A Life More Complete

---Chapter 5---

Rolling over, I cover my face with my arms as a waffle print of sunshine glows on the wall across from Ben’s bed. His arm is thrown over my stomach and his leg is intertwined with mine. Sunshine? Holy shit! Without even giving it a second thought, I fling Ben’s wayward body parts off of mine and jet out of bed. I grab the alarm clock off the nightstand and launch it back onto its home with a crash. 7:55?

“Ben!” I yell startling him even more as he emerges from sleep. His eyes heavy and his hair all mussed as if someone just woke him casually. He stretches and every muscle in his body flexes and tenses. Through a yawn, he finally speaks, “Just call in sick. We can lay here all day.” His smile, lazy and full of sensual promise that I can’t even begin to think about or it will be my undoing.

“Why didn’t you set an alarm? Now I’m late for work and I have no clean clothes, not to mention underwear.”

“Seriously, call in sick. No point in going in now. Too late already.” He closes his eyes and rolls over pulling the sheets up to his neck.

“Not everyone is the boss. I have a boss and she is gonna be pissed.” I scramble to find my clothes that managed to get strewn around the room in at least eight different locations. I pull on the same seersucker suit I wore yesterday and cross my fingers that no one notices. I was only in the office for an hour yesterday. Who am I kidding? That will be the first thing Melinda and Bob notice. I can’t get it together fast enough. I pull my hair back into a ponytail and brush my teeth with Ben’s toothbrush. Stumbling through the room I lean down and kiss Ben good-bye. He mumbles incoherently as I fly out the bedroom door.

I rifle through my gym bag as I pull into the parking garage. I find nothing but shorts, a stick of deodorant, a yoga tank, socks and a pair of running shoes. It’s useless, looks like I’m doing the walk of shame into my office.

I try to move as quickly as possible, but Maggie eyes me suspiciously from behind the reception desk. Not sure if this is because I’m late or if it’s because I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I try not to dwell on it.

“Morning, Maggie,” I say as breeze by.

“Good Morning, Kristin. Trini called about an hour ago, asked me to page you. She said she was sure you were here, but she couldn’t reach you on your cell or at your desk.” Her voice begins to grow quiet since I don’t stop to listen.

“Okay. Thanks.”

I make it to my desk virtually unscathed. I start up my laptop and login to my email. I scroll through emails and answer some absentmindedly as Bob strolls into my office.

“I come baring gifts. Someone put it on my desk. I think they’re trying to kill me,” he says holding out a blueberry muffin. Bob is what he likes to refer to as a “glutard”. He has Celiac disease, so in his honor I have learned to bake just about any dessert that is gluten free. I also don’t mind taking one for the team and eating any baked good that might jeopardize his health.

When I stand and walk toward him he nearly stumbles backward. “Did you seriously do the walk of shame at work? Have you no thought to leave clothes in your car? You’ve been friends with Melinda for how long now and you forgot the one piece of advice she hands out willingly?” He tsks and shakes his head at me.

I shrug my shoulders while picking at the top of the muffin, popping a few small bites into my mouth in an attempt to avoid conversation. “Do I look shamed?” I ask.

“No. You look...” he pauses for a second, “wrinkled.” He leans down and tries to smooth the lapel of my jacket. “Lose the jacket. Far too wrinkled to be acceptable.”

“Thanks. Will do,” I say slipping it off and stuffing it into my laptop bag. Ellie glances into my office for the second time in thirty seconds. I give Bob a wide-eyed look that says get out without actually saying it.

“Gotta run. Enjoy your muffin, my little love muffin,” Bob quips as he heads out the door.

I turn my attention back to the reason I’m here. My morning goes along quietly. I begin to secure dates for book signings for one of my newer clients and by the time I’m done it’s lunchtime. Since I didn’t get my run in this morning I head to my car to grab my gym bag. I stop off at the deli around the corner from my office and grab a turkey sandwich. I’ll eat while I change my clothes.

