Recovery (2 page)

Didn't he know how ridiculous he looked?

“What else is new,” Layla whispered, looking out over the steel fencing that separated the restaurants patio from the rest of Hollywood Drive. She watched as Ronald pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase, setting them down in front of her.

Layla shielded her eyes from the sunlight with one hand, paging through each document with the other. Each piece of paper said the same thing. She was being
fired
. Not laid off, not let go on temporary leave.
Fired
.

“What the
fuck
is this?” Layla asked, looking up at Ronald.

He was jittery and unfocused and it was obvious that he didn't want to be having the discussion any more than Layla did. He straightened his tie, clearing his throat and nodding at a passing waitress.

“Ronald?” Layla insisted. “Explain this!”

He looked like a deer caught in head lights.

“They want to terminate all of your contracts,” Ronald said evenly, pointing a calloused finger at the words
contract termination
on each piece of paper.

Layla sighed, rolling her eyes. He had a pension for stating the obvious.

“I know that, but why?”

Ronald chuckled, shaking his head and pulling out a pack of cigarettes from the inside of his too-small sports coat. He shook one out, reaching forward to light the end of it with the flame from a candle that sat on the fence. Layla swatted at a mosquito on her arm, cursing under her breath. They were bad this year. She had already killed three of them since she had been seated.

“Do you really need to ask that Layla?” Ronald questioned.

“You've been late to shoot almost every day this week and when you do arrive, clients report that you are either too drunk or—” he paused, flipping through the paperwork. He leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “Too
high
to work,” he finished.

“And don't even get me started on this...”

Layla watched as Ronald waved a hand over her appearance in passing.

“This?”

He nodded, taking a sip of Layla’s untouched ice water without even asking. He fished out the lemon that floated in the middle of the glass, commenting on how much it bothered him when restaurants added unnecessary “decals” to water.  Layla watched him, disgusted, but she didn’t object.

“You've let yourself go,” Ronald continued. “The clients words, not mine.”

Layla scoffed. Ronald, of all people, had a lot of nerve critiquing anyone else’s appearance. She looked at her distorted reflection in her wine glass. Her hair was a little on the greasy side and the bags under her eyes made her appear especially exhausted and malnourished, but she was still light years ahead of someone like Ronald in the looks department. She took a bite of her salad, chewing but not really tasting it. Ronald exhaled a thin ring of smoke.

“Is there anything I can get you guys?” A bubbly waitress questioned, pausing in front of Layla with a tray full of food perched slightly off balance on the palm of her hand. She shifted her weight, sliding half of the tray onto her shoulder blade for extra support.

Layla shook her head.

“No, thank you,” Ronald said.

Then, he called after her.

“Maybe just a water! No lemon!”

The waitress nodded, pushing through a crowd of people and sliding inside the busy restaurant just as the glass doors that led to the patio swung open.

“Do you have to do that?” Layla asked.

Ronald furrowed his brows, clumsily snapping his briefcase shut and sliding it in the space between the table and his feet.

“What?”

Layla rolled her eyes. He was so oblivious, to the point of being childlike. She really could only stomach his presence in small dosages.

“Never mind.”

She coughed into the crook of her elbow, reaching up to push her aviator sunglasses down onto the crook of her nose as a gaggle of teenage girls approached in the distance. Ronald looked over his shoulder at them as they entered a small boutique across the street from the restaurant.

“See? That's what I mean,” he said, turning his attention back to Layla.

“You hide from fans, you show up late to rehearsals, you don't put any effort into your appearance–”

Layla had enough. She tuned him out, focusing instead on the conversations going on around her. A mother and father fought under their breath over a plate of steaming calamari about enrolling their son in an elite private school. A college-aged girl a few tables away sat in front of a laptop, smiling and waving at someone on the other end of the screen. A child no older than three ran between each row of tables, laughing as his mother tried her best to keep up with him. He stumbled to the ground, a loud shriek of pain escaping his lips, his laughs replaced by cries as his mother inspected the damage the concrete pavement had done on his knees. Layla noticed everything. She was anything if not observant.

“I get the feeling that you aren't really listening to me,” she heard Ronald finally say.

Layla nodded, taking a final sip of her wine. He was finally getting the hint.

“I better go,” she said, standing up. She grabbed her designer purse, sliding it over her shoulder.

“Wait!” Ronald called after her.

Layla turned around to look at him as he scurried to his feet, grabbing hold of his briefcase and stuffing the paperwork on the table inside of it. He turned sideways, his large belly rubbing up against the backs of annoyed patrons as he squeezed past them.

“Excuse me, excuse me, sorry,” he said as they turned around to glare at him.

One man flat out told him to watch what he was doing, but Ronald remained unscathed.

“I need to know what your next move is,” he told Layla, attempting to catch his breath.

Layla cringed at the lingering stares people were beginning to give them. Ronald never did seem to have a problem causing a scene in public, a fact that never ceased to annoy her.

“Well right now? I'm going home.”

