Love at 11

Chapter Ten



I wanted to throw up.

Maybe it was coming down from the Ecstasy. Maybe it was due to my lack of food for the last twenty-four hours. Maybe it was the fierce, angry sun that had toasted my skin to a crisp.

Whatever the reason, after the two-mile walk back to Calla Verda, I literally felt sick.

Jamie didn’t look much better. Pale faced, save the black circles under his eyes, he looked depressed. Defeated. And why wouldn’t he? He loved that bike and now it was gone. He must have felt like God had come down and swept it up as punishment for his sins.

“You have insurance, right?” I’d asked on the long walk back. Not a car in sight to beg a ride from.

He shrugged his shoulders slowly, as if each weighed two tons. “Sure. But the bike’s a few years old. They’re not going to give me enough to buy a new one.”

“I’m sorry,” I said for the umpteenth time.

“It’s not your fault,” Jamie replied automatically. But he thought it was. I could see it in his eyes. The way he balled his hands into fists when he answered my apology.

I gave up and we spent the rest of the walk in silence. When we got to Calla Verda, we hit the local police/fire/ambulance all-in-one building. Behind the glass reception window, the officer in charge, an obese man, stuffed like a sausage in his uniform casing, took one look at our dusty, dirty appearance and pointed down the hall.

“Methadone clinic is to your right,” he said.

“We’re not here for methadone,” said Jamie in a tight voice. “My motorcycle was stolen.”

The officer snorted. “Oh, well then. That’s different. Let me call out the National Guard. Yessiree.” He shook his head, chucking to himself. “You city kids. You kill me. If I had myself a dollar for every one of you who walked through that door with a missing bike …”

Well, that wasn’t very encouraging. I watched as Jamie bit his lower lip and could see frustration radiating from his body.

“I know the chances of finding it are next to none,” he said in a tight voice. “But I need to file a police report so I can show it to the insurance company.”

“Well, thank you kindly, sir, for telling me how to do my job, then.” The officer rolled his eyes and grudgingly got off his fat ass to walk over to the far wall. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and sat back down. “Good thing you city kids watch a lot of Miami Vice or we’d all be in trouble.”

What an a*shole!

“A little behind on your Must See TV, are we?” I interjected, not able to take the hick cop’s rudeness any longer. “Miami Vice’s probably been off the air longer than I’ve been alive. But I guess news travels slow out here in East Bumf*ck.”

“Maddy,” Jamie hissed. “Be quiet.”

“Watch your attitude, Missy,” the cop growled back. “Or I’ll have to call the sheriff. And no one likes it when we have to call the sheriff.”

I fell silent, ashamed. What had I been thinking? Sure, the cop had been rude, but at the end of the day, he was still a cop. And it wasn’t going to help our situation any to start mouthing off. They’d probably arrest me. Lock me up in some deep, dark desert prison and throw away the key. Not exactly how I wanted to spend my next five to ten.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“Well, you should be, little lady.”

Ooh, it took all my strength to stay silent. I forced myself to smile and then turn to walk over to the plastic waiting room chair. I sank into it, head in hands. The air conditioner in the police station must have been broken because it was about eighty degrees inside. My sweaty legs stuck to the plastic in the most uncomfortable of ways. I noticed a coffee machine on the table next to me and poured myself a Styrofoam cup of thick mud. Disgusting, but hopefully it’d wake me up.

How were we going to get back to San Diego? It was a two-hour drive: too long for a taxi, not that the town probably had any to begin with. Surely no busses came through this Nowhereville.

And since Jamie knew next to no one in San Diego, it’d be up to me to call someone back home to rescue us.

How embarrassing.

I pondered my options. Dad? No. I still wasn’t speaking to him. Besides, he’d probably want to bring along Cindi with an “i” and I couldn’t face meeting her looking like a desert rat. There was Lulu, but she didn’t have her own car and I had the keys to mine in my pocket. I’d been meaning to have a spare set made, but had never gotten around to it. Mom was probably in London, on a spending spree down Bond Street at the moment, so no use trying her.

Jodi. I’d have to call Jodi.