One of the many things I love about working in the city is the fact that there’s a gym in my office building. I climb onto the treadmill and glare at the laminated paper taped to the front stating that I have a 30-minute time limit. Screw that. I need at least an hour, more would be wonderful, but I need to get back to my desk.

In an hour I make it just over six miles. I shower and put my day old clothes back on. I look better, still wrinkled, now without makeup and wet hair. My cell phone rings just as I’m walking out the door.

“Kristin Mullins,” I answer politely.

“Krissy!” Trini’s voice is shrill. She’s my only client that calls me Krissy. “I have been trying to call you all morning. Didn’t Maggie tell you? Oh my God, why didn’t you call me back?” She’s dramatic as always.

“What’s up?”

“Oh my God, Krissy! The paparazzi took a picture of me getting out of my car and now my crotch is all over the tabloids again,” she sighs and whines all at the same time.

“What do you want me to do? I told you last time this happened to wear underwear every day and try climbing out of cars more lady-like. I’ll contact the tabloids with a cease and desist letter, but that’s about all I can do.”

“Okay, but I...uh I don’t know. Why does this keep happening to me?” She’s whining again.

“Um, because you keep going out in public without underwear.” I would never speak to my other clients the way I speak to Trini. Even this is subdued when it comes to Trini. She does stupid things and then regrets them later. Someone like me is always there to pick up the pieces.

“I know. Sorry. Love you, Krissy.” She makes a kissing noise into the phone and I roll my eyes. I love her, but sometimes she is exasperating.

It’s after five by the time I finish up dealing with Trini’s latest mishap. The tabloids agreed to remove the pictures from their websites, but the magazines went to print already. I call her with the news as I shut down my computer. She’s not as whiny and I know when I hear her voice she’s been drinking.

“You at dinner?” I ask.

“Yes, just ordered. Nearly finished a bottle of wine,” she laughs. We both know full well she’s not old enough to drink and if the restaurant has any idea who she is they know, too. “I’m here with Luke and when we’re done, we’re going out clubbing.” Luke is Trini’s actor boyfriend. He’s a prick and the worst kind, a young, rich, actor prick.

“Be careful. I don’t want to deal with any more crap tomorrow. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. Bye, Krissy.”

My phone dings with a text and it’s from Ben. I smile and open it.

Ben: Coming over. Be there in an hour. Me and my bed missed you today.

I quickly text him back.

Me: Good. I’ll get dinner. Just leaving now...seriously.

I add in that last part because I know he thinks I’m full of shit. More times than I can count I have uttered that phrase and stayed at the office for several more hours. Today was a good day. I don’t know when I started to hate my job. I thought it would be one of those things that built over time, but it snuck up on me. Suddenly it was there and I couldn’t shake the feeling. I thought maybe I’d just lost focus and eventually it would return, but each day I set about the same path with the same fake smile and the same worn out drive that lingered no matter what. I used to love my job and all the excitement and travel that came with it. I would send my best friend Gia pictures of me standing in front of landmarks in New York City, on a yacht or in a seaplane headed to some obscure island.

I try to pinpoint exactly when it became a chore, a task, something I despised, yet I can’t put my finger on it. I know it was a few years after I started. Somewhere between Trini’s meltdown in ‘03 and getting bitch slapped by a former client in ‘04. I just know this is not where I pictured myself when I double majored in journalism and public relations. I didn’t intend to stay on with Ellie for more than a few years, but I got sucked in. I needed a job and she offered me one. Being on my own didn’t help and when the money began to roll in I knew I couldn’t leave.

I pick up Chinese food on the way home and Ben and I eat on my balcony. We finish eating and settle on the couch. I curl up against Ben as he slouches down and flips through the channels. Roxy hops next to me and spins in a circle before coming to rest against my legs.

“Did you work today?” I ask.

“Yeah. I did. I’m a sucker. What can I say?” He yawns and pulls me closer to his body. “How was your day?”

“Fine. The usual crap. Answered emails, too many phone calls, Trini did something stupid.”

“No shit? What’d she do now?”

