Ch. 4
/Keep your eye on the ball. Elbows up. Hands together. Remember to follow through on the swing./
Charlotte gave him a nod as she took up her batter's stance at home plate and took a breath. He watched as the pitcher threw out the first pitch. She swung.
The clank of the bat filled his ears as it made solid contact with the ball. She nailed it between first and second base and took off running down the first baseline where he stood. She tagged the base and slowed to a jog and turned around to come back, a huge smile on her face.
He gave her a high-five before waving his hands in the air; the ASL sign of applause. Then he knelt down to be eye level with her as he signed, /Watch the other batters. If they hit the ball, take off towards second. Keep an eye on the ball in-play. If you can, run to third. If not, stay on second. Watch the third base coach and she'll tell you what to do./
She signed, /Okay./ Then she watched her teammate, Tommy, at the plate intently as she waited to see what was going to happen.
When Tommy hit the ball, she took off running toward second base and kept going as the third base coach, Annie, waved her on. He noticed that Annie was going to wave to her to keep going towards home plate as the outfielder dropped the ball. He immediately ran down the baseline to home plate as Charlotte rounded third. He watched the throw in towards the catcher and saw that it was going to be close.
/Slide!/ he signed to her and watched as she slid across the plate, barely beating the tag.
"Safe," the umpire yelled out.
As he heard clapping and screaming of cheers from the crowd, he waved his hands again in the air as Charlotte jumped up and waved her hands. After another high-five, she went to the dugout to celebrate with her teammates while he went back to being the first base coach.
Once the inning ended, and Charlotte was playing catcher—her preferred position—a parent from the stands came up to the fence and asked, "She's your daughter?"
"Yeah," he said as he took a drink of water while turning around. Standing in front of him was a tall brunette with an easy smile and pretty green eyes. "I'm Gil," he said as he looked her over. He couldn't help it. She was nice to look at. Then he mentally checked himself as he brought his eyes up.
"I'm Heather. My daughter's on the team. That's her. Zoe." He looked and saw the little girl who was spinning around out in left field. "I'm sorry for asking, but what are the hand gestures for?"
"Oh, she's deaf," he said while signing at the same time.
"What's this one?" Heather asked as she waved her hands in the air.
"It's a silent applause since she can't hear clapping and cheering."
Heather talked with him for a few more minutes, complimenting him on Charlotte's athletic ability. Then she took a quick glance at his left hand, and he noticed. He noticed everything, including the sudden blush in her cheeks as she said, "Her mother must be proud. Is she here?"
"No. She had other things to do today. We're not together," he quickly added. She also wasn't wearing a ring.
"My ex's the same way. He was supposed to be here. Never showed."
He nodded as he watched her walk away after waving bye. Returning his focus back to the game, he tried not to think about the way Heather had been looking at him. It wasn't working.
At Charlotte's next at-bat, he was once again coaching first base. She got a strike on the first swing. /It's okay. Take a breath. Choke up on the bat. Try again./
She did as she was told, and what they've been practicing for months now, so with the next swing of the bat, she hit the ball. It flew up into the air and landed behind the second baseman. As she neared first base, he saw movement from the crowd and when he looked, everyone in the stands was giving her a silent applause. He stood stunned for a moment until he saw Heather and the smile she had on her face.
When he pointed the applause out to his daughter, her blue eyes lit up in joy as she smiled wide and waved her hands back to the crowd. She never looked happier except for when she smiled up at him. It made his day.
Once the game was over, he gave Heather and Zoe a ride home since they'd taken a cab to get to the game. Heather told him that her car had broken down a week ago and it was in the shop getting fixed.
As he pulled up in front of her house, a single-story bungalow, she asked, "Would you like to stay for a minute? The kids can play."
He looked her over, saw the smothering look in her eyes, and knew what she wanted. And what he wanted to do to her would take more than a minute. This was his problem. Figuring out how to say no. It was hard when that word didn't seem to exist because his hate was so strong. It pulsed deep inside where he'd buried all his pain and anger that came out in many different forms of addiction. It took effort to control them when all he wanted to do was bury himself to death in all of them if it meant stopping the pain.
He looked into the backseat at Charlotte and Zoe and saw that she was teaching her how to sign some words. Charlotte saw him and smiled then looked out the window. /Are we going to Grandma's art show?/
Her question brought him back to himself and he smiled. "Uh, how about you give me your number? I can call you later?"
"You do that." Heather wrote down her number and handed it to him as she said, "Come on, Zoe. Thank Mr. Grissom for giving us a ride."
Oh, he wanted to give her a ride, all right. He watched her get out of his car and go inside her house. Pulling away, he felt the tension of desire start to build in his gut. That tension of lustful need didn't go away the entire time he was at the art gallery. He wanted to call Sara, but she was sleeping, and she also had to work tonight. She also worked tomorrow night.
The Art District was way across the city in the old industrial district. All the art houses and galleries had once been warehouses. The perfect buildings to house floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall art. Julia was doing a lot of mingling right along with his mother who was always accompanied by her friend, gallery partner, and translator Gavin Bonnell. Gavin gave him a sneering look when he'd arrived. The man didn't like him very much.
He had Charlotte up on his shoulders and they did a lot of observing and people watching. He'd told her once that art was meant to be enjoyed, not analyzed. Most everyone around them was trying to analyze his mother's work. What a certain brush stroke meant, how the use of a certain color was a representation of a feeling, etcetera. He looked at it and asked himself one question: did he enjoy looking at it?
Some he did, others he didn't. Charlotte liked all of them. He told her to pick out her favorite and he would buy it for her. It would be delivered to his apartment, and he'd put it on display. She picked one that he also liked. A soaring ocean landscape filled with contrasting bright and dark colors with sharp edges and rigid textures. His mother did fantastic work. He could look at the painting all day and night and never get tired of it.
As it started to get late, and his mother was ready to go home, she wanted Charlotte to come over to stay with her for the evening. She'd take her back home for the birthday party tomorrow. He kissed his daughter goodbye as she left with her grandmother. Julia had been talking with a man, well, flirting with a man. He let her be as he left without saying bye.
Going home, he walked into his empty townhouse, grabbed a beer, and started pacing like a caged animal. The aching he felt went all the way down into his bones. His body was starting to hurt like he was getting a fever. He walked into the living room with the beer bottle in hand. Picking up a book, he glanced at the title on the spine and tossed it on the table. He stared at the television, at the view of the sun going down on the horizon, as he tried to fight back the fever that was now making his hands shake.