I didn’t want to. I knew she’d be able to figure out what was going on. She’d see through my lies. Know that Jamie and I had a thing going. That I was aiding and abetting a man cheating on his fiancée. Actually, make that past tense. After this incident, I doubted Jamie would want to lay eyes on me again. Not that it was my fault.

The night had been so perfect. Jamie, opening up, sharing his soul. But tomorrow had come with a vengeance and now he looked at me with scared, mistrusting eyes. As if I were the girl who was ruining his life. It wasn’t fair.

I flipped open my cell phone to call Jodi, then remembered there was no reception out here. I looked around the police station and saw an antique-looking pay phone tacked to the wall. I rose and walked over to it.

It cost me a dollar fifty in change for three minutes. Jodi picked up after two and a half rings. “Hello?” she asked in a suspicious voice. I’m sure the caller ID area code from deep in the desert confused her.

“Jodi, it’s me.”

“Maddy? Where the hell are you calling from?”

“Um, a little town called Calla Verda. About two hours east of San Diego.”

“What on earth are you doing there?” she asked. “Richard’s looking for you. He said he tried to page you fifteen times yesterday.”

Oh, great. I knew I should have changed the battery on that pager. My once brave idea of leaving it dead because I didn’t feel I should be kept on an electronic leash now seemed pretty lame.

“I told Alicia at the assignment desk that I was going to the desert to work on a story,” I said defensively.

“And you’re still out there this morning? When are you coming in? I can cover for you.”

“Um, actually, that’s what I was calling you about.” I explained the whole sordid tale. Well, actually not the whole sordid tale. I kind of left out the sordid part. The drug use and the almost-kissing-a-coworker-who-had-a-fiancée bits.

“So you’re stuck out there?” Jodi asked incredulously.

“Unless some wonderful best friend in the whole world comes to pick me up,” I cajoled.

Silence on the other end of the line. “Jodi?”

“Uh, sorry,” she said quickly. “But Maddy, how can I pick you up? I’m already at work. I can’t just leave. I’ve got a shoot in an hour with a woman whose carpet almost killed her.”

My heart plummeted. “O-oh. Oh-kay,” I said, my voice cracking. My one hope. My supposed best friend was turning me down.

“Sorry, Maddy. If you need a ride after work, I’d be happy to drive down—oh, Laura’s coming. I’ve got to go.” I could hear her set down the receiver and then the dial tone buzzed in my ear.

“I’m done filing the report.”

I hung up the phone and turned around to face Jamie. “I’m trying to get us a ride home,” I said. “But ever one’s at work.”

Jamie shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not going to be much help. All my friends are still in LA.”

“Jodi could pick us up, but not until after she gets out.”

“Well, then I guess we’re stuck here ‘til then,” Jamie said in a frustrated tone. “The cop said there’s a hotel down the road. I’m going to get a room and take a nap.”

“Oh, good idea,” I said, then realized I had no money to do the same. I’d left my wallet in the bike and used up all my change to phone Jodi. In fact, I didn’t even have enough money for breakfast. But I didn’t want Jamie to have to pay for me. He was already in a bad enough mood. The last thing he needed was a clingy girl. “I’ll, um, probably hang out here. Catch you later.” He looked at me strangely. “Here? In the police station?”

“Yeah.” I tried to smile. “They have great coff—” My voice cracked and the waterworks started. Dammit. I hated that. Why couldn’t I be brave for once? I cleared my throat and brushed away the pesky tear. “Great coffee.” I raised my cup of mud. “And you know how much I love coffee.”

“You’re not staying here,” Jamie said. “Come on, let’s find the hotel.”

“No. I’m fi—”

He grabbed me firmly by the arm and led me out of the police station, evidently insistent on taking control of our desperate situation. Which was fine by me, really.

It was still early, but the temperature outside had risen to a sweltering hundred and five degrees, if you believed the bank clock. Of course, it was a dry heat, the people back East would say. As if that made it any less unbearable. When it got to a hundred and five, heat was heat.

We walked down the street, passing biker bar after biker bar. I could see Jamie surreptitiously checking out the bikes parked outside. But most of these were dirt bikes to ride the dunes. None resembled his precious English Triumph.

