The Revolution (2 page)

She laughs, pulling the band around my topknot out before I can stop her. My long brown hair comes tumbling down over my shoulders and she says, “Fine, I’ll meet you at the car.” Teasing as she walks away popping the band she just stole from me, she adds while pointing at my hair, “That’s much better too.”

“Hey there.” And there it is, the voice I was longing to hear.

Before I have a chance to mess with my hair, I run my hand down the front of my purple silk shirt hoping it’s not a wrinkled mess. Not like guys care about that. Not that I should care about that. But I do when it comes to
him
. When I turn back around, Kaz is standing in front of me. His smile is sweet, one I haven’t seen him reveal in months, maybe since our beach encounter. I don’t kid myself though. I’m more practical than that. I’m probably one of many he’s actually shown it to, but I like to think it’s just for me. “Hi.”

“You coming to the show tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Tommy, the band’s manager, calls him from the dressing room and waves him over.

When Kaz’s caramel-colored eyes are back on me, the corners dip down along with his smile. He looks frustrated. “Guess I should I go. We’ve got some stuff to do before the show. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I’m honestly not sure what the game plan is, but I won’t miss this opportunity either. Nodding, I reply, “For sure.” I give a little wave and turn with a big smile on my face. I push through the double doors and am instantly blinded by the sunlight. When my eyes adjust, I see Rochelle’s SUV and walk to it. I’ve just closed the door when she says, “You’re gonna get yourself into trouble if you’re not careful. You need to be very clear with Mark, and do it today.”

Exasperated I’m still dealing with this mess, I lean my head against the seat. “I have several times. He refuses to listen.”

Her annoyance is clear, even though I can’t see her eyes behind the large designer sunglasses hiding them. Her head tilts and her smile flattens into a straight line. Rochelle is stunning even when she has no patience for things like her friends’ terrible relationships. “Make him listen. It’s not fair for you to live like this—”

“This? I don’t want to hurt him, Ro.”

“You know how I feel about everything that’s happened. You also know what’s happened to me. Don’t waste time on things, or people, who don’t make you happy.” She shifts the Escalade into drive, and turns her focus forward.

I’ve felt many emotions over the last few months, but the one that stands out is fear. I’ve felt it deep inside, yet it’s one I’ve not spoken of before, so I whisper, “I’m scared.”

Smiling sympathetically, she reaches over and squeezes my hand before returning it to the steering wheel. “It won’t be easy, but you’ve wanted this for a while. It’s time to move on with your life, Lara.”

“I know. I’ll do it soon.”

She drives through the parking lot toward the guarded gate while circling back topic-wise to where we began. “In the meantime,” she starts as a security guard presses a button and the gate lifts for us to leave the arena, “Tomorrow, we party. It’s been forever for me. I need a night out.”

“Me too.” Kaz crosses my mind and I wonder if how I’m feeling about tonight, about seeing him, is wrong. Flipping down the visor, I open the mirror to see how much I really embarrassed myself with Kaz. My hair is a wild mess of waves I can live with, and the charcoal gray eyeliner that rims my blue eyes is still in place, thank goodness. I push the mirror closed and lean back just as we pass a billboard advertising season tickets for the local major league baseball team. “It will be fun.” When I glance her way, I add, “Don’t let me drink too much.”

“I won’t. Or I might. I’m thinking you need a night out just as badly as I do.” She’s my friend through and through. She may freely give her opinion, but she won’t hold it against me if we differ. Following a laugh, she says, “I like Kaz. I’m just worried what your boyfriend might think about this friendship forming with him. Mark’s known for two things: homeruns
and
his temper. He wasn’t happy the last time you brought him around the band.”

Mark flipped out on the band manager for talking to me a four months back. I haven’t brought him around since. “I’m allowed to have friends. Separate friends from him. Besides, Mark and I haven’t been coupling since the playoffs began.”

“Coupling?”

I shouldn’t share my sexual secrets but it’s one of the reasons I’m leaving Mark, and I trust her with the information. “There’s no intimacy.”

“You don’t have sex?” The shock is heard through the higher octave of her voice. “Lara Kessler, please tell me that’s not the case.”

“Did you just full-name me?”

“I did. Now tell me you haven’t gone without sex.”

I shake my head. “I’ve had sex, though it’s been longer than I’d like to admit, and there’s no intimacy. It’s about him getting off and getting his body in tune to play. Sex is something he does for himself. Not me. It’s all about the sport—baseball and sex.”

“But I thought players went at it like rabbits in the off-season?”

“Everything in Mark’s life revolves around pre-season, the baseball season, and the playoffs. All else is considered a distraction to his routine, including me.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s sort of embarrassing to admit, so I don’t talk about it.”

“When was the last time you… you know?”

“Speaking of rabbits,” I laugh, “can we stop at the store? I’m out of batteries.”

Rochelle doesn’t laugh, but her grin shows her amusement. “Definitely. I’ll even buy the bulk pack for you.” Traffic in LA sucks so she takes advantage of the time. “Mark has a competitive streak when it comes to pro baseball, but his jealous streak rivals it when it comes to you. Again, not to hound, but make a clean break before you flirt with disaster.”

She’s right. He’s very protective of me because he believes we’re meant to be, but the feeling isn’t mutual. “Is flirting with disaster a reference to Kaz?”