He felt like curling up into a ball and dying. It ached. It burned. It itched and pulled at his nerves and skin. God, he hated this feeling. It was like he was jonesing for a drug. Aching for a fix. He was craving it so bad he couldn't think of anything else.
As he listened to the seconds ticking by from the clock on the wall, he paced as his hand fisted around the neck of the beer bottle. With each passing minute his patience dwindled. He felt like a starving man who'd die unless he got what he hungered for.
What he hungered for was a soft body and beautiful smile. His hands started to shake as he looked around his empty apartment. He had to leave. He couldn't stay there. It was too quiet. Silence could be very dangerous.
Downing the beer, he grabbed his keys, leather jacket, and left the apartment. He went to a bar near his building and ordered a whiskey and sat alone to drank. The alcohol wasn't helping. He spotted the couples dancing together on the dance floor, saw them kissing in dark corners of the booths, and pushed the empty glass away as he tossed money on the bar and left.
As he sat in his car, he thought about driving home but didn't want to go home. All he wanted was her. He wanted her so badly that it hurt, and he hated himself for it. The hate ran deep and mixed with the pain until he couldn't take it any longer.
Picking up his cell phone, he called Sara. "Hey, are you busy?"
"Processing a crime scene with Warrick. What's up?"
"Can you slip away for a moment, in private?"
"Uh…" She was quiet for a long moment before she was back on the line. "What's going on?"
He was pathetic, that was what was going on. "I uh…" She knew his problem, but it was still hard to talk about it. "I want to do something that I don't want to do…I can't think of anything else. Just, uh, talk to me. Help me get my mind off it."
"Oh-okay," she sounded uncertain but then she started talking to him about the case she was working on. The scene and evidence she'd collected.
It wasn't working. He had closed his eyes and tried to only focus on the case. He tried to let his mind picture the scene and maybe help her out with something. Some sort of insight, but his mind kept drifting. He couldn't focus. "Where are you?"
"In my car, heading back to the lab. I was done collecting anyways and told Warrick—"
"Where are you coming from?"
"The westside of the city, close to Henderson, actually. Tropicana and Nellis—"
He thought about that intersection; he wasn't too far from it. "There's a 7/11 convenience store and gas station on the corner. I'll meet you there."
"Gil, what's going on? Why…?" She suddenly seemed to realize what he was asking as she slightly gasp over the phone. "Sex. You want to have sex. I'm on the job!"
"Sara—"
"Gil. I'm not having a quickie in a car behind a convenience store. I'm not a hooker."
"We can meet at the motel off—"
"No," she strictly told him.
"I hurt," that was all he could say before he ended the call. He had nothing else to say. He hurt so bad. And now he really hated himself. He was trying to get his girlfriend to risk her job in order fulfill his lustful need.
He was a horrible boyfriend. What was wrong with him?
Starting the car, he started driving as she called him back. He ignored the call and kept driving. He stopped at the convenience store that she didn't want to meet him at, bought a six pack of beer, bottle of whiskey, and pack of cigarettes and then got back into his car.
He ended up in the desert.
Miles away from everyone and everything. Next to him was a six pack of beer and a bottle of whiskey. Out in the desert he could let himself breathe a little easier. There were no temptations except for the ones he'd brought with him. He opened a beer and started to drink. It was lonely in the desert, but he had to be alone right now.
~"One of these nights, one of these crazy old nights, we're gonna find out, pretty mama, what turns on your lights. The full moon is calling, the fever is high, and the wicked wind whispers and moans. You got your demons, you got your desires, well, I got a few of my own—"~
An hour later the beer was gone and as he was working on the bottle of whiskey, he was dancing in the desert night sand as the Eagles "One of These Nights" played out of his car speakers. He drank from the bottle and smoked on the cigarette in his left hand as he closed his eyes and was reminded why he had decided on his three rules in the first place.
~"Oh, someone to be kind to in between the dark and the light
Oh, coming right behind you, swear I'm gonna find you, one of these nights—"~
His impulsivity was one of those reasons. And Sara had made him break every last one of them. She had made him fall in love with her. And love made him do irresponsible, stupid, and dangerous things. Stupid things like trying to have sex behind convenience stores. It wasn't just the sex he wanted, but the thrill and rush of how dangerous it was. The consequences weren't even a thought in his head. He wanted it too badly to care about the consequences.
~"One of these dreams, one of these lost and lonely dreams, now, we're gonna find one, mm, one that really screams—"~
Love also made him angry, jealous, and it made him forget about lines that he wasn't supposed to cross. There were times when he was unrecognizable, even to himself. His mind would become foreign territory. There were things on the inside, feelings and thoughts that plagued him, that made him uncomfortable. During those times, he felt like a stranger in his own skin. He couldn't see himself, didn't know himself, and he would become so unsteady. Unstable and unpredictable. Highly illogical as his desires threatened to destroy him.
~"I've been searching for the daughter of the devil himself. I've been searching for an angel in white. I've been waiting for a woman who's a little of both, and I can feel her but she's nowhere in sight—"~
He could lose himself, and had lost himself, so many times over the years. He tried to keep himself grounded, tried to steady himself in many different ways that wasn't self-destructive when he felt like he was falling, but it all ended the same. He would drink too much, disappear to play poker in the hopes that he could fulfill one addiction in place of another, or maybe even try something new in order to satisfy the thrill that he ached for. But when all else failed he would do something completely stupid like have sex with women he should not be having sex with.
That was why he needed his rules. They weren't for Sara. He needed them or else he would lose himself and not give a damn about anything else. Reckless abandonment had nearly cost him his life once before. His love, his heartache and anger, had nearly made him do something that he would have never been able to take back or even regret.
~"Oh, loneliness will blind you in between the wrong and the right—"~
But it was too late. His rules were all gone. Broken. He was already in love. Had been for eight years. There were two girls in his life that had his heart. He wanted to give Sara everything and all at once. His whole being, but that was impossible.
He heard the surprise in her voice; the anger and her "no" as she turned him down. She loved him now, but it would end. He would eventually push her away. He couldn't help it. He made her promise he would not be able to keep. One of these days she would leave him because she deserves someone better than him.
Someone so much better than a sinner.
