December 19, 2010
When I wake up in the morning, my body feels beaten and my head, three sizes too small. Par for the course, considering how much I drank last night. I roll over in bed, surreptitiously checking to see that I'm alone.
The only thing that can make this hangover worse is if I have to deal with some stranger in my bed gushing about how she wants to be the next Mrs. Echolls. That's a stupidity I've managed to avoid this past year.
My questing hand finds only my other pillow and I pull it into my arms while I try to breathe through the pain in my head. My mouth feels like an old carpet, fuzzy and ragged. I should probably get some water and brush my teeth, not necessarily in that order.
When I sit up, ready to make my way to my bathroom, the room spins, while memories of last night assail me. Giving up on leaving the bed anytime soon, I curl up into a ball, still holding the pillow as if it's a treasured stuffed animal.
I thought I could handle seeing Lilly. It's been almost a year, but the rage and despair still threatened to overwhelm me. As is my wont, I spent the night avoiding her and drinking half my weight in tequila.
Never again. I groan as my heartbeat sounds like a drumbeat in my head.
At least I didn't have to speak to her. Hearing her half-assed excuses again, begging me to understand, would have sent me over the edge. As it is, I'm filled with self-loathing for allowing her to still have any effect on me.
I promised myself when I left Neptune, California, that I would not let my past define my future. Yet here I am hiding out in my room, nursing my first hangover in nearly a year.
The words I wrote in the red notebook float through my mind. Can I be loved?
If I go by what life has shown me, then the answer is no. I thought Lilly loved me. I thought we were going to live happily ever after, that she saw past my name and really loved me. Now I know that was all a lie. I was a means to an end, the bad boy she used to torment her mother when we were in high school. Then when we got to college, and I tried to fly the straight and narrow, she found the baddest boy of them all.
Flashback
Christmas 2009
I practically skip up the walk to my rented beach house, taking in the lights decorating the outside and the lit Christmas tree filling the picture window in the front. For the first time in a long time, I feel light. I'm looking forward to Christmas, spending it in my new home with my beautiful girlfriend.
Lilly and I dated off and on throughout high school, taking a break our freshman year of college when she left to attend Vasser. She had shown up at my dorm room the beginning of sophomore year claiming she had missed me so much. I was thrilled to have her back, and didn't even bother questioning why she gave up a spot at Vasser to move back and attend little ole Hearst with me.
She quickly convinced me that the dorm and my roommate weren't conducive to us resuming our rather loud and experimental sexual relationship. So I rented a house for us. It was like a dream come true, having a home where I didn't have to be afraid, that wasn't tainted by memories.
I stand staring at the house, letting the warmth of the lights wash over me. Lilly wanted to decorate, which really meant sitting on her perfect ass directing me to put lights up. While I survey my handiwork, not bad for an 09'er with no domestic skills, I notice Lilly near the tree.
My heart rate speeds up when I take in the sexy outfit she has on. The red gauzy teddy is tied on with a red bow and my hands itch to untie it. I imagine making love under the tree after I unwrap my gift. My pants tighten and I shift uncomfortably.
Before I can move though, I notice that Lilly isn't alone. She throws her head back in laughter as a man shifts into view, his hand reaching to untie the bow of her santa teddy. She slaps his hand away playfully, smiling a mischievous smile as she sits on the top of our couch, spreading her legs. The man seems familiar as he moves in front of her, dropping to his knees in between her thighs.
Rage burns through me, setting my vision awash in red. No longer skipping, I march to the front door, finding it unlocked. I storm in, ready to rip the invader from my girlfriend's thighs. I knew Lilly cheated on me when we were in high school, but never as blatantly as this. I thought we were past all that when she moved back home to be with me.
I'm stopped in my tracks when I recognize the asshole eating out my girlfriend. My entire body freezes as my worst nightmare continues licking her enthusiastically. Lilly's eyes are closed, her head back as she moans in ecstasy.
A wounded sound rips from my throat, and Lilly's eyes fly open. She smiles slightly, quickly covering it up with a look of shock and contrition. It's too late though, even if I hadn't seen the smile, there's no way I'm going to believe that the scene before me is anything but consensual.
