward and slam back in our seats. My fucking nerves!

  “I don’t want to be here,” I say quietly.

  “Neither do I. But we’re here now—keep your focus. Talk to everyone. Nab yourself a client or two. You can do it.”

  “I’m glad you’re so sure.”

  “I am sure. Failure is not an option, Molly Denton. Don’t take no for answer. Got it?”

  “I got it. Thanks, Amy. I love you for this, even if I don't want to go to this stupid guy's party."

  "Of course you love me. I'm awesome."

  I manage a smile. I do love her. Very much.

  “Here we are!” Amy says, forcing me to come to a screeching halt.

  “A little notice?”

  “Sorry.”

  This Chad guy's house is also gated, and a man stands by the open gates in a suit. He wants to valet my car. A golf cart waits beside him with another driver, to take us to the house. Okay. Never done this before.

  He takes my keys. I notice he’s kind of cute with wavy brown hair and big, brown eyes. His smile looks professional, like he spent thousands of dollars on it. He can’t stop looking at Amy—who hasn’t bothered to notice. Tonight she's on a mission to save her pathetic friend, because that's exactly how I feel in this moment. Pathetic. I can't save myself; I need to be rescued by my prettier, more successful friend.

  When we get to the house, there are people lingering outside, smoking by the double doors. Amy walks past with her head held high, and a couple of guys turn to watch her walk inside. I've never had that effect on guys. Maybe if I had, Jason wouldn't have strayed. Jason. No. I refuse to let him get me down. Tonight I have a purpose, and I might even try to have a little fun while I do it.

  Inside, I stop dead in my tracks. Lap. Of. Luxury. The entryway is grand and the floor is marble. The chandelier above me is crystal—I’m sure—and casts shapes on the walls as the falling sun hits the circular window above the door. A semi-circular balcony with a mahogany staircase leads to the upstairs. I almost sigh looking up it. I didn’t grow up poor, by any stretch. I mean, most people where I lived would call my family well off, but this place…this takes money to a whole new level.

  "Smile," Amy says. "You look like I'm torturing you."

  "I'm fine. Just a little overwhelmed. I don't belong here, Amy."

  "Why? Because this asshole has money? Doesn't make him any better than you. And trust me, I know the guy. He's really not. You're real. I'd take you over anyone at this place, hands down."

  "Thanks. I needed that."

  "Why don't you mingle while I go pee?"

  "Mingle?" I whisper. The thought gives me anxiety, but I force a smile instead. My heart is racing. Being here reminds me of high school—Amy and Megan were fabulous, and I was a tag-along. The shy girl. I only had a social life in school because they made me have one—one of the perks of growing up with girls who were social butterflies. Who knew how I would have turned out if I hadn't had them in my life?

  Everyone in the living room to the right seems to keep their shoes on, so I go with the flow, even though it makes me feel rude. No one comes to greet me. In fact no one looks my way. I’m not upset. I don’t want to fall over my words as I contemplate what these people think of me. I’m wearing Payless flats that cost me $9.99 and my dress is from Walmart. My hair is down and the new color brings out the green in my eyes. A lawyer friend of Amy’s walks by and smiles. She doesn’t stop to talk and I drift on over to the staircase. Twenty minutes later, Amy still hasn’t emerged from the bathroom so I start to panic and worry something has happened to her. I know it's silly. Amy is the toughest girl I know. If anything, she's probably traumatizing someone else. But I have to check—just to be sure. I pass a nude sculpture while walking through the wide hallway from beneath the staircase. Seriously? A bronze life-sized sculpture. Does this guy not have anything better to spend his money on? Like starving kids in Africa. Geesh.

  “Excuse me,” I say to a waiter. This place is catered, and I didn’t expect any less. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “There are six, ma’am. The closest is downstairs to the right, just before the entertainment room.”

