Page 102 of The Cruiser
ChapterThirty-Six
Come Saturday afternoon,the storm finally settles. I’m still standing, and the damage isn’t so bad. We’ve lost nine clients but have inquiries from a dozen new ones. The news outlets move on to a new scandal. Vaughn had his freakout and even that came with a light, if not impressed, hand.
“Jesus, Vans,” he said, his voice crackly and far away on the sat phone. “You’re making me feel old. Every muscle I have would seize up if I attempted half of that shit.”
It’s better he’s not here. Better that I not stand in his office and watch his eyes drift between my fully clothed body before him, and his computer screen where I’m testing the boundaries of penetration with Morgan. The fact he’s staying in Africa to complete his holiday is music to my ears.
I wrap up the week from hell with a hot bath and chamomile tea, topped off by sleeping like the dead.
Assuming the dead wake up on Sundays at five a.m.
It’s too early for light. Too early for birds. Too early to call June, who was probably late for her own birth, and yet manages to rise like clockwork at six-thirty every day.
But it’s never too early to be caffeinated.
I shuffle downstairs and promise myself today is the day I will wash my hair, put on makeup, and wear something other than flannel. All achievable goals.
One step at a time.
I grind up my favorite beans and sit in the dark, listening to the coffee machine burble to life. After the two-day onslaught with no time to catch my breath, I relish the stillness. I can hear what’s bubbling inside me. In the end, maybe having things end this way with Morgan was for the best. Better than uprooting my life and chasing a dream only for things to not work out.
It’s obvious where he stands, so moving on.
Only it’s not so neat and tidy in my heart.
It’s a great big mess.
Beep-beep.
The door alarm goes off, and every hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. I slide off the stool, scan the counter, and palm a chef’s knife. Really? Now this? Can’t a girl catch a break? A mudroom separates the kitchen from the back door, and with the approaching footfalls I raise the knife. My heart pounds like a tribal drum. I can squash a spider no problem, but stabbing another human?
When Derek steps out of the shadows, equal parts shock and relief flood over me. “Hi,” I say.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” he yells, jumping back, not seeing me in the dark. With a hand over his heart, he watches me warily, slowly recovering from the adrenaline jolt. “Fuck, V. You scared the shit out of me. What’s with the knife?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you. I thought…” I slide the knife back into the holder, suddenly feeling very stupid. Our property is gated, in one of LA’s safest neighborhoods, and the most we’ve ever dealt with is someone narcing on us watering the lawn during restricted times.
Derek flicks on the under-cabinet lights, and in the ghostly glow he looks tired. Rings of black under his eyes, two or three days of growth on his face. In his usual on-set attire of Dickies, a black shirt and baseball cap, it’s all familiar, and at the same time he feels like a stranger.
Under my watchful gaze, he must think I’m about to rail on him. “I thought you weren’t back until tonight, otherwise I would’ve texted. I’m just here to grab some files.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Go ahead. Grab what you need.”
It’s rare I sit in the kitchen in a robe and rarer still what he comments on. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you awake at this hour,” he says.
I shrug. “The joys of jet lag.”
He crosses his arms, awkwardly stuck between me and the hallway to his office. Is there anything more uncomfortable than seeing your estranged wife after she’s been a global, naked sensation? “How are you?” he finally asks, his tone telling me he knows everything.
“Could be better.”
“I guess Sevruga doesn’t need any PR right now, huh?”
A week ago, I would have ignored his lousy humor. But maybe my habit of ignoring things has a lot to do with why he’s here, sneaking into our kitchen in the half-light of early morning. “Can you believe we’ve had more phone calls in two days than the last three months?”
“You seem…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “Okay with it.”
“Now that I literally have nothing left to hide, it’s kind of liberating.”
