Paradise by the Dashboard Light Page 2

  I'm still afraid of my mom, like all twenty-nine year-old men should rightfully be.

  "We'd love that. It's been almost a year since you've been home. I miss your face."

  After disconnecting, I head back out onto the floor. I wish I could go for a run. It's one of the few things that works to clear my head. Except today, there's no time for it. I bet it wouldn't help at this point. No matter what my mother says, I know Evan is my fault. And now they put him away in a home, and there is nothing I can do about it. There has to be a way to make this right, but for the life of me, I can't solve this problem.

  If it weren't for me, none of this would be happening.

  Chapter 2

  Rio

  "Well done, Rio. This entire package is very impressive."

  I know it is. That's not me being smug; it's the truth. I worked on the Caparazzo project day and night—well beyond my working hours—for days to get it ready to present. I'd fueled myself with caffeine and adrenaline for way too long. And today is the day.

  "I'm ready, Ted. I know this presentation inside and out." I don't mention that I'd put on an extra layer of deodorant just to be on the safe side. I'd also been mainlining Tums, now that I restocked my supply. My blood is officially chalk at this point. At least I've met my calcium requirements for the next dozen years.

  "Yes, well, I think I'd like Marissa to present the project. She's more seasoned, and I'd like you to see how we do it at Menley Brothers."

  What? No! Obscenities rush through my brain. Certainly ones I can't say to my boss, especially not when trying to make it up the career ladder. Hours upon hours I've spent, climbing up those rungs, holding on for dear life. Without a doubt, I have what it takes to be the lead on a major ad campaign without reporting back to a superior. Mr. Menley had specifically been grooming me for an ad exec position. He'd told me to land this pitch on my own, impress Ted, who is my direct supervisor, and the promotion was mine. I'd thought that's what this project had been about.

  And Marissa, of all people? She's nothing more than a set of boobs stuffed into a skirt. I don't normally like to talk about fellow women that way, but she has legit said, on more than one occasion, "It's not my fault I'm so hot that I don't have to work." This is usually followed by inappropriate giggles, a butt wiggle, and her disappearing into a locked office with some suit. It's probably no coincidence that Ted is her suit of the week. It might work for her, but it's not how I want to advance my career.

  I drop my gaze toward my feet but then check myself. Nope.

  I will not give in.

  Looking directly at Ted, I shift so I'm sitting on the edge of the desk, arms folded across my chest. I've never used any body part besides my brain to further my career, and I never will. I watched first my mother use her body to get what she wanted and then my sister. I mean, I'd be relieved when the rent would miraculously get paid or there'd be a fridge full of food, but I swore to myself that I'd earn the money without a man.

  "Yes, of course, Ted. But you know, Marissa, while certainly seasoned, had nothing to do with the research or graphics, or even the composition of the proposal. She's not my superior. Even though she's been here a few months longer than I have, we are both design managers. Her seasoning doesn't have a lot to do with design or management experience. Frankly, Ted, I've been the one putting in the hours on this. Lots of hours. All the hours. So if the way you do it at Menley Brothers is to reward colleagues who skate by on merits that have nothing to do with the business, I'd be happy to see Marissa try to figure this one out. Otherwise, I think it would be best for the company if you let me handle it."

  There's a momentary pause during which I'm fairly confident I'd just committed career suicide, and that I'll be panhandling on the street corner for the rest of my life. Slowly, Ted nods. "Damn, girl. You don't mince words now, do you?"

  I swallow, a bead of sweat escaping down between my shoulder blades. Slowly, I let out a breath so he doesn't know I was holding it. "Not when it's something that matters to me this much. And this account matters. I want Menley Brothers to land this Caparazzo account, and I know I'm the only one who can do it. I don't want this ulcer I've so nicely cultivated to be in vain."

  Once the words are out of my mouth, I pray that my vibrato isn't overkill. Ted didn’t need to know that it was all an act. That I'm not the brave one.

