The Redemption (16 page)

My journey that night ended there. I sat down in a chair outside the window—watched and listened for over an hour. I was fixated on that kit and the power he put into hitting it as much as I was on seeing her slowly strip for him. They turned out the lights, but a purple lava lamp lit the room enough to see them as they hit the bed. I’d never seen two people having sex. I had magazines I stole from a convenience store down by the public school near us, but never seen a video, much less two people in real life having sex.

Tres blended into the darkness. But the blonde was hot and as much as I knew I shouldn’t watch, I stayed there until she yelled his name long enough to penetrate the walls. I got up after that and went back to my room.

I lied in bed that night, jerked off for the first time to visions of her before falling asleep. When I woke up, I was angry. I had taken piano for five years and I hated it. I hated practicing and the recitals. I hated the formality and having to perform at dinner parties like a chump. I knew it wasn’t frowned upon to play piano or any classical instrument, but the drums were, so it made them that much more intriguing

The next morning when I thought no one was around, busy at their jobs, I went back to the guest house and went inside. I spent three hours banging away on that drum kit and that was it. I saw how she reacted to him, turned on by the man behind the drums. That could be me. I could turn her on too. I knew I’d found my passion. The secrecy of it all, this crazy, loud, invasive music just clicked with me.

My legs are burning, causing me to open my eyes in a hurry. “Shit!” I jump up, the cigarette flung from my hand. I grab my drink and pour a little over my burned skin. The lit end had burned a small hole through my jeans and singed some hair on my leg.

I finish my drink in three gulps and set the glass down on the table before going inside. Up the stairs to my room I go, opening the door, and closing it behind me. I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower, debating if it should be hot or cold; I have a good argument for each right now. I decide on hot, wanting to relieve some pressure. Stripping down, I then move under the water. My muscles not relaxing like I hoped.

My body is tense. I want to fuck. I want to fuck hard. I want to fuck and come and not wonder what the fuck I’m doing chasing Rochelle. I have a phone full of numbers I could call. I don’t want them. They are a thousand numbers that are meaningless to me. They aren’t her and my hand is a better option than a poor substitute.

Leaning my head against the slate wall, I close my eyes, remembering her body on top of mine, and how it was wrapped around my cock like a warm blanket. My grip tightens. She was so fucking wet, wet for me. Kisses to her neck became licks of ecstasy. I tasted her sweat, her sweetness before wanting her to come so I could taste all of her.

But Cory’s name shocks me back to reality just like it did that day and my dick goes soft. “Fuck!” I slam the shower off and get out, dripping across the floor while walking to the cabinet and retrieving a towel.

After drying off, I get into bed angry. I sit up and punch the fuck out the pillow next to me before throwing it across the room and hearing it hit the door with a thud when it falls. So fucking anticlimactic for how I’m feeling.

Getting out of bed, I grab boxer brief from my dresser and pull them on. I go outside onto my balcony and sit down. The lighter and pack of cigarettes are on the table. I light up, resisting the urge for another drink. I look out over the city of Los Angeles all lit up in the distance frustrated that the best thing that ever happened to me sometimes feels like the worst.

I reach for my journal, but stop when I realize what I want to write is not what I’m ready to share with Cory. I grab my laptop instead. I write to get it out, to help unburden my heart.

Love finds most of us fast and unexpectedly, but when it came to me and Dex, it was slow and calculated as if it knew to hold on and wait. I’m caught in the middle of developing feelings for a man that has shown me more than his heart. He’s shown me his soul.

Feeling much like lyrics, I title it ‘Dex’ and save the document in my Songs folder. The one thing I’ve learned about giving a part of yourself away is that you may not get it back. Love is a risk and I’m finding that I’m more willing to take it with him. I’m still left questioning if I’m as ready as I think I am, if I’m prepared to have someone in my life that is also a regular fixture in the boys’ lives. I have no room for casual when it comes to them, so I need to be sure before jumping into something that could leave us devastated again.

Me:
Hi.

Thirty minutes go by on this Friday evening before he replies:
Hi.

What to say? What to say?
Me:
How are you?

Dex:
Good. You?

I’m not feeling very liked right now.
Me:
I’m fine. What are you up to?

Dex:
I’m out. You want to join us?

Me:
Us?

Dex:
Some friends of mine. You should come.

“Beth?” I call from my office.

The boys’ nanny comes in. “Yes?”

“Can you work late tonight?”

A sly smile works its way across her face. “You going out?”

“I’m thinking I might.”

She’s always supportive of me. “I’ll stay. I could use the extra money and I owe CJ a foot race in the backyard. He’s convinced he can outrun me just because I’m a girl.”

“Make sure to win big. We can’t have them growing up thinking women are the weaker sex.”

With a laugh, she says, “Nope, we can’t have that. Now you get ready and I’ll go tell the boys we get to make ice cream sundaes.”

“Thanks for staying.”

“No problem at all.”

I close my email and shut down my computer before going into my bedroom, phone in hand.
Me:
Text me where you’ll be in an hour.

Dex:
I’m glad you’re coming out. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you.

Me:
You saw me yesterday.

Dex:
Like I said, it’s been too long.

And I swoon, holding the phone to my chest as the happy emotions bubble up inside.

