Loosen Up: Up Series Book 3 Page 6

  “I want to come over for nothing else than to distract you for a little while,” I offered during one of our late-night phone conversations.

  He sighed. “I can’t tonight.”

  “C’mon, Jase. Please, let me help you.” I pleaded.

  “What helps me is knowing you love your new job. Things are still going well?”

  “Yes. I am so busy all the time, and Charlie is a great boss. I love meeting all the cool people, and I get to travel, so that’s a plus.” I paused. “She is thinking of moving her operation to Los Angeles, though.” I swallowed. “She wants me to join her.”

  Silence. I thought he might have hung up.

  “Jase…?”

  “What do you want to do?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t know. Nothing is definite.”

  I think I heard him curse, a rarity from him. “When do you think she’ll decide?”

  “I’m not sure.” I took a drink from my wine. “Why?”

  He was quiet for a minute. “I…” he began and cleared his throat. “I just…” I heard his cell phone ring. “Dammit, I have to get that. I…” he sighed again. “Check your schedule tomorrow and be ready to discuss making plans for this weekend.” He dropped to a whisper. “I really need to see you.”

  ~~~

  We talked just about every day, if only for a few minutes, but I missed seeing him terribly. It turns out most of what the media reported in the beginning of the Jack Heywood sex scandal were unsubstantiated claims. Jase confirmed that his father did have many gay lovers; Jase had known about them for most of his life. He also confirmed the reports that his dad frequented a sex club. He hated it, but only because of the strain the infidelity put on his mother and his family. He also explained a lot of his reaction to me at the beginning of our friendship. We discussed it in detail during another of our many convos.

  “It’s one of the things I wanted to clarify to you that Saturday when this shit storm started,” he explained. “My reaction had everything to do with my dad and nothing to do with you. I just couldn’t be with you because…”

  “It’s fine, Jase.”

  “No, I was a dick back then. None of it had to do with you or your sexuality. I just was surprised you were into me. I thought you only liked girls. What happened that night, turning you down… well, it’s one of the biggest regrets of my life.”

  “Jeez, Jase.” I laughed. “You’re not even twenty-six. You talk like you’re eighty.”

  He sighed. “You never know what’s going to happen, Darla. I try to live life so that I will regret nothing.”

  I snorted. “That sounds boring.”

  “You have met me, right?”

  “Jase,” I teased, “if you were boring, we wouldn’t be friends.”

  We did not, however, discuss the night he watched me. It seemed to enter the famous category of “unspoken taboos” we had. I really wanted to talk about it, but I didn’t want to add to his stress. He seemed to have an abundance of that.

  It took us two additional weeks before both our schedules aligned. We worked it out where we could spend a whole weekend together. I looked forward to it all week long and was actually giddy. So giddy, in fact, I showed up to his place earlier than we agreed. I wanted to surprise him.

  Turns out I was the one surprised.

  ~~~

  Jase lived in one of those buildings that had high-tech security. He cleared me to enter the building at any time, but the door to his apartment had some techno-thing on it that included a code. One night about a year ago when he ran late to one of our movie and pizza nights, he gave the code to me. My head for numbers allowed me to remember it easily.

  I wrestled all the grocery bags (because only pussies make two trips), entering the apartment. After over four years of friendship, I realized I had never cooked for him. I chose a healthy spaghetti squash recipe, but the ingredients were numerous. I assumed Jase had nothing in his kitchen, so I planned to stock it with my preferred spices and things.

  I made my way straight to his kitchen. The plan was to entice him with the smells wafting through the apartment, and he would come investigate. It didn’t quite work out that way.

  “I hope this doesn’t seem inappropriate for me to say, but I gotta tell you,” I heard an unfamiliar, squeaky feminine voice say. “I do this for a living, and you have one of the most beautiful cocks I’ve ever seen.”

  I dropped the pan full of water I held, and two sets of eyes turned my direction.

  “What in the actual fuck?” I spat, half because I doused myself, and half because… did I hear her right?

  “Darla!” Jase gasped. “You’re early.”

  “Obviously,” I snarked.

  The woman, who looked to be about forty, was dishwater blonde, drably dressed, sporting black glasses, no makeup, and was pretty plain looking, more like a librarian, and not the sexy kind, than a… was she really a…?

  She looked between the two of us and smiled nervously. “Yes, well, I better be going. Thank you for your business, Mr. Heywood. I’ll get to work right away. I appreciate the bonus, too.”

  Jase grabbed her by the elbow and quickly escorted her to the door.

  I just stood there, dripping wet, trying not to seethe. I was not a shoot-first-ask-questions-later kind of girl. I hated guns, but at that point, it was really fortunate I was not in the vicinity of a firearm. So, I took a deep breath and tried to think about this rationally. The rational side of my brain told me to wait for an explanation. The rational side said it wasn’t what it looked like.

  That fucking rational side said Jase was an honorable man.

  It also reminded me that we had no obligations to one another.

  It said we were just friends.

  It said he pawned me off to another man.

  It also screamed that he didn’t let me get that close to him. In fact, he had pushed me away, literally.