  No. I never used to be the brave one. Now, I am bold and brave and not afraid to speak up for what I want.

  I am never losing out again.

  "Fine. You do it. Don't blow it. I don't think I have to tell you the consequences if you can't put your money where your mouth is." His threat hangs in the air, the weight pressing down on me as my confidence drains. Failure is not an option.

  "Rest assured, Ted. I've got this."

  He looks me up and down, as if he sees me for the first time. The dismissive expression on his face confirms that there isn't anything worth looking at. My trousers are slim cut but don't cling to every nook and cranny. My emerald green blouse, while feminine and frilly, covers to my neck. It's my favorite top and makes me feel powerful and pretty all at the same time. My hair's in a conservative bun, and my makeup is virtually non-existent. I am powerful and put together.

  And it's quite obvious the only thing I am selling is my ad campaign.

  My career is built solely on hard work and responsibility. That being said, I think I look good. But I doubt a pig like Ted will think that, given to the lack of exposed flesh.

  "Marissa will be there if you get into trouble. I want a good report." He leaves without saying anything actually encouraging. Cailynn turns around and gives me a smile and a thumbs up. I return her smile, thankful for that bit of reassurance. At least someone has my back. I will definitely owe her a drink when all of this is done.

  While I'm happy to have the support and encouragement from Cailynn, I don't want to need Marissa. She's a different story. Needing her would be like needing Rainne. There's no way in hell I'd ever use that crutch again. The first time I took a graphic designs class in college, I knew this was for me. I was meant to do this job, and as far as I'm concerned, this account is mine. I am capable and smart and dammit, it's time for me to shine.

  

  Ian

  "I'm sick of this. You don't want to do anything anymore."

  "Not with you." The words are out of my mouth before I know it. I wish I could say I don't mean to be a jerk, but frankly, I don't care. Not about Trisha. It no longer matters to me that she's hot. There is nothing there to back this up. I don't have any feelings for her. And let's face it, she's not part of my long-term plan.

  And whether I want to admit it or not, I'm the one with the problem. It's like I'm broken. I don't care about much these days. What's the point? If it's not part of the plan, I can't put too much effort into it.

  Her plump lip sticks out. "You don't mean that, Ian. Think of all the fun we have."

  "Had. The fun we had. It's done, Trish. I'm done. You know this isn't going anyplace. We don't have the time, and I don't have the energy. I've got too much going on right now."

  "But Ian, you can't dump me." With this, she flops on my couch. Dammit. If only I'd waited to do this at her place, I could have left by now. But I just got off after twenty-four hours on call in the E.D. I only have twelve more before I have to be back at the hospital, and I want to sleep. At least I'm off for thirty-six hours after this shift. One bright spot to look forward to.

  "Trish, I don't want to be with you anymore. I've got a lot on my plate right now, and I don't have time for you."

  "If I was important, you'd make time."

  I stare at her and wonder how long it will take her to understand what she just said. Instead, she sighs and wiggles her butt deeper into the cushions as if she’s putting her stamp on it.

  "Jesus, Ian. It's not like I'm looking for a lifetime commitment here. I know exactly what you have on your plate. I'm at the hospital just as much as you are. That's why t
his works. You don't have to tell me how tired you are. I'm just as tired. But sometimes, I want to do more than hang out and screw. Sometimes I'd like to go places. You know, be social."

  "I appreciate that. I don't want to be social. Frankly, I don't even want to screw right now."

  That finally does it. Trisha stands up in a huff. "You're going to be sorry, Ian. You're not going to find someone who understands you like I do. You'll never find someone like me again."

  She's probably right, yet I can’t bring myself to care. I mean I know I should, but I don't. Can't? Won't? And I don't know why. But still, my mother, believe it or not, raised me better. "I'm sorry, Trish. I really am. It's not—"

  "Don't give me that 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit, Ian. I see you practically every day. You've got your head buried so far up your ass right now it's not even funny. I thought you were up for a good time. You always used to be."

