Live For This Page 3

  “You a chubby chaser now?”

  “She don’t need to bring home the bacon. She is the bacon.”

  “Enough guys.”

  “Why you back so soon? She didn’t take the bait?”

  Marco laughs. “Can’t believe she’d pass up anything. It’s obvious she never passes on the food.”

  I’m irritated and just want to go home. I don’t like them making fun of her, even though she did shoot me down. Well, she would have, if I’d gotten the chance to pull the trigger. Three years ago (make that eight years ago, before Lainie), I never would have even dreamed of hitting on a girl like Mary Ann. Maybe, if she got drunk enough, she’d approach me. And I’d flirt and give her a fake number. Now, she wouldn’t even look at me. Certainly didn’t want to talk to me. Trev and Marco continue their ribbing. Phil is still sitting there, miserable. He hasn’t said two words to me tonight. He’s pissing me off. It’s like he’s mad at me for being injured. I don’t know if he’s ticked that I survived or what. He can’t even fake having a good time?

  “You know, I’m done with you douchebags. All of you.” I look at Phil when I say this. With enough force to slosh Marco’s mostly full pint glass, I push off the table and wheel to the door.

  It takes me about five times as long as it would if I were walking, but I make it to the door. I’m done with these morons. I’m done going out. I’m done.

  I don’t give a fuck.

  CHAPTER THREE: SAMIRAH

  At nine a.m., my phone is ringing. Who the fuck is calling me this early? It’d better be a major fucking emergency. Not like I’d be anyone’s emergency contact or anything. I look at my phone.

  It’s Crush.

  Why would the restaurant be calling me at this time? It’s closed on Sundays until dinner, except for private parties. Even if they needed me to cover tonight, surely they could wait until a more human hour to call me.

  “What?” I snarl into the phone, in lieu of a real greeting.

  “Sam? It’s Benny.”

  Yeah, like I can’t recognize your voice, Benny.

  “What?” I repeat. “Why are you calling so early?”

  He sounds nervous. “I, um, well, we have a private party for brunch.”

  “Okay.” Like I give a shit.

  “I know you normally only host, but I was wondering if you could coordinate the brunch. It’s a shower. You would be the liaison with the guest of honor, waiting on her personally, and making sure the timing flows.”

  “Why do you want me to do that?”

  “Becca called in. She … something. I don’t know. It’s not important. I just need you to do what she does.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “How much?” With me, it always comes down to the almighty dollar. Money is the one thing you can trust.

  “Twenty an hour, plus the tip share.”

  “How many servers?”

  “Two.”

  Hmmm … that would be good. Eighteen percent gratuity, divided by three. Good for at least another hundred or two. Certainly more than I’d make sitting at home. Plus, I wouldn’t have to go to the gym. Sundays meant a two-hour spin class with Meadow. Kill me now.

  “Okay, I’m in.” I get out of bed and head to the bathroom. I need to end this phone call before my bladder explodes.

  “Um … Sam?”

  It annoys me that Benny is so timid around me.

  “Spit it out Benny.”

  “Um … this is an important party. Can you please dress … um … more … ahhh … conservatively?”

  Ha! What an ass! I feel compelled to yank his chain. “What’s that supposed to mean Benny? Are you commenting on the way I dress?”

  “You know, maybe keep your … ah … breasts covered?”

  “My breasts? Are you seriously talking about this? You know I can sue you for sexual harassment?”

  I am such a bitch. I would never sue. But I like to threaten and manipulate.

  Benny stammers some more, and I end the call.

  Getting out of the shower, I stand clad only in my towel, staring at my closet. Benny may have a point about my wardrobe. Everything is either skin tight, low cut, or a loose conglomeration of fabric that shows more skin than most bathing suits. In the back of my closet, I find a sensible black dress, boat neck with a knee length skirt. I try not to think about the last time I wore it.

  Which, of course, makes me think about that very day.