~"Oh, coming right behind you, swear I'm gonna find you, one of these nights."~
He made it home without crashing his car or getting pulled over, slept until the midday sun woke him, and then showered, changed into clean clothes, and then went to his daughter's birthday party.
The door to Julia's house was unlocked and he walked inside and headed toward the backyard where the party was taking place. On the kitchen table was the Aladdin themed birthday cake and wrapped gifts. He stopped to grab a drink out of the refrigerator and headed the sliding door open. He turned as he was taking a sip of the Gatorade and saw his mother staring at him.
/About time. Where were you?/
/Home. I overslept. This is usually my bedtime/ he explained, which was the truth. This was cutting into his normal sleeping hours, and it was hard to change it for a few days.
She had her usual look of disapproval on her face as she went to berate him again when the sliding door opened, and Julia walked in.
/She's been asking about you/ she told him as she looked him over with a frown on her face. She had the same disappointment in her eyes as his mother. /You look like hell./
/You're practically glowing. New man in your life?/
They were both just as guilty as sin when it came to infidelity. No one could be enough for Julia. She was just as promiscuous as he was when it came to sex. Though, she was in better control of herself than he was at times.
Despite all his faults and sins, she allowed him to be a father to their daughter. When he asked her once why, she told him it was because she trusted him. She trusted him when he had her. He would never neglect his responsibilities and would never put his daughter's life in danger. And she had been right. For the past eight years he'd proven that even though at times he had no idea who in the hell he was and what in the hell he was doing, there was one thing he knew for certain and that was he was Charlotte's father and he would not let her down.
He had always and would continue to let his mother down. He had let Julia down. He'd let God down. But never Charlotte, even if he was an hour late to her birthday party. It didn't matter.
Walking over to Julia, he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek before walking by his mother as he went out the sliding door into the backyard. Charlotte was playing in the pool with her friends. The moment she saw him, her eyes lit up and she climbed out of the pool as she ran over to him.
He didn't care that she was wet as he scooped her up into his arms and gave her a big hug and kiss on her cheek. As he put her back down, he told her, /Happy birthday, spider. I love you./
He spent the day at the house and even helped to clean up once everyone was gone and Charlotte was fast asleep in her bed. She had school tomorrow. Her spring break was at the end of the month, and he hadn't decided yet what they were going to do. He'd figure something out; he always did.
Julia turned on some music as she sipped on a glass of wine while he worked on doing the dishes. His mother had left hours ago. It was just them, and a bottle of wine, and apparently Rufus as "Tell Me Something Good" started playing as he closed the dishwasher and started it.
He poured himself a glass of wine and headed into the living room where she was dancing barefoot by herself. The speakers were on the floorboards, vibrating the funk song across the room.
Coming up behind her, she leaned back into him as he wrapped an arm around her as they moved together. They'd made a rule a long time ago that they wouldn't have sex together. That wasn't a rule he'd ever think he'd make with his wife, but it was necessary. They weren't good together, not in that way.
He brought the glass up to his lips and took a drink before kissing her neck. There was no burning desire in his gut for her. Once there had been, but not anymore. Speaking right into her ear so that she could hear him, he asked, "So, who was the guy at the gallery?"
Julia laughed as she told him, "Vincent."
"Did you and Vincent have a good night?"
She turned in his arms and he held her as he kissed her on the forehead. Her arms encircled his shoulders as she told him, "We had a wonderful night together."
"He knows that we're still legally married?"
"He's okay with our arrangement."
If she told Vincent about their marriage, then it meant they were dating. It was serious. He took a sip of the wine and tried not to think about another man entering into his daughter's life. So far, Julia never brought anyone home to meet Charlotte.
That was his next question. "Has he...been here, with Charlotte?"
She looked away and he got his answer. He's been there. It really was serious. She smiled back up at him as she said, "Tell me that you love me," as she also sung the lyrics to the song.
He had no idea what this relationship really was, only what it had to be. And through it all, he did still love her. It was that he was no longer in love with her. Smiling, he told her, "I love you."
"I love you too, Gil."
The feeling was mutual. He could feel it in the kiss she placed on his lips. They had become best friends who had a kid together and nothing more. She wasn't his wife any more than he was her husband.
"I want a divorce."
He let out a deep breath and quipped, "Finally," but felt the gnawing in his gut.
It wasn't because she wanted a divorce. He'd gladly give her one. He was happy for her. Happy for him because he wanted Sara. What ate away at his stomach and nerves was that there would be another man in his daughter's life.
"This won't change your relationship with her," Julia told him, trying to ease his fears.
It wasn't working. They talked a little bit more after that. Who was Vincent? What did he do for a living? Did he have any kids or a family?
Julia answered all his asinine questions, as she called them, and when he was finally satisfied, he got up to leave. They would start the divorce filing in the morning. He would call a lawyer friend to set up a meeting to hash it all out.
He finished the wine, left the glass on the counter next to the sink, and then went up to his daughter's room. He sat on the bed and watched her sleeping before he kissed her goodnight on the head. Then he left the house with a smile on his face.
Now, if only he could learn how to be faithful, he might actually make a damn good husband for Sara. He would also have to introduce her to his daughter. As he drove home, all he could think about was how Sara was going to react to the fact that he'd been technically married and had a daughter.
What in the hell was he even thinking? Once she found out, she'd never agree to marry him. What was he thinking? He couldn't be with her, couldn't marry her. Stupid, it was stupid for him to even think such a thing. He was nothing good. There was nothing good about him. He didn't deserve her anyway. He wasn't…No one could actually love him. He wasn't worth it.
All he was, and could ever be, was an easy fuck.
He awoke to a fire in his head that felt like lava flowing through his brain. His entire body was hurting. He felt sick, so sick that he thought he'd died and gone to Hell. His body felt weird. It had multiple limbs and more flesh than usual. Groaning into the softness underneath him, he shifted to move and realized he wasn't alone. There was someone else breathing under him. What the hell?
Forcing his eyes open, he saw the softness that he'd assumed was a pillow was in fact a person's stomach. A woman's stomach. Panic shot through him as he pushed up and stared down at the sleeping woman in the bed who wasn't Julia.
"Oh...shit," he said as he tried to get over the naked woman's body without waking her up.
He hit the floor hard and flinched at the pain for only a moment before getting back to his feet. With his rush to get off the bed he'd pulled the sheets to the floor and was now staring at the woman he'd shared a bed with. She had black hair, porcelain skin, and as she lifted her head a set of brown eyes looked ready to kill for interrupting her sleep. Then she chuckled at the sight of him standing naked in the middle of the room.