  “Perfect.” Six bathrooms and this guy probably lives alone. What a waste. And an entertainment room? Is that necessary? Yeah, I realize I'm just jealous, but it doesn't make me think differently. My green-eyed monster is alive and well right now.

  I run my hand along the smooth wooden banister as I walk up the stairs to the second floor. I look around but can’t find the stupid bathroom. Normally at a party, you look for a lineup outside a door, but there are so many frigging bathrooms here that I doubt I’m going to happen across that. I turn a corner and almost bump into a tall, thick man. His hair is longish and is covered with a hockey hat.

  “Excuse me, I’m looking for the bathroom.”

  He shrugs his shoulders and takes a sip from his beer as he heads for the stairs. Awesome. I couldn't even get a verbal response from him. I'm so out of my element.

  “The bathroom?”

  A guy with an accent stops his conversation with an actress I’ve seen on the big screen and he shrugs at me. Miss Kate Barrister—the actress—ignores me. I love her on television but I can’t muster the strength to go fangirl on her.

  I eventually find a bathroom, or more accurately, an en-suite. I walk through a beast of a bedroom with a massive king sized bed clad in red satin sheets. There are pictures on the dresser but I resist the urge to be nosy, heading to the bathroom. After I flush, I set my hands on the counter and lean in. Look at me: I don’t belong here. Who the hell am I to think I can land some rich, glamorous client? Most of the people in this place won’t even say hello to me, let alone spend thousands of dollars on a house I’m trying to sell. Why did I listen to Amy?

  As I go to leave, I hear another door slam—the door to the bedroom. I hear giggles and my eyes widened when a voice says, “I want you. Now. Fuck me.”

  I raise my eyebrows. Oh dear God. No. Someone pants and moans and then there’s a thud, as if the people in the bedroom have fallen onto the bed. I need to get out of here—quick. What are my chances of crawling across the floor and getting out the bedroom door without them noticing? Uh, not good. So I slide to the floor and cover my ears, as a woman yells, “Yeah! Right there. Yeah! I want you to fuck my mouth.”

&nb
sp; Oh my God. I cover my ears for several minutes and when I take them off, the headboard starts banging into the wall and the mattress creaks in a steady rhythm.

  “Harder, Sawyer. Harder. I want you to come.”

  Sawyer? This. Isn’t. Happening. I mean, how common is the name Sawyer in these social circles? I assumed having sex with me wasn’t his first rodeo—so to speak—but if he’s in the room next door then I feel even dirtier than I did last week. And I have to listen through the whole thing. How could I have let myself be with him? I don’t even remember if it was good. I mean, based on this chick’s performance, I imagine it was, but if I can’t remember it then it might as well have been the worst sex I’ve ever had. I want to die.

  The marathon continues for another ten or fifteen minutes. Thirty-two minutes in total since they started! Have I ever been missing out! Jason and I were over in five, foreplay included. Jason. Has he been with anyone since me? Uh. The thought brings tears to my eyes, but I won’t let them fall. No.

  “Uh. Yes. I’m going to come. Uh...”

  Hurry up already.

  “Yeeessssss!”

  Finally.

  After thirty seconds of laughing, I hear zippers being zipped and a token, “Thanks, Laura. I’ll call you.”

  “It’s Lilley.”

  “Of course it is. Sorry about that. I was close, though.” His voice is amused, it’s as if I can hear him smiling through the door.

  Smack!

  I raise my eyebrows. Had he called me by the wrong name? Did I slap him too? I frigging hope I did. Good for you, Lilley.

  I wait a cursory ten minutes. Just in case. It would be just my luck to walk out of this bathroom and run smack dab into Lilley or Sawyer by the bedroom door. They’d know instantly that I’d been privy to their intimate moment and I would have felt a bit pervy, to be honest. But what could I have done, really? Interrupted and excused myself while they lay naked on the bed, penis inserted and all? Oh hey, remember me? The girl you screwed last week? Just try and ignore me, please.