  The worst day of my life. The day I buried my mother. I should have seen it coming. I should have known. I should have been there for her. With her. But I wasn’t. I was self-centered. I was in denial. And I missed it. I let her die alone.

  Well, not alone, because he was there. I was surprised that he came. After all, he’d left us. But of course he came back for this. To say goodbye. To cut all ties with the past. Including me.

  How a father can disown his daughter on the day they bury her mother is beyond me. I stopped trying to figure him out after that. Too much pain. I mean, I get why he left in the first place. No, that’s a lie. I don’t get it at all. I just know that he told me he would be selling the house, and I had to leave. There would be no more money for tuition, no nothing. I was on my own.

  Bastard.

  But this is just a dress, and it doesn’t matter that the last time I wore it was the worst day of my life. That was over four years ago. I’m a different person now. I’m tougher. I don’t care. It’s easier not to care. That’s why I’m so selective about who I let in.

  Drying and straightening my hair, I purposefully make myself think about Chase. Good thoughts. He’s the only one I’ve let in since I came to the city. I can picture him running his hand through his blond hair, freeing the curls from their sculpted position after we’ve had sex. He is so sexy. And he is so into me. He talks non-stop about our future. The vacations we’re going to take. The apartment we’re going to get. I mean, he has a place in the city now. Well, his firm does, but he stays there every Friday with me. The wife gets Saturday, for now. Chase talks about his plan to leave her. He’s amassing his client base so he can start his own firm. As soon as he does that, he can quit working for his father-in-law. Then, he’s leaving her for good. We’ve got our future mapped out.

  It’s quite the risk, thinking ahead like this with Chase. But he’s worth it. He’s so gorgeous, and he loves me. We’re going to have beautiful children.

  I can almost picture them. Generally, I try never to look to the future. It’s not guaranteed. But when I think of Chase, I can’t help it. Our fabulous life with our city apartment and our beach house. Our kids running down to the sand, Chase holding my hand. I’ll have a son first and then a daughter, because that’s what perfect people do. And we are perfect together. Six more months and he’ll leave his troll. He’ll officially be all mine.

  I end up pulling my hair back in a professional-looking chignon. My mom’s pearl earrings complete the tasteful look. My makeup is at a minimum as well. It’s like Sam, light.

  I’m not used to this made-under version of me anymore. I look a lot younger. That’s not a good thing. I want to be taken seriously. Like a force to be reckoned with. If I look like a teenager, no one will listen to what I have to say. I won’t be in control. I add a little more eye makeup, and am more comfortable. I know it’s an armor. A barrier. A protection.

  I hail a cab to bring me to Crush. My stilettos aren’t made for walking, and I’ll make enough today to justify the expense. I wonder if I can start working these events more often. It can’t be that hard to do, and the money would be a huge benefit. Not that I’ll need to worry about that once Chase leaves his wife, but in the meantime, it will be nice to build that cushion.

  Because I’m never again going to be left hanging like I was when my dad cut me off. Never.

  *******

  A baby shower. That’s what this is. Shoot me now. Grace is the mother-to-be. And her name suits her. She is the woman who is the envy of all those around her. It’s obvious her family come
s from money. Or maybe it’s her husband’s family. She’s wearing a rock on her hand that’s got to be at least three carats. The wedding band has even more bling to it. She must work out just to be able to lift her left hand.

  She’s one of those women who’s even more beautiful pregnant. She’s got the glow and all that crap. Her red hair cascades down over her shoulders in perfect waves. A smattering of freckles dance across her perfectly upturned nose.

  And she’s so nice. Like, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t find anything wrong with her. And believe me, I try. It’s an automatic reflex to size up all females in the room for any competitive edge. I find their weakness, and I exploit them. Backhanded compliments, well-timed gossip. I know how to bring a woman down. Just so they won’t do the same to me.

  But Grace, there’s no weakness. And no need to exploit it. She’s sweet and polite and gracious. She and her husband are having a little girl. With each gift she opens, Grace finds something, well, gracious to say. And I really think she means it.

  I want Grace to be my friend.