He had to calm down and think. Looking around the room, he found his boxer shorts but not his pants. "Where're my pants?"
"The chair," she said with a chuckle as she sat up on the side of the bed and pointed.
He turned to where she was pointing. He spotted the clothes that had been thrown on the chair and shook his head. "Those aren't mine."
The woman peered at the clothes before laying back down, saying, "Yea they are. Hey, Gil, pass me my panties, would ya?" she asked, and it took him a moment to realize she was talking to him.
His head was so messed up. It felt foggy and distant. He swallowed hard as he stared at her as she stretched out and she was pointing again. Her clothes were in a pile by the bathroom. That's when he noticed the empty bottles of beer and hard liquor over the dresser. There was also a small mirror with rolled up dollar bills and powder—
"Think I'm going to get sick."
"If ya do, please do it inna bathroom," she grumbled as she laid back down, this time on her stomach.
Taking a deep, calming breath, he closed his eyes as he willed the urge to get sick away. He not only drank a whole lot recently, probably last night, but had done cocaine. He'd promised himself that he'd never do drugs again.
"This is bad," he muttered under his breath as he grabbed the leather pants off the chair and pulled them on.
The lanky woman finally got up out of bed and pulled on her underwear and bra. She grabbed a pack of cigarettes out of her jeans. "Wanna smoke?"
He shook his head as he pulled on the black t-shirt and then picked up the silk white, green, and purple colored Hawiian shirt. He stuffed his sock-less feet into the polished leather shoes as he asked, "We, uh, had sex?"
She was chuckling again. "Little disappointed you don't remember that. I was hoping for a repeat performance."
His jaw tensed and it took all his willpower to not lose it. His temper was itching at his control; he was certain that it had more to do with the cocaine coursing through his veins than actual anger. Oh, God...This was so bad.
What day was it? Where in the hell was he even at? He found his wallet still in his pants and spotted his watch on the floor under the chair and quickly grabbed it to check the time. It was a little after seven in the morning. Opening his wallet, he frowned at the empty money compartment. At least he had his bank and credit cards. He hadn't been robbed but he had spent all his cash.
"Beer?" she asked as she pulled out a couple bottles from a plastic bag on the floor.
He shook his head. "We met last night?" The last thing he remembered was being at home. He shook his head at the pounding headache and memory loss.
"What?"
"Who are you? Where am I and why—" He felt his hands fist. He was close to losing his temper. All he needed was the right trigger and he'd be lost. He had to control himself. Had to breathe, focus on something that wasn't—
"Relax. Here," she said as she held out a joint that had seemed to materialize out of nowhere. "Take it. You look like you could use it." He stared at the joint and then at the woman and waited for an answer as his jaw twitched. "A'ight, I'm a student at UNLV. We met—"
He stared at her as he repeated back in confusion, "UNLV? Las Vegas? I'm in Nevada?"
She started laughing as she lit up the joint in her mouth. "You're so messed up. Welcome to Sin City."
Okay, that answered that. He was in Vegas. He closed his eyes and rubbed his head as he felt a familiar rush of heat pulse through his body and clench his hands. It was right there, close to the surface. He was in Vegas, with amnesia, and high…"What day is it?"
"Sunday—"
"No, the date."
"Oh, uh, August 12th…1979, if you forgot the year."
Sunday, August 12th…It was his wedding day! He wasn't getting married in Las Vegas. He was getting married in Los Angeles. His only reason to be in Vegas was for a bachelor—There was only one person who could have been responsible for all this.
"Ryan," he breathed out his name.
"No, Nikki. I'm Nikki," the woman said as she gestured to herself.
He stared at Nikki and felt his jaw twitch again. He felt like setting the entire motel on fire. All he needed were the matches. Instead, he bolted for the door. He was still huffing with rage as he crossed the parking lot. The sun was low in the sky and the wind was crisp against his hot sweaty skin as he searched the street for a familiar car. There wasn't one. Where the hell was Ryan?
On the corner next to a store advertising the buying and selling of used vinyl's and cassette tapes, he saw an ATM. Crossing the street, he headed over to it as he pulled out his wallet. He could at least get some money to get something to eat and a plane ticket. He was starving, and then he could use the change for a cab or bus or something to the airport. The wedding was at two. It was…He checked his watch again. 7:45. He had six hours.
He punched in his pin number and checked his balance. When he retrieved the printed receipt that told him his bank balance, he stared at it in disbelief. He only had $1,837 in his account. Last he checked he had $21,489 saved.
"I'm going to kill him." He stood there for a long moment, thinking about what to do. He needed to get to Los Angeles. He needed to eat and shower. He needed his damn suit.
Sitting down on the bench by the corner to wait for the bus, his head spun, and he had to fight down the urge to throw up. There was another man waiting and he kept glancing over at him like he was waiting for him to do something. He figured it had to do with the fact that he was shaking. It wasn't from fear.
His body was shaking as he swore his nerves were exploding inside his veins with pure adrenaline. He couldn't sit still. Everything itched, and ached, and why was he on fire? Standing up, he started to pace around the sidewalk as he tried to focus his racing thoughts onto one thing. He had to calm down or he'd lose it.
"Gil. Gil? Hey, Gilbert!" Once he turned and spotted him, Ryan opened his arms wide with a huge grin on his face as he was about to hug him. "Happy Wedding Day!"
Relief washed over him as he went to smile at him until he remembered why he was there to begin with. Ryan was wearing a near identical shirt to his but his was white, red, and black in color. He wouldn't be surprised if he had gotten them matching shirts.
The asshole, he thought as his face twitched right before he took a step and slammed his fist into his face. "You son-of-a-bitch!"
Ryan stumbled back in surprise. "What was that for?!"
"You brought me to Las Vegas," he nearly yelled. "Are you nuts?!"
As he rubbed his face, he told him, "Technically, you brought us here, and you are nuts. See, Gil, what had happened was—"
"I don't care what happened," he snapped. His face was twitching now as he fought so hard to restrain his anger.
Ryan leaned closer to him as he said, "You're losing it faster than usual."
He tried to take a deep breath as he told him, "I'm broke! I'm not some trust fund millionaire like you are! Why did you let me spend all my money?!"
