Artificial Love (The Goodbye Trilogy #2) (7 page)

Chapter Twelve

Emily

Even though I was belting out that I knew what love was, I knew for certain that I was the absolute last person who had a clue. Foreigner be damned. It was on repeat. It made me cry and scream the words, clutching my shirt in front of my heart. I wanted to believe I could know what love was. I sat on Johnny’s bed with a shot of something really strong in one hand and gazed at the wall of Jules. Johnny knew what love was. He had dedicated a wall – albeit one in an apartment in Manhattan – but those few that got to see it –we were special to know.

By Thursday, I’d bought some new clothes at a place like Marden’s. I spent six dollars on a pair of jeans, thinking Michael would throw a fit if he knew I was slumming it. I often wondered what the cuddling Johnny and I had experienced together was all about. I was sure it was just him being nice but I missed it. I missed
him
. Maybe I just missed human contact. I hadn’t ever gone this long without talking to anyone.

Johnny didn’t have to worry about being alone. His Julia wall told the truth – however unrequited his love was. So, I sang the song for Johnny, too. I wanted him to show me and I certainly wanted to feel. Feel something besides the betrayal and pain that slowly creeped in the longer I had been away from Michael and his leachy words.

“I didn’t mean to.” Or “I have a problem.” And “Those women came on to me. What was I supposed to do?”

I downed the shot and hissed out the burn that I had become accustomed to. I stood up and faced myself in the full length mirror opposite the wall of Jules. I wondered if Johnny had positioned it this way so that he would still be able to see her.

My short, cropped to shit, and orange mess of head greeted me back and I watched the tears flow down my cheeks. It was a damn pretty sight. I wasn’t put together. I wasn’t in a dress with my lipstick just so. I was me, at my lowest.

There were holes scattered throughout the top half of my body. Obviously, one through the chest. No doubt, people always talk about the hollowness there.
My stomach had a few holes, too, all different sizes. Watching, waiting on the sidelines, were the force of cold tentacles of hatred that wanted to bandage those holes. Healing, a natural bodily reaction. We don’t really have to force to heal anything. The body knows what to do all on its own. All the reasoning – all the singing and screaming? The body was the silent force behind the scenes - executing its automatic natural healing process without anyone doing a damn thing.

I could lie on a massage table all day long and still not feel the touch of someone else’s healing hands. Those healing hands on Michael. On the women. On every photo of Jules that Johnny had so delicately placed on the wall. Did that cure the pain inside? What would cure me? Orange hair? A new job? The one thousand hours of therapy I know I’m in need of.

A loud struggled sound came from the living room as I still perused myself in the mirror. I rushed in to the other room find nothing askew. Nothing except… her.

N-I-C-E.

N-I-C-E.

Over and over and over. The board screeched from the pointer’s lack of felt cover on the bottom. I dropped to my knees and watched with the horror I remembered having as a small girl.

GOOD BYE. The pointer found its way to the middle of the board, the board righted itself, and I sat there – looking at the word that had changed my whole life.

“Good bye, Grace,” I whispered shakily.
For now
, I thought. Would she ever stop haunting my life? Hadn’t I been everything she asked me to be as I grew up? Was she pissed off that I left my two timing, back-stabbing husband? No, it didn’t matter. She caught up with me everywhere I went.

My wedding day popped into my mind. Right after I took a hot shower, careful not to get any hair wet with my cap on, I walked out to find the infamous word written across the steamy mirror. By my wedding day, I was used to her following me around. I just couldn’t figure out how to get rid of her. Maybe the point was to finally come in contact with what started her watchful eye in the first place.

I went over to the board and as I was about to pick it up, the phone begun to ring. Scoffing at the phone, I ran to retrieve it. I don’t know why. Maybe I was desperate to communicate or maybe because I was a little drunk.

“Hello? Um… this is Johnny’s place,” I sputtered out the words in an exceptionally distasteful and drunken fashion. Only a few shots in and I was warm and swaying.

A deep chuckle vibrated through the phone and I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt a zinger pierce through my chest. Johnny was laughing at me.

“Don’t laugh at me, pretty rock star,” I pouted. “I’m used to answering the phone in a certain manner. I suppose I need to practice how to answer yours.”

“That’s so sweet, Emily.” His voice was low and different from when I remembered talking to him in person. He sounded flirty, maybe flirty. Maybe it was my imagination. I wanted him to sound flirty. Except that wall of Jules was still there.

“Why, thank you Mr. Lennox. What can I do for you? You’re on your way back tonight, right?” I asked, trying to sound polite and professional. I was ecstatic. I did a little fist pump in the air when he hummed in agreement.

“So, I’ve been thinking about you. I’ve called so many damn times. Talk to me, Emily. What you are doing right this very moment. Tell me everything. I want to know every little detail - right down to what you’re wearing.” His voice was demanding and dire. Had he felt as lonely as I had all week?
Impossible.
Those tours had girls galore.

I sat down on a kitchen stool and started to swing my bare legs.

