I did lose.
I fuckin’ lost big.
Not as big as Violet Gates, though.
Yeah, I didn’t want her in that dress, reminding me of that night.
Maybe if I’d won or maybe if I’d refused the coin toss, I’d have had a dance or two. Maybe I’d have called her afterwards. Maybe it would’ve gone nowhere or maybe we’d be right where we are today but because we’d been together the last three years. Happy.
Who fucking knows? All I know is that I can’t stomach that she’s this broken because of that piece of shit.
Just as I’m finished with cleaning my kitchen, thinking on how great she looked in here in bare feet, smiling and drinking wine while helping me make dinner, wine-flushed in the cheeks as she giggled at me in that lilting voice, my phone makes noise. A text from Alana.
“Emailed you a report. Call me tomorrow to go over stuff. Not urgent tonight.”
I wonder if she has further information about the problems with that fuckhead who left trying to argue about his bill, the service, the food quality, even the booze tonight. I don’t know what the fuck that guy was all about, but it was more than the typical disgruntled customer. Everything about that situation told me there was more to it. I didn’t like it one bit, so I told Alana to make sure to tell Tony, my head of security, to keep all eyes open extra wide tonight.
The little fuck harassed the server, harassed his wagering concierge, accusing us of watering down the top shelf liquor, and then he was a dick to not only the manager trying to make things right, but also me, doin’ what he could to draw attention to his complaints on a busy Friday night. She told me she checked and nothing about his orders, even though his server was Heidi were fucked up.
Too bad the shithead didn’t pay with a credit card. I’d have liked to know who he is. I decide to call Alana to see if we can get the license plate of the ride he arrived in from surveillance.
We have surveillance at all our entrances and in all corners of our parking lot at each of my locations. I do not take any fucking chances with security.
I call her to find out what’s going on.
19
Violet
When I get to the guest room, I’m breathless, a little drunk, and more than anything, I’m mortified.
The mortification set in as words spewed out of my mouth out there when I heard myself, like I was outside my body and couldn’t make myself stop the spewing.
I don’t know what to think about everything. On one hand I feel stupid for projectile word-vomiting with Killian about my thing with Ray, how I let him turn me into someone I wasn’t. Someone I would feel sorry for.
On the other hand, I guess I just wanted to try to explain how it happened. I’m going to stop explaining it, though. With Susanna, too.
I can see them trying to understand but not getting it. Because they haven’t lived it. And maybe because I was just weak. With stars in my eyes at the notion of true and unconditional love. And then so, so fucking crushed when I found out it was all lies.
It hits me that I forgot to text Susanna, so I flop onto the bed, luxuriating for a moment in the feel of the soft and colorful quilt and all the pillows. At the happy bouquet on the nightstand. At the view out the wall of windows. I tip my head back and look up at the wish art on the wall over the bed. I can’t help but smile, despite everything.
I can’t afford décor like this, but I love this room, love the feel of this being my safe haven, and I now want to redecorate my room at home, when I can afford it, to look as much like this room as I possibly can.
Maybe I should move in with Susanna when her roommate vacates. Get a fresh start in a place Ray’s never been. Cut my bills and save a nest egg to buy a house of my own. Or a condo in the sky like this. I mean, like this but a tenth of the price, probably, so a tenth of the awesomeness.
The feeling of safety here, up high in this secure building with someone watching over me who won’t let Ray in my space? It’s a feeling that I could get used to.
But I won’t let myself get too used to it. After all, not this Thursday, the one after: it’s Ray’s deadline. Killian promised I’ll be fine, so I’ve got to try to believe that.
When I do get my room done, it won’t be anything close to this, not without this wall of windows, the amazing penthouse view of Portland, and the sumptuous furnishings, but maybe I can get a pretty new quilt and a painting for the wall that inspires me and reminds me that it’s good to wish, good to hope.