  I took another deep breath and shook it off. Jase is not an asshole. Just hear him out, Darla Maize Flurkey.

  Jase cautiously entered the kitchen with towels.

  “So, that homely whore is good enough to get close to your cock, but I’m not?” I irrationally screamed.

  “Darla,” he crooned. “I can ex –”

  “What the fuck, Jason Patrick Heywood?”

  “I swear, It’s not –”

  “If you say, ‘it’s not what it looks like,’ I swear to everything that you find holy, you will be the victim of the first violent act I ever perform,” I spat his name, “Mister Heywood.”

  He stared at me, dumbfounded. “Are you… jealous?” he asked, like he marveled the thought.

  “No.” Wait, was I? “I’m pissed. Tell me, Jase, did she get the honor of touching you?”

  He looked to the ground. “Yes, but –”

  “So she’s good enough, but I’m relegated to fucking some random guy while you watch because you can’t, or just plain won’t touch me?”

  “God, no. It’s not like that.”

  “You paid her?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Do you always pay for sex?” I grabbed my hair and pulled. “Holy shit, did you pay for mine?”

  “No, Darla. What the hell?”

  “Tell me how it would look to you. Tell me how you would feel if the guy you have been lusting after for almost four years won’t touch you, but sets up a freaky scenario where he gets to watch you, when all you want to do is fuck him so badly that it consumes you?” I felt the tears begin. “Then the idea of getting close with you is so awful, he literally pushes you away?” I wailed and clutched the ache in my chest. “Fuck, Jase, I would obviously do anything for you,” I whimpered, and all the ire deflated out of me. I crumpled, “and it hurts so much that you won’t give me the same courtesy.”

  He rushed toward me and cupped my face, wiping my tears with his thumbs. He pulled me to his chest.

  “Why?” I sobbed into his chest. “Why am I not enough?”

  He pulled
me back to look in my eyes. “You are. You so are; you’re perfect. God, Darla, why can’t you see it? It’s me who is not enough.”

  As I pushed past him, he stumbled back, catching himself on the island. “Did you seriously just say ‘it’s not you, it’s me?” I turned and stormed to the door. “Fuck you, Jase. Right up the ass.” I threw open the door. “WITH TWO DICKS!”

  Nine

  Jase

  Journal entry

  “Layla” – Eric Clapton

  October 5, 2007

  I did not chase her. I just couldn’t.

  I felt the pain as she left, a pain that rooted me to the floor. Her leaving almost killed me. And what’s sad is I almost let it.

  I couldn’t let her see. It would change everything.

  I planned to tell her my secrets. There were so many starts and stops to telling her.

  Darla would say the universe is intervening, telling me to keep my mouth shut. Maybe it is. Maybe I should listen to it.

  Or maybe I’m just wishing her insane universe theory is true. I do not want to tell her. She can’t know. She would say it doesn’t matter. She would put herself in the line of fire for me.

  I simply cannot allow her do that.

  I love her too much.

  That night… It all comes down to that stupid night when I thought I could maintain control. I endured the pain of watching her have sex with someone else, someone who was not me, just so I could see her in the throes of passion, knowing I could never provide her that experience. I lived it because of the beauty that is Darla, the beauty of watching her let go, the beauty of the moment she kissed over my heart, the beauty of watching her fall asleep and waking up with her, was all worth the pain. The experience of that night should be enough to sustain me. It should be, but it’s not. It did the opposite. I want more… so much more.

  I want everything.

  That fucking night.

  I should just let this go. I should let her believe I’m a cad who can’t keep it in his pants for any other woman, just not her. I should let her believe that I’m some twisted, kinky fucker who gets his rocks off watching her have sex, and then pays prostitutes to have sex with him.

  It is not such a stretch to believe that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  I just hate letting her think the worst of me.

  It’s for the best. I need to let it be, to let her hate me.

  But it won’t last. One of the things I love about her is her inability to hate.

  I am not a person who waivers. I am one who makes a decision and sticks to it. I am not one who relies on others, who needs people to make him feel whole. I have never needed anyone, and now I find myself relying on two people, one who supports me and one who is my reason for existing.

  They are the only people I really care about, especially since I have annihilated the relationship with my parents. My mother stays loyal to a man who repeatedly humiliated her. My father has shunned me. I feel responsible for my father’s undoing, even if I had nothing to do with the information leak. He thinks I did, and maybe my investigation sparked his former employee to spill Dad’s secrets to that motivated reporter. Therefore, my father has used what little influence he still has to have me blackballed in my career. No matter what, it was not my intention for the world to know his indiscretions. I only needed leverage. This whole debacle is one of the reasons I need to take this next step.

  However, all I really want to do is to tell her how I feel. To finally tell her the truth. To quit withholding my secrets and let her in. To just… be with her.

  But I can’t. I can’t do that to her. I cannot pull her into the insanity of my life. I cannot potentially destroy her. I love her too much to bind her to me, to burden her, to drag her to my hell. I need her to be the free-spirited goddess she is. I need her to live her life. I need her to love freely. I cannot allow anything, even me, to damage that amazingly beautiful soul of hers.

