Complete Submission: (The Submission Series, Books 1-8) (20 page)

“It’s eleven at night,” I shouted over the music.

“So?”

“Can you play something a little less bombastic so the neighbors don’t call the cops again?”

She stopped playing entirely. “Why are you home? Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“No. Where’s Darren?” I dropped my bag and kicked off my shoes, draping myself across the couch. Even lying still on the couch made me think about sex, adding to the throbbing between my legs. Damn Jonathan.

“Fucker’s on another date.” She tinkled a fun little tune on the keys. I’d never seen her like that before, with so few words and a tone of such pent up anger. I wished I could have my old high school friend back. She was fun. The person I’d spent the last two years watching had a new personality every few weeks.

“So? We set you free. You should be happy.”

“I am. I’m meeting Theo for a midnight show at Sphere.”

“Scottish Theo of the tattoos? He’s all right.” As excited and approving as I tried to sound about her new fling, she seemed disinclined to take the bait. She’d always been that way, which I’d liked about her, but over the past two years, the trait had become less charming and more alarming.

“So,” she said, “Darren has a mystery lady. You have mister bazillionaire.”

“I don’t have anyone. It’s completely casual.”

She ignored me and my half truth. I was falling for Jonathan, and she knew it better than anyone. She turned to the piano again and played something sweet and sexual that made me want to run to the bathroom and finger myself to orgasm just so I could sleep.

My phone blooped, and I finally looked at it. The number wasn’t in my contacts, but I recognized it anyway.

—see me—

Scrolling revealed five more of the same.

—see me—

—see me—

—see me—

—see me—

—see me—

“How did Kevin get my number?” I asked.

“Darren. I told him not to.”

“God. Fuck him. Is that a man thing? We’re all too butch to admit something would be a problem?”

I held the phone out for Gabby so she could see the six texts. “You should see him,” she said. “He met us after our show. I think he’s over you.”

“And these texts prove it.” I held up the phone for her to see, then I texted him back.

—leave me alone—

“I’m going to bed,” I said. “Did you take your meds?”

“Yep.”

I stood behind her for a second. I didn’t believe her, and I didn’t know if I should say something or not.

I trudged to the bathroom and took out her bottle of Marplan. She’d just gotten a refill that past Monday. There were a lot of pills, and a month ago, I would have counted them. I would have checked Darren’s text with the last number he counted and counted the number of hours since to see if she’d taken two per day. Then I would have texted Darren the results, and all would be well with the world.

But I knew I wouldn’t count all those pills. Darren hadn’t texted me a pill count in a day and a half, and I was tired, and horny, and my phone blooped again.

I put the top on the bottle and put it away. I brushed my teeth and went to bed, taking my phone under the covers.

—let me explain, pls. I needed to make that piece. I’m not trying to get you back I know you’re happy with someone else—

Happy. Sure. Kevin had only known the Monica who was never casual about sex. He’d only known the fully-committed me. I was suddenly miserable with Jonathan. Two fucks and a few illicit fingerings, and what would it ever be? A few more fucks and some more denied orgasms. In the end, we’d move on. He didn’t have space in his heart for me. He’d made that clear. I’d never felt so empty in my life.

—good night Kevin—

Another text came in.

—Thank you for tonight. I’ll call you during the week to check on that baseball—

—You’re welcome.—

—Speaking of…They’re playing the Mets the day after I get back—

I had snappy comebacks ready, but they turned to ice. Every bit of attention he gave me made me sad because it was fleeting and meaningless. I didn’t have the will or the energy to play his game.

—Ok good night—

Bloop.

—see me—

I shut the phone and closed my eyes. The baseball between my legs shrunk into an olive, and I fell asleep.

I
mpossible as it seemed, I was more sore the next morning. Gabby was already up when I trudged into the kitchen. She stared into the corner with a mug of coffee in her hands. If someone had put a gun to my head and asked, I’d have said her coffee was cold.

“Gabby?”

“Should we practice a new set for our meeting?”

“At WDE? No. It’s a meeting, not an audition. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah.” She looked at me as if I’d woken her from a nap. “We have rehearsal in an hour. Let me shower first.”