It’s too hot today, so I pull an elastic from my purse, and twist my hair back into a knot on top of my head. Her lack of answer causes me to say, “I was afraid of that.”

“Your friendship with Kaz is not wrong.”

She’s right.
Of course
. So for myself, I say, “We’re only friends. He’s a great guy, but we’re
only
friends. I’m not looking to jump from one relationship into another.”

“What if Mr. Right shows up?”

“I don’t need Mr. Right. I’m just looking for that damn elusive O. No matter how many batteries I go through, I’m not able to find him.
It.
” I correct. “I mean it, not him.”

She laughs along with me, but it lulls as we both realize what I mean. Then I just feel sad. “My mind is a mess these days.”

“We need our minds romanced as much as our bodies. The O will come. But not until your mind is free. You need to get yourself in a good place mentally.” Touching my hand again, she says, “Things work out how they’re supposed to, Lara.”

“Is that how you feel about Cory?” I shouldn’t have said that and I know it, but I’m curious and usually too afraid to ask. My defenses lower as regret sets in. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Her fingers tighten around the leather wheel, but her face remains neutral. “Things work out how they’re supposed to,” she repeats, her shoulders and tone much more stoic than her façade of calm.

MARK’S DRIVEWAY IS
long. I’ve often thought it was a source of pride for him, as if he believes we are judged by the entrance to our homes instead of our hearts. He chose the former to highlight in life. I chose the latter. Another reason in a long list that we were never meant to be more than one hot night on Mulholland.

Stars are hidden behind clouds, or smog, making my night even more ominous than it already felt. The gate closes behind me and I’m left pulling up to a house that is grand and over the top with hideous Greek columns and an ostentatious Roman fountain with pissing cherubs. This house has a Hollywood legacy of a famous showman from before films existed through famous actresses who held huge society parties in the 1950s. More recently it was a porn producer’s home until he went to jail for tax evasion. The mansion was put on the market and Mark scooped it up below value. He transformed the place and made it grand again. It’s a symbol of his success and makes him feel important in a town full of players. I get it. He’s known for his homeruns and ego. After meeting some of his teammates, it’s clear he’s not unique in this way.

But this house sets him apart. It’s a status symbol that many other players can’t afford. Mark’s marketability affords him luxuries most will never experience.

Sometime in the last month I realized I was another status symbol like this house. I was a pretty package he could display in front of cameras as the doting girlfriend. I’d foolishly fallen for the charade and had played my part. The role of trophy without the wife title never sat well with me.

I may not be wealthy, but I make a good living and am recognized in my industry. Mark’s never appreciated my achievements. He’s paraded me up and down red carpets, World Series, and parties. It was fun, at first. In time, the real Mark Renner was exposed and his dark side wasn’t pretty. We weren’t real. I know that now. Sadly, I had changed to become what he wanted, what he demanded not so subtly. I barely recognize myself anymore.

And for what?
Fame?
I don’t need fame.
Money?
I don’t need money at this level.
Happiness?
I don’t even remember when I gave that up.
Integrity?
That’s
what I most long for, what I desire to recapture. I may have lost my soul to the darkness of Hollywood, but I believe I can get back to a place where I feel proud of myself again, where I sleep at night without the help from a glass of wine to relax. Where tears and exhaustive arguments are no longer part of my daily routine. Where dreams replace the nightmares I’ve had longer than I remember.

We’re not meant to be.

I didn’t see the differences soon enough to stop this train from wrecking. He parties too much and I don’t like the changes I’ve seen in him. From tabloid photos of him with other women while on the road to drunken fights on nights out with his buddies—he’s a disaster and he’s dragging me down with him.

Now that I’ve been investing into
my
life, and me, my friendships have strengthened again and hope is on the horizon. He may have been able to talk himself out of any situation before, but my instincts tell me not to believe him anymore. And I’m good with this.

Tonight I will walk away from his world, out from his shadow, and start living my life again.

After parking, I walk toward the house. Rap music penetrates the glass and iron front door. It’s locked so I use my key and let myself in. The music is louder when I enter, the bass bouncing off the marble entryway. “Mark?” I call, shutting the door. “Mark?”

I leave my purse on the foyer table and make my way into the large living room with ornate and gaudy framed paintings. I don’t have the heart to tell him he was had in Vegas when he bought what he thought were original masterpieces. They’re knock-offs. Any fool can tell with one glance, except Mark.

When I round the corner to the kitchen, Mark is rapping at the top of his lungs. His back is to me as the blender runs giving me this last look at how handsome he used to be to me—broad shoulders and dark hair, golden skin from hours of practice outside. He’s not the same man I met. The brightness that used to fill his eyes—joy from the game, excitement from being with me—has dulled. Now, online images show eyes that spark from alcohol and easy women. Even the way he stands is different to me now. He’s weaker in my eyes, and I’m convinced I need to end this relationship. “Hi,” I say loud enough for him to hear, but not startle him. He’s not someone you want to surprise or sneak up on. Lately, he has been edgy. His size alone is intimidating, but his speedy reactions would land me in the hospital if he were startled.

He looks over his shoulder. “Hey, babe.” Pointing at the stuff in the blender, he offers, “Protein shake?”

I soften under the endearment and the offer, and shake my head. “No, I’m good. Is that dinner?”

His bright white smile is engaging as he stops what he’s doing and comes to hug me. “We can order a pizza if you’re hungry.”