“Well, I just had a word with Grace Miller. I’m wearing a Celtics shirt because I refuse to wear your ridiculous Yankees shirts and then – underwear?” I asked like I was asking him if that was alright to say.

Johnny didn’t say anything right away. When he did, my breath caught.

“That’s fucking incredibly odd and sexy at the same time. Grace Miller? The chick who died when you girls were younger? The Ouija board? Why would you be talking to her?” he asked, sounding more than interested. “And what color panties are you wearing?”

Which question should I answer first? I placed my fingers into my eye sockets and crossed my legs. I had just exposed myself more than I ever had in my entire life and I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that.

“They are black.”

“And?” he prompted.

“I don’t want to talk about her and really, you don’t want to know. She’s my problem and by the time I finish telling you the long drawn out story, you’ll probably ask me to leave because you’ll think I am a freak of nature.” There wasn’t even a hint of amusement in my voice. Grace had rocked my world since I was twelve and every few years since. Sometimes I expected her to show up in some way, but she didn’t. Other times, when I felt like I was doing the right thing, being the nice person she told me I would be, her presence was stronger and nearly assaulting.

“Emily. That Ouija board is in my possession, not yours. I’ve had that thing for a while and it wasn’t because of you,” Johnny comforted me. Did Grace know that I would eventually come to find the board again? Johnny must have had something to do with her in some way and I hadn’t thought of that until now. Had Jules gone through the Grace induced experiences like I had? Did Johnny know how to make her stop?

“Emily? Are you there?” Johnny sounded irritated.

“Yes, Johnny. I’m so sorry. I just got carried away with some memories. What can I do for you? I cleaned up your place and got a little food. I found some old, stale mushrooms in the back of one of your cupboards and put them into a tomato sauce for spaghetti. What a really weird place to put those,” I commented, hoping I hadn’t just insulted his cleanliness. He had to know that he was a bit of a slob.

Again, Johnny used silence as a weapon to make me squirm. He was this gorgeous rock God with pretty tattoos. He had an unbelievable life with no worries, not counting his apparent unrequited love for Julia, and here I was, telling him that he didn’t know how to store produce properly. Go away, Stepford woman. I could rock and be worry free, too.

“So you said you were coming home late, right? Should I leave it out for you?” I asked into the dead air of the phone.

Low grumbles of curse words were preceded by his throat clearing.

“Emily? Those mushrooms aren’t real mushrooms. I mean, yeah, they’re real but they’re hallucinogenic mushrooms. I was storing them in the cupboard because I didn’t want to lose them the next time I tripped out. So… unless you want to see fantastic colors and feel just as amazing, I would suggest ordering pizza.”

I was silent then. I didn’t know what to say. I looked over at the spaghetti sauce on the stove, heat rising from its simmering state.

“So, if I ate some of that on my noodles, I would trip,” I stated.

“Yeah,” he blew out a breath, almost like he had been holding it as he waited for my response.

“Do people, you know, trip alone?” I asked, feeling all shades of stupid.

“Uh – sure but it is better to have someone with you that’s done it before. It can get pretty intense a few hours into it.”

I coughed. “A few hours?” Jesus, how long did they last? Did I just swear in my head? Wow, I was starting to act a little like a rock star. I smiled at myself and wiggled my butt a little. I pointed at the Ouija board and thought,
Back off, bitch.

This new turn of events called for a shower, a baseball hat, and something paisley to wear.

Chapter Thirteen

Johnny

All I could think was if Emily ate any of the spaghetti. For three anxious hours, I picked up my cell and wanted to call. If she was tripping, she wouldn’t answer but then she might. What would I ask? “Hey Emily, you seeing shit yet?” That endless loop of a daydream took up all my head space on the drive back to New York. Of course, I fantasized about her lips twisting around a heaping fork of noodles. Did she slurp the sauce? No, she was too proper for slurping. Did she take a big spoon and start eating the sauce by itself? I would have, had I been there.

And why the fuck weren’t we there yet? I was so God damn antsy to get off this bus and back to my apartment. My guest, Emily was waiting for me. It felt like she had been when we talked.

An hour later, I was standing outside my brownstone in Manhattan, looking up at the windows on the 4
th
floor. There was a small light on and I saw rapid movement through the shadows of the light. Emily was either throwing herself around in a drug induced spasm or she was dancing. I didn’t hear music but that didn’t mean she didn’t have headphones on.

I met the open elevator and my packed duffle bag of dirty laundry was thrown on the floor right before I smacked the fourth floor button. I was nervous - really fucking nervous. My palms were sweaty and I knew I smelled like ass from being on the bus. As I approached my door, I blew out a few deep breaths and put on a smile. It wasn’t genuine but I didn’t want to scare her away if she was, in fact, high on drugs. Some people got pretty paranoid on that shit.

