“Thank you, Layla.”
She steps closer and kisses me on the cheek. “Some girl is going to be lucky when they finally land you. I think I just went about it the wrong way.”
I’ve already let her go, I want to say, but don’t.
Chapter 33
Los Angeles during the holiday season is drab. They try hard, but it’s almost impossible to get into the spirit without cold weather and even a hint of snow. It doesn’t snow much in Beaumont, but we’ll at least get a few flurries and maybe a slushy road or two. But the fact that it’s Christmas and I’m wearing shorts makes me feel more like a bah-humbug than a jolly ole Saint Nick.
My grandmother loves the holidays. I put major emphasis on love. It makes me wonder how much damage my father has done to my mother because she’s not like this. The house is tastefully decorated, bringing enough festive cheer to make you forget that its eighty degrees outside. I never had this in Beaumont and I have a feeling my gram knows it. I have a distinct feeling that when she looks at me, she sees everything that I’ve missed out on and it must pain her to know that her daughter is not how she raised her. The most we’ve had is a tree, a fake one at that, which was large enough to take up the entire living room window.
Surprisingly, we never had a holiday party. You’d think with Sterling and his social agenda he’d be the first one to hold a gathering. Maybe he didn’t want the outside world to see just how dysfunctional his house really was. What strikes me the most is that my father isn’t riding my grandmother’s coattails. From the months that I’ve been here, she’s the epitome of social elegance and grace. I’ve escorted her to more high-priced dinners and red carpet events than I can count. I’m now the proud owner of an Armani tuxedo and a Rolex watch; all material items to me but important to her.
I help the staff hang the rest of the decorations. More are being added for tonight’s party. I have to dress up and usually it doesn’t bother me, but being home and dressed up seems like overkill. Grandma says that appearances matter and that I need to get used to that because when I’m signed, I’ll want to carry myself with an aura of refinement. At that, I rolled my eyes and told her politely that I’ve been playing for months now and am nowhere near the pot of gold I need to make an impression on any agents or talent scouts. I still play for the happy hour crew who isn’t really listening, but at least they’re clapping.
I could put my name in at other bars, but I’ve grown fond of Trixie and Harrison has become a good friend. At least in my eyes he is. He still doesn’t know how I ended up in L.A., he doesn’t ask and I’m not one to offer up the details about my life before I arrived here. I wouldn’t even know how to bring it up. It’s not like it’s an everyday topic and since I’ve changed my number, he doesn’t look at me oddly anymore. I think he was probably wondering why I was always silencing my phone.
Changing my number was hard, but I did it. I couldn’t take the crying anymore. She wasn’t even asking me to come back, just crying and telling me how much she hates me. I hate me, she doesn’t need to remind me of it, but damn if I don’t want her to ask me to come home or to call her. My heart breaks each and every time I re-listen to the message I saved. I know the damage I’ve done because I live with it every day. I wake up in a cold sweat wondering if I’ve made the right choice, but deep down I know that I have. I can’t be what she needs, not right now. My only hope is that when I go back home in a year she can forgive me. I’m not counting on it. Hell, I wouldn’t forgive me and I know I’ve got my work cut out to convince her to give me another chance. But on the off chance that she does, I know I’ll never fuck shit up with her again. That’s still my plan – to go back in a year – to fix things. I don’t know if it will work, but I’m going to try. I have to. I have to show her that what I did, I did for us. That if we had continued down the path, I would’ve self-destructed and I couldn’t take her with me.
I miss her. I miss her so much it hurts to breathe sometimes. I have a few pictures of us together that I keep in my bedside table, but I try not to look at them. I try not to put myself through the pain of seeing her smiling face stare back at me. I can hear her angry words, the sobs coming from her as she screamed into the phone. Each one twists like a knife in my heart making it shatter into a million pieces. Gram says I’ll heal and that it takes time. For me, this feels infinite.
