Hello LAlaland (Lost in LAlaland) (6 page)

I’d been so nervous about our first tutoring session. Anthony had planned to arrive at five in the afternoon, and at 4:52 p.m., I was still staring at the contents of my closet, throwing outfit after outfit onto my bed. Nothing was right. When my mom came upstairs and announced Anthony’s arrival, I knew I had to decide on something. I grabbed a pair of shorts that Marci had told me I looked “fuckable” in and paired them with a teal tank top.

He was placing his textbook and binder on the table when I made my way downstairs, but he stopped abruptly when I entered his line of sight. I noticed how his skin paled and his eyes glazed over, but I just assumed that he was nervous about the class and concerned I might not be able to help him.

Anthony stared at my form until I finally reached his side. When his gaze swept from my hair, which I had thrown back into a messy ponytail, to my freshly painted toes—after pausing on my boobs for a few moments too long—his once pale cheeks flushed scarlet.

“Um,” he finally croaked out, reminding me of the way he sounded the first day we’d met. “Aren’t you going to be cold, bab—uh, Wini?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure what he’d been about to call me—probably some other girl’s name—but I just shrugged and took the chair in front of him. When he didn’t make a move to sit beside me right away, I lifted my head to look at him and noticed that he was focusing in on my cleavage. I guess that puberty did have its positives, but I adjusted my top to cover my boobs. That snapped him out of his trance, because he coughed harshly, though it came out as more of a wheeze, sat stiffly beside me, and slid his chair as far under the table as he could manage.

Our twice-weekly tutoring sessions lasted throughout the rest of the semester, and Anthony completed the philosophy class with a B. I was as proud of him as he was of himself, and felt his gratitude on the last day of the school year when he grabbed me up in a giant hug and spun me around in circles.

“This chick is the best tutor in the world!” Anthony shouted to the class. I realized then that we hadn’t been becoming friends like I’d been wishing for. He only saw me as his tutor, though I had really hoped to change that.

The day of graduation, I stood with my family outside the high school as we took pictures of me in my cap and gown. A smirking Anthony ambled over to us and photo-bombed one of the shots of me with my grandmother.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked him in annoyance. He only chuckled and asked me to step aside so he could talk to me privately. My mom shrugged and nodded, so I had no choice but to follow him and his flowing, blue graduation gown.

We hadn’t been as friendly our senior year. I’d dated other guys instead of holding out hope for him, and I’d thrown myself into designing, landing a scholarship at the Tisch School of the Arts with NYU. I also hadn’t paid him much attention in Psychology—the one class we shared that year.

“What are you doing later tonight?” The look in his eyes excited my entire body. Ever since I lost my virginity, I’d been even more aware of Anthony’s sexiness, despite how earnestly I tried to ignore him. Things with Russell hadn’t worked out after we’d slept together. He hadn’t been the one I wanted, and he’d been all too aware of that fact. But Anthony hadn’t exactly been knocking at my door, so I tried to move on.

“I’m not sure what my parents have planned. Why do you ask?” I wondered, realizing I hadn’t answered his query.

“Come to Greg’s house tonight for the graduation party.” It wasn’t a request, and the way the order fell from his lips sent a tremor through me. Of course I wanted to go. Even though it was going to be at the home of the boy who’d been my first kiss, he hadn’t spoken to me in a couple of years so I wasn’t concerned with him. Maybe if I tried to be sexy and wore enough makeup, it would be my chance to hook up with Anthony. Even if it was just one night, I would take what I could get.

Hesitating, I nodded in acceptance and was rewarded with Anthony’s bright white smile. “Excellent!” he exclaimed, backing away as his grin grew wider. “I’ll see you at eight.”

I got as dolled up as I could that night, and I’d even put on blush, eye shadow, and extra mascara. When I arrived at the party with Marci on one side of me and Ashley on the other, the music was loud and pumping. We walked through the front doors and were immediately greeted with plastic cups filled with smelly beer thrust into our faces. Each of us took the proffered drinks, but I refused to sip it as we looked around the room. I knew that Marci had been looking for someone to dance with and drop by the end of the night, and Ash was checking to see if Matty had arrived yet. I, however, had one mission: find Anthony.