“Didn’t wear underwear and the paparazzi caught it on camera. I’m sure your ex from high school is judging her right now.” He laughs and I feel his chest rise and fall against my head.

“She never learns, does she? But if she did I guess your job would be pretty dull.”

“Right now I’d give anything to be cleaning pools instead of this shit.”

“I know where you can get a job, but just know the grass isn’t always greener,” he says as he shrugs his shoulders.

“I just might take you up on that offer. But right now I have a better offer.” I stand up and reach for his hand tugging him toward the bedroom. His eyes widen and he comes willingly.

We lay together my body curled around his. “Are you staying tonight?” I want his answer to be yes more than anything.

“Of course. You might pull the rug out from underneath me at anytime, so I’m sticking to you like glue.” He reaches over and gently brushes a loose strand of hair out of my eyes. His hand lingers as his fingertips trail along my cheek, then trace my lips. I sigh at his touch, longing to be closer to him, to feel him against my bare skin. He relaxes me in a way no one ever has.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ben. I can’t resist you.”

“You did for so long. I don’t know what changed your mind, but I’m glad it did.” He leans down and kisses my forehead. “I’m going to get a glass of water. You want anything?”

“No, thanks. I’m gonna take a shower.”

I emerge from the shower only to see my BlackBerry blowing up on the nightstand. Four phone calls, two voicemails and a text, all from Trini. I ignore them. I don’t even bother to read the text or listen to the voicemails. I flip it over face down and turn the ringer off. I throw on some clothes and head off to find Ben. He isn’t in bed, so I skip toward the kitchen to see what’s keeping him. A smile still plastered across my face. I find him in my extra bedroom. Coming up behind him, I place my hands at his shoulder blades and trail a line of soft kisses across the muscles in his back.

“What are these?” he asks pointing to the wall covered with framed maps I’d torn out of an atlas. The United States, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, Nevada and California, all framed individually and clustered on one wall.

I smile. “Those are the maps my stepdad, Tom, used to draw my route from Naperville to Long Beach when I left. That was before GPS and cell phones. I still can’t believe I made it here. I was clueless.”

“I like his notes,” Ben says pointing to the one labeled, “Rule # 1.” He reads it and laughs. “‘If it sounds hokey it is hokey.’ So true. Your stepdad is a wise man.”

“Ex-stepdad. I’m pretty sure these maps were the demise of his marriage to my mom. She was completely against me coming out here, so him helping me was the most absolute showing of betrayal. My favorite is the one written on Nevada that says, ‘Always get your own drink at a party.’ He was paranoid I was going to get roofied. He was a Chicago city cop, then the chief of police in Naperville, so I can’t blame him, he’s seen a lot.”

“Oh my God, does that actually say, ‘Don’t let anyone search your car. Tell them to get a warrant.’? This coming from a cop, interesting.”

“That’s what it says. Like I said, he’s seen a lot.”

Ben inches closer and scans the maps. He laughs and points to a few more notes. “This is really great,” he says as he indicates toward the maps. “Slightly paranoid, but in a good way.”

“I know, but looking back, I’m glad. I really had no idea what I was doing or where I was going.”

Ben reads a few more of Tom’s comments out loud and by the time he’s done we’re laughing so hard that tears fall from our eyes.

Later on while we are lying in my bed Ben says, “I think I’d like your stepdad,”

“You would. He’s awesome. Tom is a brilliant, genius of a man. Diplomatic and unwaveringly cool. He really did an amazing job parenting three girls that didn’t belong to him. My mother, being the shitty parent that she was had Tom talk to us about sex. It is by far the best memory I have of him.”

Thinking about Tom makes me giggle and so I decide to tell him the story that Rachel, Maizey and I still laugh about.