“Are you going to change?” I look down at my shorts and flip-flops and look at my grandma who is dressed in a gold shimmery dress. How I know what the word “shimmery” even is, is beyond me. It’s amazing what you learn when you’re the bag boy for a Rodeo drive shopping trip. I don’t mind though.
“I do believe the clothes that are lying on my bed are for me to wear and not donate?” I ask, trying not to laugh. I finish hooking a string of lights around some garlands before giving her my full attention. “Yes, I’m going to change. I didn’t want to get my suit dirty.”
“Mhm,” she says, giving me the stink eye. She loves me, but loves to act like I’m pissing her off. “The guests will be here any moment and I’d much prefer my grandson looking dapper and not like a homeless bum hanging on the Boardwalk.”
“Hey now, I don’t look like a bum.”
She raises her eyebrow and I concede. I kiss her on the cheek and hustle off to my room. When you think about it, she’s not much different from Sterling. Both have social agendas and high standards. My grandma just goes about things differently. Her thoughts on who or what someone should be isn’t the “be all that ends all”, not like Sterling. He has to be the only master in the house and you have to live by his rules. There’s no live and learn where he’s concerned.
When I come out – dressed to impress per gram’s wishes – there are already enough party-goers lingering that I have to side step to get around them. A man sits at the baby grand piano and plays Christmas carols while people gather around. The terrace doors are open allowing the overflow to filter out back. Chinese lanterns are floating in the pool, each one carrying a tea-light candle. And while we may be missing snow, the ambiance screams winter and Christmas.
I look around for Harrison, finally spotting him at the table that we often sit at. It’s away from the crowd and noise and just about perfect for me. A few people stop me on my way to meet up with him and I have to make idle chitchat. Everyone here is an industry executive – that has been drilled into my head repeatedly – and while I haven’t asked my grandma to call anyone on my behalf, I know the importance of who these people are. At any given time one of them could make or break me. I’d rather it be the former. I know they’ll ask for a demo and I don’t have one yet. I’m also trying to do this on my own. All I need is a little faith.
“Hey man,” I greet him as I sit down. I pull out my pack of cigarettes and lay them on the table before taking one out and lighting it. I don’t even know how this became a habit for me, but it is. I used to live by the adage that my body is a temple and all that shit. Not anymore. Aside from a daily run and lifting some weights, I’m not watching what I’m eating or putting into my system, nothing illegal aside from beer and a few different kinds of liquor.
“How’s it going?” he nods his head.
I look around and laugh. “Another party,” I shake my head. “I used to look forward to a good party, but nothing like this.”
Harrison chuckles and kicks back in the chair. Once again he has a hat on and it makes me wonder how he gets away without dressing up for something like this. Everyone else is dressed to the nines and he’s sitting here in slacks and a dress shirt. Makes me a bit jealous, if I’m being honest. I pull at my tie, loosening it a bit. I should be out there mingling and making connections. Grandma has expressed the importance of networking, yet here I sit far away from the party, watching from the outside.
“You know she’s doing this for you, right?”
I look at Harrison questioningly.
>
“I’m just saying my mom is here maybe once or twice and then you show up and we’re here every month it seems like, and suddenly I’m invited over.”
“You hadn’t come over before until I got here?”
He shakes his head, taking a long drag off his cigarette. “My sister, yeah, but not me. I tend to keep to myself and am usually at Metro.”
“Why’s she doing this?” I ask, curious as to what he thinks is going on with my grandmother.
He shrugs. “The only thing I can think is she’s trying to get you noticed which is why she sent you with me that night. I know you don’t know anyone, but if you look to your right, the man wearing fedora is Anthony Moreno. He’s an entertainment guru, owns a few different companies. He’s talking to Ness Cacco…” he trails off. He doesn’t have to tell me who Ness Cacco is. Not only does he have mob ties, he’s one of the best directors in cinematography. The girls have gone stupid crazy over his movies and now he’s standing not twenty feet from me. The excited faces of the girls are flashing like a bright beacon in front of my eyes. They’d love this moment.