Note: While I am on my “hiatus” of sorts from discussing certain things on the blog, I hope you enjoy this interlude of a different story while I keep working on part 6 of “Centuries Under the Moon”–Kadja
The older man came to her and sat next to her…’Wanna dance?” he asked, brushing back his salt and pepper hair from his face, which had just enough lines to reveal that he was a hard-working man with some determination.
“No. I don’t dance.” she said as she was trying to listen to the band, brushing her black bangs from her eyes.
“You don’t dance? Seriously?” he asked her.
“No. I don’t. What part don’t you get?” she said firmly as smoke continued to fill the air–and he continued to invade her space…
“Wanna take a walk outside?” he asked.
“No.” she said again.
She had seen the wedding band and knew this guy’s drill. She already knew there was no common ground with him, so she put her barrier between them quickly. He was one of many that she had no use for–let alone a desire to get acquainted with. She kept to herself–until she walked onto stage. Then she let it out. All that angst–and the power to release it ignited her defiant soul more than ever as she shook her head to one side, her black hair moving away from her green eyes as she took that microphone into her hand.
She then went back to her booth, where a reporter she was expecting had been waiting. He was a young man, close to her age. Very good-looking, and he knew she was a tough one to interview. His editor had warned him about how she can be. Yet there she was–all 5’5″ of her. He stood 6’1″. When his brown eyes locked on her, he knew this woman was different from the others he’d had dealt with before and he knew that he’d better tread lightly. Her bottle of Patron and a lit candle were waiting for her, along with two glasses. She offered him a drink, which he accepted. She noticed that the sandy colored locks this reporter had were a sharp contrast to Michael Redding’s well-kept black hair. She also liked it that he showed up in jeans and a T-shirt, and appeared to have not shaven in two days as opposed to Michael’s “everything has to be perfect” look.
“You have no one in your life?” he asked after they conversed for some time, talking about her upbringing in Oregon and her family–which she didn’t say much about–YET.
“What difference does it make? I have plenty of people who support what I do and I don’t have time to limit myself in any way. No man has ever loved me for the creature that I am so I fly solo and I sleep solo.” she responded.
“Even though Michael Redding is telling all who will hear him that he wants a relationship beyond friendship?” the reporter asked.
“As I said, what difference does it make?” she asked.
“He seems like a nice enough guy–”
“Which is why I’m doing him a favor by avoiding him this week since that is the public perception.” she mused.
“He’s heir to the Biotechna fortune.” the reporter said, puzzled that she would say such a thing when they seemed to be so close.
“But you two seem to go very well together in public–”
“That’s what he tells me.” she said.
“You’re not going to tell me if you two are in a relationship, are you?” he asked.
“IF we were, I wouldn’t be interviewing with you alone in a darkened booth in a friggin’ bar.” she grinned, as shafts of light flashing into the booth revealed her dark red lips and pale skin.
“Do you have a hard time in relationships?” he asked out of curiosity.
“No because I never enter into arrangements with anyone. I don’t believe in it. If I want to play house, I’ll hire a gigolo.” she said sarcastically as a sheepish grin came across her face.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“People in this town hook up to find convenient arrangements for combining resources and such. You will find that many couples in this business aren’t in love but they only stay together because they can tolerate each other. In other words, they play house. I know four couples right now who cannot say “I love you” to each other, which sucks because two of those couples brought kids into this bitch we refer to as our world. Their teen children are screwed up because they know why their parents are together–just like mine were back in the heyday of this town. No thank you. Men who want that do not interest me. I’m not an investment or a breeding mare.” she said.
“So you plan to avoid romance altogether? That seems rather sad.” the reporter said.
“There is no such thing as romance–especially here. It’s all about appearances. I don’t believe in romantic love anymore. Everyone in this town is about getting into an arrangement. If they weren’t, you wouldn’t find so many of them screwing around on each other like my own parents did.” she said.
“You have been at odds with your parents for years. Do you speak to them now?” he asked.
“Not very often.” she said.