Alerted to my presence by the change in Lilly's demeanor, my father slowly turns, nonchalantly wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
"Hello son." Lilly closes her legs and makes to move towards me, but I hold up my hands backing away from them both.
"Logan, wait. It's not.." I cut her off, my father now standing with a sadistic smile on his face.
"Fuck you, Lilly. Don't come near me." I'm still backing up. When I feel my feet hit the concrete of the front steps, I turn and run.
End Flashback
I ran all the way to New York. It's amazing what a nearly limitless trust fund can do. I booked the first flight out the next day, only calling Dick to let him know I was leaving for good. He insisted on coming with me. I disenrolled from Hearst and into NYU in a matter of days. The rental agreement was easy to break with a little extra money to make up for leaving them high and dry, and the landlord was more than happy to arrange to have my things shipped out to New York when I had an address to send them to.
Lilly tried calling me incessantly, but I ignored her attempts to explain. I tried listening to one of her messages, full of fake contriteness. "I was high, Logan, it didn't mean anything Logan." I had to drop the phone and run to the bathroom to vomit. I deleted all of her messages after that, not bothering to try to listen to another.
Aaron also called. I wanted to ignore those calls, but I knew that would only make him angrier. He didn't bother apologizing or giving excuses. Both of us knew he wouldn't have meant it, nor would I have believed it anyway.
Instead, he laid down the law as he saw it, leaving me little choice but to go along. I was to keep my mouth shut about what happened. Heaven forbid that something like this get out and ruin his image of the still grieving widow action star. As if I wanted to shout from the rooftops how my own father had cuckolded me. I had to keep a low profile, but if he asked, I had to give interviews, being the dutiful son as always.
If I kept to his rules, he would stay away, leaving me alone. If not, then he would ensure that my life was a living hell. I knew from the terms of my trust that he could cut me off, though I wasn't too worried about that. It was the lengths he would go to for his career. It wasn't an exaggeration that he terrified me.
All my life, I was just a prop in the Aaron Echolls's propaganda machine. Dolled up and trotted out to show what a doting father he was, how down to earth he still was. Every misstep dealt with quickly and severely, often leaving scars both physical and mental. I learned from a very young age that no one was going to believe or help me. Not even my own mother helped me, instead hiding in her bottles and pills until she stopped hiding altogether.
While I knew that my father was never faithful, it wasn't until the whole thing with Lilly that I finally put two and two together. My mother got sick of the show and tried to leave, but he wouldn't let her. She took the only out she felt she could by jumping off that bridge.
I couldn't blame her, but I still was angry that she left me alone with him. That last year before I went to college, he beat me so often I had to start a turf war with the local gang just to explain my constant visible injuries.
I roll over in bed, groaning, my stomach roiling as the memories of last night and the past assail me relentlessly. This is why I've limited my drinking all this time. Well, and the fear that I would become an alcoholic like my mother, hiding from the world in the bottom of a bottle.
Things are not easy in New York, but they are better. I am finally seeing a therapist, and I really enjoy my classes at school. It isn't much, but for me it's everything. I have a dream of writing a national bestseller, making my own money and getting out from under my father's shadow. It's even a plausible dream, as my work has been increasingly noticed at school.
One of my professors has even suggested that I submit one of my short stories to the New Yorker, practically guaranteeing its publishing.
It's just my personal life that's still a disaster.
With Herculean effort, I push thoughts of Lilly and Aaron out of my pounding head, focusing on my Mystery Author. I wonder why she started this. Yeah, I think it's a woman based on the way she wrote the criteria for even playing. A woman who is reaching out for a connection in a city with millions of people.
My stomach finally settles enough that I'm able to drag my carcass to the bathroom for some water and advil. I try not to look in the mirror while I brush my teeth.
Last night was definitely a mistake, but at least one thing came from it. I can't wait to go back to Strand today and see what she wrote. I feel fairly certain that the salesclerk, Wallace, knows who she is and called her the minute I left.
Fuck, I hope he didn't read what I wrote. He knows my name. He could make millions selling that sort of story to the tabloids. It would bring the wrath of Aaron down on me for sure. I shudder at the thought, trying to convince myself that not everyone is interested in celebrities, even celebrities by proxy such as me.
