SOMEONE ELSE'S LIFE
"How do you know this isn't what I want, Seth?" Summer demanded into her cell phone as she dashed around her tiny apartment, making sure that her daughter Audrey's toys were put away and that everything was in order. Marcus would be over in any minute, and he would flip if the apartment wasn't spotless, and the last thing she needed at the moment was to make him angry.
"Because you always seem so busy and frustrated and unhappy," Seth protested, knowing that this could upset her further but also knowing that her lifestyle couldn't be good for her. Summer didn't respond. "Sum?"
"Sorry, I'm trying to load the dishwasher," she replied breathlessly, putting the pile of cracked bowls she had in her hand down to adjust the phone, which was cradled between her ear and shoulder. "Can I call you back?"
"Sure, fine," Seth sighed. "Tonight?"
"Tomorrow," Summer corrected apologetically, knowing he would be disappointed and frustrated. "Marcus is coming over. I don't know how long he'll stay."
Seth slapped the pile of papers he was faxing onto the desk in his office, pissed at Summer's willingness to go along with whatever Marcus wanted, her willingness to forget everything to please him. "Fine, Summer."
"Please don't be angry, Seth," Summer pleaded with him. He hated when she did that, used that begging tone. She was better than that, he needed her to know that. But she'd changed, and their lives were so different now. "Please."
"I'll talk to you tomorrow," Seth said quietly, not wanting to argue with her anymore. "Night, Sum."
"Night, Seth," she whispered back, slowly closing the phone and placing it on the tiny kitchen table. Rather, a folding table she'd made into the kitchen table. She sat down on the living room sofa slowly and sighed, leaning back into its comfort. She was never alone and she was even less often able to sit down for a moment. Between her two jobs, her four-year-old daughter, and Marcus, there was barely any time for anything for herself, and barely any time to sleep. She was perpetually exhausted, worn out, and weak.
Summer found herself snapped out of the two-minute nap she'd fallen into by the repeated sound of the doorbell. She quickly rushed to the door, knowing that the longer she kept him waiting, the angrier Marcus would be.
"Hey," she smiled at him nervously, allowing him to enter the apartment though he'd have pushed in if she hadn't. He didn't respond to her greeting.
"Let's make this quick," he snapped, loosening and yanking off his tie and looping it over the doorknob of the bedroom. "I have an event to go to tonight." Summer nodded and followed him. "Is the girl here?" Marcus asked coldly as he entered the bedroom, Summer behind him.
"No, she's with the sitter I found her," Summer began to explain.
"Did I ask who she was with?" He remarked bitterly. He glanced at Summer. "No. And I don't care, either."
"I'm sorry—" Summer attempted, but before she could finish her sentence, Marcus slapped her across the face roughly. She bit her lip and didn't speak as he removed his suit jacket and pants, left in only his crisp white button-down shirt and plaid boxers, and pushed her onto the bed, so he was on top of her, in power, in control.
Summer knew the routine well enough. Marcus had, after all, been coming over for this for five years. Five long years. Summer could still remember that day when he'd come home with her after seeing her dancing at Luna Chicks, where she'd managed to procure and keep a job as a stripper for a little over five years. Marcus, along with a whole group of middle-aged Hollywood bigwigs, had shown up at the nightclub and had wanted more than what his similarly middle-aged and once-beautiful wife could give him. And Summer, struggling for money and support in LA, eagerly gave him what he wanted. He helped her financially, and she helped him in—well, other ways. Several months after the trysts began, Summer found herself pregnant, and he agreed to give her child support as long as nobody ever found out about his affair or the child.
And that was how Summer found herself as a twenty-six year old single mother, a waitress by day and stripper by night, supporting herself and her daughter only by the money Marcus gave her—Marcus, the man who refused to give her and their daughter anything but that cash they needed to survive. That was how she found herself being forced to straddle 54-year-old Marcus on her crappy mattress in her crappy apartment, giving him a lap dance, grinding against him, as he kissed her fervently and hit or pushed her when she didn't comply with his every sexual need or want. When she paused for breath, he yanked her by the hair closer to him, and tears burned in her eyes. But they always did. She was used to that.
Finally, as he squeezed her breasts violently one last time, so hard that Summer knew they'd become shades of blue-purple, to match her face and arms and legs, by morning. And then Marcus got up without a word, redressed, and exited the apartment. It was 5:30, and it was time for Marcus to accompany his wife to a Hollywood charity benefit, not unlike the ones Summer had once attended. And it was time for Summer to put on fishnets and pumps, an obscenely short skirt, and a halter top, plaster concealer to the parts of her body Marcus had marred, and to drive to Luna Chicks for her shift.
Lives had changed. People had changed. And things were different than they once had been.
…
Summer patted the last layers of cover-up over the bruising region over her left temple and cheekbone before tying the belt of her robe a little tighter, protectively, as she sat on a stool behind the curtain at Luna Chicks. She was supposed to go out there in five minutes, and she was just biding her time before her excruciating routine would begin. She picked up her cell phone, deciding to dial in for voice mail while she waited.