“So, my mother enlisted him to discuss the evils of alcohol and drugs with my sisters and me, which I found strangely fascinating since she firmly believed he should have no part in the rearing of her children. He was an expert on the perils of drug abuse, my mom said, since he was a cop and all. If she wanted an expert opinion she should have gone to my father.” Ben listens closely and I can see his need to understand me growing with every word I share. “How he got conned into the sex talk, I still don’t know, but he did. He sat the three of us down to give us “the talk”. The funny thing was that I had lost my virginity just two weeks before that. My sisters and I developed early. I felt for Tom. He had to deal with the fact that we looked far older than we were and his police-induced paranoia caused him to lecture us daily. Rachel looked twenty-five at fourteen and was a dead ringer for Jenna Jameson.” I pause a minute and Ben says nothing, but his smile causes me to continue. “It’s hard to fight off the boys when you look like that,” I joke. “I knew the minimum there was to know about the actual act of sex. I knew at the time you put A into B and if you weren’t careful you would end up with product C. Product C was three kids in three years and that was enough birth control for me. I also had this firm belief that my parents only had sex three times during their marriage each time resulting in the conception of a child.”

Ben laughs out loud and tells me he thinks that’s the viewpoint of all teenagers. I laugh with him and continue my story. “My views were minimal and obviously outlandish. Yet I still chose to have sex. Tom was completely open in his discussion. He told us, ‘Use a condom because STDs are gross and a pregnant belly looks awful in a string bikini.’ A wealth of knowledge.” I leave out the one part that stuck with me all these years. Tom left the conversation with, ‘Remember don’t confuse sex for love. They are two entirely different things that are easily confused.’ It’s those words that haunt me to this day. I press in closer to Ben and feel the warmth from his body ease my anxiety.

“Why don’t you have any pictures of him?” Ben asks casually.

“I don’t have pictures of anyone. I don’t like photographs. I find them fake, never a real representation of what happened.” I sound bitter.

“Really? That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Not when I consider the pictures that were in my house when I was growing up. My father was an abusive, alcoholic, drug addict and the only pictures in our house showed everyone happy. I learned to hate the forced smiles.” Thinking about my father brings a wave of emotions I am not ready to deal with or discuss, so I push them away and I use Ben to forget them. Somehow he knows not to delve too deeply and he lets the conversation rest.

I stretch my body out so it matches Ben’s and I lay my head on his chest. His arms wrap around me, warm and comforting. I kiss his chest and slide myself down into the nook along the side of his body. He curls around me and I reach for the light.

“Good night, Ben.”

“Night, Krissy.”

Sleep calls to me and curled up in Ben’s arms makes it easier to answer it. My eyes close, as my breathing begins to slow and match Ben’s as he sleeps next to me. A sudden noise jolts me from that moment between awake and asleep. A pounding. It’s coming from my front door.

I shake Ben. “Ben, Ben. Wake up. Someone’s banging on my door.” I climb out of bed with Ben following me and Roxy trailing close behind.

“I’ll get it,” he says running his hands through his hair. “Stay here.”

“No! I’m coming with you.” I walk close behind him, flipping on every light in the house as I go. He looks through the peephole before opening the door.

“Shit! It’s Trini and she looks like hell,” he says over his shoulder. He opens the door and she rushes in, pushing him out of her way.

“What the hell?” she screams.

I mutter, “Great,” as she shoves me. Ben begins to laugh, but quells it when he realizes it will only make things worse. “Trini, it’s after midnight.”

“Why didn’t you answer any of my calls? I’ve been calling you all night!” She’s screaming. Her eyes are red-rimmed from crying, her nose red, lips swollen.

“What is going on?” I can hear the panic in my voice.

“I’m f*cking pregnant!” she hisses and I can smell the alcohol on her breath. Out of the corner of my eye I see Ben leave the room.

“What? How? Are you sure?” I mumble out a series of questions. How? Did I really just say that?

“Yes, I’m sure! Three tests! Three f*cking tests! All the same!” Her voice is loud and shrill.

I stand there staring at her not sure what to say. My face shocked, my eyes wide with fear and sympathy. There is no way she is equipped to cope with this, nor will her career or her lifestyle allow her to deal with it privately. Thrust into the spotlight, her entire life has been scrutinized by the world for so long, this too will become public speculation.

“Does anyone else know?” I ask quietly hoping the answer is “no”.