Dick snores, passed out on the couch when I emerge from my room, freshly showered and in desperate need of some coffee. I try to wake him up, halfheartedly, but he continues to sleep. Making sure he's at least turned on his side in case his stomach feels like mine did this morning, I head out to start my day.
Classes are over, so there's nothing preventing me from rushing straight to Strand except my need for caffeine. After a quick stop at a local coffee shop for a very large Americano, I walk the fifteen blocks to the store.
I nod at Wallace, who's working the cashier's desk again, heading straight back to the sci-fi section. I tamp down momentary panic as I reach shaking hands for the notebook that still sits there. Maybe she didn't like my answer.
My Mystery Author is a complete stranger, yet I feel myself needing her to continue this game. The idea of her writing me off fills me with dread.
I stare at the cover for a few seconds, my finger tracing the words on the cover. Do you dare?
Finally, I turn the cover, looking frantically for new writing. When I see what she's written, a sigh escapes me. Lilly used to make me jump through hoops to get any kind of truth from her, but these words aren't the same. They're like a lifeline, pulling me back from a precipice I didn't realize I was on.
I reread her words, trying to puzzle what I need to do. Obviously I'm not leaving the notebook here again unless I want to give up. Shit, how am I supposed to know what her accidental discovery is?
There's a million places in the city, I've lived here almost a year now and I still keep getting surprised when I turn a new corner. The answer has to be in the words. She wouldn't leave me without any clues to guide my way to her.
Standing in the aisle is not going to solve it, and I make to leave. Wallace catches my eye as I walk towards the exit with the notebook clutched tightly in one hand, my half-full coffee cup in the other. He turns away quickly, but I could swear that he winked. I don't know what to make of that, so I keep pushing forward.
My mind keeps repeating her words. If you want to know more, find my accidental discovery and warm up. She mentioned the cold, so maybe she's not from around here either. Maybe it's a spa. A warm sauna sounds outstanding as I stand in the blustery cold. I take a sip of my coffee, thinking through the rest of her message. Leave the book with the hostess. Spas don't really have hostesses.
Restaurants have hostesses. That narrows it down to under a million. As I ponder, I head back towards my apartment. The words taunt me. An accidental discovery.
I'm about a block from my apartment when it hits me. A restaurant that is an accidental discovery and serves something to warm up. If my Mystery Author isn't from New York, then that would probably be Serendipity III, home to best frozen hot chocolate in the city. Doesn't serendipity also mean accidental discovery? Everyone always considers it to be fate, but it really is just a happy chance.
Armed with a destination, I whistle for a cab.
It's Sunday, so there's a bit of a wait before I'm seated at a cozy table under a tiffany lamp. Already cold enough, I order the Serendipitous Hot Chocolate. As I sip my chocolaty goodness, I make a mental note to come back in the summer and get one of the frozen hot chocolates.
The hot chocolate is rich and warms me to my core. While looking around at the eclectic artwork on the walls, I try to imagine my Mystery Author sitting there as well. I have so many questions. What is her name? Where is she from? What does she look like?
I don't think her intent was to have me pepper her with a thousand questions. Keeping in mind that this is a game, a game of daring to show who you truly are, I begin to write.
Maybe it was a delusion, but it doesn't make it any less real. Love seems like a heavy discussion to have with someone I know nothing about other than you like chocolate. You do like chocolate, right? How could you not when you sent me here? I'm going to mark that down on my hopefully growing list of things I know about you.
It's too cold for frozen hot chocolate today and you did tell me to warm up. I've been in the city for almost a year and I can't believe I never thought to come here. You can't know this, but I needed something like this today. I needed something new and warm to erase the shadows and memories that plague me. So thank you.
I love this place. The kitsch is just the right kind and even though it's a tourist trap, it's got history, something that was severely lacking in my hometown. There, it was all flash and glitter hiding the darkness underneath. Here, with the Christmas lights, the warmth of the chocolate with the hint of orange, it's hopeful. Definitely an accidental discovery.
You told me I could ask you anything and my mind is filled with a thousand questions. In the spirit of this game you've begun, I'll keep my inquiries to the basics for now, hoping in time you'll tell me all that I need to know of you. I bet you think I'm going to ask you why you started this. Why a stranger would seek out a stranger. Yet, that's not the question I'm going to ask because I think I know the answer already. Maybe we'll come back here someday and share the frozen chocolate together and you can tell me if I'm right.