As soon as she heard his voice, she couldn't help but smile. "Hey, Sum, it's Cohen. Listen, it's been a while, and I have to come into LA for business anyway. If you'll see me, I'd love to grab coffee or lunch with you. Just call me back, when you get a chance, okay?" Summer erased the message and sighed. When she arrived home, she'd have to go to sleep immediately to make it through another grueling day, so she might as well call him back now. She needed to hear his voice, too. It was one of the only comforts she had left in her life. Her daughter and the phone calls with Cohen, they were what kept her going.
"Sum!" He said into the phone, his voice a mixture of happiness and surprise.
"Hey," she replied. She loved how he made her feel cherished, wanted, appreciated. He made her feel like she mattered, like he enjoyed their conversations. No one else in her life had done that for a long time, made her feel that way. "I got your message."
"When can I see you?" He asked hopefully.
"I don't know, Cohen, I'm just so busy…" she trailed off, biting her lip as she noticed Kurt, the ruthless money-obsessed club manager, glaring at her. She knew she would be going on stage in a few minutes.
"Please, Sum? I just—I miss you," Seth admitted. He heard her sigh. He knew how difficult her life was, how precious time was to her. But he needed to see her. Needed to help her. He could tell that things were only getting worse for her.
"I know, I miss you too," she said, smiling, unable to lie to him, and Seth could hear her smile and he was happy that he had been able to make her do that. She smiled so rarely, had so little fun or time for herself. That was his goal during their phone calls: make her smile, make her laugh, make her feel loved. There wasn't much else he knew how to do. "When can you come?"
"Whenever you need me," Seth promised. She knew that if she asked him to be there in ten minutes, he'd be there in five; that wherever she was or whatever she needed, he would be there for her however he could. Their relationship had ended long ago, but their emotional connection and the love they had for one another was everlasting. It was engrained in Seth's mind that he would do anything for her, and when he reiterated this to the girl he had lost, she couldn't help but smile and blush and love him even more. Seth thought for a moment before responding to her question. "Tomorrow?"
"Oh, Seth," Summer moaned. "I want to, so badly, but tomorrow I don't even have the sitter, so I have to have Audrey at the diner with me after her day care ends in the afternoon, and—"
"Don't say another word," Seth cut in. "I can take her."
"I can't ask you to do that," Summer replied quickly. "I'm sorry, but I won't let you."
"Please?" Seth asked. "It would be my pleasure. Really."
"Drive to LA to babysit your ex's daughter?" Summer laughed lightly. "Seth, it's too much, honestly."
"You know you're more than an ex to me," Seth replied, and Summer was touched by how cute his words were. She blushed on the other end of the phone, and Seth could sense her blushing. They were completely in tune with one another. "What time can I meet you?"
Summer sighed, knowing him and his determination and that he wouldn't give up. "I was going to pick her up at her day care during my lunch break at two, and bring her back to just sit at a booth, but—"
"How about I pick her up a little earlier, and Audrey and I can bring you some lunch, and we can hang out, the three of us, during your lunch break?" Seth proposed.
Summer smiled. "It's too much, Cohen, but if you really want to…"
"I get to hang out with Audrey and see you, of course I want to," Seth told her, in that adorable way of his. "Are you a sandwich fan or a pizza fan these days? Or something else?"
Summer thought back to what she'd eaten that day. A bowl of cereal early that morning with Audrey—Lucky Charms, because that was the only thing Audrey would eat in the morning and because Summer was not interested in spending their limited income on multiple boxes of cereal. Two cups of coffee, to mask her tired yawns. Some french fries during her lunch break. Some more coffee and half a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich Audrey hadn't finished before heading over to Luna Chicks. "I'm a fan of anything," Summer promised. "Thank you."
"Of course," Seth responded. "So how—"
"Seth, I have to go," she whispered as Kurt approached. "I have to—"
"Sum, the stripping? Again? Seriously—"
She hung up on Seth right before Kurt snatched her cell phone from her, and she tucked it safely into her bag, before crossing her arms over her chest and shivering. Kurt gave her a little shove towards the stage entrance and she followed suit, waiting for the announcer to alert the club patrons of the next performer.
"See you soon," Summer said softly, both to herself and to Seth, all the way in Newport, as she wished she was anywhere but where she was, wished she was someone else, in some other life, without the exhausting days and frustrations that kept her tied to hers.
She made it through the painful routines that evening, swirling around a pole provocatively, writhing on the ground, allowing her dignity to escape her body and fly away. She kept her mind on Seth, and the happiness in his voice when he picked up the phone and heard her on the other end, just like she always did when she was in pain, and somehow she made it through. As she slithered down the stage steps and began to grind in the lap of a scummy, balding pervert, she allowed the happy memories of a past life in Newport, and the assurance that she would see Seth the next day, to infiltrate her memory, and with every sexualized movement, her mind floated to Seth Cohen, and she wondered what he would think if she saw her in that moment, wondered what he think if he really saw, if he really knew, what had become of the life of a girl who had once had so much promise and so many dreams.