A Life More Complete(24)
I pulled away from my job almost immediately upon my return. I began to shuck my responsibilities onto interns and other reps just so I could be home with Ben. I was surprised at how easy it was to create a schedule Ben and I could both be happy with. I still traveled regularly, but I made it a point to be home every Friday night. Ellie divvied down my client list leaving me with only some of our more important ones. I kept my personal life separate and it was working out perfectly.
---Chapter 7---
It’s around three o’clock in the morning on a Monday when I notice my phone lighting up on my nightstand. I promised Ben when I returned home from my trip to Gia’s that my phone would remain on silent through the night, even though it wasn’t unusual for me to receive multiple late night texts or phone calls. I’ve stood firm with my promise now for months, but staying late at work as little as possible, that’s a whole other story. I started out good, but old habits die-hard and I’m back to working long hours and now, answering my phone in the middle of the night. I glance at Ben as he sleeps soundlessly next to me in my bed. I reach for my phone, covering the screen with my hand so I don’t disturb him. I creep into the kitchen and scroll through the missed calls. Three missed calls and one voice mail, all from the same number, and it’s one I don’t recognize. I enter my password and as the message plays my mouth drops open and I gasp out loud, “Fuck!”
Moving with ease to my bedroom I pull on a black wrap dress and grab a pair of black pumps carrying them with me as I exit the closet. The room is still shrouded in darkness as I stumble toward the bathroom. I pull my hair into a messy knot at the nape of my neck and secure it with a hair tie, slipping a red flower pin next to the knot. I coat my lashes in mascara, bronze my cheeks and brush my teeth with as much silence as I can manage. I look at myself in the mirror and hope I look as good in the dim light as I will on camera. I make my way to the bed, bending down I whisper into Ben’s ear as his eyelids flutter.
“Ben. I gotta go. It’s early. Don’t get up. I’ll call you later. Love you, baby.”
“Where are you going?” he mumbles.
“The Los Angeles Police Station. I’ll explain later.”
“You’ve started answering your phone in the middle of the night again?” he responds his eyes still closed.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Huh. Surprise, surprise,” he says rolling away from me.
“I don’t want to argue with you now. I have to go.” There will come a time when he will no longer tolerate my bullshit and I know that, yet I still walk out the door.
He mumbles, still sleepy, his voice hoarse, “You always have to go.” I roll my eyes at his words knowing they are true. I tug the bottom of my dress down and grit my teeth. What the hell is wrong with me? Ben is perfect and I’m single-handedly pissing him off for no reason. Why am I doing this to him? And yet, I still walk away.
Shoes in hand, I leave through the garage door, my index finger instinctively tapping the pad on each finger of my right hand and my lips moving wordlessly until I get to ten and repeating again. I shake my hand when I realize what I’ve just done. It’s been a long time since my OCD reared its ugly head and considering what’s occurred I’m not surprised.
I text Melinda and Bob asking them to meet me at the LAPD Hollywood station with a brief but to the point explanation. Trini had been arrested and booked on suspicion of DUI, felony cocaine possession and leaving the scene of an accident. I spoke to Trini last night and everything seemed fine, but guilt pulled at the back of my mind. I’d been waiting for this moment since we walked out of that doctor’s office six months ago. Everyone knows that feeling, the feeling that something isn’t right, but you just can’t put your finger on it. Even in sleep it wakes you, calling to you from the back of your mind, making you restless and anxious. I couldn’t bring myself to broach the subject with her, so I let it rest knowing eventually it would turn sour.
Melinda pulls into the parking lot just as I’m exiting my car. She parks her Mercedes SUV next to me and steps out wearing a black suit and a pair of red snakeskin pumps. You’d have thought we planned it.
“Bob’s not coming,” she says tersely.
“Not surprised,” I reply indignantly. Bob washed his hands of Trini after her first meltdown, and really, I can’t blame him. He has zero tolerance for her crap and has pretty much taken a backseat unless I ask him for help. Back in 2003, Trini was on tour for her first album when she had a nervous breakdown. Unfortunately for her it was caught on camera. A camera crew was documenting her tour when she freaked out on one of her dancers, all the while the cameras kept rolling catching her profanity laced tirade and the subsequent beat down. Afterward, she got stinking drunk, stole her father’s car and wrapped it around a tree. She was successfully sued by the dancer and forced into anger management classes and out-patient rehab. It was too much for Bob and his words still trouble me, “This won’t be the last time this happens, mark my words, she’s a shit show.” I knew he was right at the time, I just had no idea how bad it would get.