A Life More Complete (11 page)

“What the hell happened?” Her voice
is calmer than I expect.

“I take full responsibility for what
happened. I never should have allowed her to do the interview. I knew she wasn’t
well.”

“Did you know she was pregnant?” she
asks with sincere concern.

“Yes, I knew. I just had no idea it
had affected her this much.”

“Is she still pregnant?”

“No, I took her for an abortion back
in August. Remember when I took a few days off?”

“That explains a lot.” Ellie runs her
hand through her hair and leans back in her chair. “I don’t know what to say
other than...” I cut her off quickly.

“Sorry, Ellie, but please don’t fire
me. I had no idea it was going to turn out like this. I have always thought of
Trini as a friend, not a client, but I recently decided that I was going to
keep my professional life separate from my personal life and I got wrapped up
in doing what the media wanted and not what was best for Trini.” I exhale after
my long-winded rant.

“Kristin, why would I fire you? You’ve
been one the best employees I’ve ever had and it’s not because you make me a
lot of money. The reason you’re so good at your job is because you allow your
personal life to get involved. You know your clients better than they do and
there’s a reason they’ve been with you for so long. You have a presence that’s
unmatched by anyone in this office.” She pauses and rises from her desk. She
joins me, sitting across from me; she takes my hand in hers. “I can’t imagine
what you are going through or what you have been through with Trini. When you
take on a young client like her it’s hard not to be involved in every aspect of
her life. You’ve watched her grow up and I know you played an integral role in
her becoming the person she is. There is good in her and it’s because of you.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me. It
truly does.” I wipe my eyes with my hands as they fill with tears.

“And don’t ever tell anyone I got all
sappy on you. I can’t ruin my reputation that I’m a hard ass.” I laugh as she
stands and pulls me into an attempt at a hug. Affection is obviously not Ellie’s
thing. She’s stiff, but it’s the gesture that counts. “Take the rest of the day
off. Turn your phone off, get in bed, have a glass of wine and sleep. Tomorrow’s
another day.”

“Thanks, Ellie. Will do.”

As I walk out of her office she calls
me, “Oh and Kristin, whatever you do, don’t turn on your TV. It will be
everywhere.”

I nod my head in agreement as I lean
down and take off my shoes. My feet are killing me and my eyes feel like they
are filled with sand. I’m exhausted both physically and mentally.

When I finally arrive home I pull off
my dress and toss it wherever it lands. I climb into bed and cover myself with
the sheet. I grab my phone and text Ben.

Me: I’m home...finally. Where are you?

The phone drops from my hand landing
next to my pillow. It vibrates moments later and I pick it up and smile.

Ben: I’m about five minutes away. Be home soon. Love you.

I love that he calls my home his home
and I love that he’s off early. Ben drops a bag from In-N-Out on my bed and I
eat while he strips of his clothes and showers quickly. He says nothing and
knows that’s exactly what I need. I don’t want to rehash my day or discuss it
to an overwhelming degree. He just holds me and any ill effects of my day wash
away instantly.

My alarm goes off at 5:15 and Ben and
I both rise with the intent to run. I will run this morning regardless of
whether Ben joins me or not. My body needs it. Ben and I run with Roxy following
at our feet. We never speak while we run and it has always been a comfortable
silence. With Ben it’s easy. Everything’s easy.

Ben is sitting on the bed when I
emerge from the shower. His hair is wet and his eyes are fixed on the TV. He
doesn’t even look at me when he speaks, eyes transfixed on the glowing box in
front of him.

“Have you seen this? Holy shit. What
a mess.”

“I don’t need to. I lived it.” It’s
like a bad dream replaying over and over in my head. Each time I try to speak
nothing comes out. “It’s seared into my brain.”