We’d moved the rehearsal venue from the studio, which cost money but was necessary with a band of four people, to the living room, which was free and was fine for two people. We were as diligent about our appointments as we would have been if we were meeting at a studio.

I boiled water for tea as I heard the shower go on. The slap of metal on metal from the gate outside was barely audible over the noise. It was way too early for the mail. I got to the front door just in time to see a green Jaguar going up the hill and a bulky figure in the front. Lil, for sure. I got out onto the porch quickly enough to see the backseat was empty. When I turned to go back inside, I saw a little navy box with a silver ribbon. I scooped it up and ran into my room, clicking the door shut behind me.

I sat on my bed and undid the ribbon, revealing the silver HW on the top of the box. A little envelope had been attached to the bottom, and when the ribbon slipped away, the envelope dropped into my lap. I opened it.

Dear Monica—

Please take this as a token of my appreciation.

—Jonathan

I slid the box open, then the box inside that. It held a three quarter inch long bar, silver or platinum, with a circular diamond set in the bottom.

A navel ring. A real one to replace the fake ring I’d gotten from the piercing place on Melrose. I held it up to the morning light, and I was again distracted by how shabby and cheap everything in my room looked, the mess of laundry in the corner, the old frames on my pictures, the smudges on my mirror.

I peeled my shirt off and replaced my crappy navel ring with that gorgeous thing. As I looked at myself in the mirror, loving it, I wondered what it was for. I read the note again. Appreciation for what? Me, generally? Or something else? The card was too small to write more, but I wasn’t sure what to make of those nine words.

The shower went off. I held my concerns. I had to shower, dress, drink my tea, and show up in the living room ready to go. I couldn’t be burdened by my worries about what Jonathan meant to me and what I did—or didn’t—mean to him.

I
f my unease came through during rehearsal, Gabby didn’t say anything, but I could tell it was an off day. I’d texted Jonathan a thank you for the gift, hoping my uneasiness didn’t come through. He didn’t respond, and I was sure he was on a plane. I didn’t want to hear from him right away anyway. I was too busy worrying. Nothing had changed. He’d given me everything I’d asked of him.

“How was your night last night?” asked Debbie. “I heard you went to L.A. Mod?”

Debbie, Robert, and I stood at the service bar. It was the slowest part of my shift, toward the end. All of my candles had been lit for the next shift. All of my chairs had been put into place, paper napkins twisted, and trays wiped. The sun got about its business of setting orange over the Los Angeles skyline, a sight I took for granted during the early shift.

“It was good. My ex-boyfriend did a whole piece on me, basically eviscerating me as a heartless bitch in front of everyone. Not sure what I’m going to do about that.”

“Is that legal?” Robert asked.

“Only if I’m a heartless bitch. But I figure if it’s not bad for my career, I should just close my eyes and pretend it didn’t happen.” Robert drifted off to make drinks.

“And how was the company?” Debbie smirked, a little wink flicking the bottom of her low-hanging bangs.

“Fine.”

“He took you out in public. That’s good. For both of you.”

I shook my head and rearranged the lemon and lime trays. “I don’t know.”

Debbie didn’t even hear the last word I said. She was up like a shot and already approaching a woman who’d just walked in by herself. She was tallish and blonde, and her skin glowed with health.

It was Jessica Carnes.

Debbie did her thing, smiling and double kissing, spinning conversation out of nothing. I was frozen in place. I didn’t want to serve her drinks. Nothing in the world could make me serve that woman drinks for tips. Nothing except needing my job.

Debbie indicated the bar to her. I loved Debbie with a bursting heart right then, because Robert served the bar. I was the only waitress for the next twenty minutes. If Jessica sat at a table, I’d have to serve her.

Another woman came in behind Jessica, and more kisses were doled out. She had wavy brown hair and a face shiny with plastic surgery. A buffer? Or a team?

“I’m going to be sick,” I said to Robert.

“Bathroom’s that way.”

Debbie led them to a table and handed them the drink menus. When she walked back toward the service bar, her face betrayed nothing.

“I tried,” she said when she was in earshot. “You’ll have to do it.”

“I can’t. I met her last night.”