“Just Luke. And now you and...” she pauses and says Ben’s name with disgust.

“Trini, you know he won’t tell anyone.” We make our way to my extra bedroom and climb onto the bed. “What did Luke say?” I question.

“He told me we’d be done if I didn’t have an abortion.” Tears begin falling from her eyes. I pull her into a hug and she wraps herself around me like a small child. She cries in my arms for a long time before pulling away. I let her cry as long as she needs. I know what it feels like to be told to control your emotions and I would never begrudge her the ability to grieve. I know she’s already made her choice, but I still ask.

“What do you want to do? Just know that this is your choice.” I don’t lecture her. I wouldn’t dare, not at a moment like this. I know she thinks she loves Luke and I would never tell her otherwise. She is too young to understand that life changes, people change, they grow apart and Luke won’t always be the center of her world. She’ll realize it, someday.

“I can’t have this baby.” As the words leave her lips I feel myself begin to cry with her. Both of us mourning the loss of what might have been. I lie next to her in bed both of us sobbing, hers tapering off as she drifts to sleep. I kiss her forehead before leaving her alone.

Ben is still awake when I climb into bed with him. I press myself against his back and curl my legs into his, a perfect fit. I kiss his back and close my eyes. I know I won’t sleep.

“Is she okay?” he asks.

“She will be. She’s not going to have the baby.”

“What other choice does she have?” He pities her, too. I hear it in his voice.

“I know, but it’s still hard.”

“You’re good to her. She needs you more than you realize. You’re all she’s got.” I feel that tingle that comes right before you cry shudder through my body. Tears pool in my eyes as I press harder against Ben. I know he’s right. I’ve never had a relationship with any of my clients like I have with Trini. Sometimes I know too much, sometimes it makes it hard to deal with her in a professional manner, but tonight I wouldn’t want her to be anywhere else.

Morning arrives too soon and Ben slips out quietly. He kisses me softly and pulls me into his embrace. He whispers something into my ear, but I’m too dazed to focus. I don’t hear it.

I grab my BlackBerry from my nightstand to email Ellie letting her know I won’t be in for the next few days. I make a few quick phone calls and everything is arranged in a matter of minutes. It’s amazing how easily the world falls to its knees when there are large sums of money involved. I shower and then wake Trini. She looks awful. Her eyes are swollen and red matching the puffiness of her lips. She showers and changes into some of my clothes. Neither one of us speaks the entire ride to the airport. It’s not until we arrive at LAX that she asks where we’re going.

I park the car and turn to Trini sitting across from me. Her face is sullen. She looks nothing like her usual smiley, giggly self. Although no one knows we’re leaving town the paparazzi will be stationed all around the airport just waiting for a story. This is L.A. after all. I hand Trini a pair of black Jackie O style sunglasses knowing that a picture of her right now is worth millions and the number of stories that could be spun from it are infinite.

“We’re going to Columbus, Wisconsin. We’re flying into O’Hare, driving to a clinic in Madison and then to Columbus,” I finally respond.

“Thank you.” Tears fall over her cheeks once again. She puts her head back against the seat and slips on the sunglasses. She mumbles under her breath before opening the car door. I grab our bag from the trunk and head into the mess that waits at the doors.

Camera flashes blind both of us and the sunglasses have never been more useful. We move past the crowd and head through to security. It seems as if everyone in the greater Los Angeles area is standing in the security lines. We hear the whispers and the cell phone cameras come out. It’s what it’s always like to travel anywhere with Trini, yet this time she’s not her courteous self. She doesn’t smile or wave. Right now I don’t care about her public persona and knowing what she’s going through, neither does she.

We sit in silence in the first class lounge waiting for our flight. I don’t speak to her, hell I can’t even look at her. I know one of us will cry if words are exchanged, so we just sit. We board the plane. Trini falls asleep immediately and I find relief in her quiet stillness. Four hours later, we land at O’Hare and leave in our unassuming rental car.

I steal a moment to look at Trini. She’s staring out the window, sunglasses still on and blank expression painted on her face.

