Forever Blue (24 page)

    
Lourdes danced around a pole
under a glare of lights.
Her long blonde hair whipped around wildly
as she slithered around like a well-trained stripper with her trim torso moving
up and down the metal rod. Every heterosexual male within sight was jealous of the pole with her sensuous gyrations.

    
Word around town was that Lourdes had just broken up with her latest boyfriend. How convenient that a sex tape
had
deliberately surfaced after their split. It wasn’t surprising when she was infamously known for her risqué antics. Lourdes often left nothing to the imagination. Needless to say, Aiden desperately hoped to get his hands on that tape.

    
The hum of conversation grew louder. Aiden chugged
down another shot and decided
to follow Lourdes to the VIP section of the club. His body seemed off balance with each step,
as though the floor
had
sunk three feet below him each time he lifted his foot. He
finally made it to her booth where she sat giggling with her entourage.

    
“Hey, Lourdes. You looked pretty good dancing out there,” Aiden said.

    
“Um—thanks?” she responded, uninterested.

    
“Why don't you and I hit the dance floor?”

    
“No thanks. I'm cool right now, Aiden.” Lourdes rolled her eyes. “I'm sure you can find another girl to ask, with your constant fan
club and everything. Or wait—maybe your fans are too young to get in here.”

    
Aiden ignored the insult and stumbled in between Lourdes and her friends, forcing himself into a seat beside her. Her friends shot Aiden unappreciative how-dare-you glares.

    
“Come on, baby. I don't bite. Just one quick dance?” Aiden slurred. “Or we could just go back to my place—”

    
“Eww!” Lourdes screeched. She stared uncomfortably at Aiden’s tarnished yellow teeth. He was so close to her face that she could smell the rancid scent of booze on his breath.
  
“Could you, like, back off or something?” 

    
“I promise to be gentle.” Aiden groped her left breast. “Don't play innocent with me, because we all know you're not.”

    
“Hey! Get the hell off me
you pervert. Don't touch me!”

     
Her squeal had her bodyguard suddenly on high alert. “Sir, please back away from Miss. Billton, or I'm going to have to escort you off the premises,” said the 250-pound Black man.

    
“Oh yeah? Says who?”

    
“Me and the rest of the security here.”

  
    
The humor fled from Aiden's eyes. “But this here’s my girl.” He planted a kiss on Lourdes’s unwilling lips. “So fuck off.”

 
    
Aiden
had
engaged the attention of one of the club bouncers
in addition to angering the bodyguard. “You got thirty seconds before I physically remove you from the premises and quite literally throw your ass out of here, Storm,” threatened the bouncer. He found nothing humorous about Aiden’s drunken flirtations.

    
“Fuck you!” Aiden said, flipping him the finger.
“You have no idea who you are messing with.”

    
The bouncer hooked his arms under Aiden’s, and dragged him across the dance floor like a discarded bag of garbage.

    
“Get your fucking hands off me!” Aiden screamed. He tried desperately to thrash himself loose of the bouncer’s firm grip. “I’ll fucking sue your ass for this! You can’t touch me!”

    
As the bouncer violently pushed Aiden out the doorway, over a dozen people standing in line watched the demoralizing scene.

    “Fuck you, man!” Aiden yelled. “You just fucked with the wrong guy, asshole. You’re through in this town, do you hear me?”

     “Get lost before I call the cops.”

     Aiden tried to push his way back into the club. “Fuck the cops,” he went on. “Go ahead and call them.”

     “Hey Drake,” said another bouncer as he pulled out his cell phone. “I'm calling the police.”

     “Let me back in!” Aiden spat.

     “Back off!” The bouncer was not afraid to use physical force, and with one hard shove, Aiden tumbled back to the ground.

     Aiden sprung to his feet and decided to take matters into his own hands.
His fist swooped through the air
like a heat-seeking missile,
and aimed right at the bouncer’s scowling face. The security guard watching the confrontation from his station pounced on Aiden as though trying to tame a wild animal. He tried his best to detain the singer until the police arrived.

