Beautiful Addictions (7 page)

One man stood, his ribbed shirt clinging to his muscles. He wore three gold chains
and pristine sneakers. Monica knew his type.

“Yeah, we heard you,” he answered, stepping closer, towering over the tiny woman.
“What you want here?”

“That is my business. I suggest that you and your friends move aside. While I appreciate
the whole thug look you’ve got going on here,” Monica said, waving her hand across
his body like a game show host, “I don’t have time for it. Take your disrespectful
attitude, mooching off of some hardworking single mom, deadbeat ass out of my way
before I perforate your skull with the heel of my imitation Jimmy Choos.”

A chorus of “oohs” rang out from his friends as he glared at her. Monica refused to
back down, her neck aching from returning his gaze.

“I got shit to do anyway,” he said.

A few seconds later, he stepped away and let her pass. So did the others.

A light tapping at Josie’s door pulled her inside from her place on the fire escape.
She knew, just from the patience of the knock, that it wasn’t Alex. She approached
the door and spoke through the solid wood.

“Who is it?”

“Your friend Monica,” her high-spirited voice sang.

Josie rolled her eyes, unlocked the door, and motioned for her to come inside. She
suddenly wished for a strong drink and a joint, some sort of chemical buffer between
them. Monica immediately took a seat at the small kitchen table. She blew a bubble
of her pink gum and sucked it back in. Josie didn’t like how Monica looked in her
apartment, a perfect little package among motley furniture and chipping paint. If
it weren’t for manners, she knew Monica might be tempted to clean her chair with an
antibacterial wipe before sitting. Josie was almost positive the woman had them in
her purse.

“I don’t have any friends,” Josie reminded her, taking a seat in the opposite chair
and crossing her arms defensively.

Josie considered herself a solitary soul, always avoiding relationships and the human
race in general. The interaction, attention, and conversation it took to maintain
relationships required too much exertion. Most often, people’s true intentions were
buried beneath fake smiles and how-are-you handshakes. Josie was unhappy that her
worth was determined by the number of friends she had—or, in this case, didn’t have.
Friendship was a commodity to be bought and sold, and she was not interested.

“You may not be my friend, but I’m yours. You have Alex too.”

Josie hated the way Monica always looked at her with pity and self-loathing guilt.
The woman’s face, though usually smiling, always held this contrite intensity. Josie
wondered if she always had that look or if it appeared only when they were within
six feet of each other. They sat in a customary standoff, each trying to guess the
intention of the other. Monica knew this visit wouldn’t end well; she could feel the
hostility rolling off of Josie in battering waves. She could practically see the confrontation
written across the girl’s face.

Josie stared out the window, hoping that when she turned back, Monica would be gone.
No such luck. She could see all the pity that fueled her own anger. Monica’s face
was masked in casual interest, but Josie saw right through it.

“Did you need something?” Josie finally asked.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“I’m fine,” Josie answered.

“Well, I had a cancellation and thought I’d check in on you. These people have no
consideration. I drove all the way over here for our prearranged appointment time
only to find out they are in Anaheim for the day. I mean, really.”

“Sorry you had to slum it for nothing. You better run along before someone steals
your car.”

While Josie didn’t have ill feelings toward Monica, she wasn’t exactly a fan. As a
state-appointed social worker, Monica had been free and clear of her obligation to
Josie for four years now. Josie had always assumed that Monica’s feelings of failure
would eventually wane and the woman would disappear from her life like everyone else.
Yet here she was, still keeping watch over Josie.

“You always say you are fine. How are you really? Are you working? Going to school?”

“No and no.”

Monica leaned back in the rickety chair and crossed her legs. The toe of her shoe
tapped anxiously against the table leg while she pondered how far to push today.

“Josie, you really should consider getting a job or at least decide what to do with
the rest of your life. It’s great that you sit around drawing pictures and getting
high all day. Hell, if it were up to me, I’d spend my time reading romance novels
in front of the Home Shopping Network while munching on Oreos. But I live in the real
world. It’s just not possible.”