“Why? They seem like nice people–”
“My stepfather is one of the coolest people on the planet. So is my dad. I cannot say the same about my mother or that bitch my father sleeps with and calls a wife. I don’t care if you print that or not Mr. Jacobson. I talk to neither of my parents since I had to go to court to get their hands off of my bank accounts.” she said.
“This is what the feud is over? Money?” he asked.
“That’s what they WANT to think. It’s not. It’s about their inability to live their own sick lives through their daughter and son. They did the same to my younger brother.” she said.
“He committed suicide.” the man said.
“Yes. AFTER dear old MOM cleared out his funds. Then she sent part of it to dad via the stepmom and he says he never saw a dime of it although she admits she had it.” she mused.
“Will you ever make amends with them? They seem to be reaching out to you now–”
“For more money. Here! I’ll prove it.” she grinned as she turned on her speaker phone.
“Is this for another one of your business schemes–like the one that broke dad’s company?” she asked.
“No! It’s for your father’s eye surgery and I have no time for–”
“Well, if it weren’t for the lasik I’d send it but I know how you operate. You’d use it elsewhere.” she said flatly.
“Come on! Reese, what is $15,000 to you? We are your family–”
“Dad is my family. You are nothing. He told me he was scrapping the lasik thing last week. Nice try, CeCe.” she said as she hung up.
“Mr. Whatever your name is–THAT is how my family is. Always with a hand out. Always a new lie. She’s not half as bad as my mother is. I’m surprised my step dad hasn’t left her ass. She’s still paying back money she robbed from me.” she said to him.
“So you’ve been robbed of your childhood, robbed of part of your fortune and robbed of what good in life you can have out of fear of being used?” the reporter asked.
‘I am a corporation, am I not? I am used every day. Even Mr. Redding will tell you that much. I’m not marrying or moving in with him either–and you can print that in the papers, the book, I don’t care… I like my space. He asked me to marry him four times in three months, but when he sees my prenup he tries to skirt it so I don’t see him any longer.” she said.
“I just think it is sad that you can trust no one. Off the record. Why did you let me interview you?” he asked her.
“You just had to ask me.” she mused.
“I really want to know.” he said.
“Your name is Stephen Robinson and you work for the Herald, correct?” she asked.
“Then I chose you because you don’t bullshit. I like that. I like that article you did on Tibet too.” she said.
“Why do I get the sense that this may head elsewhere?” he asked.
“I’m hiring you to write my biography. Didn’t your boss tell you that? IF you decide to do it, you’ll have the exclusive. You’ll be traveling with me and my band mates–IF I decide to regroup. You’ll see the good, the bad and the ugly–and the fugly too. ” she grinned.
“Is there anything about the “fugly” I need to know about?” he asked.
“I have maybe a year to live and I want the truth out. I’m making my will tomorrow. I refuse medical treatment as my younger sister died of this particular blood disorder I have. Here is the reality. I will never have a normal life. I will never get married or be a mother…In short, you get to write about how f**ked up my life and my family really is. I know you can bring it out the way it needs to be brought out. You’ll also be there at the end. My band knows nothing and neither does my family, my agent or my manager. I don’t fear dying either. It is the only release I’ll have from the ongoing bullshit in my family anyway.” she said.
“This is a joke, right?” he asked. Then he noticed as a faint shaft of light came across her face. A tear had rolled down her cheek.
“I wish it were one of my f***ing jokes. I would be laughing hysterically if it were. However, I will leave them nothing. Absolutely nothing. At the same time, I want to learn how to really live. Does that make sense?” she asked as her tone became more resolute and she wiped the tear from her cheek with the sleeve of her blouse.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I want to do what I have always been afraid to do–starting with bungee jumping. Go with me.” she said.
“Bungee jumping?” he asked.
“Bungee Jumping…Right after I get my will signed. By the way, you are getting a hefty check for all of this shit.” she told him.
“What if you chicken out of the jump?” he asked.
“That’s what YOU’RE there for…To make sure I don’t, dammit.” she said.