Ryan had the nerve to roll his eyes at him. "Look, we took my father's jet, and we partied and gambled, drank a ton of liquor, things did get a little out of hand, but cheer up, okay, no fatalities."
"No—...Fatalities or not, I'm in Vegas on my wedding day!"
"And from what I've heard, you had a lot of fun-having last night," Ryan smirked and winked.
He sighed as he rubbed a hand through his sweaty hair and groaned at the sudden knowledge that he hadn't had a shower yet. "I feel like filth...Sweaty dirty filth."
"You met her at this underground nightclub. I don't know how it happened, but you two were all over each other. It was disgusting—"
"Ryan," he said as stepped up to him, "please tell me the jet is ready to take me home."
"You're my boy, I got this. Don't worry." Ryan pushed his sunglasses up his nose and smiled like the Cheshire cat. "It's cool, man."
He wanted to punch him in the face again but somehow resisted. "Where's your car?"
"Over here," Ryan said as they crossed the street, heading back to the motel parking lot. "Come on, Gil, we have time. It's not even a two-hour flight. The wedding's at one—"
"It's at two."
"Even better."
"You're supposed to be my best man. You're supposed to stop me from—"
"Drinking and having a good time? And as they say, what happens in Vegas—"
"Will follow you for the rest of your life if you're arrested," he said as he stopped and stared at the car Ryan stood in front of. It was a brand-new blue in color 1979 Mercedes 450sl convertible. "This isn't your car."
"You're right, it's not. It's yours."
"Mine? I don't—"
"Yeah you do," Ryan said as he tossed him the keys. "Don't say I never gave you anything. Besides, I bought it with your winnings." Upon seeing his look, he said, "It's a gift from me to you. Happy wedding day!"
He rolled the keys around in his hand as he said, "You didn't buy me this, I did. That's where my money went. All my savings. This is the car I've been wanting, but…I promised her I wouldn't—"
"Promises are meant to be broken when it's a Mercedes."
He walked around the car. It was a nice car. "This doesn't mean you're forgiven," he said as he opened the driver's door.
"Of course not, why would I even think that?" Ryan jumped into the passenger seat. Once he had the car started, he heard him say, "Hear me out."
"No," he said as just sat there, hands on the wheel. He felt the leather steering wheel in his hand and heard the purr of the engine. A smile crept over his face as he relaxed into the seat. It was nice.
"Feels great, doesn't it? Oh," Ryan opened the glove compartment and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. Handing them to him, he said, "For you."
He took them and slid them on his face. He took a breath as he looked over his right shoulder as he started backing out of the parking space. He pulled out onto the street as he shifted gears and hit the gas. "I've never driven a stick before." Ryan jerked his head over at him as he gunned it up the street. The car did go from zero to sixty in 10.5 seconds.
"Oh, Christ I'm gonna die! Slow down!"
He looked over at Ryan who'd turned pale and was grabbing for his seatbelt like a frightened cat scrambling to stay above water. He eased off the gas and started laughing as he told him, "Calm down. I was only joking. And where're we staying and how do I get there? Do I have a bag here with my clothes?"
Once Ryan got his belt clicked and he was no longer panicking, he said, "Don't worry about that right now. Right now, you need to be thinking about your life. You're twenty-three years old for God's sake. Why'd you want to throw the rest of your life away by tying the knot with some—" He hit the brake hard as the light changed to red. Ryan snapped his mouth shut as he flew forward. Thankfully he was wearing his seatbelt. "You asshole! I don't want to die today. Any other day's fine by me, but not today—"
"You know what I want," he said, cutting Ryan off as he turned in the seat and glared over at him. "I want a shower. I want to go to Los Angeles, and I want to marry Julia. I do not want to be in Las Vegas having sexual escapades with strangers!"
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"Yes!" Once the light changed, he hit the gas again just to piss Ryan off. "I can't believe you brought me out here to try to convince me to not get married."
"You really need to slow down."
He finally slowed as he took a deep breath and checked the rearview and side mirror before switching lanes. "You know what the worst part of it was? The cocaine. I felt like I could've beaten King Kong to death with his own limbs."
"Ah, so you do remember the strippers."
He jerked his head to look at him as he said in confusion, "Strippers?"
"Eyes on the road!" Ryan yelled and held his arms out like that would stop them from rear-ending another car. As he refocused on the road and felt his grip tighten on the wheel, he heard Ryan tell him, "Stop here," as he pointed at a diner they were approaching. "Breakfast? I'm buying."
Checking the time, he saw that they did have time for food. He could at least use a pay phone and call her and let her know where he was. As Ryan got a booth, he headed to the pay phone by the restrooms and made the phone call. It rang and then an automated machine picked up telling him that the person he was calling was hearing impaired. He heard the mechanical voice speaking in his ear. It was Julia's words, but not her voice.
"Hello? Who is this?"
He knew that what he said would be recorded into the machine and translated on screen for her to read. Taking a breath, he told her, "IIt's me. Gil. 'm sorry, honey. Ryan decided to throw a bachelor's party in Vegas. I'm not there yet, but I'll be on time. Don't worry."
As he waited for her response, he felt fear grow in his gut, especially with how long it took for her to respond. All she had to do was type it into the phone base and—"It's scheduled for four."
Four? "I thought it was at two?"
"I know you," the mechanical voice spoke into his ear. "I told you two. It's at four."
It was 8:30 now. Be on the road by ten, he'd make it. He wasn't going to miss his wedding. "Oh, thank God," he said into the phone. "I thought I was going to have to kill Ryan."
"I'll see you when I walk down the aisle."
Smiling into the phone, he told her, "I love you."
She didn't say it back, instead he heard the dial tone. He hung up the phone and rubbed the sweat off his head.
It wasn't until he was stuffing pancakes, eggs, bacon and a full pot of coffee into his mouth that Ryan told him about the strippers, the drinking, and lap dances. A lot of lap dances. That explained why he had no cash in his wallet.
"I hate you."
"In my defense..." Ryan sat across from him and thought about it before ending with, "I don't have one. What can I say, I'm a degenerate."
"I could've told you that," he said as he soaked up the remaining syrup with his last bite of pancake then shoved it into his mouth with a moan.
It felt like he hadn't eaten in days. He probably hadn't. He pushed his plate away then downed the rest of the coffee. Then he picked up the glass of water and gulped it down too. Once done, he sat the glass down and wiped his face with a napkin as he stared over at his best friend. "How did I let you talk me into any of this anyway?"