My question of you is a simple one, what is your name? No more, no less. A name is where it starts, a name for the voice in my head that I hear when I read your words.
So what's your name, Mystery Author?
As you've shown me one of your favorite spots, I'd like to repay the favor. If you're willing to share this most intimate of secrets with me, leave the book where you begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end. Then stop.
My Mystery Author seems like a clever girl, so we'll see if she can find the place I'm thinking of. This connection I feel to her is strong but inexplicable.
I leave the book with a hostess named Mac, who gives me an appraising look. I wonder if she's friends with my Mystery Author. It's on the tip of my tongue to ask her for answers, but she turns abruptly, demonstrating that there will be no answers forthcoming today.
The moment Mac walks in the door, returning from work, I immediately ask if she has the notebook, following her into her room as she changes from her work clothes. I'm already begging for details of the person who might have given it to her. She pushes me out of her room, refusing to acknowledge if she has the notebook or not.
"Dammit Veronica, just give me a minute. I smell like chocolate and I really just want to get into something comfy. Besides, you just told me to deliver the book, not to give you any details about the person who left it." She smiles slyly, knowing that she's got me there. I wanted everything to be a surprise, but I'm not really one for surprises and my curiosity is killing me.
First Wallace and now Mac have seen my mystery penpal, but neither one of them is giving up any of the goods on him. All I could get out of Wallace was that he's our age and a guy. It was no use asking Wallace if he was handsome because Wallace wouldn't notice something like that. Especially not if that girl he's been flirting with was around.
Trying to be patient, I leave Mac to her nightly ritual, heading into the kitchen to fix us a light meal. I've been studying all day, but I can barely remember anything I read as I wonder what he's written. Mac finally exits her bedroom, dressed in comfy sweats, a sure sign she's not going to Max's tonight.
While I love spending time with Mac, I'm a bit disappointed that I won't have the place to myself while I obsess over his words. Mac still thinks this is a crazy idea, even if she is reluctantly helping me.
I hold my tongue long enough to serve the meal I've prepared. Just a simple tomato soup and grilled cheese, Mac's made with vegan cheese. I try not to wrinkle my nose in distaste as I hand the plate to her. It won't do any good to antagonize her before I've gotten what I wanted.
As we sit to eat, my patience ends and I can't help the exasperated tone of my voice.
"Mac, do you have it or not?" I've been worrying that my clue was too obscure and he wouldn't be able to find it. Or worse, that he would come but give it to one of the other hostesses. It could be lost forever. I shudder at the thought of the book in the hands of someone like Madison who works the shift before Mac.
"I do, but before I give it to you, I need you to tell me again why you're doing this. This is the most animated I've seen you in years." Mac's pale blue gaze is intense. I squirm slightly in my seat, unsure how to answer this question. It's not the first time she's asked, and I doubt she'll take my first answer again.
Originally I told her it was a lark, just something to pass the time. I tried explaining how I thought it would help me break free from the shell I'd built around me, keeping me from living my life. She just didn't see it the same as me.
"Mac, I'm not sure how to explain it correctly. I just feel like this is something I have to do. You know what it's been like for me. I'm so tired of feeling this way, of being so afraid. I see what you have with Max, and I want to have that kind of connection. I want to know I'm not alone." I rub my eyes, dashing away my unshed tears.
"Veronica, you're not alone. Wallace and I will always be here for you." She puts her hand on top of mine, silently providing comfort.
"I know that, I do, but this isn't the life I envisioned. I expected light and laughter, maybe even love. Not fear and loneliness. I love you and Wallace, and I wouldn't have gotten here if it wasn't for you both, but I need to put myself out there again. I can't keep letting the past define my future."
"And you think talking to some stranger and exchanging dares will give that to you." I can tell she's trying to understand, but I'm not explaining it very well.
Mac has been my friend since high school. She was witness to all of my ups and downs. We were so different, but she's still the Q to my Bond.
I started dating Stosh Piznarski in high school. He was sweet and cute. The kind of guy you bring home to meet your mother. Except that my mother wasn't home. She left when I was 16, leaving my dad and I to pursue some old flame from high school while drowning her sorrows in vodka. I told myself I was better off without her and besides; I had Piz. I thought we were in love.