“Oh so I’m a personal assistant to you now? I am sorry but I don’t know how to–”
“Just bring whatever you need to write. Don’t be anything less than honest either. That is all I ask of you.” she said as she downed a shot of tequila.
“Look, Miss Harrison–”
“Look at it this way. Either you write it or nobody else will.” she said flatly.
“I need to think this over and talk with my editor–”
“You’re getting exclusive rights to the story. I’m paying you $150,000 to write it, plus 50% royalties in any film rights and such, with a $50,000 advance for your time. He knows that. Besides, you free-lance anyway. IF you want it in writing–”
“Miss Harrison, this is a huge assignment for me. I need to think about it. I was going to go to Nepal–”
“Which you’ll have plenty of time to do later because if it’s about the orphanage, I am part of that benefit taking place there. All I am asking for is part of your time–not 24/7–unless you want to get the whole deal.” she said.
He didn’t have to think beyond 48 hours. $150K for a year…Not bad and it’s not exactly chump change given the fact that other writers, at least in his mind, were superior to him. Stephen Robinson knew this assignment would be life changing–but he had no idea how much. He went to her house in Beverly Hills 2 days later. When her maid answered the door, Reese was pouting on the stair case.
“TWO days…It took you two days to make up your mind? I didn’t go bungee jumping either. Thanks for nothing.” she pouted.
“You didn’t need to do that right away anyhow. Besides, I had loose ends to tie up.” he said.
“Whatever.” she mused as she stood up and went into her conservatory. While the maid, Abigail, showed him to his room, she told him, “Mr. Robinson, she is really mad about you taking two days. She only goes in the conservatory and composes like this when she is angry. Just let her be for a couple of hours and she’ll be fine. She’s furious with Mr. Redding too.” she warned him.
He was amazed by her choice of decor. She stayed true to the history of the house, which was built during the early 1900’s. There was an ornate fireplace in her den, another living area with a smaller one and huge bay windows that had a view of the pool. He noticed the bar and made particular note that everything in the rooms had solid colors–no patterns. Abigail explained that she did the main rooms of the house in this fashion due to her sister’s epilepsy when she came to visit. According to Abigail, almost any extreme pattern or something as simple as a flashing light could cause a seizure, so Reese was taking extra precautions. She did have hanging crystals in her conservatory though and there was some pattern to that.
He loved the deep blue and silver accents and the fabric adorned it. There was no straying from the color scheme except to add grey throws to the chairs. He was also keen to the scent of enchiladas cooking.
“Why? He’s crazy about her–”
“That’s what he wants her to think but she caught him two timing her a few months back when they was together. He hit her when she refused to take him back. Now he wants her back again and she said very nasty things to him and told him to get out of her life–only she used more curse words. She really fears him, Sir.” she said.
“Well, thanks for the heads up.” he told her.
“You seem like a nicer guy than he was. I hope she takes a likin’ to ya! She deserves some happiness after her mother pulled that stunt last week on her.” she said.
“What stunt was that?” he asked.
“She tried to get control of her money again but the judge threw it out. She’s 28 now and she can do what she wants and it just ticks her mama off. She seems so sad lately though. She doesn’t joke around much any more. I’ve known her since she was 12. Something is not right about her.” Abigail said.
“Well I’ll see what I can do.” he said as he scratched his head.
When he unpacked, showered and shaved, Abigail was knocking at his door frantically…”Mr. Robinson please come!”
“What’s the matter, Abigail?” he asked as he opened his door after hastily putting on jeans and a T-Shirt. Then he heard the sound of crashing glass.
“She’s in a bad way again, Mr. Robinson–Mr. Redding made her mad again! They are down there arguing and I’m afraid he will slug her like he did before when they were together!”
As he entered the den she threw another vase at Michael yelling, “I told you to get the f**k out of my life and stay out! I meant it then and I damned well mean it now!”
“Look, Reese…I’m sorry you got hurt. She means nothing to me,” he told her as he tried to get close to her. She then pulled a letter opener out, “Don’t you dare come near me!” she yelled.