“That’s probably why she’s here.” Debbie took my hand and squeezed it, her grip cool and firm. She looked me in the eye, unflinching. “Be a woman of grace.”

I swallowed hard, glancing at Jessica. She and her plastic surgery buddy spoke closely. The couch they sat on left their arms exposed, and I saw Jessica had a slim nylon cast on her right wrist.

“Fine.” I put my notepad in my pocket and strode over there as if I owned the place.

Jessica and Plastic watched me approach, two beige ovals with eyes seemingly in sync as they looked me up and down, much like Jonathan had when he first met me. I put a little lift in my step and smiled with closed lips.

“Hi,” I said, “I’m Monica. Can I get you anything?”

They just stared until Plastic broke the silence. “You are just as cute as a button, aren’t you?”

I smiled, showing my teeth, wishing for the pressure of Debbie’s hand on mine. “Thank you.”

“We met,” Jessica said, “last night.”

“Yes,” I said, “that’s right. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, so I didn’t want to say anything. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Of course. Same here.”

The awkward moment was broken by a phone ringing. Plastic reached for hers. “I have to take this.” She smiled to me. “Grab me a mojito, would you, dear? Easy on the sugar.” She pressed the phone to her ear and headed to the hallway.

“Can I get you something?” I asked Jessica.

“Yes, I’ll have the same.” She shifted in her seat. I was about to escape when she said, “You really had me scared last night.”

“Why is that?”

“I thought you were an eighth sister.”

Her gaze held me, and I felt just walking away would be rude. Debbie had told me to be a woman of grace, and I didn’t know a better way to do that than to show I was interested in her. “What happened to your arm? You didn’t have that last night.”

“Hairline fracture. I spent half the night in the ER. I’m actually wiped out.”

“Oh, wow. How did that happen?”

Jessica pursed her lips and looked away, then back to me. The movement was so smooth and quick, I almost missed it. “You know how it is,” she said. “Jonathan can be a little rough.”

My mouth went dry. I couldn’t even swallow. I think I shook a little because I felt my knees knock once. I had to get away. I had to be somewhere else.

“Sure,” I choked out. “Of course. I’ll get those drinks.”

I made it to the service bar. Debbie’s eyes widened. “What happened? You’re white as a sheet.”

“I have fifteen minutes left in my shift.”

“What did she say?”

“I’m not repeating it. I have to go home.”

Debbie took both my shaking hands in hers, slipping the notepad away. “You finish your shift. And you smile. Another table just came in. Take care of them, but do not linger. Do you understand?”

Her face broached no arguments. My nod was so slight and forced, I was surprised she even saw it.

“Robert,” she barked, “make two mojitos,
no
sugar.” She looked back at me. “Let them ask for the sugar. Make them wait. Take care of your other tables. Smile. Maddy’s here to relieve you, but you have to finish your shift. Grace, Monica.”

Robert put two drinks on my tray.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Go.”

When I went to their table to drop the drinks, Jessica and Plastic were deep in conversation. I made a nice face for them, and though Plastic opened her mouth to say something to me, I turned away before she’d engaged her vocal cords, giving me the opportunity to service my other table.

Twelve and a half minutes later, I came back to the service bar with a drink order and handed it to Robert. Maddy was made up, bright-eyed, and ready to go. I briefed her on the tables.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Fantastic. Where’s Debbie?”

She shrugged. I didn’t care. I went into the back without looking behind me to see if Jessica saw me leave.

I got to the break room and turned my phone on. I had to turn it off when I was on the floor, but now I would give that motherfucker a piece of my mind. He couldn’t even keep it in his pants for me for how long? How many
hours
? They must have arranged to meet while I was busy running down the stairs. He’d promised fidelity and dumped me home with a lame excuse about not wanting to hurt me. What a joke. He went and got himself laid.

By his ex-wife.

Who he loved and would always love.

Because she talked him through a tough time.

’Til death do us part.

I had no idea what I would say to Jonathan, but something had to be said. If he wanted her, then fine, but why play with my clit while demanding I ask him for whatever I wanted? Why push me to tell him I wanted to be his only one, for however long, if he would turn the car around and fuck his ex-wife so hard he fractured her wrist?