No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) (17 page)

When I arrive at the carriage house, I put my phone on charge and change into my paint clothes. Also, I grab my Nikon camera. I have five hours before I have to get ready for mass, so I decide today is the day I’m going to work on one of the antique pieces in my garage which has been begging for my attention.

My apartment is over the garage, and fortunately, it was included in the rent. Old Man Nelson just shook his head when I squealed at the prospect of actually having storage.

The garage is a three car with half of a fourth bay as a work space. It’s dilapidated. Every time my mother visits she turns up her nose. My place isn’t the five-bedroom, four-bathroom Arcadian-style home in the ’burbs my sister lives in, but it suits me just fine. My garage is filled with treasures I’ve uncovered at estate sales and thrift shops, or salvaged from the side of the road. I document on my site how I turn trash to treasure. It’s not a novel concept. The Internet is filled with people doing similar things, but my followers seem to really enjoy the MK spin I put on these items. Usually, I sell whatever I repurpose.

I think today, I want to demonstrate the magic of spray paint. There are two lamps I found on my way to work a couple of months ago. They’d been sitting next to a garbage can at the end of a driveway. I’d picked them up and ran them home, and had only been ten minutes late.

Their shape is great. The bases are a braided rope made of tarnished brass and dark wood. The lamps match and were probably used on either nightstands or to flanks the ends of a table.

First I document the current condition of the lamps. They’re dusty with tattered lampshades. I set them on a work bench inside the garage and snap away. Next, I grab Dawn soap, a bowl of water, and a lint-free towel and give them a good scrubbing.

Just as I finish the last one, Bella walks up. “Project Sunday?” she asks.

“You know it.”

She sets a tall travel mug full of coffee down in front of me as she sits in a winged-back chair which is on my reupholster list. “How was racist Grandmother’s ball?” she quips.

My grandmother is not racist in which she feels superior because her skin is a lighter shade of pigment then someone else’s. However, when it comes to New Orleans society events, Bella is not invited. Grandmother says she doesn’t invite any of Bethany or my friends just because they are our friends—which is somewhat true. The guest list serves a purpose. It’s the crème de la crème of the wealthiest and most influential people in the state. However, Bethany and I have pointed out that every face at her parties is light-skinned.

“Let me tell you about Tripp.” I get her caught up on our friend and his revelations about hoping he and I would just settle down one day. I also share about Tripp and Aaron’s showdown on the dance floor.

Bella replies, “Let me get this straight. I’m not invited, but Aaron was?”

I totally forgot I haven’t talked to her, and she doesn’t know Aaron’s profession. “Yeah, so Aaron Emerson has a stage name.” I pause for effect and take a sip of my coffee. Cocking my eyebrow, “it’s Johnny Knite, and he gave Bethany the startup funds for her charity.” Picking up the lint-free towel, I drag it over the base of the lamp, concentrating on drying instead of the expression on Bella’s face.

But of course, I sneak a peek. Her mouth hangs open in shock. “Johnny Knite, as in the front man of ACE?”

“That’s the one.”

“How did you not know it was him?” Her eyes are huge round saucers and scream the words
you’ve got to be kidding me
.

Dropping the towel on the work bench, I turn to her. “You’ve known me forever. I would’ve expected you to be more surprised if I recognized someone.”

“True,” she responds, tilting her head to the side. “He’s hot.”

“Yes, he is.” I pull up a stool across from Bella and sit down with my coffee. “He recently got out of rehab, is a fan of NoPinkCaddy, and essentially staged the run-in at Eddy’s Bar to meet me. I found out all of this last night when I showed up on his doorstep after the ball for probably the best one-night stand ever.”

Bella’s mouth drops open. “You had sex with him?”

“Yeah.” I drop my head in mock shame. “And it was the best sex of my life and I’m freaking crazy about him, so I’m assuming this will end with me being ruined for life.”

“You mean you didn’t get him out of your system and now you want him to go away like you have with your past dates?” She sounds like a kid who just won the five-foot-tall pink dog at the carnival.

I give her a fake pout. “I really like him, and I’m charging my phone hoping he’ll call.”

She leaps to her feet and does this really bad version of the Carlton. I roll my eyes, but then stand up and join her. Bella breaks into a terrible rendition of
MK has a boy-friend
.

“I need details,” she screeches.

“Fine. I’ll give you the scoop, but I’m putting you to work.” I shove my camera at her. “Take some still pictures, and I’d also like some video.”

