Artificial Love (The Goodbye Trilogy #2) (6 page)

Chapter Ten

Emily

Complete losers had nothing on me. I had basically begged Johnny to let me stay in his place but I really did not want to go back to Michael. Not yet. After cuddling with Johnny, I realized that maybe I deserved more than Michael could give to me. All the cheating aside, I didn’t feel as cared for by Michael as I did by Johnny Lennox, a man I had only known for twelve hours. It was weird, surprising, and
fuck me
. I giggled to myself. That saying still didn’t make sense at all.

I decided when I woke up that if Johnny would let me stay, I needed to get the newspaper straight away. Although I was kicked out of college, I still had some experience in secretarial work…and it wasn’t the
fuck the boss for a raise
kind. I quickly dressed without a shower, feeling uncomfortable using his water when it wasn’t necessary. It was one thing to let me stay but I wouldn’t want his utilities to cost him because of me this week. No one was supposed to be in the apartment. I ran down to the local drugstore and with the newspaper already in hand, I grabbed some razors and a couple of magazines while I waited for employers to call back. I was sure I wouldn’t get a job immediately.

As I walked up to the counter with my things, I saw a Help Wanted sign and I point to it with a smile.

“Are you hiring?” I inquired as I looked to the older, heavy framed woman. She couldn’t look more uninterested if she tried.

“That is what the sign is for,” she countered in a thick New Yorker accent.

“Well, may I please have an application?” I tested with a smile.

She looked me up and down, while she started to ring up my purchases with one hand. With the other hand, she reached for a white paper pad to the side and ripped the top sheet off. After I paid, she handed me the plastic bag with the piece of paper in it.

It wasn’t until I made it back to Johnny’s apartment that I noticed the paper was a one side application. Quickly, I found a pen and started to fill out the form. After signing my name to allow them to run a background check, I suddenly wondered how many sheets of paper that woman pulled off a day. I was probably part of the masses that were unemployed and I drew in a deep breath.

I had to cut myself some slack. I had just walked in on my husband thrusting into his secretary, I left the only home I ever cared about, and I drove five hours to live in the apartment of a rock star who wasn’t even here. That sequence of events had to require alcohol. I eyed the bottle that Johnny had brought out the night before and twisted my lips at it. It could wait. I kicked off my shoes and started in on the help wanted ads.

Circling only two ads for office assistant work after scouring the newspaper was not what I had expected. Two jobs. I called one number and spoke to someone who couldn’t care less I had called by the monotone and robotic answers to my questions. By the end of the second phone call, I felt a little bubble of frustration in my chest. At one point, I snapped at someone who insisted I shouldn’t have called without taking the secretarial test.  The fact that I had to take a test to see if I even qualified for the job was not good. I had to type seventy words per minute. Honestly, besides Facebook and the occasional email to my family with updates on Michael, his job, and our house, I hadn’t typed since my short lived college days.

I remember that last English term paper I wrote like it was yesterday. I had to take a poem by Virginia Woolf and a poem from a contemporary writer, Wally Lamb and find passages that questioned if literature was evolving in a positive direction. I took the stance that it was. It was a difficult paper to write, using critical essays and the huge library at University of New Hampshire for three long nights.

The third night, which happened to be the night before the paper was due, Taylor walked into my room at the sorority house and asked if I had finished. I remember being so dead on my feet, I tossed it to her. I thought that she had finished and was just trying to rub it in my face that her GPA was higher than mine. She was always a bitch about numbers. Who had the “best ass” on the favorite frat’s website? Who was the top of their class within the house? It was ridiculous and I only wanted her to leave me alone. The last thing I saw was her reading my initial paragraph and shaking her head with disappointment, as I closed my eyes.

It only took one full day for both Taylor and me to be called into Dean Accord’s office. A group of the English department was there and I smiled politely at them while Taylor snuffed her way through the throngs of people. What happened next was mostly a blur. I remember the words plagiarism and lawsuit and expelled. Taylor adjusted herself for the argument as I later realized she had anticipated. I sat there probably looking like the kid who got caught. I was terrified.