What I did not expect was to see a woman with short and orange hair vacuuming my living room while she talked to herself. I dropped my duffle and was so stunned at the difference of the Emily I had left and the one that was in front of me now. She didn’t hear the door close, rather loudly, as she continued to vacuum and animatedly talk to herself. What the hell was she wearing? It looked like old grandmother pajamas. I looked down at my worn by design jeans and Love Sick Ponies hoodie. I had a tan beanie on to make sure that people didn’t notice me when I was being carted from limo to bus to limo. I usually sported a pair of sunglasses but it was night time. That was too much.

I walked into the kitchen and Emily still hadn’t noticed that I was there. I opened the refrigerator to find it fully stocked with beer and food. I almost shit my pants. I had never seen that much normal food in my house since I lived in my house – with my mom.

There, on the top shelf, was a big silver pan of spaghetti, covered in Saran Wrap. A large Post-It note said, “Do not eat.”

So why had she kept the concoction? I pulled out a bottle of wheat ale and stood up straight to see that Emily had stopped vacuuming, but was standing still with the thing still on, staring at me in shock.

I waved and smiled a little. She did nothing. I smiled brighter and waved a little wider. That did the trick and she shook out of her haze long enough to turn the machine off.

“Hi, Emily,” I said with genuine pleasure.

“Hi, Mr. Rock Star,” she answered. “You look…um…you look really nice.”

I looked back down at my clothes again and took my beanie off, letting my wild blond hair breathe.

I heard her audibly gasp at my action. She was attracted to me. I suppose that shouldn’t have surprised me but she was clearly going through a life altering time currently. I dismissed fucking her against the wall and focused on her small grin.  After the very odd reunion between me and Emily, I honestly couldn’t think of anything to say because her orange hair and ridiculous clothes were too fucking distracting. What the fuck was she thinking?

I opened the fridge and popped another bottle of wheat ale out and placed it on the kitchen table, motioning for her to come join me. Her proper manners were still there, in the way that she waited for me to pull out her chair and politely put a napkin under our beers so the condensation didn’t ruin the wood. Yet she tried to cover her true self with a poor attempt at a Halloween homeless woman costume. We kept our eyes on one another while we each took a turn sipping our beers. It was the oddest interaction I had ever had with a woman in my entire life and I didn’t want to be anywhere but right there. She was a force of something. She was so confused and skittish but held her head up high because she had been trained to. It was all so fascinating.

“Did you eat the spaghetti?” I asked finally.

She shook her head and winced as she took another sip of the beer.

“Because you didn’t want to trip?”

“I’ve never eaten mushrooms before. I didn’t think it would be a good idea. That and they did cost money so I wrapped it all up and hopefully, I didn’t ruin them. I looked it up on the internet for an hour today and I think they’ll still be okay for you to eat but unfortunately the sauce is going to go bad unless I freeze the container all together but then…” I cut her off by placing my cold hand over her very warm one. Her hand was so small and silky.
She
was small, silky, and such a chatty Cathy.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You didn’t know. If you would like to eat them, I would love to trip with you. It is more fun with another person and I promise nothing bad will happen. If not, we can toss them.” I shrugged. I didn’t care about the money. Didn’t she know how much money I made?

Yes, my brownstone was a one bedroom but that was because I was hardly here. Jules and I had talked about a house but I loved the city. I could upgrade to a better place anywhere I wanted but I liked the normal feeling. I wanted to be a regular guy some days and this place sort of kept up with that façade.

Of course, no one needed to know that my bodyguard, Beck, lived on the first floor and had the whole apartment building on video surveillance. It was my only stipulation when I bought our two apartments. The other tenants were told through the association but as long as the video didn’t actually scan into their apartments, they were actually grateful for the added security.

“So you look different,” I pointed out, as I took a hefty swill off my beer only to realize that I needed another. Fuck. She looked at me blankly. I did a little circular twirl with my finger over my head and then around my chest area. “Hair? The new outfit? Is this about your husband? Are you going through something because of the separation?”

“Divorce,” she snapped out. “We are getting a divorce.” She didn’t seem very interested in my hotness anymore.

“So, is that what happens to you when you get a divorce?”

“Let’s see. Is this what divorce did to me? Maybe,” she slapped her hand down on the table and laughed hollowly. “Hey why not? Divorce did this to me,” she said as she twirled her fingers all around. “I threw away all my high priced, pretentious clothing, cut and dyed my hair orange, and now I only wear sleep wear with paisley on them.”

There was complete silence as we stared each other down – each of us for very different reasons. She wanted a fight, probably because she had been alone and hell - she had been talking to herself. I was staring at her because that was the first time she actually spoke like a normal human being and not the nice and proper girl she was supposed to be. I averted my eyes and stood.

She let out a big exhale and started to apologize. Instinctually, I leaned down and firmly kissed those beautiful lips. She was gorgeous, orange hair or not. She whimpered a little when I caught her apology with my lips. I drew away and straightened my body. I smiled at Emily, the
real
Emily.

“Want another beer?” I asked. Her small, silky fingers covered her chatty Cathy lips as she nodded at me.

I chuckled all the way as I prepared for a real night with the real Emily McDonald.