    
Aiden was partially sober
by the time the LAPD got to the club.
He sat handcuffed in the back of a squad car, cursing inwardly and rolling his eyes at the onlookers and reporters who taunted him. People were trying
to take pictures of him inside the car.

    
All I wanted was a damn dance, he thought as he was escorted under sirens to Los Angeles County jail where he was booked on charges of disorderly conduct and public drunkenness.

    
Just… one… damn… dance.

***

    
Everything fell into place during the first couple years of marriage. My career started to take off, and Scotty's business thrived.
We began to see less of each other
as our busy lives went full speed ahead.
Some projects required me to work all hours of the night. As much as we both hated our out of sync work schedules, I couldn’t do anything about it. To be completely honest, working for Isabella had transformed my life. It unlocked a world I never expected—a world where I worked side by side with celebrities and dignitaries. 

    
Isabella asked me to meet her for lunch one afternoon, mentioning that she wanted to discuss some important business. Upon hearing the speculation in her voice, I knew it had to be about a recent photo shoot I was assigned to that didn’t go well. I walked through a quaint but congested French café and prepared myself for reprimand. Lately, we did most of our business by phone. I hadn’t seen Isabella in at least six months.

    
Isabella sat on the patio, sipping on a cup of fragrant tea. “Hello, darling,” she said, getting up and kissing my cheek. “I know I haven’t seen you in so long. I've been terribly busy. How did it go yesterday?”

    
“Well, fine, but let’s just say I'm not too fond of the lead makeup artist.”

    
“Yes, Jack can be difficult to work with sometimes, but he means well. Don't take anything he says or does personally.”

    
“Are you two ready to order?” asked the waiter.

    
“I'll have the field of greens salad. Light on the dressing please,” Isabella said.

    
“I'll have the same.”

    
“Well, enough about that. Let's discuss the real reason I wanted to meet you today,” she said, taking another sip of her tea. “I'm going to be in Paris next week, so
I need you to fill in on a project for me
here in the states.”

    
“Doing what?”

    
“Well, this project requires some traveling,” she explained. “You’d have to go to Vegas.”

   
“Vegas?” I repeated, surprised. Every job Isabella
had
sent me on in the last three years was local.

    
“Yes. The Wynn Hotel is having a benefit. I'm not sure of the details yet.” She pulled out a small unmarked white envelope and handed it to me. “This should cover any expenses.”

    
I opened the envelope and found a thick stack of cash neatly tucked inside. “When am I supposed to go?”

    
“Monday, I’m afraid. I know it’s short notice, but I simply cannot miss my trip to Paris for fashion week.”

    
“Can I bring Scotty?”

    
“Of course, darling.”

    
“Thank you. I appreciate you letting me do this.”

   “You can thank me by doing a wonderful job like you always do. “I'll send you the rest of the details by email,” she said. “Now, enough talk, dear. Let's eat. All this running about has me famished.”

***

    
Planning a vacation getaway was never an easy task for us due to our hectic work schedules. We were in dire need for some alone time and a trip to Vegas was a nice change of pace.

    
“You know how you've wanted us to get away for a vacation?” I asked, pulling Scotty close by his collar. “Isabella gave me a job and guess where it is?”

    
“I don’t know. Where?”

     “Vegas—this
Monday. Everything is paid for.”

    
“Oh.”

    
A
knot grew in my stomach
when I saw the look of disappointment shadow across his face. “What's wrong?”

    
“I have a closing on a property this Monday. I've been working on this for a couple of months. I can’t reschedule it. I’m so sorry, kid.”

    
In irritation,
I asked, “Why does this always happen to us?”

    
“I know. I'm bummed about it too,” he said, “but I want you to go and have a good time.”

     
A guilt-ridden feeling crept up on me. “I'll just do the project and come right home.”

    
“No way. It’s Vegas—a great opportunity for you. How often do you get an all-expense paid trip like that? We have plenty of chances for a getaway. You deserve to go enjoy yourself.”

