Beautiful Addictions (14 page)

“No charcoal, no paint,” Monica pointed out.

Josie nodded.

“I worked all afternoon on them.”

Monica looked into Josie’s eyes next.

“You’re not high either.”

“Nope. I do feel like I’m going to puke, though,” Josie said.

“Listen to me. No matter where you go tonight, it will still be you and Tristan. Just
like when you’re here.”

“No, we’ll be out there, with people watching us. What if I embarrass him?”

A date meant restaurants and crowds. A date meant being vulnerable and honest and
learning to rediscover her humanity. Until now, Josie had been free to be a societal
vagabond, answering to nothing and no one. She never felt like she could operate within
the realm of the law-abiding, white bread squares of today’s population. She feared
that no matter what clothes she wore, they would see straight through to what she
really was—trash.

“I have a feeling you could never embarrass him, Josie. You certainly don’t see yourself
clearly.”

“What the hell am I’m doing?” Josie cried.

“Josie, calm down. Tons of girls go on dates every day. I’ve probably been on hundreds
of dates. Look at me. It eventually led to Mr. Right. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m not tons of girls,” Josie said, taking a deep breath. “I’m Josie Banks, fuckup
extraordinaire.”

Monica cautiously placed a hand on each shoulder and looked into her brown eyes. She
stilled her gum chomping and gave Josie a smile.

“You are not a fuckup. You are fierce and intelligent and one of the strongest people
I’ve ever known.” She pulled Josie up and spun her toward the mirror. “You are stunningly
beautiful and mysterious and every other thing that men love.”

The two women’s gazes met through the mirror’s reflection, each wishing to understand
the other more clearly. Josie longed to see the things Monica saw. She wanted to believe
those praising words and attach them to herself like tags.

“Something’s missing. Oh! I know!” Monica screeched, startling Josie.

Monica dug into her oversize bag and pulled out what looked like a tackle box. Josie
watched with amazement as she rifled through the thing, picking through each compartment
in search of a specific item.

“There,” Monica said as she stepped to Josie and slid a silk flower barrette into
her hair.

Monica stepped to the side and turned Josie toward the mirror. The girl’s eyes landed
on her reflection, and for a moment she couldn’t identify the stranger staring back.
This time, she could see a beautiful and happy girl. Having no patience for daydreams,
she pressed her fingers to the glass to verify that it was real. There was a new light
to her eyes, an unfamiliar lift to the corners of her mouth. She could almost pass
for human.

A knock jolted her out of her scrutinizing. Her heart drummed against her chest and
she felt pulled across the room toward the door. She could already feel his energy,
his fantastical command over her body. The clicking of her heels against the hardwood
floor counted off her steps toward Tristan. After sliding all the locks free, she
threw open the door.

Tristan stood with his hands in his pockets, nervously jingling his keys. Her eyes
started at his feet, noticing his shoes, then his jeans, then losing all patience
and skipping directly to his face. He’d shaved his face clean and now the edge of
his jaw looked so sharp and masculine, like it had been chiseled free from one solid
piece of stone. His eyes shone like emeralds.

“Wow, you look amazing, Stems.”

Her smile turned up in reaction to the nickname. Tristan’s eyes took in every inch
of her form, from the black top clinging to her hips down to her red high heels. Her
brown eyes, lined in thick black lashes, seemed to shine. The red flower in her hair
lent sweetness to her otherwise sultry, temptress appearance.

Monica came barreling past, an enormous bag slung over her shoulder, stopping between
the two of them.

“Here,” Monica said, handing her a small red clutch. “I put all your essentials in
there, so you shouldn’t need anything else. I’ll get my stuff back from you sometime
next week.”

Monica spun to face Tristan, completely shocked by his appearance. He was not what
she had expected. His presence was grand and so masculine while his smile made him
appear beautiful and almost childlike.

“I’m Tristan,” he said.

“You certainly are,” she answered, slipping her hand into his. “I’m Monica. You guys
have fun tonight.”