  The thought startles me. I don’t do friends. I don’t do nice. Nice only means pain. When you’re nice, people take advantage of you. They walk out on you. Nice people get thrown out of their homes. Nice people die of cancer. Mean people are survivors, so that’s what I’ve become. I’ve only known Grace for three hours, and I want to get to know her more. Would it be weird if I sent her a Facebook friend request?

  This thought wakes me up from my Grace daydream. How has this woman cast a spell on me in such a short time? I can tell everyone feels the same way about her. Her guests all have a loving expression on their faces as they gaze at Grace’s burgeoning belly. In case you were wondering, it is the perfect size, and yes, she is all baby.

  I catch Emily, one of the servers, giving me a dirty look. I control people through fear, intimidation, and bullying. Grace makes me want to be a better person and have people like me. She makes me want to care.

  The radiant mom-to-be pulls the ribbon off a ginormous package, a carriage set. Her bounty probably cost more than an entire year’s rent. Designer names splashed across impossibly tiny outfits with more pink and leopard print that you can imagine. Even I have to admit, the stuff looks cute, and for one split second, I want a baby. Not yet.

  But the desire is there.

  Shit.

  Grace giggles as she opens the next miniature runway outfit. Honestly, half of the stuff she’s getting is ridiculous, and I bet she never uses it. A silver rattle? Who’s going to polish that? Jesus, this kid is literally going to be born with a silver spoon. I wonder if she’ll be happy. She’s got a shot at least.

  Would a baby make me happy?

  I can picture a photograph that my mom kept on her bedside table. It was a picture of me sitting on my mom’s lap. Her knees were bent up and I was lying against them. She was holding my hands and making one of those silly faces at me, and infant me was smiling back. I was probably about four months old at the time. Mom’s hair was pulled back and she had no makeup on. But she looked happy. I made her happy.

  Snapping out of my daydream, I look again at Grace. Does she look happy? Yes, she truly does. Why wouldn’t she? She has the perfect life. She’s a nice person, beautiful, lots of money, a loving husband, tons of friends and family. She has it all.

  I have a boyfriend who I have to share with his wife. I have a roommate who wouldn’t hesitate to stab me in the back. I have a job that I don’t really like.

  That’s it.

  Oh, and I have a drinking problem.

  There, I said it.

  But when I drink, I don’t have to think about the rest of my life, so it’s easier.

  What I wouldn’t give to have Grace’s life, even for one day.

  Suddenly, it becomes clear. Up to this point, I haven’t had a focus in my life. Now I do. I’m going to settle down, let my husband take care of me, and have a family. They will be my life. I will take care of them, and that will make me happy.

  There’s applause as Grace finishes opening her presents. She graciously thanks her guests. She stays in her chair as people start to approach her, hugging and congratulating her. The party’s winding down, and it’s my responsibility to help her get her swag packed up. I grab a rolling cart from the kitchen, pushing it toward the large pile of gifts.

  “Is there someone to help you with this?” Grace is looking tired now, like her glow has dimmed a few notches. I assume that she has a car or car service at the very least. Grace’s mother is here, but she looks like she’s never done a day’s work in her life.

  “I just texted my husband. He’s around the corner. He’s going to pull up in the valet spots out front.”

  I give her a smile and start breaking down the tables and decorations, starting with the one in the furthest corner of the room. One of the glass votives tips over as I’m clearing it, dumping the candle out onto the floor. I look down and the damn thing has rolled under the table. My dress isn’t really conducive to crawling around on the floor, but I don’t have much of a choice.

  “What’d I miss?”

  The voice stops me cold.

  No, no, no, no, no.

  Grace’s buttery voice purrs, “Oh, honey, look at all this stuff! Our little girl is going to be the most beautiful girl in the city.”

  I’m in the corner of the room, hidden under the table. What the fuck do I do now? Can I just stay down here until they leave?

  “She’ll never be any more beautiful than you are. You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  That bastard.

  That’s what he tells me all the time.

