Let's Stay Together (18 page)

Vicky shook her head. “Really?”

“Really.”

“All right,” Vicky said. “Let me take a look.”

While Vicky pored over Patrick’s tools, Patrick looked at the thousands of items people had parted with: guitars, trumpets, saxophones, amplifiers, jewelry, electronics, and even some expensive purses.
People even pawn what holds their money so they can get some money. There’s something ironic about that.
He stared into the case at the diamond rings and gold wedding bands.
These used to be on people’s fingers. I wonder where those people are now.
He squinted at a particularly small diamond ring.
I wonder if that’s the one I got for Natalia. It’s about the same size.

“You have a tool for just about everything in there,” Vicky said.

“I do maintenance for Salthead Property,” Patrick said. “Whatever can go wrong, I need the right tool to fix it.”

“I really can’t value these at more than three hundred,” Vicky said, “and that’s being generous.”

“They’re easily worth five times that,” Patrick said.

“
New,
” Vicky said. “These aren’t new. And three hundred is their
loan
value. I’m giving you a loan, right?”

He nodded. “That leaves me a hundred short. What if I left them here with you?”

“You couldn’t do your job,” Vicky said.

“I’ll be gone until Saturday night,” Patrick said, “and then maybe I can come by to pay you the balance on the ring and pick up my tools.”
How, I don’t know! I’d hate to borrow money from Lauren to pay for
her
ring and the rescue of my tools!

“We’re closed Saturday night,” Vicky said.

“How about Sunday?”

“We’re closed on Sundays,” Vicky said.

“It would have to be Monday, then,” Patrick said. “I really want to take this ring with me to St. Louis.”

“For Lauren Short,” Vicky said. “Chazz Jackson’s ex-fiancée.”

“Right.”

Vicky leaned closer. “Are you crazy or something?”

“No,” Patrick said. “What I’m doing may seem crazy, but I’m not crazy.”

Vicky shook her head, but she was smiling. “You sure you want to give up your tools, even for a ‘date’ with Lauren Short?”

“I know I shouldn’t, but I want to get Lauren that ring,” Patrick said. “If leaving my tools here means that I get to leave with the ring, I’ll leave the tools.” He dug out his roll of money and peeled off four hundreds. “I’d pay for the ring in full, but then I couldn’t afford dinner at Tony’s, and I might have trouble paying the entire hotel bill. I’d hate to ask Lauren to pay for any part of our date.” He held out the money. “That would be embarrassing.”

Vicky looked at the money. “You’ve really worked out this . . . date.”

“I’m trying,” Patrick said.

Vicky took the money. “All right. I know I’m going to regret this, but I’m letting you take the ring.”

Patrick smiled. “Thank you.”

“And though I don’t feel right about taking your tools,” Vicky said, “I kind of have to.”

“I understand,” Patrick said. “I will be back for them on Monday, so please don’t sell them.”

“I don’t
sell
many tools,” she said. “I ‘buy’ them, though. This economy, you know?” She handed him a form. “Fill this out while I get, um,
Lauren’s
ring ready.”

“Okay.”

While he filled out the form, Vicky polished the ring with a cloth, seated it in a black fuzzy box, and handed him the box.

“I can carry the bag wherever you want me to,” Patrick said. “It’s kind of heavy.”

“I’ll manage,” Vicky said. She handed him another form. “This is what you owe on the ring.” She slid him a card. “And this is your claim ticket for your tools. Don’t lose this.”

“I won’t. Thank you, Vicky.”

Vicky looked at his form. “You’re welcome, Mr. . . . Esposito.” She squinted at him.

“I’m Italian,” Patrick said.

Vicky shook her head slightly. “Give my best to Lauren.”

“I’ll give her my best,” Patrick said, “and then I’ll give her this ring. Thank you for doing this, Vicky. See you Monday.”

 

 

Before he left his apartment with a small duffel bag filled with toiletries and one change of clothes, Patrick sent an e-mail to Lauren:

He hoisted the duffel bag, locked his apartment behind him, and ran two blocks north to the Greyhound Brooklyn Bus Terminal on Livingston. After he paid for his ticket and settled into a seat in the back of a crowded bus next to an ancient Asian woman, his phone buzzed.

“Hey, Lauren,” Patrick said.

“You have to leave now?” she said. “What is it? One o’clock?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “It’s a long ride, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Lauren said. “Tell me your secret.”

“Nope,” Patrick said.

“I’ll send you some interesting pictures,” Lauren whispered.

“One picture download will drain half my phone battery,” Patrick said.