After they offered for us to admit who had actually copied the other’s paper, I shook my head and said three words, “It wasn’t me.”

Taylor snorted in amusement which set her off in a tangent claiming her innocence while I watched the girl fib her ass off. She did it well, too. She talked about her references and the long hours in the library. She produced the time in and out of the library, according to the books I had actually used while I was there.

We were given until that night to sort it out amongst ourselves and yes, she brought it to a vote within the sorority. I received a phone call right before the vote went to the table. Michael asked if it was me. I was so happy I had his support. He told me to take the blame and since he was a year ahead of me, he would take care of me if I was expelled.

That’s how it went down. Within twenty four hours, I was expelled from school and moving into an apartment with Michael. Six months later, we were married. We never spoke about the incident again except one time when an old sorority sister emailed me and said that Michael slept with Taylor and they conjured the whole thing up. They both won. He wanted me under his hand and she wanted the higher marks. I didn’t believe the email, of course. Who would? I had the perfect husband.

But as I checked off no experience on every website and only typed twenty words per minute, I realized that Taylor and Michael ruined my life. They had me expelled from college. And I let them. How nice was I about it? I actually sent an apology card to Taylor for putting her through the ordeal.

The angry tears came then. I wouldn’t get a job anywhere. Not in New York City. Not in Boston. Nowhere. I was disqualified from working due to my lack of experience.  So I drank. By the time ten o’clock rolled around and I had yelled at every window, door, and mirror in Johnny’s apartment, I took scissors to my hair and cut it all off. I thought I needed bangs. Then I thought a bob would look cool. When I was done, I looked like a woman who had just gone through a paper shredding machine. It was official. I had gone completely bonkers.

I woke up the next morning on the bathroom floor, covered in strands of cut off blond hair. I heard people talking loud outside and as I took my pounding headache to the window, I saw people rummaging through my things I had dumped out the window the night before. If it came from Michael, I didn’t want it. I smiled as two women fought over a Gucci handbag. It was hysterical. I made some coffee and in one of Johnny’s tee shirts, I watched as piece by piece my clothing got removed from the rather large pile of designer clothes strewn across the front of Johnny’s apartment lawn. Best damn coffee ever.

The apartment phone rang and I got up to answer. Then I sat back down. This wasn’t my apartment. I officially only had four more days to find a job and a place to live. Collecting the drugstore application, I threw on some of Johnny’s sweatpants, since all of my clothes were trash and headed down. First, I bought some red dye to go with my new hairdo. If I could make myself look as fucked up as I felt on the inside then maybe, just maybe I could figure out what to do next. I had always pretended with the fashionable clothing and sporty car. Wait, where was my car? Whatever. If I looked happy and nice, then life would turn out that way, too. When did I ever get that stupid notion in my brain?

An instant flash of the Ouija board made me look up to see an ATM machine in the back corner. “Nice”, it had said to me. I would be nice when I grew up. I teetered on my feet for a bit before I knew what to do.

I withdrew cash. I withdrew so much cash out of the ATM that I was getting serious concerned looks from customers. I knew I looked homeless, with Johnny’s too big clothes and my newly acquired hair style. Technically, I was homeless so how did I have a card that allowed me thousands of dollars? I was messing with my image but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted all the money I could get from Michael. Oh and I
could
take Michael’s money, just not the things he had purchased for me. I withdrew hundreds and hundreds of dollars until I felt my cell phone buzz in Johnny’s pants pocket. I had just turned the thing on not five minutes ago. I was never this popular before I become a homeless mooch.

“Yeah?” I answered as I stuffed more twenties in the other pocket. I was done with niceties. My world was shit. I didn’t even want a cell phone. I would toss this stupid device next. Or maybe I would give it away. Someone could call a loved one that actually gave a shit about how they were doing. I certainly didn’t have anyone.

“Emily, sweetheart. I’ve been calling you for two days. Where are you?” Michael’s voice made me want to puke.

“Oh, I am hanging with this gang I made friends with in Harlem,” I deadpanned.

Silence stretched long and hard. It was annoying. “Be serious, Emily,” he admonished me.