The hotel loomed at the end of Main Street, its once cheery blue sideboards now peeling paint. We stepped on the creaky front porch and went inside.

“I’d like to rent a room,” Jamie said to the bored, gum-snapping blond girl behind the desk. She looked about fifteen.

“By the quarter hour, hour, or hour and a half?” she asked without looking up.

Jamie blushed. “How much for the day?”

The girl looked up from her magazine. Appraised me with critical eyes, perhaps wondering how I’d lucked out warranting so much time. Then went back to reading.

“Fifty bucks,” she said.

Jamie handed her a wad of cash. She punched a few numbers into the register and then handed him a rusty key.

“Room eleven. Third door to the right.”

We walked down the dark, floral-wallpapered hallway until we reached our room. Jamie slid the key into the lock and stepped inside. The room matched the rest of the hotel—dingy and decrepit. Dim lighting, peeling paint, and only a single double bed in the center of the room serving as furniture. There wasn’t even a television.

“Oh, I’d figured there’d be two beds,” Jamie said, appraising the room. “Sorry. Do you want me to get you your own room?”

So it was like that, was it? From telling me he was crazy about me, to wanting to spend fifty extra bucks just so he wouldn’t have to be in the same room as me. “It’s up to you,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t mind sharing.” I stepped inside the room and looked around. It seemed clean enough, at least. As long as I didn’t think about the lurid acts normally performed here by the quarter hour.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Jamie said, closing the door behind me. “I could probably sleep on a rock, I’m so exhausted.”

“Don’t be stupid. It’s your room. You paid for it. If anyone’s sleeping on the floor, it’ll be me.” Not that I wanted to sleep on the floor. I wanted to sleep on the bed. With Jamie. Preferably with his arms wrapped around my body, spooning me close.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Something had changed between us. The closeness we’d felt in our drug-induced haze had completely dissipated. You could tell he was dying to get away from me and was just being a gentleman because it was in his nature.

“Look, this is stupid,” I said. “We’re both adults. We can both sleep on the bed. It’s just sleeping.”

He nodded, agreeing without comment, kicking off his shoes and lying down. I went into the bathroom to wash up a bit and when I walked back into the room he was already fast asleep, his breathing slow and heavy.

I tried not to think of the close proximity of his warm, sexy body as I crawled into the bed beside him, resisting the urge to inch closer and seek comfort in his slumbering frame. Sure, it might give me comfort now, to press my body against his, imagining that he was mine, but in the end it would only lead to more heartbreak. Much better to hug a pillow, shut my eyes and try to sleep.



*



I woke up sometime later to the sound of a rhythmically creaking mattress coming from next door. Evidently one of the quarter-hour people had checked in. I rolled over in the bed to see if Jamie was awake. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. At my movement he looked over and smiled.

“Major action next door,” he remarked.

“No doubt.” It was just too bad there’d be no major action on this side of the wall. But, I realized, that ship had sailed.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, rolling on his side to face me. He propped his head up with his elbow, peering at me with his beautiful emerald eyes.

“Famished.”

“Think they have room service?” he asked with a laugh.

“Oh, yes. I’m sure. Probably caviar and champagne delivered to your door.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his chin. “I don’t like caviar. And I’m way too hung over to enjoy the champagne. I guess we should go out for lunch instead.”

I nodded. At least he seemed to be in a better mood. “We can get lunch and then head over to the town hall to look up those property records.”

He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. “Good idea. Forgot about that.” He stretched his arms over his head in a yawn/stretch and then turned to face me. “Maddy … before we go, we need to talk.”

I raised my eyebrows. We need to talk? Wasn’t that my line? Didn’t I, born a female, have exclusive rights to those dreaded four words? “Okay,” I agreed, bracing myself for the worst. I pulled my feet in a cross-legged position on the bed. Here went nothing.

“About last night. There was a lot said.” Jamie picked at an invisible spot on his jeans, not meeting my eyes.

“Uh, yeah. I remember.” Boy, did I remember.