Monica trotted down the steps and out of sight, leaving the two alone in her doorway.

“Ready?” Tristan asked.

She nodded and locked the door, taking his hand as they descended the single flight
of stairs. Tristan led her to his classic car parked at the curb. He opened the door
and let her slide in before making his way around to the driver’s seat.

Josie felt something beneath her and scooted up to retrieve another one of Tristan’s
books. She held it up to him as he took a seat.

“Do you read in the car?” she asked.

His lips curled up on one side, a wordless answer. Josie tossed the book onto the
backseat and shook her head.

“I guess I should be happy you’re addicted to books and not something like crack whores.”

“Nah. I gave them up for Lent this year,” Tristan joked.

“Are you Catholic?” Josie asked.

“No, but I’ve read the Bible.”

“You mean you have that entire book memorized?”

“Ephesians 6:12. ‘For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers,
against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against
the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.’”

“Wow,” Josie said. “How do you do that?”

Tristan laughed and turned the key.

“I don’t do it. I’m just built that way.”

The car rumbled to a thunderous start. He glanced at Josie’s reaction, watching her
denim-covered legs cross and then uncross. His baby always had that effect on ladies.
At first, they’d be dazzled by her cherry red paint, clean lines, and whitewall tires.
It wasn’t until they were seated in the plush vinyl seat, and she kicked to life,
that they fully understood her appeal.

Josie fidgeted nervously, stunned by the feel of the pulsating seat beneath her. She
let her mind drift to their possible destinations and felt her anxiety go into overdrive.
The idea of being in a crowded place with tons of whispered conversations surrounding
them terrified her. Too many people, too many faces and eyes to see her. The thought
left her reeling.

“Where are we going?” she finally asked, blowing out a breath.

“A quiet place with a fantastic view,” Tristan answered, slipping his hand over hers.

She took a deep breath and exhaled again, letting her apprehension and worries slip
away into the black night sky. His words and touch soothed her. It was as if he knew
what she needed before she did.

9. Albedo

A measure of reflective power.

They sat at the last table on the patio at Edgewater Grill. The restaurant wasn’t
crowded, but the low hum of surrounding conversations was enough to give the couple
a sense of sociability. Utensils wrapped in soft linen sat just below the water glasses.
A single candle marked the center of the table, its flickering warm light washing
the two in swaying shadows and a honey-yellow glow. Sporadically, the salty breeze
would drift in from the bay, bringing with it the cooler ocean air and a breath of
repose.

Tristan ordered a Stella Artois and Josie asked for a glass of red wine.

“What kind of red would you like, miss?”

Josie glanced at Tristan and back at the expectant waiter; she didn’t know the answer.
Monica had advised her that self-respecting women ordered wine at dinner and did not
get so drunk they had to be carried out. Just as panic began to overwhelm her, Tristan
rescued her from embarrassment.

“She’ll have the 2007 Talisman Vineyard Pinot Noir. Thanks.”

“Of course,” the waiter said before smiling tightly and turning to fetch their drinks.

Following more of Monica’s instructions, Josie unfolded her napkin and laid it across
her lap. She kept her elbows off the table and sat stiffly in her chair. Glancing
over the menu, she felt a bit overwhelmed by the choices and the prices attached to
them.

“Relax, Josie,” Tristan teased, nudging her foot beneath the table.

She loosened her posture just a bit, wondering if everyone could tell she didn’t belong
here. Selections were made, food was ordered, but conversation was mostly absent.
Tristan wondered why Josie was at ease with him within the confines of her apartment,
but here she seemed unreachable.

Josie’s eyes scanned the bay, the black glossy surface dotted with specks of light
on each ripple. Boats sailed by, returning from their sunset cruises, cutting through
the water with no resistance. Josie had never before noticed the sleek lines and curves
of these vessels and suddenly longed to sketch them out on her pristine napkin. She
recognized her need to return to consoling habits, but with no tools available she
sipped her water instead.