  She's right, even though there is no way in hell I'm admitting it to her. During the past year, something has changed. Trisha is still in the work hard, play harder mindset where I'd lived for the past decade. Suddenly it seems I've moved on. I don't know when it happened, but it did. It's not right for me anymore. I'm getting tired of the pace, and I just want to get to the rest of my life where I can work semi-normal hours and have a family. It's so close, but seems so far away, and that has me more depressed than anything. Like I'm running a marathon and I'm at mile twenty-three, but I won't have the steam left to make it the last three miles.

  "Trish, I respect you too much to string you along. I want some time by myself right now. I appreciate the fact that you've been a good friend and hope to keep it that way. But I'm not interested in more than that right now."

  "Oh God, Ian. Did you just friend-zone me now too? What did you do, read a book of break-up clichés before I came over? I thought we were above this. You know, I expected more from you."

  "Like what? A wedding ring?"

  She lets a bitter laugh ring out, echoing throughout my otherwise quiet apartment. "Ian, get over yourself. This was supposed to be fun, but you're not fun right now. And you couldn't pay me enough money to marry you. I've got too many things to do before I even think of settling down, if I even decide to get married. The only thing I was looking for from you was an orgasm. Since that's obviously not going to happen, I'll go find it elsewhere."

  The silence that fills my apartment after Trish storms out is deafening. I don't know what happened to me or when. It seems the final straw was the call from my mom about Evan. He's been in his new home for about two weeks now. I pull out my phone and try to FaceTime him. He finally answers on the third attempt.

  "Hey Ian!" The background is noisy, and I can't place the setting.

  "Hey Evan. Where are you?"

  "Bowling. I'm in a league." The phone shakes and the picture dancing makes me dizzy.

  "That's great. I won't keep you. Have fun!"

  "Bye!" And with that, he disconnects. And though I'd never admit it, it seems like Mom may have been right. Evan is better off in the home. He is at least having more fun than I am tonight.

  It’s good. He deserves to have fun.

  And dammit, so do I.

  Chapter 3

  Rio

  It's not every day I land a deal the size of the Caparazzo account. Ted, needless to say, was impressed. Dumbfounded. Speechless. Agog. But impressed nonetheless.

  And I did it without help.

  I can do this solo thing.

  I am competent—more than competent. I am damn good at what I do, and that indeed is worth celebrating.

  "We are so going out tonight to celebrate!" My roommate is literally bouncing up and down. I never pictured her for the bouncy type. It's not like I know her that well. I only moved in about three months ago, after Sherri's wedding. Beth's ad on Craigslist seemed perfect.

  Living with a doctor has turned out to be a nice fit. Lots of alone time, and when she is around, Beth is capable of carrying on a decent conversation. She doesn't say 'like' every other word and is relatively clean. I don't know her that well yet, though. Our schedules generally don't mesh, and her downtime is usually occupied one way or another.

  Which is why this bouncy thing is a bit of a surprise. I guess I'd rather have a Tigger for a roommate than an Eeyore.

  "We have to. I'm off, which hardly ever happens

  I start to tell her I don't want to go out, my default defense. But it's not true. I want to go out and burn the mother down. Last night I came home and crashed, the adrenaline finally running out. Tonight I'm ready to party.

  In the back of my closet, my leather pants hang, waiting for an occasion such as this, to make their debut. Leather pants. No one in Cedarwood would ever have thought I'd own leather pants.

  Not Rio Pascucci.

  Rainne Pascucci? Probably. Definitely.

  But not Rio. Oh no. To them, I was the "good" twin. Good if you mean stupid. Doormat. Gullible. Sucker.

  Nope. Tonight is a leather pants, hair down, let loose kind of night. The kind of night when only one kind of release will do. And I'll be hell bent to find someone suitable. "Okay, I'm in. What's the game plan?"