“It will? That’s no fun. I’ll send you the best one, then, but only if you tell me first. By the way, in the best one, I don’t have
any
clothes on.”

She doesn’t play fair.
“Well, I might give you some hints, but it depends on the picture.”

“It is a
very
naughty picture,” Lauren said.

“Hmm,” Patrick said. “I don’t know. One picture for an extremely important secret. That’s not an even trade in my book.”

“It is
very
revealing,” Lauren said. “It will leave nothing to your imagination.”

He smiled at the woman sitting next to him before turning slightly and whispering, “Tell you what. You send it, and I’ll decide if it’s worthy.”

“Oh, it’s worthy, all right,” she said. “Sending it now. Let me know when it gets there.”

The bus pulled out into heavy midday traffic.

“I’m on my way.”

“Is the picture there yet?” Lauren asked.

Patrick watched a text message arrive, selected it, and watched the picture load. “Just arrived.” He held the phone close to his chest, and in a few moments he saw Lauren’s sexy . . . face.

“Well?”

“I could look at this naked face all night and all day,” Patrick whispered. “Thank you.”

“Now, what’s the secret?” Lauren asked.

“I’ll tell you when I get to St. Louis,” Patrick said.

“Oh, come on,” Lauren said. “Please?”

“You don’t like surprises, do you?” Patrick asked.

“I do,” Lauren said. “I just don’t like to
wait
for them.”

“It won’t be long,” Patrick whispered.

“You know, we could do a little sexting,” Lauren whispered.

“Another first,” Patrick said.

“Great,” Lauren said. “Give me a few minutes, and then start.”

“Why do you need a few minutes?” Patrick asked.

“I need to lose a few clothes, all right? Bye.”

Patrick wasted no time.

Lauren wasted no time, either.

Patrick shifted in his seat and tried to control his breathing.

Patrick stood, squeezed down the aisle, and moved to the tiny bathroom, stepping inside and shutting the door.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. This woman has too much power over me.

Patrick hesitated as the banging on the door continued.
I don’t want the first time I tell Lauren I love her to be in a text message sent from the nasty bathroom of a bus, but I don’t want her to be hurt. This is the only way.

39

B
ack in her early days of stardom, Lauren often sneaked past paparazzi by wearing a long black overcoat, a gray scarf, and a jet-black wig to make herself look like Whitney Houston did in a scene with Kevin Costner in
The Bodyguard.

And the paparazzi never caught on,
she thought.
I wonder why that was. Maybe it was because
Entertainment Weekly
said Houston and Costner looked like “two statues attempting to mate” and the
Washington Post
called
The Bodyguard
“a wondrously trashy belly flop.”

However, today, a bright, sunny, and hot LA day, she didn’t want to sneak by anyone.

She looked outside and saw a lone photographer lurking near her car.
I’m down to one photographer. I hope I can make him some money today.

She wore her bluest jeans, black suede Timberland boots, and a crisp white button-down blouse in an attempt to match Patrick. As an afterthought, she grabbed the overcoat.

She debated taking her car to the airport.
What will happen to my car if I don’t come back? If I leave it here, the birds will turn it white. If I take it to the airport . . . the birds will still turn it white. In either case, someone will tow it if it sits too long. Do I really care what will happen to it? Patrick has lived his whole life without a car, and so can I.

She called a cab, and when it arrived, she rolled out her luggage. While the driver loaded her luggage into the trunk of the cab, the photographer snapped a long series of pictures.

“So, you’re finally making your escape,” the photographer said.

“No,” Lauren said, posing idly beside the cab.
Well, take my picture! Don’t you see me over here posing? Don’t you see me showing you my best side?

“Where are you off to, then?” he asked.

“I’m going on a little vacation,” Lauren said. She draped the overcoat over her shoulder.
How’s this, Mr. Photographer? Don’t I look trendy?

The photographer still didn’t lift his camera.

Lauren gave up and tossed the overcoat inside the cab.
What a loser. He has pictures of me pulling some luggage.

“Where are you going on this little vacation?” he asked.

“Will you make more money if you know my destination?” Lauren asked.

“I might.” He lined up another picture. “I might not.”

“What if I told you I was going to Australia?” Lauren asked.

“I wouldn’t believe you,” the photographer said.

“Really,” Lauren said. “I’m going to visit the royal family in Australia. They spend their summers in Brisbane.”

“You wouldn’t go to see the royal family dressed like that,” he said. “And you wouldn’t be taking an overcoat. You must be going east. Back home to D.C. maybe?”

I’m not crawling back there just yet.
“Queen Elizabeth is actually a down-home person,” Lauren said. “I hear she wears Levi’s in her drafty castle.”