There were so many sets of eyes here and she felt like all were bearing down on her.
Josie resisted checking the faces at each table. She knew that
they
weren’t here, the eyes of her longtime demons. This place was too refined for them,
for her too, if she was being honest. Like a shadow that followed her even in darkness,
Josie always feared running into her foster parents. She knew they still lived here,
though she’d made sure they couldn’t take in any more kids. Most of the time she could
ignore that they lived in the same city.

“Are you okay?” Tristan asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she offered.

“‘I’m fine’ is the biggest white lie ever told.”

“Because it’s easy. Usually, when people ask how you are, they don’t really care about
the answer anyway. So they take for granted that you’re telling the truth,” Josie
said. “And what is a white lie? Why white? Are there other color lies?”

“No, it’s based on the idea of opposites. White meaning good and black meaning bad.
White lies are thought to be harmless and trivial, lying without ill intent.”

“Harmless. That’s a joke. I’ve told that lie hundreds of times and no one cared enough
to call me out on it.”

“I care,” he said softly.

Josie shifted in her seat, her eyes scanned the restaurant again, getting stuck on
a familiar face.

“I know that guy.”

Tristan turned toward the main dining room.

“Which one?” he asked.

“The Asian waiter with the glasses.”

“How well do you know him?” Tristan asked.

Josie smirked, loving how easily he was baited.

“Well enough to know that he wears boxer briefs and likes to be spanked.”

Tristan felt the possessive anger bubbling up inside and it was all he could do to
not growl when the kid passed by.

“Something wrong?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“No. I’m fine,” he hissed. “We all have a past. It doesn’t matter who you’ve slept
with.”

“Good, because I don’t remember half of them.”

Tristan slid closer to the corner, allowing his leg to lean against hers. Beneath
the frosted glass tabletop, she watched as his hand slid from his own thigh to hers,
resting just above her knee.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Josie. It won’t work.”

“And what is that?”

“You’re trying to make me jealous. I’m not a dog pissing on my territory here. I don’t
need to sleep with you to prove that you’re mine.”

Josie scoffed at the idea. Of course he needed to sleep with her. How else would anyone
believe that he was with a girl like her?

“Do you believe that people, in general, are good?” Josie asked, abandoning one heavy
conversation for another.

“I guess it depends on how you define good. I don’t think there’s any genetic predisposition
toward the idea of being good. I mean, Nazi youth were considered righteous, suicide
bombers are honored by supporters of their cause. Does that make them good? I think
becoming a good person has more to do with your environment, your caregivers, and
society.”

“Look at my environment, my caregivers. How could I possibly be good?”

Tristan was confused by her question. Of course she was good. She was everything.

“Buddha said, ‘Neither fire nor wind, birth nor death can erase our good deeds.’ Before
you suffered at the hands of those evil people, you were raised by two loving parents.
Even though you may not remember it, I believe those ideas and values are ingrained
into who you are.”

Josie looked down at his hand still covering her thigh, his thumb tracing a small
sweeping arc across the denim. She could feel the heat coming from his palm, the slight
squeeze as his fingers curled around her. It was hard to believe that she was good,
but she wanted to. She wanted to be good for him.

“Tristan, there are things that you don’t know about me. Things that…”

Just as the words stuck in her throat, the waiter appeared, sliding their dinner onto
the table. The sight and smell appealed to her starved senses and she forgot what
she had wanted to say.

As much as Tristan wanted her to open up to him, this was not the place. He knew that
Josie thought she could scare him away with her past, but she underestimated his dedication.

They ate in silence, though it wasn’t the uneasy kind. It was peaceful and amicable.
The wine was flavorful and Josie never remembered tasting food so good. She wondered
if the company had anything to do with it.

During dinner, Tristan tried to keep himself from staring. She was always beautiful,
but tonight she was otherworldly. Even with the anxious energy, she was the most stunning
creature he’d ever seen. Sometimes it still floored him that she was here, alive and
in his life. He often became overwhelmed when holding her or kissing her, remembering
how he’d once begged for such a gift.