Josie stood and grabbed a glass from her kitchen counter. She filled it with tap water
and swallowed the whole lot down at once. She felt smothered by Monica, held down
and accountable. But she wasn’t quite sure what she should be accountable for. The
water didn’t cool her insides like she’d hoped, so she turned and faced Monica.

“Why isn’t it possible? If that’s what you want to do, I say do it! Your ass would
be the size of a house, but you’d be happy. Go buy some stretch pants and Oreos. Dare
to dream.”

Josie again turned her back on Monica. She focused on the pristine empty space of
tile behind her sink. She pictured ink and paint in lines of fury covering the surface
and seeping into the old grout.

“I know you have plenty of money from your inheritance, but one cannot live on sex
and drugs alone. It’s going to kill you one day,” Monica said, ignoring Josie’s rant.

“I’m counting on it.”

“You don’t mean that,” Monica insisted. Josie sighed at Monica calling her out. “And
I don’t understand why you live in this place when you can afford more. Get out and
do something. Be productive. You should start contributing to society.”

Josie spun around and threw her arms in the air.

“Like they contributed to me?”

Her words seemed dipped in a guilty poison that would certainly hit their mark. Monica
flinched at the verbal jab while trying to hide the sympathy that Josie detested.
She could still remember their introduction. Monica was all smiles and hugs while
shy Josie wrapped her arms around her middle protectively. Her eyes had stayed fixed
on the speckled linoleum floor when they spoke. She was soft-spoken and placid back
then.

“Hi, Josie. I’m Monica. I’ve been assigned your case. I’m so glad to be working with
you,” Monica had said to the mute girl. Josie looked around the office and back to
the floor. “Let’s see, your file says you lost your mother a year ago and recently
your father passed away too?”

Josie looked up at her and shrugged. “If that’s what it says,” she’d answered.

“Wow. I’m so sorry, honey. I know we could never replace them, but I promise I’ll
try my hardest to get you into a nice foster home soon. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“What can you tell me about yourself?”

“My name is Josie Banks,” she said, as if she’d been practicing.

“And do you have any hobbies? What kind of music do you listen to? How about boys?
Any celebrity crushes? I just love Matthew Fox from the show
Lost.
”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, Josie Banks.” Monica flipped through some papers and smiled up at Josie. “You’ll
be placed in an all-girls home until we find somewhere more permanent for you. There
you’ll have access to grief counselors and lots of people who can help if you need
anything. Maybe they can get you to open up and talk about your past a bit. It won’t
hurt. I promise.”

The sweet, confused girl that Monica met eight years ago had grown into this cynical
woman. While it saddened her, it wasn’t a surprise in the least. With the horrific
things Josie had endured, Monica couldn’t fault her for any of it. Still, in the depths
of her heart, hope hadn’t died for Monica Templeton. She still held firm to the belief
that good things could happen for Josie.

Monica dug through her bag and placed a stack of papers on the table.

“Here,” she said. “I brought you some art school applications. It’s worth looking
into, Josie. You’re so talented. You deserve to see where it could take you. Of course,
you’d have to sober up first.”

Josie took the applications but did not look at them.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for formal education. I’ve been told I have a problem with
authority.”

“Well, that’s true. If you keep tagging the entire city with graffiti, that could
land you in jail. Now that is
real
authority and tacky orange jumpsuits.” Monica shuddered at the thought. “Did you
have anything to do with that piece up on Fifth Avenue?”

Josie smiled.

“It’s beautiful, Josie. But that’s illegal. If they can nail you for enough damage,
it becomes a felony.”

“I know.”

“Then why don’t you take that energy and dedicate it to something legit?”

“What I do is fucking legit,” Josie growled, stomping across the small space and curling
up into a ball on the end of her sofa.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Her loud declaration followed by nothing
left an enormous weight of silence pressing down on them. It was a burden Josie would
gladly endure. Monica, however, could not.

“How about the support group down at the community center? Have you been there lately?
I hear the director’s quite a dreamboat. Oh, and he’s an art major at SDSU. I bet
you two would have a lot in common.”