She begins snapping away, and I finish the prep on my lamps as I tell her about my night and morning with Aaron.

She rests the camera on my workbench. “Let’s back up for a minute, MK. Tell me more about him staging the run-in at Eddy’s.”

I stop what I’m doing and sit on my work stool. “Well, apparently he’s a fan of my site and decided he wanted to meet me, so he hung out at Eddy’s hoping I’d come in.”

Bella grabs her coffee. “No, back up. He made a donation to Bethany’s charity?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“You don’t think that’s a little bit creepy? I mean, you’re great and all, but he spent a metric ton of money hoping to meet you.” Her hand goes to her hip, and she shakes her head.

Sighing, I look at the ground before I respond. “It sounds strange. I get it, but it doesn’t seem odd when I’m with him. This is how I reason it. Even though I don’t think of myself as being in the public eye, I am. I have viewers of NPC from around the world. If his agent would have called me and said Johnny Knite was interested in meeting, I’d probably have declined. I’d have been so nervous that someone famous wanted to have a drink with me. Instead, I met him in my second home, Eddy’s Bar. It was comfortable.”

Bella shakes her head. “Still think it’s stalkerish.”

“Ugly word, B,” I respond. I don’t know why I don’t let it go, but I still feel the need to justify Aaron’s actions to Bella and probably myself. “Remember when they were filming
True Blood
in the French Quarter?”

She nods.

“Did you and I not hang out in bars for a week, hoping to have a beer with Vampire Eric?”

“Not the same. We were fangirling and being silly. Neither one of us was hoping to have a beer with him or donate to his charity to see if he was potential husband material.”

I toss a towel at her as I cock my eyebrow. “You wouldn’t marry him?”

She laughs as she tosses it back to me. “Nope. Just have one glorious night.” Bella grows serious. “Look, MK. You don’t follow gossip mags like I do, but Johnny is troubled. The man is gorgeous and has a voice from the gods, but all that pretty hides someone with issues. Dark issues. I think you should go upstairs, grab your laptop, and type his name in the search bar. If after that you still want a relationship with him, you have my support.”

There’s that Google suggestion again . . .
“It’s funny. He told me to do the same thing. He asked me to please read the gossip sites about him.”

“And?” she asks.

Sighing, I bury my face in my hands. “I haven’t. I guess I hope if I stick my head in the sand long enough, his past will evaporate.”

“Keep dreaming. So how do you feel?” she asks as I go to my spray paint locker and look for just the right colors.

I turn around. “Like a fool for finally really liking a guy who happens to be a rock star with a past, who tries to scare me away, yet I just keeping coming back for more.”

At three-thirty, I hug my friend goodbye and head upstairs to get ready for church. We got a lot accomplished. I have video to edit and writing to do tonight, but I think the viewers will enjoy this project. It was easy and cheap while really spiffing up hand-me-down furniture.

First, I check my phone, hoping Aaron’s called. I have a voicemail and text from my mother making sure I’m still coming to church, and Bethany called wanting to know more about Johnny Knite.

Nothing from Aaron. I tell myself that it’s okay. For all I know, he could still be asleep. He seems to be nocturnal and if he’s like me, I feel I could fall asleep standing. It’s an early night.

I shower, blow-dry my hair into soft waves, and choose a black, fitted long-sleeved dress. It fits perfectly without being provocative. I slip on black heels and my red, woolen coat. It’s another thrift store find. Paid thirty dollars, and it looks like it cost five hundred.

Church is too far from my home to walk, so I Uber there. Every Sunday, my father mentions he will purchase a car for me and every Sunday, I remind him I don’t need one. It’s our thing.

When I arrive, Bethany has already deposited my nieces in the church nursery. I slip into the pew next to Ben. My mother reaches behind my sister and brother-in-law and gives my back a rub. She looks spotless as usual, dressed in a brown sweater dress and knee-high boots.

I kneel down on the padded kneeler and make the sign of the cross.

Dear God,

What can I say? We both know I’m a pretty bad Christian. I drink, have sex, and cuss like a sailor. But in my defense, I’m a really good person. I help out those in need, am friendly to all, and still come every Sunday to mass when most of my friends have quit. Like every Sunday, I ask you to watch over Bella and Nyall. Please let him always be as good to her as he is now. Please watch over my nieces, my sister, Ben, and my parents. Even though they all drive me crazy, I love them to pieces.