“I … I guess what I’m trying to say is, well, I’m not sure where we go from here.”

A coldness washed over me and I felt like I was going to throw up. I’d been expecting the speech all morning, tried to mentally prepare myself for it, but the reality of it actually happening still made me sick. I’d been such a fool to allow myself to think that things with Jennifer might fall through and that someday he might be free to love me. To love me as I loved him. I had no one to blame but myself. I’d put myself in a situation where I could not come out the winner. I wasn’t the noble tragic victim. I was just pathetic and stupid and selfish and deserved everything I was about to get.

“And I didn’t want to give you the wrong impression, make you think …”

Still, I reminded myself, it wasn’t as if he were some innocent party. If anything, he’d started the flirtation. He’d told me last night he was crazy about me. And now he was trying to take it all back? What a bastard.

“I understand,” I said, even though I didn’t. “You want to be with Jennifer.”

“I am with Jennifer,” he corrected, only making it worse. “I’m marrying her in less than three months. I know I said there were some things between us that weren’t perfect, but really, that’s true with any couple, right? I made a commitment. I can’t just ditch her at the altar. I’m not that kind of guy.” He shrugged. “And I do love her. I really do.”

The words were daggers. “And what about what you said to me?” I spat out, not having the power to just get up and walk away, as my common sense strongly advised. “You said you were crazy about me. Just hoping to get in my pants, maybe?” My voice cracked with rage. “Nice. Real nice.”

I felt sick. Cheap. Used. Not the Madonna. Total, 100 percent whore. Thank God I hadn’t slept with him again. Not that it really mattered. Sex was just a physical act. The ache in my heart was much more serious.

“Maddy, calm down. I meant everything I said last night. It’s just that I shouldn’t have said it—do you see the difference?” He sighed. Deeply. “I can’t even tell you how much you’ve come to mean to me over these last couple weeks. You’re delightful, funny, sweet—I could go on and on. And I don’t want to lose you, either. But at the same time ...I can’t keep dragging you down with me. I’m trying not to be selfish here. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry. I wish things were different. But they’re not. And I feel terrible for leading you on in the first place. Making you fall for me.”

That did it. Fury slammed through my stomach. “Get off your high horse, a*shole,” I cried, leaping up from the bed. “You think I’ve fallen for you? You’ve got to be f*cking crazy!” I started laughing, realized my laughter made me sound semi psychotic. At that point I didn’t really care. “You know, Jennifer can have you! Not that she’d probably want you if she knew what a bastard you are! You go and cheat on her, and then expect to just walk down the aisle three months later. What a keeper!”

Jamie looked beaten. Truly beaten. Half of me wanted to go over and hug him and tell him everything was okay; the other, more sensible half, wanted to beat him to a pulp.

“What a prize you are.” I continued my rampage, settling for mental brutality over physical. “You said she was embarrassed by you? Well, I don’t blame her. You’re a burnt-out has-been. Pathetic. A real nothing. I wouldn’t marry you for all the handbags in Prada. And neither should she. Of course, she doesn’t know better, poor thing.”

“You’re not going to tell her, are you?” he asked, a scared expression on his face.

I drew in a breath. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. But here he was, not concerned that he’d hurt my feelings. Just worried that he might get caught. It would serve him right. Leave him with nothing.

“Well, well. That’s for me to know and you to find out,” I threatened. And with that, I grabbed my shoes and made my exit, slamming the door behind me.



FROM THE DESK OF

THE CALLA VERDA ROADHOUSE



Dear Jennifer,

You don’ t really know me, but I’ve slept with your future husband. I wanted to write and tell you what a bastard he is.



Jen,

Remember how we shared dinner last week? Well, that’s not all we’ve shared…



Jennifer,

You know how some men have the Madonna/whore complex? Ever wonder who is Jamie’s whore?



Jennifer,

You don’ t like him anyway, so how about you go marry someone else and leave Jamie to me? I think Heath Ledger might be single again…



Hi Jen,

I’m in love with your husband.



Goodbye Cruel Word,

This may be my last will and testament after having my heart broken by an a*shole named Jamie Hayes.