The photographer rolled his eyes. “So really, where are you headed?”

I cannot tell him I’m off to St. Louis, but I want the world to know something!
“If you really must know, I am going on a date.”

“You’re taking three suitcases with you on a date,” he said.

“Yes,” Lauren said. “It’s going to be an extended date.”

The photographer took a few more pictures. “Really? Who with?”

“A real man,” Lauren said.

“Does the real man have a name?” he asked.

This can’t hurt. Patrick isn’t on Google.
“Patrick Alan Esposito.”

“Never heard of him,” he said. “Who is he?”

“A man of mystery,” Lauren said, and she slipped into the back of the cab then shut the door behind her. “To LAX, please.”

The photographer motioned for Lauren to roll down her window.

Lauren smiled as she rolled it down. “Yes?”

“No, really,” he said. “Who is he?”

“Like I said,” Lauren said, “a real man of mystery.”

The photographer shrugged. “I’ll bet. Bye.”

As the photographer walked off, the cabdriver turned to her. “So I’m going to the international terminal?”

“No,” Lauren said. “Alaska Airlines.”

“So you’re not going to Australia,” the driver said.

“No,” Lauren said. “I was just saying that to throw him off.”

“I doubt you threw him off.” The driver faced forward and pulled out of the parking lot. “I wouldn’t go to Australia this time of year. It’s summer in Australia now. Hot as shit. So where are you really headed?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Lauren said.

“Try me.”

“I’m going to St. Louis,” Lauren said.

“Why? They’re about to have a major snowstorm.”

“You’ll be lucky if you get to land in St. Louis,” the driver said. “Chicago’s going to get slammed, too. Your flight might be diverted to Dallas.”

What?
“Really?”

“It’s all over the news,” the driver said. “Up to a foot all throughout the Midwest. Maybe more. They might even have a blizzard, like that Nemo storm a few years ago that hit Boston.”

This can’t happen!
“Just . . . get me to the airport.” She immediately called Alaska Airlines. “Hello. I’m flying to St. Louis in a couple hours. Is the flight leaving on time?”

“Yes,” a woman said.

“I heard there is some bad weather on the way to St. Louis,” Lauren said.

“All I know is that we’re on time,” the woman said.

“Thank you.”

Lauren called Patrick. “Where are you?”

“Hi, Lauren. Thanks for calling,” Patrick said. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Oh, sorry,” Lauren said. “Hi, Patrick. Where are you?”

“Ohio,” Patrick said. “A little west of Columbus. We just finished a useless two-hour layover. Where are you?”

“I’m on my way to the airport,” Lauren said. “How’s your weather?”

“Cold, with some snow,” Patrick said. “Nothing major. Mostly flurries. The roads are okay, and traffic isn’t too bad.”

Should I worry him? I have to.
“St. Louis is about to be hit by a major snowstorm.”

“That’s what I heard,” Patrick said. “But I’ll be okay.”

“My flight is leaving on time, but they’re saying the Midwest could get a foot or more,” Lauren said. “I might be diverted to another airport.”

“I’m sure you’ll be okay,” Patrick said.

“I hope so,” Lauren said. “But what about you?”

“This bus will get through,” Patrick said. “We’ve certainly got enough weight. We have a full boat, and everyone just ate a ton of food at Dirty Frank’s Hot Dog Palace.”

“That’s not a real place,” Lauren said.

“It is,” Patrick said. “I doubt we’re going to run out of gas either.”

Funny.
“Are you on time?”

“After eight stops and four seemingly meaningless layovers, we’re only about ten minutes behind schedule,” Patrick said.

“That’s good,” Lauren said. “Um, I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“I can’t wait,” Patrick said. “Stay warm.”

“I only brought one overcoat,” Lauren said. “And you’re supposed to keep me warm when I get there anyway. I’m going to wear you.”

“I’m going to wear you
out,
” Patrick whispered.

“Ooh, I like that,” Lauren whispered. “You’re going to wear me outside?”

“Inside and outside,” Patrick whispered.

“I like the sound of that,” Lauren said. “You stay warm, too.”

“I’ll try,” Patrick said. “See you soon.”

“Bye.”

When the cabdriver opened her door in front of the Alaska Airlines entrance, he asked, “Is everything okay?”

Lauren stepped out. “You know it is. You were eavesdropping.”

“Yeah,” the driver said. “Was that him you were talking to?”

“Yes,” Lauren said.

“Where is he?” the driver asked.

Nosy!
“A little west of Columbus, Ohio.”