Ryan sat back in the booth and draped his arm over the top of it as he said, "You're in a state of discontent."
"Did I tell you that?"
"Not in so many words."
He took a sip of coffee and he waited for him to continue as he looked around for the waiter. He wanted orange juice and more toast.
"All this marriage talk has got you, what's the word? Ah, yes, tamed."
"Yes, Ryan, it has. That's the point of marriage."
"It's not right," he said as he shook his head. "She's changing you, man."
He shook his head and closed his eyes. Ryan was getting all dramatic again. The guy had a way of making everything seem so much worse than it was.
"With marriage comes a mortgage and a kid. You really want a kid? You want to play husband and father? Look at you."
Ryan was partly right. There had been a time when he didn't want the responsibility, or the guilt and shame, or the accountability. He'd lived in painful deniability for such a long time that having to accept who he was became the hardest thing to do. Then he had to acknowledge who he was. He had to acknowledge that he liked being addicted to things that gave him an adrenaline rush. It didn't matter what it was: drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling, or roller coasters. It didn't matter. He needed the rush. It made him feel alive.
He needed to feel alive because deep down he wanted to die.
He didn't want to figuratively jump off a cliff. He wanted to actually jump off a cliff. Ryan would gladly push him off the edge and then follow him down.
"I mean, what about me?"
He glared at Ryan as he asked, "You? What about you? No one here cares about you."
Ryan gaped at him and said, "See, there's your problem."
The waiter arrived and he smiled at the guy as he said, "Orange juice, please, and toast. Dry toast. Don't put anything on it, okay? No butter. Dry. Thanks, thank you." The waiter took his order and left. Ryan was smirking at him. "What?"
"You're tweaking bad, man," Ryan said as he took a sip of the coffee. "Are you going to discuss this with Julia?"
"Why? Would that bother you? I'm coming down off a very bad trip thanks to you! I can't be doing things like this anymore. Grad school, my new job with the coroner's office, and not to mention my soon to be wife. You may want to ruin your own life, but you will not ruin mine."
"Hey, cool it." Ryan leaned on the table as he lowered his voice and continued to tell him, "I'm not trying to ruin your life. I'm...Okay, you want to know what it is? I miss you. I miss us. There, now, are you happy? I miss my friend. The yin to my yang."
"Why am I the yin?"
Ryan stared at him as he said, "Are you joking? You're joking right? I'm bright. I'm full of life and sunshine. I'm very sunny. I'm passionate. And you...You're nothing but dark and gloomy, man."
"You're saying I'm the darkness in your light and you're the light in my darkness?"
"Sure, that."
He worked his jaw around as he grabbed a couple of strawberry jelly packets for the toast. The waiter returned with his orange juice and dry toast. Picking up a knife, he spread the jelly over the slices as he told Ryan, "You're typical."
"I'm typical," Ryan said, sounding very offended by that word being used to describe him. "I'm nowhere close to being typical. Unless you're referring to brilliant. I'm typically brill—"
"You're pissed because you're afraid we won't be able to have fun and party anymore."
"That and everything else. I miss the old you. The one that liked to get drunk and high and, yes, even brood, lots of brooding." Ryan stopped to think about it and then said, "Actually, not so much the brooding. You can get rid of all that if you want, but please, for the love of everything amoral in life, Gil, keep the rest. You're too young to suddenly become an old married man."
He took a bite of the toast as he tried to work that over in his head. "You do realize that none of this is healthy?"
Ryan sighed heavily as he turned and leaned back against the window. "You're impossible. It's like I'm watching myself fifty years from now." He started laughing because it would take Ryan until he was seventy-three years old to finally settle down into something that resembled adulthood. "Speaking of amoral behavior, how was it?" he asked as he eased his sunglasses down his nose so he could peer over at him.
"How was what?" he asked in confusion as he took a bite of toast.
"You know what."
He chewed on the piece of toast and drank the juice. So many thoughts came to mind. He didn't feel comfortable answering with any of them. He also didn't remember. It was all a blur. "That's none of your business."
Ryan chuckled as he sat back and pushed the sunglasses back up his face. "You were worrying me, man. You've been closed off for months. It felt good, though, right? Getting back out there."
He finished eating and pulled out a cigarette and lit it up as he tried to ignore the feeling that gripped his chest. It felt good. He'd missed it. He didn't miss Ryan, though. Leaning back into the booth, he finally started to feel somewhat normal. He was coming down from the ups and downs of the cocaine withdrawal. The food also helped. Now, he was on a nosedive, and he knew he was going to crash. He hoped it didn't hit him as he was saying his nuptials.
"What would you have done if I had died that night?"
Ryan finally got serious as he looked out the window. "Honestly, Gil, I have no idea. Probably would have followed you straight to hell; laughing the whole way down."
Yeah, that's what he thought. He took a long drag off the smoke as he stared over at him. He didn't know when he stopped wanting to be like Ryan, but he knew when it was that he stopped trusting him. "She told me, you know. Julia. She told me."
Ryan finished his cup of coffee then leaned on the table, asking him, "Told you what?"
"You know what."
He got really quiet then as he stared at him. "Is that why you did it? For her? Jesus, Gil. You're pathetic."
"What'd you say?"
"You heard me," Ryan said as he shook his head at him. "She's not worth it. Don't marry her. She's…kryptonite. She's Yoko Ono, man. All she's doing is making you weak and breaking our friendship apart—"
"She got it from you. The coke. You gave it to her after the concert. You kept giving it to her. You were selling cocaine. Ryan, I can't—"
Ryan looked out the window then shook his head, saying, "Forget it. Everything I just said. Okay? Just forget it. I don't know what I'm saying. You're right. You're absolutely right. I'm just an idiot. We'll still be friends, right? So, you know…Everything will be fine."
He tapped the ash off the cigarette as he regarded Ryan and felt a dreadful feeling clench his stomach. This marriage was going to change a lot that he thought he knew about his life, which wasn't much. And Ryan was wrong. This would be the end of their friendship. All the trust he had in him was gone. He didn't want him around him anymore.
Ryan wanted to watch him crash and burn right along with him.
"There are still things, from that night, that are fuzzy. I can't remember. Did you sleep with Julia?"
Ryan nearly gapped as he said, "What? No. I wouldn't do that to you. You're my boy."
He gave a nod and asked, "Tell me where we're staying?"