“You okay?”

“No,” she mutters.

“You don’t have to do this.” I don’t know what else to say. I wish I could impart some wisdom on her that would end all of this.

“Yes I do. What other choice do I have?” Her voice is quiet. “Have a baby? End my career? Could you imagine the mess that would be? I don’t even have a mother. How could I possibly know how to be someone’s mom?” She is crying again as she pulls her knees up to her chest.

I quickly go through the logistics with her. I have scheduled an appointment with a doctor at a clinic in Madison. It will cost Trini a ton, but at least I know her privacy is guaranteed. After that we are heading to my best friend, Gia’s house so she can recover. Gia owns a farm on about thirty acres in the middle of nowhere. It’s a gravel road to a gravel road to a dirt road, miles from anyone. It’s exactly what she needs and it also allows me to see Gia.

“There was no way we could have pulled this off in L.A. and I figured this might be a nice break from the chaos.”

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks for figuring this out.” She is silent for a minute and then she turns to me pushing the sunglasses onto her head. “Thank you. I mean that. No one would help me the way you do. I know this is your job, but I really appreciate it.”

I shake my head and smile at her. “Trini, this isn’t my job. Being your publicist stopped being my job when we became friends.”

It has become hard to separate the two and this latest problem has made it nearly impossible. She’s never said it, but I know I’m her only friend. She’s surrounded by people day in and day out, yet none of them truly care about her. They’re all part of the show that’s become Trini’s life. Everyone playing a part, wanting to be close to the wealth and fame she carries, but when the shit hits the fan they scatter like rats. It’s sad and I know it, which is why I can’t turn my back on her.

We arrive at the doctor’s office. As I pull around back, I see Trini take a deep breath and release it slowly. I take her hand and she begins to cry again. There are no words that will ease her pain or make her decision any easier.

“You ready?”

“Yeah. Krissy?” I turn to her still holding her hand. “Will you stay with me? Don’t leave, please.”

“Of course. Whatever you need. I’m here.” Chills fill my body as we exit the car and make our way toward the dark office. We enter through the back door using a code the doctor gave me. A nurse greets us warmly, while she leads us into a cold sterile room with a picture of the beach hanging on the wall and an exam table in the center, as if the picture makes the room feel less ominous. Her voice is hushed while she speaks. She hands Trini a paper gown and leaves the room. Trini takes off her clothes. I can’t help but notice her belly, slightly rounder than before; something you would only notice if she weren’t wearing clothes. She wraps the gown around her body and crosses her arms over her stomach. She climbs on the table and covers herself with the blanket the nurse left.

Shorty after the doctor enters. He’s an older man with white hair. He’s wearing scrubs and surgical mask. His voice seems loud and booming in the quiet room. He shakes Trini’s hand, squeezing it harder than necessary.

“Hello Katrina. I’m Dr. Horan. We are going to go over a few things and then we will start your procedure.” He places his hand on her knee and she flinches. “I know this is a difficult decision you have made here, but I want you to know that you’re in good hands.” The nurse enters with a clipboard and stands behind him. He begins with what I assume are typical questions, date of last menstrual period, blood type, any surgeries, any previous abortions or pregnancies. The nurse vigorously jotting down everything Trini says. She can’t tell him when her last period was. I see her cheeks flush and she looks like the little girl I met six years ago.

The doctor begins to describe the process and I notice Trini’s hands begin to shake. She grips the blanket and closes her eyes. The tears fall slowly and she quickly brings her hand to her mouth stifling a sob that threatens. The description is becoming more detailed and I can feel myself grow uncomfortable, but Trini cuts him off abruptly.

“No more. Just begin.” Her tone is severe.

“As you wish,” he says with no inflection.

Her eyes, once again clamp shut and the slightest of tears escape. I stand and reach for her hand. She turns away from me and says, “No. Don’t. Please.” Each word followed by a small, stuttering sob. I breathe in deeply and exhale. I press my lips to her forehead. I keep my composure knowing that my ruin will be her demise.