“Right now I am buying some things and taking out all of your money from the ATM,” I said as I punched the two hundred dollar button again and accepted the six dollar transaction fee.

“That’s also why I am calling. Why are you withdrawing so much money? I am getting the updates every thirty seconds,” he said sounding more pissed off now.

“I needed some new clothes. I’m trying to find a job.” I sighed. “What do you want, Michael?”

“Either you come home or I need an address to send the divorce papers to,” he threatened. He knew I didn’t actually want a divorce. Nice Emily would worry what the neighbors thought. I pondered it for a few seconds.

“You got a pen?” I asked. The gasp I heard on the other end of the phone was priceless.

“You can’t be serious, Emily. You
are
my wife, for better
and
for worse,” he countered.

“111 Main Street New York, NY 10001. Oh and two words. Taylor and expelled,” I said right before I hit the end button. I had no idea if there even was a Main Street in Manhattan. I suppose someone would find out one day when they tried to serve me with the papers. I laughed at that scenario and bought three racks of wine coolers.

I slapped the application down in front of boring lady. She slipped it off the counter and placed in a box to her right. There must have been over thirty papers already in there and I grimaced at the poor percentages that I would get the job. Well, fuck me.

“Excuse me?” she asked, startled. Had I said that out loud? Oh dear.

“Sorry, bad day,” I admitted, pointing to my hair. In that awkward moment, I recognized I was buying booze from a drugstore in Manhattan, looking like a Muppet with a mullet. Maybe Michael wasn’t that atrocious of a husband, because this whole finding a job and a place to start my life over was tough. I ought to call him back and express to him I would go to therapy after all. Evidently, there
was
something wrong with me. If I called now, I would look desperate seeing as I just withdrew bundles of cash. He would think he had the upper hand and that was
not
going to happen.   I would give it another day and call. I would not grovel, especially since it was he that cheated on me with half of Massachusetts.

“Yeah, that cut is pretty awful. My dog has a nicer hair style than you,” she deadpanned as she rang up my purchases. I nodded solemnly in agreement. What else could I say? Her dog was probably prettier and clearly, didn’t have to worry about cheating husbands and finding a job. I pushed the twenty dollar bills into the sack of junk I purchased and headed back to Johnny’s to drink more and dye my hair red. I would turn my frown upside down. If only for today.

Chapter Eleven

Johnny

I looked out the window at the changing leaves. They were so vivid. I couldn’t remember a time in my life where I took in all of the colors and thought about how much nature was miraculous. Change was definitely in the air. What the fuck was going on with my brain? Since when was I so philosophical? I took out my wallet and grabbed the three photos of Jules. She was laughing in one. Her long dark hair was put up in braids that went everywhere. I remember the moment I took this photo. It was right after I told her I sat outside the train station in Baltimore and played for tips. I sang and someone came up to me and said I should pay them to listen.  She didn’t let me live that one down for months.

I felt the comfortable pain of losing her once more. It was familiar. I wondered if Brennan and she were back from their trip. After the tour, I would make a trip to Martha’s Vineyard to see how they were getting along. The moment I saw any conflict, I was going to be right there for her.

“You still can’t get over her?” Dex asked from behind me. I shook my head slowly.

“She was such a huge part of my fucking life. I feel like I’m missing something all the time,” I summarized. I couldn’t say more without choking up. In no way was I going to show Dex that I knew how to cry and I knew how to do it well.

“Dude, I hate to say it, but she’s never coming back. The lawyers are about done. She just signed an agreement that she would never cover our songs or be part of the band again. She wanted the royalties, I guess. Money talks, you know?” he sighed as he ran his fingers under his chin.

“No. Not for Jules. She signed that so if she got the impulse to play again, she would have to do it on her own. Money isn’t that important to her and her house is bad ass. She’s fine financially,” I said. I didn’t realize I had slipped up until Dex came around and sat on the bench across from me.

“You went to her house on Martha’s Vineyard? You’ve got to fucking be kidding me.” He was pissed. He looked both pissed and ashamed. No, maybe he was disappointed. Dr. Screw - cock had the same face. Yes, I was a stalker. Yes, I was out of my mind obsessed with her.