Finally, I have a request for me. I’ve fallen hard for Aaron. If he’s the one for me, please bless us and help us both work toward a common goal. If he’s not the one, please show me sooner as opposed to later so I can still find the breath to recover.

In Jesus’s name,

Amen.

I make the sign of the cross and scoot back in my seat.

Michael, his wife, and his children sit across from me and one row up. They are here every Sunday, but this Sunday, I stare at the back of his head. I add,
And God, thank you so much for making Michael such a douche. I’m thankful to not be married to him, and I’m so appreciative he found someone who makes him happy
.

Michael drapes his arm around his wife and plays with her hair. Over his shoulder, she turns, glaring at me like she does every Sunday. This is part of our church tradition. I have no idea why she despises me so. She got what she wanted—him. She looks up at Michael and mouths,
“I love you.”

That’s right, God. You did good. They deserve each other.

I spend the hour during mass going through the rituals while I daydream about Aaron. My mind drifts back to him this morning all alone in his living room, working on his music. No shirt . . . covered in tattoos . . . his hair shielding his face from view. The man is breathtaking—a religious experience.

I stand with the congregation as Father Dan walks down the center aisle, blessing us all.

“Dinner?” my mom asks as we exit the church.

I touch my stomach. “Sorry, I think I’m going to skip.”

I just want to go to bed. She nods her head in understanding and lets me off the hook.

Dad, once again, is horrified I’m taking an Uber home, and I ignore him but still accept the twenty-dollar bill he slips me. I hug my sister, and she whispers in my ear to let her know about my rock star.

I smile and wave over my shoulder, so thankful my ride is waiting. I love my family, but I can’t take a two-hour dinner of gossip about Grandmother’s party because I, frankly, just don’t care.

Once I’ve shut the car door, I reach into my bag and pull out my phone. No missed calls. I reassure myself that it has been less than twelve hours since I’ve seen him. It’s okay.

But when I go to sleep that night and he still hasn’t texted or called, I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach I might have been his one-night stand.

MK Landry
@NoPinkCaddy

Check out the lamps I restored. For sale. $30 each plus shipping. Message me if interested. #TrashToTreasure

MK Landry
@NoPinkCaddy

What’s the appropriate wait time between a second and third date? #NotPatient

MK Landry
@NoPinkCaddy

Testing . . . Testing . . . Can you hear me?

MK Landry
@NoPinkCaddy

My phone is broken. That’s the only reason I haven’t heard from him, right? #FrownyFace

Monday (Day One: No Aaron) . . . I keep my office door shut and take care of payroll issues and failed drug tests, and stay busy enough that my co-workers don’t ask about Grandmother’s party. No contact from Aaron.

Tuesday (Day Two: No Aaron) . . . I had made myself so busy on Monday I don’t have much to occupy my time with on Tuesday. Therefore, I keep my door shut, talk about how crazy my job is right now, and work on NoPinkCaddy. I edit video which hasn’t been previously posted and work on posts. I opt to not discuss Aaron since it’s appearing like I was a one-night stand because rock stars date models—not plain girls from New Orleans who work in dead-end jobs and run little websites. I’ll eventually share the ugly details with my readers, but right now my heart is just too fragile.

I contemplate retrieving my mermaid dress as an excuse to see him again. It’s legit. At some point, I
do
have to get it back. Hmmm . . . I have his number. Should I call or just stop by?

On the way home from work last night, I initiated Operation: Dress Retrieval. No one answered when I rang the doorbell. My reason for dropping by instead of calling was the fear he’d send me to voicemail or never return my call. Now, I can just imagine he was out to dinner and I still have a rather good veiled excuse to contact him again.

Wednesday (Day Three: No Aaron) . . . Under my bulky sweater, I wear my “A Girl Needs A Man Like A Fish Needs A Bicycle” tank top. After reviewing the twelve-month financials for NPC I decide that with my growth rate, now is the time to strike. I’m taking life by the balls and squeezing. By God, I might have had a one-night stand with one of the hottest rockers on the planet and it could have got me down. Instead, it’s inspired me. I am an interesting, funny, amazing woman. He sought me out. He donated to Bethany’s charity in the hopes of meeting me. Why? Because I’m awesome. I wasn’t a groupie or hanger-on. He was. I’m a badass, and I deserve to live a badass life. And what’s the worst that could happen? I might have to get another job in human resources, except now I’ve got seven years of experience under my belt and I no longer have my paychecks signed by my college boyfriend.