  That means removing myself from the equation.

  However, the thought of not having her in my life leaves me completely empty. Hopeless.

  No. I need her. I need the reason that keeps me tethered to this earth, the reason that gives me hope, the reason that keeps me fighting. Without her, I’ll wither away.

  So, for inexcusably selfish reasons, I cannot simply let this stand.

  I have taken steps to ensure that our coupling is not an option. Yes, one could call it running. However, I’m ultimately doing it for her. I also need to do this for me. It’s an opportunity I cannot let go.

  Because of this opportunity, I can keep her in my life, even if it is from a distance.

  Rounding out the random acts of a desperate man, I have called her every day, hoping she will finally answer. She doesn’t, and that’s for the best. If she answered, if I heard her voice, I would cancel my plan.

  I’m leaving tomorrow. I cannot leave things as they are.

  It’s time.

  Granted, my timing is not ideal, but I need to do it.

  I must see her. I need to tell her how I feel, and it must be done in person.

  She needs to know.

  But I also need to tell her a little white lie. Well, not quite a lie, more like a twisted truth, really.

  Hopefully, my plan works. Hopefully, she will admit she loves me, but she will see how we can never be together.

  Hope. I need to have hope.

  Please, God, let this work.

  I cannot lose her; I can’t have her like I desperately want her.

  This fucking sucks.

  Ten

  Darla

  “I Don’t Live Today” – Jimi Hendrix

  Jase didn’t come after me that day, probably because I had told him once that I would never want anyone to chase after me when I’m angry. However, his lack of trying for the days after the incident convinced me that what I saw was true.

  He started calling. In fact, for three months, he called almost every day, but I sent him to voicemail every time.

  I was not ready to hear that I was right.

  It was not fun to begin October with apartment hunting in L.A. Charlie was set to move her agency right after the first of the year, so she tried to help me find a place while we were down there looking for office space. We’d been looking at apartments since 8:00 this morning. Two hours and I was so done.

  “I have a situation with one of my actors I need to go deal with on the set of Transcendental,” Charlie said around the sixth cracker-box “luxury” apartment that would take two-thirds of my income. L.A. was expensive. “Wanna come?”

  “Yessss,” I hissed, “please. If I look at another crappy apartment, I might scream.”

  We arrived on the set of the moderately popular series about a pair of philosophy professors who hunted ghosts at night. The director yelled about delays in shooting schedules and unprofessional actors getting morning sickness.

  “Is this the redhead’s replacement?” he yelled at Charlie, indicating me.

  “No, I…”

  “Yes,” Charlie spoke over me. “Get her a script.”

  Charlie must have noticed the panicked look on my face. “Look, it’s not a big part. You say a few lines and you’re done.”

  “Is this your actor problem?” I asked skeptically. “I don’t feel comfortable taking this poor girl’s job. Isn’t it unprofessional?”

  “Nope. Never met the girl in my life and don’t give a shit about her. My actor is a male.”

  Someone shoved a few sheets in my hand, and when I read the description of my character, this chick came to life in my head. It’s like I was made to play her. It was more than a few lines, but I was pretty sure I could pull it off. I looked up at Charlie and nodded my head.

  “You’ll do it? Great.” She began rummaging through her purse. “Not like I really gave you a choice.”

  “You really didn’t.”

  She dug deeper through her bag. “Just don’t use your real name for the credits. The name Darla, with
your red hair, is too grown-up niece-from-Finding-Nemo.” She brought out a compact and a tube of lipstick. “Or people will think Little Rascals.” She applied a thick layer of red on her already perfect lips. “I have to fight the urge to scream, ‘I hate your stinkin’ guts’ every time someone says your name.”

  “I’m sure that’s exactly what my mom had in mind when she named me,” I snarked as I thumbed through the script.

  She wiped the outsides of her mouth. “Come to think of it, every Darla I’ve ever heard of is a redhead.” She trained her eyes on me. “Weird.”

  I dropped the paper to my thigh. “Do you have any suggestions for the name I should choose?”

  Looking back in her mirror, she answered, “That’s up to you, but come up with something close to your name, like Dharma or something like that, so that when anyone says it, you’ll recognize it and won’t look like an idiot when you don’t answer them.”

  I loved Charlie and her lack of filter. “Okay, anything else?”

  She stared at me. “You might want to come up with a fake last name, too. Flurkey? Sounds so… un-famous. Who wants a last name that rhymes with a dirty bird?”

  And so… Darby Cheetwood was born.

  My new last name? Nothing personal or symbolic about it.

  Uh huh. That’s it. Just a random name.

  ~~~

  “You really made my ass look good back there, Darla,” Charlie praised as she looked through her purse again. “And you were pretty good, too. You sure you’ve never acted before?”

  “No, that was my first time.”

  “Wow, you did that all in one take. And you ad libbed, which was risky. They seemed to love it, though. Honestly, that was amazing.” She found her powder and began applying it. “You think acting is something you might consider doing? I could totally market you.”