“I just went once. I had to see her. She…she really hurt me, Dex,” I whispered. A tear was starting to form and I turned to look out the window again. I took out my phone and went to my recent calls.

Emily hadn’t answered the house phone all day. Stupidly, I forgot to get her phone number and she probably figured it was too rude to answer someone else’s phone. I only hoped she listened to the voicemail. I also prayed that she wouldn’t go back to her husband. It felt really good to know that she was there, maybe even waiting for me to come back. Nah, that wasn’t true. She was getting a divorce, looking for a new job, and oh shit - Danielle had her number. Hell yes. I just remembered she called her the other night before the show.

I plugged in my earphones to listen to The Shins newest album. Their song, “New Slang,” was bad ass and I thought I would cover it one day when I went to open mic night at the local pub. No one knew I went solo a lot and it hadn’t gotten out yet that I made regular guest appearances there around one in the morning. This song, though, would need a tambourine. Jules would have done it for me. I winced at the thought of her being on stage with me.

I texted Danielle for Emily’s number. Danielle was driving to the next venue in her car and probably didn’t text and drive. Chicks were so against that shit. I waited - and then painfully waited for anything to come through. Nothing. Listening to The Shins was all I had to occupy my mind but to no avail. I couldn’t shake that something was amiss.

No one but Dex - who still looked shell shocked - appeared to care about me.
Appeared
being the operative word. Dex also appeared to have taken a big liking to spending time with Ethan. Whatever – I didn’t own his time.

Where the fuck was Emily and why did I feel the need to call her all the god damn time? A voice inside me said I was ten shades of crazy about her, like a wild donkey on a rocket; I wanted to shoot myself straight back to Manhattan and into her head.

I wanted to wake up in bed with her – just one more day- and have one more breakfast with her. If she was back with that…that fucking idiot, I might have to split my wall into a shrine for two.

My cell phone buzzed on the table next to my bunk and I clicked the on button without looking.

“Hello.” The snip in my voice couldn’t have gone unnoticed to the caller. I needed the call to be either Danielle or Emily.

“Um – Mr. Lennox?” An older guy’s voice trembled a bit as I rolled my eyes. Fucking leaching agents wanting my signature. Get a fucking clue, folks.

“You got him,” I stagnantly responded. Normally, I would have hung up but I was bored. I had nothing to think about and maybe this phone call would keep me entertained for a minute or two.

“Mr. Lennox.” His voice was firmer now. “I’m Richard Foster. I’m your Probation Officer for the Cape out of Dennis, Massachusetts. 

Fuck. Me.
Stupid
.

“All-right,” I conceded with a laugh hidden by the end of the word.

“Well, then,” Foster cleared his throat. Three God damn times.

“Out with it, P.O.” I snapped.

“Right. Yes, sir. I mean, Mr. Lennox. You must serve a total of fifteen volunteer hours to a nonprofit of your choice by the end of this month. It has to be within our county lines and…”

I cut him off.

“By the end of this month? Did your fucking mother lock you in a closet with no dinner?”

Silence. Shit – she probably did. Filter, Johnny. What would Emily say?

“Look, Foster. It’s apparent from your verbal fumbling that you know exactly who I am. You probably also know I will be gone. I am on tour at least the rest of the month, making that next to impossible to do. Please help me figure something out.”

Silence. Was he still stuck on the closet remark?

“I’m home on Friday afternoon. Send me a list of the places I need to show up at and I’ll do my best but no fucking promises. I have a record company, a manager who’s the devil herself on a good day, and a band crew that would have me out on my ass in a flash. You have my details.”

I clicked off. Volunteer hours? I groaned into my hands and my brain conjured up the beautiful smile of Emily laughing at my sad predicament. I picked up the phone and tried the apartment again. Nothing. She had either gone out or she had left me. Either way, the feeling of knowing she wasn’t waiting for me in Manhattan made my chest feel pained and my lungs felt like I couldn’t actually get a solid, deep breath.

I almost wished I had made her come along on this tour and quickly dismissed that incredibly ridiculous thought.