"The Mirage."
His eyes shot up as he took another pull off the smoke. He blew it out as he said, "We have a room at the Mirage...and, I woke up in some shady motel room off the strip?"
Ryan tried not to laugh but it wasn't working. "I guess you wanted to go back to her place."
"Not funny."
The room at the Mirage was beautiful and luxurious but he didn't care. All he cared about was a shower and a change of clothes. He grabbed his bag and went right to the bathroom and shut the door. The hot water over his body felt amazing. He leaned against the wall and just stood there for a few minutes before scrubbing his body clean of all the filth that he had penetrated all the way down into his bones.
He stared at the grey polyester suit and silk white button-down shirt that had been in his bag. It was the suit he was going to be married in. He must have packed it thinking that he wouldn't have time to change once he got back to Los Angeles. He'd prepared for the worst. He quickly finished cleaning up as he shaved, brushed his teeth, and then pulled on the suit.
Ryan was across the hotel room, lounging on the couch, and sipping on a bottle from the mini bar when he walked out of the bathroom. "Feeling better?"
"Much, thank you. Now, if you don't mind, I'm leaving," he told him as he headed to the door.
Ryan groaned as he got up off the couch. "One more hour, Gil."
"I have to go." He turned with his hand on the door handle as he told him, "You can stay. If you need someone to keep you company, there are a few thousand women you can have an affair with. Plenty of men to gamble and drink with until—"
"But they're not you," Ryan said as he slammed his hand against the door, stopping him from opening it. "What are you running away from?" He just stared at him like he was an idiot. "You were my friend first—"
"That's right. Were. Past tense."
Ryan ducked his head in anger before saying, "You want me to say that I pressured you into drinking a lot and doing drugs...All on me. I'll alleviate you from all the responsibility—"
"No, Ryan, I don't. I know how I am. But ask yourself why. Why would you do this to me when you know I've been struggling to stay clean? I have an addiction problem, and so do you! I had been sober for nearly a year! Now, remove your hand or I'll remove it for you."
Ryan took his hand off the door as he said, "How many times do I have to apologize—"
"How about for the rest of your life?"
He stared at him and shook his head in a brief moment of something resembling regret. "I'm sorry. Okay? There. I said it. Again. Look, I know it's hard for you to let loose. All I wanted—"
"Right. It was what you wanted. Did you ever stop to think about what I might want?"
He snapped his mouth shut and he actually looked on the verge of crying. "You're right, I didn't consider the consequences. I didn't think about you at all. Satisfied?"
His hand tightened on the handle as he pulled the door open. "No. I'm disappointed. And you're a damn liar. I know you slept with Julia. She told me."
The surprised look on his face was a dead giveaway. That and the guilt in his voice as he said, "She told you?" He left Ryan standing there as he headed down the hallway to the elevator. "It's a long drive to L.A. and you're not a very good driver," Ryan called after him. "Gil! C'mon, man, stay! We can take the jet! I don't have anyone else!"
He hit the 'down' button and stared up at the floor light indicator as he waited. "I wonder why. All the trust fund money in the world and you can't even buy yourself a friend." That was harsh, but he didn't regret saying it.
"Fine! Go! I didn't want you here anyway!"
He closed his eyes and shook his head. He wasn't going to let Ryan guilt-trip him into staying. The doors opened and as he stepped into the elevator, he heard Ryan's voice from down the hall.
"Julia doesn't love you, you know that right? Why would she have sex with me if she loved you! She told me that she only keeps you around because you're an easy fuck!" God, he could hear the hurt in Ryan's voice all the way down the hallway. "That's all you'll ever be to her, Gil!" he heard him say right before the elevator doors closed shut.
He hit the button for the lobby then leaned back against the wall and watched the floors pass as those words echoed in his head. As he neared the bottom floor, he felt a knot in his gut that Ryan was right. No one actually did love him.
It took him almost five hours to drive to Los Angeles. With the top down, music playing, and the sun in front of him the whole way, along with the beautiful desert mountain scenery, it should have been a pleasant drive. It wasn't.
Julia wasn't marrying him because she loved him. It was because she loved having sex with him, and that he was okay with her being with other men while they were married. That's all it was. Convenience. He provided her with security. She knew he loved her, and because she knew that she could twist him all up inside and make him do what she wanted him to do. And he did it, willingly.
It didn't help that when he arrived at the church that he was crashing like he thought he would. His hands were shaking, his body was coated in sweat, and he had to have several drinks before it was ever time to stand at the front of the aisle. A Catholic priest that he didn't even like, Father Richard, was staring at him in concern and his mother, for the first time, looked proud of him. His mother loved Julia; couldn't wait for her to be her daughter-in-law. If only his mother knew what Julia was like behind closed doors.
He had no best man anymore, so his friend Alan Morales had to step up and stand beside him. No other friends were in the pews. Just his mother and her family and his father's family who still cared to be at his wedding which only consisted of his grandparents. Taking a breath, he readjusted the grey tie and tried not to regret his life choices.
"Are you okay, son?" Father Richard asked.
He dropped his shaky hand from the tie as he said, "Yeah," as the music started playing.
Whatever doubts he had disappeared as he saw her walking his way with that smile on her face. Ryan's words echoed in his head, telling him that she didn't love him, but as Julia spoke as she also signed her vows, he wanted to believe that Ryan was wrong. She loved him.
And he loved her.
For better or for worse. Til death.
When he spotted a convenience store, he stopped to pick up a six pack of beer, whiskey, cigarettes, and condoms. Then he called her number. She said he could come over.
He drove out to the house where Heather lived and knocked on her door. Inviting him inside, he was told that Zoe had gone to a friend's house to stay the night. After putting the beer in the refrigerator, she led him down a dark hallway to her bedroom where he slowly took off her clothes and then pushed her down onto the bed. He went down on her as she wrapped her legs around his shoulders.
The only thought in his mind as he pushed into her was that he needed it so damn bad. He had to stop the pain somehow.
She came three times. Once on her back as his hand gripped the bedsheets as he resisted the urge to slap her. Once while she was on top as he dug his fingernails into her hips as he fought back the urge to flip her over and take control. And then again as he took her from behind. His hand had found her throat and he wanted to choke her until she came but held himself back from applying pressure.
He drove into her one last time and shuddered out his release. It was good, so good, but it wasn't what he needed. As they laid in bed for a while, kissing and panting for air, he felt dissatisfied. Emptier than he had felt before. He was pathetic.
