It sounds stupid, but the idea of having a home, a safe place to go, sounds so wonderful. I’m so excited. I ask him if I need to do anything. Sign anything. He says no. That he already has my power of attorney and he will take care of everything. In fact, he put such a large deposit down they already have given him the keys in case I want to hire a designer and get started. He told me I should get the keys in the mail on Tuesday.
I think about furnishing the loft. What I want. A comfortable bed and pillow. High thread count sheets, a pool table, flat screen TVs, bar, hot tub on the patio, maybe. I pull the floor plan up on my phone. I want the first floor great room to be the room I’ll entertain in. The cozy upstairs loft I want to be a quiet place to sit, watch a movie, relax in my pajamas.
I haven’t told anyone about the loft. I was afraid to upset Mom. I text Garrett.
Me: I bought a house. Well, it’s a loft. I haven’t told my mom because I know she’ll freak. I thought it might be a good idea to have a safe place to go. That no one knows about. So far, only Sam knows. The listing said it has a security system, but I don’t know if it’s any good. Is this something you can help me with, or should I hire that on my own?
Garrett: I’m proud of you! That’s a very smart decision.
Me: Thanks :)
Garrett: I’d like to handle the security personally.
Me: Good. Another question. I know Kym goes to NY and sends me clothes from there and stuff. She has other clients besides Mom, so I know that’s okay. I need to have it furnished. She’s good at that. Do you think it’s okay to tell her? To have her go there? Help me? Hire a designer? Or should I do that myself?
Garrett: My initial reaction is that I like the idea of no one knowing about it. Where is it?
Me: NYC
Garrett: Perfect. A train ride and you can be there if you ever need to run. Let me get back to you.
Me: Okay, class is about to start, so I have to put my phone away anyway. Thanks, Garrett.
Saturday, September 3rd
Sleazy train wreck.
11am
I’m just getting to the surf tournament. I hired a car to pick me up from the train station and drive me here. I have no idea when I will go to the Hamptons. I’m not sure how things will feel with Brooklyn. So I hired the driver for the whole weekend.
I chose my outfit for today very, very carefully. Well, I mean I chose it out of the stuff that Kym sent. I want to look like the Keats that B knows and says he loves, but I want to look more grown up.
Like, seriously, I feel like I’ve aged five years since I left home.
I pick my way though the crowd and look for Brooklyn’s tent.
I find it among the many sponsor tents and spy Brooklyn inside. My heart still does a little flip when I see him. He looks so cute.
I can tell he’s already been out surfing. The tips of his hair are dry, but it’s darker closer to his head. His bangs are hanging down in his eyes. He’s got on board shorts, my necklace, and a pair of sandals.
There’s a short line of girls waiting for his autograph. I watch him laugh, smile, and flirt with the girls.
Then I watch him sign a girl’s boob.
The next girl in line apparently doesn’t want to be outdone. So she turns around, wiggles her thong toward him, and gets him to sign one of her butt cheeks.
Then the three girls crowd around him for a picture. Two of the girls walk away, but the third one, who is sporting orange-tanned skin and huge fake boobs, grabs him and starts kissing him.
I can barely believe my eyes.
I get the autographs, but kissing?!
Why is he not stopping this?
And, ohmigawd, she’s, like, practically eating him alive!
Even worse, he doesn’t seem to mind. He wraps his arms around her and has his hands all over her half-naked ass.
The kissing finally stops. He gives her a huge grin. She gives him her number, and I feel like I need a shower.
Seriously?
I have the sudden urge to leave.
But I don’t.
I think it’s time to catch his attention.
I stand in front of his tent until he notices me.
I’m wearing a skin-colored macramé bikini. Little chunky turquoise and coral stones run down around my cleavage, and the bikini’s strings have little stones at the end of them. There’s a single long gold chain around my neck with a large turquoise stone. I’m wearing turquoise and straw colored platform wedges that are surprisingly easy to maneuver in the sand. Big gold Dolce & Gabbana aviators on my face. Gauzy white shirt, all unbuttoned. Straw cowboy hat in my hand. My hair in beachy waves.
He seems me, smiles, and checks out my bikini.
But he doesn’t recognize me.
Apparently he doesn’t notice the chaos tattoo on my hip, which is clearly visible, and an exact match for the one on his very own wrist.
I put my sunglasses on top of my head and smile back.
He takes a second look and his eyes get big when he realizes it’s me.
He leaves his line of admirers, runs up to me, pulls me into a big hug, and leans in to kiss me.
I totally turn my cheek.
“I just saw your make out session with fake boobs. You’d have to sanitize your mouth before I’d kiss you.”
He laughs, not seeming the least bit worried that I watched another girl shove her tongue down his throat, throws his arm around me, and leads me to his tent.