  Before I even know what I’m doing, I stand up. I can do nothing but glare at Chase. He freezes in his tracks, his face paling beneath his tanned complexion.

  “Oh, Sam, this is my husband, Chase. He’ll show you where to put the gifts.”

  Chase still says nothing.

  “Don’t be rude, honey. Help Sam out to the car. Show her where to put the gifts.”

  I find my voice. “Oh, I think I know where to put them.”

  He still stays nothing as I follow him through the restaurant, resisting the urge to run him over with the cart. Of gifts. For his baby.

  Chase opens up the back of the black Escalade parked across two valet spots. I guess we’re lucky that the other guests have left and Crush isn’t open to the public right now. What a cliché. What a dick.

  “What the fuck, Chase?”

  We’re underneath the tailgate, shoving the gifts in the back. “What the hell are you doing here Sam?”

  “Um, I work here. Why else would I be here, you lying sack of shit?”

  “You don’t work on Sundays. That’s why I let Grace have it here. Because I knew you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Yeah, well, Becca called in and Benny asked me to cover.”

  “Why would they ask you? You’re just a hostess.”

  Oh no, he didn’t.

  I shoved the last of the presents in, not caring if they’re fragile. “Yeah, well, I’m the hostess with the ability to ruin your life.”

  He grabs my arm and spins me into him. “Don’t you dare.”

  My chest is pressed into him and I’m having trouble catching my breath. I hate that he has this effect on me. I try to remember why I should be mad and not turned on.

  “You’re not leaving her.”

  “You knew I was married. You knew the deal when you signed on.”

  “What’s in it for me, if we don’t have a future?”

  “I take good care of you and you know it. Plus, we have fun together.” He runs his finger up my arm and then down the center of my chest. His voice has dropped to a husky whisper. “You know I need you. You make me happy.”

  “What about Grace? What about the baby?”

  “That’s not going to change anything. That won’t change us. In fact, I bet we’ll see each other even more. Grace won’t want to be going out and leaving the baby with a nanny
all the time. So, I’ll get to spend more time in the city with you.”

  He fixes me with his stare, and I get lost in his chestnut eyes. I can’t believe it, but all I want to do is have sex with Chase right now. His hand is reaching around, squeezing my ass. “I missed this last night.”

  “Yeah right. I bet you had your hands full.”

  “Not with this.” His hand is reaching underneath my skirt. He hasn’t broken eye contact. Damn, he’s sexy. My mouth is going dry, just waiting for him to kiss me. His lips inch closer and the anticipation is making me pant. A car honks as it zooms by, breaking the moment.

  “Shit, Chase, what are we doing?” I push him back.

  “You’re mine, just remember that.”

  “But you’re not mine. You belong to Grace.”

  “But you belong to me. That’s all that matters.”

  CHAPTER FOUR: MICHAEL

  “Dude, you left me last night.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I had to split.” I’m pouring my coffee and am a little surprised that Mitchell is up at this hour on a Sunday morning.

  “Trev and Marco said you went postal for a minute.”

  “I guess I did, but they deserved it.”

  “No, man they didn’t.”

  This ought to be interesting. “How you figure?”

  “They were giving you shit? Picking on you? Mocking that a girl didn’t fall right into your arms?”

  “A fat girl.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “You ever tapped a chub?”

  Mitchell laughs. “Only when I’m really desperate. Those big girls, they got some powerful lovin’ to give. They’re so thankful, they’ll do anything you want. And I mean anything.”

  “Yeah, well this one, she wouldn’t even look at me. It’s like all she saw was the chair. She didn’t see me in the chair.”

  “Then fuck her.”

  “Couldn’t if I wanted to. She got no time for me.” I return my coffee cup to the counter and head toward the laundry. Sunday is laundry day. Yep, I live an exciting life.

  “Aww, man, that sucks.”

  “You know, Mitch, I’m starting to think that I’m in this alone for the long haul. Lainie didn’t want it. Phil jumped ship, and now I can’t even get some girl to talk to me.”