After paying for her wine and half eaten salad, Layla made her way out onto the street and to her car, a sparkling black Range Rover. Ronald followed her with haste, annoying more patrons in the process as he squeezed past them. Layla unlocked her car with a button on her keychain, climbing inside and starting up the engine. The radio blared loudly as it came to life. She reached forward to turn it off, resting her head on the leather steering wheel. Ronald was knocking angrily on her window, insisting that she open the door.

Layla sighed, looking up at him. A few people had slowed to a stop on the sidewalk behind him, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. A few even had their cellphones held out in front of them and were taping the ordeal. Layla cringed. They clearly recognized her, and the last thing she needed was a TMZ smear campaign.

“Okay!” Layla exclaimed. “Just, get back so I can open my door.”

Ronald nodded, stepping back hesitantly. Then, Layla shifted into reverse, stepping hard on the gas and causing the vehicle to roll backwards, away from Ronald and the SUV parked in front of her. As Ronald jumped into the road, throwing his body in front of the path Layla needed to take to make her escape, she pressed down harder on the gas, sending the car further backwards and nearly colliding with incoming traffic. People honked and yelled at her. Ronald stared on in shock.

But Layla didn’t care. She was done being controlled by a man that could barely keep himself together. She pulled forward on the clutch, putting the car into drive and speeding down the road, past Ronald and the crowd that had gathered around him. About a block away, Layla looked into her rearview mirror with a smile. Relief settled over her. She had no intention of seeing Ronald ever again, and now that her career seemed to be in complete ruins, she didn’t see any point in staying in Hollywood either.

With a sigh, Layla turned her attention back to the stretch of road in front of her. Her options were endless. She had a full tank of gas, a stomach full of wine, and the newfound confidence that came with standing up for herself. A highway entrance ramp loomed a few feet ahead to the right, a large green sign illustrating all the different cities she could escape to if she was brave enough.

Taking a chance, Layla signaled that she was turning. Then, she veered onto the highway before she could second guess herself. She was going somewhere Ronald would never be able to find her.

Somewhere no one would. 

NEEDLES & PINS

"Let her go ahead
Take this love instead
And one day she will see
Just how to say please
And get down on her knees
Oh that's how it begins
She'll feel those needles and pins
Hurtin' her, hurtin' her."
 

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

The road that led up to the dilapidated cabin was long and winding. It had begun to rain and Layla turned on her wipers, her headlights shining against the freshly wet pavement. She pulled off of the gravel and onto the hill that curved slightly upwards, a good few feet away from the tiny structure. After parking in a dense patch of trees, Layla stepped out onto the muddy grass, hiking her bag up over her shoulder as she descended through the marked trees that led her straight to the cabin.

Finally, Layla spotted it, feeling a wave of familiarity wash over her. She descended up the creaking front steps, pushing open the front door and carefully stepping over the trash and empty liquor bottles that covered the termite-chewed floor.
I’ll get around to cleaning up,
Layla told herself. It wasn’t her mess, but it wasn’t her cabin either, and she felt an odd sense of obligation to make the place livable again. She closed the front door, lighting a candle on the table and opening the blinds, cracking the rain streaked window just enough to let in a breeze.

Layla had been coming to the cabin for six months. It was the one place she felt most safe. The most at peace with herself. There was something about the moss covered trees and isolation that she could lose herself in. She wasn't Layla the actress here. She was just Layla. The person.

It was an escape, but not in the way that drugs were for her. Layla sat down at the table, pulling her wet hair up into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Thunder boomed from somewhere off in the distance. Layla jumped. She took in her surroundings, looking at each photograph that hung on the walls around her.

There was one man in each picture, who was really more of a boy at the time they were taken, who Layla couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from. Her gaze lingered on him for just a second too long as she stared at each picture.

Leo.

His name echoed in her head. She lit a cigarette, flipping through the contacts in her phone and hesitating just above his number. He didn't know she had it, at least she didn't think he did. Layla had gotten it out of his cellphone shortly after the night they shared together in the clearing, with only the matted grass, insects, and his bike to keep them company.

She never called him. There were times like now, where she thought seriously about it with her finger lingering over the call button, but fear of the unknown was always what got the best of her. It had been months since Layla had last seen Leo and while their time together might have been temporary and fleeting, she had formed a connection to him unlike any other she had ever experienced.

Layla took a deep breath, the wet air that leaked inside the cabin cold against her cheeks, which flushed pink as she remembered the way Leo's body felt against hers. If what they had shared was wrong for any reason, Layla couldn't bring herself to care. She thought back to her mother Emily’s heated warning, ashing the last of her cigarette out the window.

“Stay away from him,” Emily told her. She didn't go into further details but it wasn't difficult for Layla to put two and two together.

Her mother knew Leo, and like all the men that had blew through Emily’s life like natural disasters, the reality attached to that was that there was a chance, no matter how slim, that Leo was Layla's father.

But like all the other possible paternal candidates Layla had come to discover over the years, Leo vehemently denied it being true. He swore to Layla that he had only met her mother once, years ago, and that what they had shared together wasn’t anything that could have resulted in a child.