We made plans to attend college together; me studying pre-law hoping to become a prosecutor someday; him doing a dual major in journalism and music. We planned everything. It was a fairy tale come to life.
Once we got to college, though, things changed. Piz was no longer the attentive, sweet boyfriend he was in high school. He started blowing me off, giving half-assed excuses of classes or study groups. I tried not to be hurt, made all sorts of excuses for why he was suddenly distant.
I think what tipped me off was the change in our sex life, though. I had lost my virginity to Piz in our junior year, at prom like a typical wide-eyed cliche. It wasn't anything like I thought it would be from reading books and watching movies. Still, it was our first time, and I thought over time, it would get better. I can't say that it did. I tried, but he wasn't interested in anything except how he wanted to do it. Sex was something to endure, a payment for the rest of our love story.
Then, a few months into our freshman year, he started complaining about how boring our sex life was. Kept saying that we were like an old married couple, only doing it a few days a week. Simple girl that I was, I attempted to spice things up, but all of my overtures were rebuffed. The more I tried, the more he made me feel like there was something wrong with me.
Where before my petite stature and lack of curves was beyond sexy, now I was boyish. I had never been one of those women who thought they needed to change their bodies, but suddenly I was researching breast augmentations.
It still makes me cringe, the lengths I went to trying to keep him when he was just a dick to me. Even two years later, I'm afraid that I'd still be trying if I hadn't walked in on him going down on a girl from his Intro to Communications class named Parker. Not once in our three-year relationship had he gone down on me. I tried to make him once, and he acted like it was the most disgusting thing in the world.
When he saw me, he didn't even try to apologize. He blamed everything on me, said I was frigid, didn't know how to please a man. I actually begged him to work it out with me. I didn't realize it then, but I was projecting all my abandonment issues from my mother onto my relationship with Piz.
Instead, I was devastated. I thought he was the love of my life, the person I was going to marry, have a family with. Everything was a lie. Mac was enrolled at NYU, but came out to be with me when I called her crying. She had never really liked Piz, but she maintained our friendship, saying nothing to me until it was over.
I couldn't believe that my judgement was so off. I couldn't stay there, seeing him, hearing his words in my head again and again, telling me how I wasn't enough. Mac suggested that I come to New York. I had applied to NYU senior year, getting accepted, but went to UCLA-San Diego with Piz. It wasn't that hard to get accepted for the spring semester.
Leaving was the simple part, except for being so far away from my dad. Moving forward, dating again, that is the part that I've struggled with. After everything with Piz, I just couldn't believe in love. I couldn't believe that anyone would find me desirable. Despite Mac's assurances otherwise, I no longer find myself attractive.
I was afraid to even try. Except for Wallace, who was already friends with Mac when I moved here, I've avoided members of the opposite sex like the plague. I decided I wouldn't risk putting myself out there to be hurt again. For a long time, just being with my friends was enough. But a few months ago, I felt a shiver down my spine at the library, like someone was watching me. When I turned around to look, there wasn't anyone there, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something monumental had almost happened.
When I was young, I had this silly fantasy that when I met the person meant for me, I'd feel it, like lightning striking. That's sort of what this feeling felt like. I rode the glow of that feeling all the way home. That's when I had the idea to put this plan into motion.
Maybe I am testing the fates, but something tells me now was the time that I am ready to try again. The thought of losing so much of myself into another person again terrifies me, and I'm not sure I can ever give my heart to another. But I am tired of living my life in fear.
Mac quirks an eyebrow at me, silently waiting me out as I get lost in my head, trying to find a way to explain.
"I don't know what I think, Mac. I know it's not rational, that it makes no sense. It just feels right in a way that nothing else has in a really long time." I shove my hands inside the sleeves of the oversized hoodie I'm wearing. Baggy clothing is a stable in my wardrobe now. Piz's less than flattering comments about my physique still echoing in my head. Dropping my head to avoid her gaze, I whisper. "I still hear his voice, telling me why I can't be loved."
Mac inhales sharply before hissing, "That fucking bastard."
Moving from her chair to kneel in front of me, Mac gently pulls my hands from where I've hidden them. "Veronica, you weren't the problem. You were never the problem. Piz was an asshole. You are a beautiful, desirable woman. You're smart and kind and any guy would kill to be with you."