“Reese, you know you aren’t going to do that. Put it down–”
“Back off dammit!” she yelled.
“I’m not going to hurt you again, Reese–”
“I think you’d better get the hell out of here.” Stephen said firmly to him.
“Oh…And who might you be? I think you’re the one who had better learn your place around me–”
“Anytime you feel lucky, bring it.,” Stephen told him, “But you will not bother her again. I mean it.” He saw that Reese still had the letter opener in her hand and she was shaking.
“You work for her? Gee…Wait until you see how idiotic she is! She thinks anyone who is with her has to be f***ing perfect! I screwed around on her one time and she acts like she’s holier than thou! Maybe if she f***ing knew how to put out to a man, she’d be able to keep one–”
“Maybe if you were a man, I’d have stayed with your ass.” she mused.
“Don’t you talk to me like that! You’re the one who goes on tour after tour–”
“And bailed your ass out of a $7 million dollar debt. We are done now get out!” she hissed.
He stormed toward the front door, “Reese, I’ll be back when you calm down. We need to talk about this more–”
“I’m getting a restraining order. Abigail, call the police.” she said.
“Yes ma’am!” Abigail said as she went into another room and called them.
“So that’s the way you want it?” Michael asked her.
“For a long time now. Leave me alone!” she said.
“Fine! Don’t come crying to me when you can’t handle the pressure and shit!” he said.
“Oh I won’t. Believe me.” she said icily.
When Michael left, she sat down shaking as Abigail rushed over to her…
“Are you alright–”
“I am now that he’s gone. I’ll get the restraining order. I’ve had it.” she said.
“I never would have thought him to be violent.” Stephen said.
“Welcome to just one aspect of my fugly world.” Reese said as she looked up into his eyes. It was then he saw the red mark on her cheek.
“Well, it shouldn’t be like that.” he said as he waited for the police to arrive in the foyer. When they arrived, they wrote out a criminal trespass for Michael and took her statement. She filed harassment and assault charges since Abigail saw Redding strike her.
“Well, it’s a good thing the media is already here because those reporters he has in his camp are going to make out like he’s just a friggin’ love-sick victim.” Reese said.
“Good thing I am here, then. I’ll save it for the book though.” Stephen said.
“Thank you. I appreciate that more than you know. It’ll die down in a few days.” she said.
Within a few weeks, Stephen saw how she went about her daily routine. Her songwriting habits and the various chew out sessions with her management and various band members often perplexed him but at times he laughed. He found some of it to be rather amusing, and was becoming more drawn to her as she undertook charitable work. They traveled to Nepal and to Costa Rica together where she saw the wildlife refuge and went bungee jumping with Stephen.
As the sunlight shone upon them and the warm tropical breeze embraced their beings, they were having a bit of a heated debate…
“You can’t be serious about doing this! There is plenty of other things to do in Costa Rica than risk our lives!” Stephen said.
“You’re kidding me, right? If the cord breaks and I die, at least I have nothing to lose.” she mused.
“Don’t talk like that! It isn’t funny!” he said to her.
“It is absurd and that is why I said it. I am merely trying to point out to you that there is nothing to be afraid of. We’re not that high up and the water is 100 ft. deep.” she said.
“Not that high up? Look do—” she pushed him and jumped afterward.
“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttt!” he screamed all the way down as she laughed.
They bounced a bit and he shot her a dirty look once they calmed down.
“Why the hell did you push me?! It’s not funny–” he protested.
“I didn’t have all day to wait on you to make your mind up. I’ve got other things to cross off my list anyway! Why can’t you just admit that it was kind of fun? You had to have felt a rush–”
“Oh yeah! The rush of DEATH!” he snapped.
“Exactly,” she beamed, “But if it makes you feel any better, my friend, I’ll never push you off like that again. I promise!”
Something in her smile was rather infectious. Something in her assertiveness was addicting. HE finally cracked a smile at her again.
“Do you MEAN that?” he asked her.
“Not really.” she smiled as she winked at him.
“Oh shit…Whatever.” he said.