We each went our separate ways, promising to call each other’s brand new cell phones if we needed to leave. I didn’t need to look very far for Anthony. When I found him, Samantha was grinding her nasty crotch against him on the couch in the den. Tears stung my eyes as I watched them making out, and my beer dropped from my hand, spilling on the perfect white carpet.

Anthony’s eyes shot open and drunkenly tried to focus on me. “Winieeeee?” he slurred, but I didn’t give him a chance to stop me as I turned and ran for the front door. The last thing I needed was pity from the guy I was trying not to be in love with for inviting me to a party and then ignoring me. At that moment, I knew that I could never be anything to Anthony, and I was desperately sorry that I’d allowed myself to fall for him.

I changed after that. College was my chance to get away from Los Angeles. I ran and tried to never look back. Kris and I met while I was a freshman, drinking underage at a frat party. I found myself growing further into the strong, hardheaded woman I would become. Even after being cheated on by my husband, I wasn’t hurt because I never let Kris in. I always kept him at arm’s length.

I awoke with a start, my heart pounding against my chest from the memories that had flooded my dreams. I sat up in bed and stared toward the door, realizing what had woken me. It shook on its hinges as Tony pummeled on it.

“Wini!” he shouted through the wood. “Open the door! Are you in there?”

I swallowed around the bile building up in my throat and threw the covers off my legs. What the fuck was he thinking? Glancing at the bedside clock, I did a double take when I saw that it was three in the morning. Tony was bound to get himself arrested for his stupid antics.

Pushing off the bed, I walked to the door, pulling on a plush robe provided by the hotel.

“Tony, stop it!” I demanded in hushed anger, hoping he could hear me through the door. The hammering ceased, but the sound of his palm flattening against the wood and slipping down to the handle seemed to echo just as loudly.

“Wini,” he breathed against the door. “Please let me in.” The desperation in his voice was almost my undoing, and I leaned forward to rest my forehead against the cool timber. “What did I do?” he begged to understand why I’d left. I reached for the lock, but his next words stilled my hand. “I need you, Wini.”

He didn’t have that luxury. He didn’t get to
need
me. Hell, he didn’t know a thing about me, and he hadn’t even recognized me before.

“Go away, Tony,” I told him, allowing resolve to occupy my voice. Though my body ached for him, I would be stronger.

“Wini?” he asked again.

“Please. Not now,” I said with finality.

I wasn’t sure how long we stayed there, me on one side in a darkened room, and him in the illuminated hallway, but I eventually heard the distant chime of the elevator, ready to carry him downstairs. I crawled back into the overstuffed bed and tried to think of my upcoming shows, the new school Walt would be attending in the fall, the weather in Paris—anything to get Tony Ricci out of my head.

“Who did you screw?” Marci asked as she peered at me from above her wine glass. I paused with my martini pressed against my lips and the vodka fumes burning my nose as I stared at her in shock. How did she do that?

After I left Tony’s room the night before, I hurried back to my suite and took a scalding shower to wash the remnants of his scent off my skin. He’d managed to penetrate both my body and my mind, and I needed to rid myself of him in order to keep the control I lived for. But he wasn’t through with me, and he’d proven that when he came banging on my door at three in the morning.

I pulled my attention back to Marci, who sat across the table with a knowing eyebrow raised. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My tone was nonchalant, but the look on her face told me she wasn’t buying a bit of it.

“We’ve been sitting at this table for thirty minutes, and you haven’t eaten more than three olives, a couple of those pickled beets, and a tiny piece of laffa bread. This means one of two things: either you’ve had a great massage and are über relaxed—in which case you’ll have to tell me where you went—or you boned.”

“Marci!” I interjected in shock. “You get a fiancé and suddenly you talk like that?”

“Shut up. Anyway, I’m going to go with the latter, and judging by your bright pink cheeks, I’d say it was with someone from the reunion.”