“What happened? She seemed fine the
other day.” I look over at the screen and images of Trini flash as captions
grace each picture. It’s her life up until this moment. Pictures of her as a
baby, a toddler, on the set of her show, dancing on stage, all of them titled
with “What Went Wrong?” and the answer is—everything. It went wrong from
the beginning. No mother to speak of, an overbearing, unemployed father, thrust
into the spotlight and forced to work without any regard for her health or
safety. She’s on twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. She can’t leave
her house without being recognized, she’s asked to pose for pictures and yet
all the while scrutinized for doing something a normal teenager would do. Not
saying what happened was normal by any means, but she can’t even go to party
and have a drink with friends like most nineteen years olds without it being
captured on camera, plastered in magazines, and discussed on message boards. When
does she regain her privacy and the right to normalcy? The answer: probably
never. The interview begins to play and I look away.

“Can you turn this off?” I ask
quietly.

“Sorry, yeah, I don’t know why I’m
still watching it,” Ben says apologetically, but continues to stare at the
television. “You going to work today?”

“Yes. I have a bunch of other stuff I’ve
got to get done. Since Trini’s under lockdown I might actually get some work
done. I have to fly to New York tomorrow morning to moderate a book signing and
interview for an author I signed a few months back. I think my flight leaves at
4:30 in the morning. I’ll be back early on Thursday, though.” Ben rises from
the bed and begins to walk toward me, leaving the television blaring and making
it nearly impossible to focus on anything else until his eyes meet mine.

“Okay, sounds good.” Ben is fully
dressed and looks like an ad for men’s body wash or cologne or something that
would put a blue-collar, stunningly beautiful man on display to sell their
product. The jeans he wears always hang from his hips so low that the band of
his boxer briefs peek out in a way that always makes me crave him. His flat,
toned stomach exposed any time he raises his arms, while his t-shirt, old and
worn bears the logo “Torres Landscaping and Pools” on the left side. He wears
the same tan work boots every day and the same uniform that every one of his
employees wears. You would never know he’s someone’s boss, that he owns the
company. He works with the same amount of effort that all his employees show,
but he doesn’t need to. The company runs itself at this point, but he goes in
every day without fail and comes home each night exhausted but satisfied. For a
minute, I’ve forgotten the awfulness of my situation, but it shakes me back
into the now.

“It’s like crack. You can’t stop,” I
say as I comb my hair.

“What?” Ben responds, confused.

“Trini. You can’t stop watching it. You
and everybody else. The thought of seeking pleasure or enjoyment from someone’s
misfortunes makes me sick. It disgusts me that the public longs for it, yet
this shit,” I motion toward the TV, “is what keeps me employed.”

I too, can’t take my eyes off it, but
for the opposite reason. This is news? A poor girl’s rise to fame and her
subsequent fall keeps all eyes drawn to it in a way that is unhealthy and
unrealistic. Yet this whole fame obsession has become reality.

This is my life. Somehow, somewhere I
took one small misstep and ended up here. A part of something I despise with
everything in me and as someone with a journalism degree, I see it as travesty,
but I do nothing to change it.

“I’m sorry, Krissy. I wasn’t
thinking.” He reaches for me pulling me into his chest; he kisses my hair and
holds me a few seconds longer. “I have to go. I’m sorry. I know you care about
her. I feel like an ass for getting sucked in.”

“It’s okay. It is what is. They
wouldn’t keep running the story if no one was watching, right? I’m sorry I got
upset with you.” I lean back and kiss him good-bye.

I pull into the parking garage of my
office without even a vague remembrance of driving from my house. I make my way
to my desk with the same effort I gave to driving and pretty much the rest of
my morning goes along following the same pattern. Around noon Melinda sends me
an email asking if I want to meet her and Bob for lunch.

I walk to the small deli around the
corner from my office. The air is cool for February and I breathe in a slow breath
in an attempt to regulate my muddled mind. I can’t stop thinking about Trini,
the interview and what I could have done differently. It replays over and over,
a never-ending loop in my brain. Melinda and Bob are sitting at a table near
the window and they smile as I walk up.

“Shit show, right? Who called that?”
Bob says with a smug grin on his face.

“I know. Can we talk about something
else?”

“How’s Ben?” Melinda asks sweetly.