“No, Monica, I haven’t been down to the community center. I don’t want to listen to
people talk about their terrible childhoods and compare it to mine. I don’t want their
looks of pity. I get enough of that from you. And who the fuck uses the word ‘dreamboat’
anymore?” Josie said.

“Also, I don’t eat three meals a day. I get high whenever possible. I have sex with
strangers, many strangers. I don’t exercise and I pick fights with drug dealers.”
She paused, catching her breath before delivering the final blow. “Don’t you have
an abused kid somewhere to save?”

Monica averted her watery eyes, picked up her purse, and left without waiting for
an apology. She knew not to expect feelings of regret from the stone-cold girl. The
words were wounding and her buttons were pressed. As much as she had tried to atone
for her mistakes, Monica always suffered at the hands of Josie. She took it because
she deserved it. Holding back tears as she ran down the steps, Monica fled from the
first and last kid she had ever let down.

*   *   *

After such a long and gruesome day on the job, Monica found herself parked on a barstool,
sipping a strong vodka tonic. Mellow music drifted through the room, adding to the
ambient noise of conversation and clinking glass. The whole place was deep mahogany,
as if it had grown out of the earth or had been carved out of one giant tree. With
the wall sconces and pendant lighting, the top of the room glowed a rich, golden honey
before fading into a chocolate floor. Monica felt warmed and at ease here.

She blew out a breath and pushed the negative energy from her lungs. For once, she
was glad to be alone. She enjoyed the feeling of alcohol seeping into her blood, creating
detachment from her job. It was days like this that had begun to wear on her positive
attitude. No form of meditation could prepare or repair the angst she faced in Josie
Banks. Josie had a way of draining the fight from Monica. Monica had a way of letting
her.

A prickling chill ran down her spine as she felt another’s gaze upon her. In the stagnant
air of the room, it felt as though a breeze had drifted across her skin, rousing her
defeated spirit. Monica looked up from her melting ice cubes and found two stunning
blue eyes looking back.

He was handsome with his wavy blond hair and broad shoulders. His tanned skin seemed
to glow beneath the lights. His jeans looked soft and worn, in a natural way. In a
prowling and unapologetic stride, he approached her, taking a seat on the next stool.

“Hi,” Monica said.

“Hello. Looks like you need another drink.”

His declarative statement and deep voice stirred a flutter in her stomach.

“Well, I don’t usually accept drinks from strangers.”

“My name’s Robin Nettles, but my friends call me Rob.”

“I’m Monica.”

“Well, darlin’, it seems we’re no longer strangers.”

Monica smiled and shook her head. His charming introduction and smooth Southern drawl
left her feeling like an inexperienced schoolgirl with a crush. They fell into conversation
easily, discussing sports allegiances and Rob’s recent move to the city, but never
work. It was refreshing.

“Recap,” Rob said.

It was a game Monica had started to make sure he’d been listening to her rambling.
She’d gone out with so many men who had perfected the smile-and-nod technique to deal
with her incessant talking. Not one of them had ever really listened to her. After
so much information, she would call for a recap. It was declared a test of attention
spans and soberness. Rob passed every time and even took to testing her.

“You don’t know who Michael Kors is, you’ve never heard of sexting, and your favorite
movie is
The Getaway.
Not the remake, the original 1972 film with Steve McQueen.”

“You’ve been paying attention.”

“Of course I have. I’m a woman. We are famous multitaskers. I’m probably better at
it than most. It may even be in my job description. Your turn.”

“Okay, let’s see. You’ve never been to Mississippi,” he said, frowning as he placed
a hand over his heart as if wounded by the idea. “You love the smell of fingernail
polish, your mother is an accountant, and your favorite place in the city is a tie
between Sunset Cliffs and the Horton Plaza Mall.”

“I do declare, sir, you are correct,” Monica said using her best Southern accent.

“Well, ma’am, it’s a good thing you’re beautiful, because that accent was terrible.”