I stared in bewilderment at my friend. She was a genius, or perhaps I was just far too easy to read. With my faux stealthiness, I attempted to steer the conversation to another topic. “Did you decide if you wanted the chicken kabob? I’ve been craving the food from this place for months.” I picked up a large piece of the bread, loaded it with hummus and plopped it into my mouth to prove that nothing was amiss. And damn if it wasn’t wonderful—salty, slightly charred from toasting over the wood fire, and the hummus tasted of pure olive oil and tahini. Delicious.

We’d decided to stop by my favorite little Israeli restaurant in Tarzana before schlepping to Beverly Hills. We were going to spend the rest of the day shopping on Rodeo Drive, which was exactly what I needed. It had been months since I’d afforded myself this kind of fun. Even though we knew that the paps would be around here and there, neither of us were willing to hang out at my hotel or in Marci’s home all day long.

“I’m going with the falafel wrap,” Marci stated with a threatening glare. “Now quit changing the damned subject.”

Huffing, I leaned toward her and whispered, “Fine, you nosy brat. I give in.”

“Who is he?” she asked as a gleeful smile overtook her glare.

I lifted my hand to my mouth and chewed on my manicured nail, staring at her in contemplation before I finally answered around my finger. “Tony . . . Ricci,” I confessed slowly, mumbling his last name under my breath.

“Anthony Ricci!” she exclaimed. Ah, shit. I was hoping that she wouldn’t recognize him as quickly with the shortened name. “You’ve had a she-boner for that man for fifteen years!”

Embarrassed, though she was right, I swatted at her arm. “Don’t talk like that, Marci Levine!”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? And the first time you have a chance to fuck him, you do.” I sighed dramatically, hoping to end the conversation before the rest of my business was made public knowledge. “How was he? And how are you even walking? After Astin and I screw, I can’t move for an entire day,” Marci said, shooting me a wink.

I snorted out a laugh. “At least I know that you gave it up to the guy,” I teased. “I was afraid you’d die as pure as Big Bear’s snow.” Marci had held fast to her virginity throughout high school and college. She’d always said that none of the guys she dated had been interesting enough to want in that way, but I knew she was really holding out for a special guy. I was thrilled that she’d finally found him. The way her voice sang when she told me made all the angels dance on clouds.

“Oh, my gosh!” Marci screamed into the phone, telling me all about her newfound love. “You’ll never believe this. I’ve met the perfect guy! He has curly black hair, and he’s so fucking gorgeous.”

“That’s great, Mars!” I told her with as much enthusiasm as I could while trying to be as quiet as possible in the middle of the banquet hall at a high-end French hotel.

“And, he’s Jewish! We’re going to synagogue together tomorrow for Shabbat!” she exclaimed in excitement. Marci’s parents wouldn’t allow her to date a non-Jew, though neither of them were particularly religious. That was the way we’d both been raised. I, however, had been the first to step outside of that box when I’d married a Dane. But I knew that Marci would never go against her parents in such a way. I was unable to contain my laughter after that. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I was so very happy for her.

“Astin will be here in a few minutes to meet you,” she said, drawing me out of the happy thought. “So don’t be a bitch. Besides, ‘as pure as Big Bear’s snow’? Those are fine words, coming from the woman who was married to a gay man for five years,” she declared with a smug grin.

“Touché, Levine.” I laughed because she was absolutely right. In the beginning, I used to wonder if I had turned Kris gay, but then I thought about all the signs I’d missed over the years. Things like his overbearing, homophobic parents who’d always spout off about sin and Hell, and his eagerness to marry me as soon as possible when there was a rumor about him and one of his professors, should have been big, red warning signs flashing in my face. I know, now, that he married me to try to prove something to himself that wasn’t real.

“We do have Walt, though. Kris wasn’t bad in bed,” I said, enlightening her. “I just should have been suspicious when he only ever wanted to fuck from behind . . . and anal, for that matter.”

Marci gaped at me in disgusted horror. The poor girl was terrified. I laughed, snorting and drawing attention to our table. We must have been quite a sight: two beautiful women, wearing gorgeous designer clothes and shoes, snorting, giggling, and talking about anal sex.