She takes a deep breath, standing to her feet. "If this is what it takes for you to see yourself the way I do and Wallace does, then so be it. I've seen crazier things."
I glance up sharply, but Mac isn't in front of me. I swivel my head, trying to locate her. She reemerges bringing the red notebook to me.
I touch the cover reverently, tracing the words on the front. Mac quirks her eyebrow again, waiting for me to open it.
"Do you mind…" I trail off. Mac gazes at me intently for a few more seconds before nodding curtly.
"I'll be in my room if you need me." She pauses at the door to her room. "Veronica?"
"Hmmm?" My gaze remains on the notebook in front of me.
"Just be careful. You are an amazing person. You don't need some mystery guy to validate you. You don't need any guy or person to validate you. You are enough." I nod, letting her know I heard her, even if I can't quite believe the words myself.
I wasn't always like this, but now, I can't seem to find that part of myself that knows how to be strong.
When I hear the click of her door closing, I open the notebook, reading his words. I read through them several times, committing them to memory. I can almost imagine him sitting in Serendipity's nursing a hot chocolate, writing away in his loopy scroll.
I puzzle for a second on his riddle before smiling brightly. Oh you silly boy, you've already gone down the rabbit hole with me.
I'm glad I was able to help, even if it was in a small way.
You're right, love is too heavy a discussion between almost friends. That's how I'd like to think of you, if that's okay. A kindred spirit. So we'll leave off discussion of love for now; current or lost. Instead, I'm going to ask a question of my own. What shadows plague you in this season of joy, my friend? You don't have to tell me. I'm far too curious, as many would tell you. Still, if you wanted to…
This time of year is supposed to be about happiness and family. I am very far away from what little I have this year and it saddens me. It's really just me and my dad now. My mom took off when I was 16 for greener pastures or maybe a vodka bottle. I looked her up once, about a year or so ago, but she had made a new life for herself with a new family.
I don't know why I told you that. I never tell anyone about it. Christmas was always our thing, but since she's left, my dad and I really go all out. Elf hats and decorations, a complete tree decorated in Padre ornaments. Caroling, I think I miss that most. I used to love to sing, but music doesn't hold the same pleasure for me anymore. I can't go back.
I have friends here who will try to make up for the loss, but it won't be the same. They'll want to go to parties and clubs, things that I can't find it in myself to go to. It's too exposed, too open.
There are other questions, I ache to ask, but I won't break my own rules. Everything has to be freely given and earned.
Did you expect it to be easy? A name is power.
To learn mine, you will have to go on a quest. Go to the most iconic symbol of Christmas in New York. There you must search for the present that doesn't belong.
Happy Hunting. Return the book to where it began.
A quick glance outside says I have about an hour before it's too late to leave the book. I call out to Mac to let her know I'm heading out as I put on my shoes. The sun has just set, letting the Christmas lights shine, casting a warm glow over the walk to Central Park. My cheeks are slightly wind chapped by the time the Alice in Wonderland statue comes into view. I glance around, making sure I'm not being watched before strolling up to the statue.
Someone has put a Santa hat over the dormouse. Thinking it a bit whimsy, I can't help taking a closer look as I try to find a place to leave the book that won't be readily apparent to a passerby. Gold glittery words facing outward proclaim "Mystery Author". My heart speeds up as I realize that he left this here for me. It's what he calls me in his letters.
My fingers trembling, I pluck the hat from the dormouse, turning it round in my hands. On the other side, written in silver glitter, is a single word. Logan. I silently repeat it to myself several times. Logan.
Without me even asking it, he's given me the keys to himself. Even a first name can provide a great deal of information.
Inside the hat is a folded piece of paper.
M.A.,
I know you didn't ask, but allow me to gift you knowledge unrequested as a token.
Logan
Tucking his note in my pocket and setting the hat on my head, I make my way back to the apartment. Mac's eyes widen, a smile playing at her lips as she takes in my new accessory. She doesn't ask and I don't answer. Instead, we settle in to binge watch some Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD before both calling it an early night.
Before laying down, I place the note under my pillow and the hat next to my head, breathing in the scent. I fall asleep dreaming of citrus and the ocean.