He got up, slipped on his pants, and headed to the kitchen as he pulled out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. She slipped on his shirt and was right behind him.
They shared the beer and cigarettes out on her back deck. She was in a lounge chair, feet up in his lap as he sat in front of her in another chair. The night air was cooler and the breeze crisp. They weren't too far from the open desert. There was a palm tree with the moon behind it, and he watched it sway in the moonlight as he smoked a cigarette and rubbed her foot. Her other foot was rubbing him through his pants, trying to get him excited again; it wasn't working.
She was wearing his shirt with the buttons undone and nothing else. Her eyes were watching him as she put out the cigarette then picked up the beer and took a sip. He watched as condensation dripped down from the bottle onto her chest. Her need was clear, but if he couldn't have what he needed, he was no longer interested.
"I don't date," he told her in case she needed to know that.
She smiled and kept rubbing him through his pants with her foot. "Good. I'm not looking for another husband."
He sat the empty bottle down and dropped the cigarette butt down into the bottle. Grabbing another cigarette, he lit it.
"You were holding back."
He peered at her through the smoke as he scooted down in the chair, putting his feet up on the edge of the lounge chair.
"Is it the dominance you get off on?"
He didn't answer her. Instead, he looked up at the palm tree swaying in the moonlight.
"You want to let it all out. All the bad that you feel inside. It's a release, isn't it? During sex is the only time you can let it out, that is, if the other person allows it."
Every word she spoke was like a verbal lashing against his body. It felt good. He needed to be whipped for being the sinner he was. Punished. The anticipation building as he took in another drag off the cigarette then blew the smoke out.
"Do you want me to fight back? Do you want me to take your control away? To beat you into submission?"
The thoughts that entered his head, of her stripping him of his control, beating him raw as she gave back what he'd inflicted onto her, made him squirm as he moved himself against her foot. He was aching for it. He wanted more.
And he hated himself for wanting it. The hate burned into the fuel that ignited the desire within him that made it so damn hard to stop. No matter how much he loved Sara, he didn't know how to stop. Love wasn't a cure for his disease. You couldn't make someone with an addiction stop just because you loved them hard enough or long enough.
He was reminded of his question to himself all those years ago when he first met Sara. How could he love her, if he couldn't even love himself? If Sara found out about this, would she leave? Would she go off and find someone better? Someone who wasn't such a screw up?
"How?"
"I'm a sex therapist."
He was so shocked by that and then realized how ironic that was. And how much it intrigued him. She intrigued him.
"Come over here and give me exactly what it is you want to give me. And when I say stop, you stop. Is that understood?"
He gave a nod as he put the cigarette out and moved her foot. Draping himself over her body, he spread her legs with his knees, kissed her tenderly on the lips, and then slapped her right before grabbing her throat. The look she gave him wasn't one of fear or shock, but arousal. A deep dark arousal that matched his own that stirred up from his groin all the way into his head.
Hours later, he finally left. His body was aching in the best way possible. The back of his shirt had spots of blood from where her nails and his belt broke skin, on his shoulder were bite marks, bruises were over his body and his jaw hurt from when she'd slapped him. He felt like he'd gone twelve rounds in a boxing match. It'd been exactly what he needed. He'd been punished.
Then when he saw the missed calls from Sara on his phone, he wanted to drive right off a cliff. He felt horrible. Worthless. She was going to leave. How could anyone love him? The despair grew up into his chest the entire drive home.
Walking into his townhouse, he tossed his jacket over a chair. It missed and hit the floor. He pulled down the whiskey bottle, took a swig, and then another, as he stumbled over to his couch and laid down. He kicked off his shoes and closed his eyes as the sun was coming up over the mountains to the east.
A sound woke him from his sleep. Staring up at the white ceiling as the sun streamed in through the open window above the couch, he tried to figure out what the sound had been and what day it was as the Grateful Dead's lyrics, "Sometimes the light's all shinin' on me, other times I can barely see, lately it occurs to me, what a looooong strange trip it's been…" ran through his head.
That was when he heard the ringing of a phone. Rolling off the couch, he moved his body in the direction of the ringing and snatched it up as he ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Grissom."
"Daddy—"
He heard the mechanical voice say in his ear as his eyes shot open. "Charlotte?"
"Mommy's not here, daddy. I don't know where she is."
"I'm on my way, okay. Stay in the house, don't leave. I'll be right there," he said into the phone before hanging up.
Grabbing his keys and cell phone, he hurried out the door. Halfway down his steps he had the phone to his ear as he placed a welfare check call into the police department. At least he could get a police car over to the house as soon as possible. It was going to take him thirty minutes to drive there, if the traffic wasn't bad.
Then he called his daughter again and stayed on the phone with her the entire drive. During the drive, listening to his daughter's fears, he was getting more and more worried as his thoughts worked out what Charlotte was telling him over the phone. Her mother was missing. How could she be missing? Maybe she was just next door at the neighbors or ran to the store, thinking she'd be back before Charlotte woke up. Maybe his mother was supposed to come over in the morning to watch her and was running a few minutes late.
His mother never showed, and Julia wasn't at the neighbors. He heard the police arrive and told her to let the policeman into the house. "Put the police officer on the phone, okay."
A moment later he heard not the mechanical voice but a real human voice. It was Officer Mitchell. He liked Mitchell. He was a good man. "Officer Mitchell, this is CSI Gil Grissom. Listen, the girl is Charlotte. She's deaf. Her mother is Julia Holden, she's also deaf and she's missing. I'm on my way. I'll be there in five minutes."
Five minutes later he was rounding the corner and saw the police car. He parked beside it as he got out. The front door was open. Officer Mitchell was in the doorway. "Where's Charlotte? Where—" He saw her through the door, still in her brand-new butterfly pajamas. Jasmine, her stuffed spider held firmly to her chest.
Pushing past Officer Mitchell, he went to his daughter.
Through her tears she spotted him and cried out as she signed /Daddy!/ and ran over to him. He grabbed her up and held her tightly in his arms as he closed his eyes. Breathing out his relief that she was safe as he gave her a big hug.
He couldn't say the same for her mother.
Julia was missing.
TBC…
Disclaimer songs mentioned: "One of These Nights" by the Eagles. "Tell Me Something Good" by Rufus featuring Chaka Khan.