  Beth has her nose buried in her phone. "My friend Trish just broke up with her boyfriend last night. She's in." She looks up before her phone pings again. "Along with Mel and Angel. Mel’s a nurse and Angel is a P.A. at the hospital with us. You'll be an honorary member of the Scrub Squad tonight."

  Beth doesn't stay in my room long enough to see my back go ramrod straight. Nor does she notice the distaste on my face. The Scrub Squad. Sure, I could admire their creativity. These women are smart and sexy doctors and nurses. That's not it.

  No way in hell I'm going to be part of a squad. It has nothing to do with Beth or any of her friends. I'm sure they're all very nice. It's the whole group thing. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt, and not going back for another showing. Groups have a tricky dynamic, one that I could never successfully navigate.

  That was the thing with being a twin. Rainne always dragged me right into the middle of the melee, and I hated it. Solo was never an option.

  At least not until I moved halfway across the country.

  And that's how it's going to stay.

  A drama-free life. Nothing to drag me down, pulling and tethering me to the dead weight of someone else. No one to hurt me. I'll never let that happen again. I'm done with those complications.

  It's just me, and that's the way I liked it.

  Except for when I'm lonely.

  I try to tell myself that being lonely and being alone aren't the same. It's possible to be lonely in a room full of people.

  God knows I've felt that enough.

  If it weren't for my sex drive, being alone would be fine. I'm just glad that isn't too hard to come by, no pun intended. There are lots of guys out there looking to scratch my itch. None of them want to stick around, nor do I want them to. I don't understand why people want relationships. They are nothing but hurt and mess and disappointment.

  I've had enough of that.

  Sooner or later, people are bound to let you down.

  I'll never let me down.

  The buzzer rings, and I hear Beth run to answer it. From the tone of the conversation, I determine it's her friend Trish, the one who just broke up with her boyfriend. See? Another reason to avoid entanglements. If you don't have a boyfriend, you'll never have to break up with anyone.

  "And I can't believe he just sat there. He said he didn't even want to screw or anything." Trish's voice wafts down the hall. I don't want to hear the blow by blow of the breakup.

  Beth's voice attempts to soothe. I'm guessing it's her best doctor voice. "You know, Trish, it's probably not you. He's been really off lately. I think he might be depressed or something."

  "Well, that would make sense. I mean, he's never going to find someone like me."

  Trish is one of those girls most girls want to be. Obviously smart. Confident. She looks like a magazine ad
. I think she gets injections in her lip. Either that, or she'd been stung by a bee on the way over, which seems unlikely since it's early November. And if I thought Beth was bouncy, she's subdued in relation to Trish. Even from the few minutes here in our apartment, which suddenly seems claustrophobic, I know this Trish girl is the kind of girl who is always on. Always looking to be the center of attention.

  Tonight I'm planning on going out and having fun. I'll find someone in the first place we go to so I can distance myself from Trish and Beth and the rest of their "squad." No need to be a part of that.

  After all, it's easier to walk away than to be passed over or left behind.

  Again.

  After much back and forth, the girls decide that they are in desperate need of margaritas and salsa dancing. This night might be shaping up. Getting lost in an oblivion of tequila while I snag a hot Latin lover sounds promising.

  

  Ian

  This is not how I saw the night going, sitting by myself at Legal Test Kitchen. The chowder is excellent, and it's not as though we have good fish tacos like this in the Midwest. Still, I'm not sure it was worth leaving my apartment. Pete and John are meeting me soon, and I figure it's not smart to go drinking on an empty stomach. I didn't eat much during my shift today.

  "Yo, bro." I feel the clap on my back before I see them there.

  "What up, Pete? John?" I nod and go back to my food.

  "How the hell can you eat that crap and look the way you look? It's not fair."

  "Stop being a whiny bitch, Pete. He works out." John plops down next to me.

  "I work out." I add to rub it in. I don't mention how Pete never misses an opportunity with a donut or cake in the staff lounge. I avoid that shit.