The driver opened the trunk. “What’s he doing in Ohio?”

“He’s on his way to St. Louis,” Lauren said.

The driver set her luggage on the curb, and an old black skycap loaded it onto a cart.

“Good thing he’s not in Cleveland,” the skycap said.

“They already shut down Hopkins.”

Another eavesdropper.
Lauren blinked at him. “Hopkins?”

“That’s the airport in Cleveland,” the skycap said. “It’s already got two feet on the ground, and another foot is expected. It’s mostly lake-effect snow.”

“Oh.”
I am so glad Patrick is on that bus now.
“How do you know that?”

The skycap showed Lauren his iPhone. “I watch the Weather Channel.”

“Why?” Lauren asked.

The skycap pushed the cart toward the entrance. “We have no weather out here. I like weather. I’m originally from Detroit.”

At the ticket counter, the ticket agent recognized Lauren immediately. “Oh, Miss Short, it is
such
a privilege and an honor.”

Why do people have to gush? I’m just an ordinary girl from D.C.
“Thanks.”

The agent clicked through a series of keys. “What’s in St. Louis?”

“Do you ask everyone that question?” Lauren asked.

“No,” the woman said.

“Treat me no differently, then,” Lauren said, collecting her boarding pass. “Say your next line.”

“My next line?” the woman said.

“Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘Enjoy your flight’?”

The woman blushed. “Oh, yeah. Enjoy your flight, Miss Short.”

“Thank you.”

When she left the line, she tipped the skycap a twenty. “Thank you, Miss Short,” he said.

“Um, can you keep where I’m going under your hat for a while?” she asked.

The man stood up straight. “You don’t think I’d rat you out to the media, do you?”

“You might,” Lauren said. “It wouldn’t take much for you to upload something with that iPhone of yours.” She handed him another twenty.

“You know,” he said with a smile, “I have no idea where Lauren Short was headed.”

“Tell them Australia,” she whispered, handing him another twenty.

The man laughed. “You can stop giving me money, Miss Short. Look around you.”

Lauren looked around and saw phones and cameras raised in her direction. She also heard the whispers of “Is that . . . ?” and “Look, it’s
her.
”

“The media is going to know the second you get on your plane,” he said. “It’s a nonstop flight, right?”

“Right,” Lauren said. “Oh, shoot. Is there anything you can do?”

He handed back two of the twenties and pocketed the other. “There isn’t anything anyone can do, Miss Short,” he said. “Folks know you.”

While she was slogging through the security screening and trying not to look at the camera phones aimed her way, her phone buzzed. “Hello?”

“Lauren, have I got a
golden
opportunity for you.”

Todd. I need to block his number.
“What is it?”

“They’re doing a remake of
Mahogany,
and they want you to play the title role!”

“Why?” Lauren asked.

“Well, you’re available, aren’t you?” Todd asked.

Not at the moment,
Lauren thought.
I’ve just had my boots inspected for bombs, and I’m putting them back on.
“I meant, why are they doing a remake of
Mahogany?
Can’t Hollywood come up with something original? That movie is forty years old.”
I wasn’t even alive when that movie came out.

“The producers think you’re the next Diana Ross!”

“The producers are out of their minds,” Lauren said.

“And that movie is so creepy. Isn’t Norman Bates in that one?”

“Yes, Tony Perkins plays a gay photographer who wants to woo Miss Ross,” Todd said. “Remember that scene where he can’t get it up?”

“And they want me . . .”
Will I ever live down what happened between me and Chazz?
“Tell them no.”

“But, Lauren . . .”

“Tell them no!” Lauren shouted, and she turned off her phone. She smiled at the nearest security officer. “Sorry about that.”

The security officer shook her head. “I would have said, ‘Oh,
hell
no,’ ” she said. “I like Diana Ross and all, but that movie was seriously stupid. Of all the actors on this planet, they had to hook up a diva with Norman Bates.”

Lauren arrived at her gate just in time for priority boarding. Once she was settled in first class, Wendy the flight attendant gushed over her.

“Miss Short,” Wendy cooed, “this is
such
an honor.”

“Please treat me like any other passenger,” Lauren whispered.

“Oh, I will,” Wendy cooed. “If there’s
anything
you need, anything at all, you just ask me.”

“I’d like some peace and quiet,” Lauren said.
And I don’t want you to coo at me ever again. I don’t need a flighty flight attendant fluttering around me for five hours.

“Oh, we’ll keep it quiet,” Wendy cooed. “
Anything
for you, Miss Short. And you’ll be happy to know that the seat beside you will remain empty for the entire flight. Isn’t that wonderful?”