Just over an hour later, I’m walking into the outside patio of a restaurant that’s located at the back of a well-known hotel. It’s a private place that’s hard to get into unless you’re famous or you’re with someone famous, so celebrities like to hang out here.

Dex is seated at a table on the far side of the garden. There are four other people with him—three guys and a girl. With a cigarette in his mouth, he turns my way and a smile appears. Smoke fills the air above his head as he exhales, then stubs out the butt. Standing up, his chair is pushed back. He takes my hand and kisses my cheek, then whispers, “Glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” I reply.

“Sit here. I’ll get another chair.”

When I sit, the conversation ceases, so I lift my hand awkwardly, and say, “Hi, I’m Rochelle.” I recognize two of the guys from parties or somewhere in the past. But the other man and the woman I don’t.

She smiles, but it’s tight-lipped while she scopes me out to see if I’m competition for whomever she has her eye on at the table. This happens a lot in LA. Men hold all the cards here and too many women indulge that power by presenting it on a silver platter to them. “Enchante,” she says, putting her hand toward me like I should kiss it. I take the limp hand, dropping it as quickly as I can.

Dex brings a chair, setting it at the corner of the crowded table. Tilting his head, he looks at me and smiles. It’s sexual and genuine all in one. “It’s good to see you.” When he looks back to the group, he starts the introductions, “Toby, Keith, but not the country singer, Wes, and Firenza. This is Rochelle.”

Firenza?
Sounds exotic. Funny, I didn’t hear an accent.

Her chair is bumped up to his, and she leans forward, her arm resting on top of Dex’s. “You look familiar. How would I know you?”

Dex sits back, moving his arm out from under hers.

Everyone looks at me, waiting for an answer, but Toby replies, “She was married to the guitarist of the band.”

“Which band?” Firenza asks.

Dex sits up, looking annoyed. “The Resistance.” His answer is clipped.

She ignores his mood and continues in on me. “So you’re divorced, but you still hang on… I mean, hang out with Dex?”

“I’m not divorced. Cory and I weren’t marrie—”

Dex’s hands hit the table, drawing my attention as the metal feet of his chair scrape across the cement when he stands. “I haven’t seen the waitress in forever. I’m gonna get a drink from the bar.” He leaves so abruptly that we’re left staring at his back as he goes inside.

Uncomfortable being left here with her and confused to why he left, I start to get up so I can check on Dex. Persistent Firenza keeps going like nothing unusual happened at all though. “So you were only dating?” She scrunches her nose at me.

Wes touches her arm and she glares at him when he says, “He died. He was the one who died in the plane crash.”

Hearing Cory dismissed so easily by her angers me. I stand, my own chair noisy this time. When I look at her, her expression never changes. It’s just as cold and bitchy as a moment earlier. “You’re dating his band mate now?”

My eyes meet Wes’s and I say, “I’m gonna find Dex.”

As I’m walking away, I hear her explaining to the others, “So what, she’s dating Dex now. Who’s next, Johnny Outlaw?”

I let the bad vibes go as the distance grows between us. She wants to package me up and categorize me so it’s easier for her to understand. But none of this is easy to understand and if I don’t, then she won’t either. Dex is leaning on the bar talking with a tall brunette. She’s laughing. He’s smiling. I’m stepping to the side, debating. And now I’m apparently spying.
Ugh!
I make my way through the crowd of cocktail tables and patrons, not wanting to confront him, which is exactly what I’ll do if I talk to him now. But I still can’t resist sneaking a peek at him. He takes her card and tucks it into his shirt pocket before they say their goodbyes.

Wow.
And here I was stupid enough to think he actually wanted me.
Why’d I even bother?
I just don’t fit into his world and by watching him, I don’t want to. I can’t stay here and continue to be hurt by him or these women.

I continue toward the door that will lead me to the valet. Just as I exit, I hear him call after me. I hand the ticket to the valet attendant and step to the side, pretending to be oblivious to Dex. “Rochelle? Why are you leaving?”

He’s got two drinks in his hand and he hands one to me. I don’t take it, but glance off to the side to see if that’s my car being pulled around. It’s not. I say, “You left me out there with that woman who seems to think I’m a gold-digger of some sort while you come inside and collect other women’s numbers. And you’re surprised I’m leaving?”

“I didn’t want to be rude. She works for Gucci and wants to talk to me about the potential for a campaign.”

“She should be talking to me then. I’m your business manager. Why’d you leave the table?”

He stares at me and I stare right back. Then he sets the drinks down on the valet podium and reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. Flicking one up, he takes it and taps it on the inside of his wrist before lighting it and taking a deep inhale. Finally, he says, “I don’t want to talk about Cory.”

“I didn’t bring him up. I was only correcting
Firenza’s
rude comment.”

“I don’t want
you
talking about Cory tonight.”

“Then you should have answered for me so I didn’t have to.”

He inhales again. With a slow exhale above my head, he says, “I wanted you to meet some of my friends. That’s all.”

“Your friends are assholes.”

“Not all of them.”

“No Dex, you’re right. Not all of them. Just her. And who is she exactly? I seem to be lost on her connection to you.”

He drops the cigarette to the ground and says, “We used to fuck.”

My heart is set on fire as he crushes me with his flippancy. I glare at him, then spit, “You sure it’s past tense?”