“He’s good. We’re good.” I say this
knowing that we’re not good; things are strained. I’m working too much, I’m
gone too often, late and absent. I won’t tell them the truth because I can’t
bring myself to say it out loud. I’m screwing up and I know it. “Not much else
to report. Sorry nothing interesting.”

“Well, Bob met someone. He’s been
holding out on us.” She glares at him and my mouth falls open.

“Seriously? When? I’m gonna be so
pissed at you if this has been going on for a while. How could you keep
anything from us?”

“It’s been a few months now. Three,
maybe? His name is Jon. He’s in advertising and for some reason he likes me. I
think it’s my amazing good looks and stunning personality,” he deadpans. “While
you were off falling in love with Ben and Melinda was off doing whatever it is
that she does, I was actually alone and able to meet someone. You two can be a
real relationship killer.” I laugh, but Melinda looks genuinely insulted.

“Now I’m all alone and you two just
seem to think it’s okay to make fun of me. You guys are the only ones I want to
spend my Saturday nights with.”

“Mel, that’s sad,” Bob says making an
over exaggerated sad face. She cocks her head to the side and flips him off.

“Nothing like you two to take my mind
off of all this bullshit,” I laugh.

We eat and Bob fills us in on his new
boyfriend, Melinda and I hanging on his every word because as far as Bob goes
he rarely finds anyone worthy of his company. I feel normal creeping back in
and I relish it. I didn’t realize it until now that I missed Melinda and Bob
and the comfort of being with them. They’re the only friends I have that
understand the obsessive nature of our job.

“What are you up to this week?” I
direct the question at both of them as we finish our lunch.

“I’m free all week. Just the usual
office stuff and a magazine release party on Friday, “ Melinda says casually.

“I gotta head down to Mesa for those
spring training interviews. How did I end up with all the minor league baseball
players? They’re punks,” Bob replies with annoyance in his tone.

“That’s true. You did get them all. Nothing
worse than mediocre athletes who think they’re great. I have to be in New York
tomorrow for that author we signed. She’s doing a book signing and interviews. Should
be a blast. Flight leaves at 4:30 in the morning.”

“Oh, good luck with that. Hopefully
she doesn’t tell the world she’s pregnant,” Bob says sarcastically and I scowl
at him. “Too soon, huh?”

“Yeah,” I scoff.

We all head back to the office and at
the end of the day I make it a point to kiss both Melinda and Bob good-bye. I
know there is no way I can ever live without them.

My night drags as I wait for Ben to
get off work. He texts me around seven to say he won’t make it over tonight,
but he’ll be waiting for me when I get home on Thursday. My heart sinks just a
little. I climb into bed and turn on the TV. As I mindlessly flip through the
channels I come across a cable news channel that is re-airing the interview
with Trini and dissecting it clip by clip. Like all of America, I can’t look
away. I want to change the channel, yet I don’t. Each statement crueler than
the next and it is only when I hear, “And is that her publicist?” that I
finally change the channel. I can take what they say about Trini with more
compassion, but it becomes too personal when the discussion is actually about
me.

The next morning I board my plane for
New York and arrive on time. I willfully do my job as publicist and moderator
for the client. I go through the motions, fake, contrived and over the top, but
it is what is expected. I sleep in my plush high-end hotel room paid for by
Ellie Regan P.R. and board my plane back to California early the next morning. It’s
as planned, nothing exciting or scandalous, just the basics.

I turn my phone on as the plane lands
and it begins to ding and light up the moment my hand leaves the button. It’s
only seven in the morning and I’m already bombarded.
Doesn’t anyone sleep?
I scroll through my emails and there it is in
my inbox, the message I’ve been dreading, but the one I hoped would never come.
Trini checked herself out of rehab after less than seventy-two hours. I click
the link Melinda sent and thumb through the pictures posted on a gossip column
website. The first is of Trini getting her mother’s name tattooed on her ribs
with a revolver pointing at it, next a shot of her getting her nipples pierced
and then leaving the place with a white shirt and no bra and last but not
least, her partying with a group of kids, her own age I might add, in Reseda
where she is photographed numerous times taking hits off a bong. I run my hands
over my face pushing them up into my hair.