    
I wanted to believe that he was okay with it, even with the weight of guilt resting on my shoulders. “It's only a small project anyway.”

    
“Hey, I know. You should take Ruth,” he suggested. “At least then you wouldn’t be going by yourself.”

    
“Hmm. I don’t know. She’s pretty busy these days as well.”

    
“Well, it doesn't hurt to ask.”

    
“Okay. How about this—when I get back, I promise to make it up to you.”

    
“Oh yeah? Can we start on that project I’ve been talking about?”

    
Scotty
had been hinting
at starting a family
for the past six months.
It was a foolish notion
as far as I was concerned,
if not utterly impossible. If we hardly had time for each other, we’d never have time for a baby.

    
“Scotty,” I said with irritation in my tone, “you know it’s not the right time.”

    
“I know, I know. I just thought I would mention it.”

     
I left the room
in a haste to escape the conversation
and called Ruth.

    
“So I was thinking, you, me, and Vegas this Monday? Isabella has a project for me down there. It won’t cost you a cent.”

    
“Perfect timing! Can you believe this is the only week I’m off? I’d love to go.”

     
I dismissed all thoughts of guilt and regret—Vegas was calling my name.

A First For Everything

1994

    
Accepting the fact that my time with Carter was coming to an unimaginable end was not an easy task. And
sadly, the precious few days I
had left
with him was
spent avoiding his wicked witch of a mother. Carter, ever the marvelous actor, played it off as though we were no longer friends. He told his mother he was done with me and that I wasn’t worth the aggravation.
Mary
slackened the tension on that invisible leash around his neck
once she believed Carter was telling the truth.
The perfect time for us to sneak out and see each other was when his mother would leave on errands.

    
Carter and I did everything we could to make the most out of a dire situation. One of those opportunities came about when Mary had to go across town. She happened to be meeting with Carter’s agent about their upcoming move to Orlando. Once the coast was clear, Carter came over and asked if I wanted to walk to the shopping center and get some ice cream.
My parents
obviously
did not want
me
to rock the boat with his mother, and they forbid me from seeing him outside of school. I was sure we could get away with it just that once
while Dad was working at the dealership that weekend and Mom was out shopping.

    
We arrived at Harvey’s Old-Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor, a small 1950s-style venue with red vinyl booths, Formica tabletops, and checkered flooring. The aroma wafting around the place was as pleasant as the atmosphere. The enticing fragrance of malted milk and warm waffle cones harmonized into a symphony for the senses. The old tunes playing from the corner jukebox added to the ambiance. The place was pretty packed for a late Sunday afternoon. Several patrons were perched on barstools at the counter enjoying dessert.

    
“So what’ll you have?” Carter asked as we walked up to the cash register.

    
I glanced up at the menu board on the wall behind the counter. There were so many choices that it was hard to decide. “How about chocolate chip?”

    
Carter smiled at the cashier and said, “Hi. We’ll have one chocolate chip and one strawberry.”

    
“Would you like a cone or cup?” the cashier asked. He was relatively young, dark-haired, and physically fit. He wore in an old-fashioned paper hat and black bowtie.

    
“I’ll take mine in a sugar cone if you’ve got them,” I announced.

    
“Me too,” Carter said.

    
“No problem.” The cashier rang us up on a vintage register—the kind that people used long before the invention of digital displays and computerized pricing and barcode scanners.
 
“That’ll be $5.50.”

    
Carter pulled out some loose cash from his back pocket. I suspected he got the extra money from the odd jobs he did during the weekend. When he wasn’t preparing for an audition, Carter went around the neighborhood mowing lawns or washing cars just like he did to earn the money for our first date.

    
We licked our ice cream cones with gusto and strolled down the sidewalk. I enjoyed the sensation of coolness inching down my throat and the sunshine warming my skin, not to mention, the company of my favorite person in the whole world. Not long after, we got into conversation about his upcoming move.

    
“So have you packed everything yet?” I asked with a heavy sigh.

    
“Nope, not even close.” Carter grasped my hand, like he never wanted to let it go. “Let’s not think about that right now, okay?”