Page 19 of Hollywood King
Seven
Heath
People had always beeneasy for me.
Without words, they would tell me what they want, what they needed, and how I could use their desires to my advantage. Sometimes it was about sex, money, or power. But more often than not, it was about acknowledgment. For years, I’d prided myself on this ability to reveal men’s souls.
People had always been easy for me.
With one exception—Cathy.
Only her exhaustion kept her from arguing as I led her to my room, wrapped her fingers around one of my worn t-shirts, and pulled back the covers. She glared until I slipped out the door with one lingering look, but when I checked ten minutes later, she snored softly.
Every part of me screamed to lay down beside her, draw her in, and never let her leave my sight again.
My phone pinged loudly in my pocket, and I ducked away from checking on her for the fifth time. My texts were usually Nelly…this time: Nelly making sure I hadn’t kidnapped Cathy and dragged her back to my lair. I shut off the ringer and went into the kitchen. The sun would rise soon, and we’d have to get ready for the wake.
How does one get ready for such a terrible day? I felt awful enough after losing the man I considered a father, but I had to go pretend in front of people I can bear it. It didn’t matter. I could bear nothing while my stress ran so high. I wouldn’t be as personable as I needed to be when I arrived. Between Cathy and her fucking brother, my ordered world had been spilled on the carpet like a toddler with a box of Legos.
I rifled through some of the cabinets, pulled out my ingredients, and lined them up on the counter top. Then I pushed a few buttons on the oven. Soon my stress started to melt away under the soft swish of a whisk. Somehow, baking curbed the edge of anything I felt too much of. No one knew about the hobby except Nelly, and no one ever would. I poured in some chocolate chips and continued stirring the batter until it came together and felt too hard to whisk. Then I scooped out balls of dough with one spoon and plopped them onto a cookie sheet by scraping another spoon underneath the edge.
The bell dinged on the oven just in time. I put the cookies in and set the timer.
Baking is all about following the instructions. Too many people try to wing it. The chemistry gets messed up, and the cookies end up flat or burned. Tweaking was fine in my book, but outright mutiny against a recipe was a one-way ticket to disownment in my book.
I sat on a stool and hooked my heels on the bottom rungs while I waited, watching the hazy orange light from behind the tiny glass window. I loved these ovens. It took a couple months for me to pick them out and get them installed. I'd have crashed hard many a night if I didn't have them. They'd become an investment in mental health over the years.
The bell dinged again, and I pulled the cookie sheet out, carefully gripping the edge with the Santa Claus pot holder Nelly got me for Christmas two years ago. Once all twelve cookies were lined up evenly on the cooling rack, I took a deep breath and let it out hard. I needed this more than anything else.
My phone vibrated this time, and I assumed it was Nelly. I snatched the phone off the countertop and mid-tirade launch when I noticed Hindley’s name at the top of the text. It read: ‘We need to talk. Can I call you?’
My first reaction came out unbidden in the silent kitchen… ”Hell no.”
Why would he think I’d ever want to talk to him? But my big ol’ softie side poked and prodded the sad underbelly of my adopted father’s recent death. I didn’t expect anything to come out of my estranged relationship. We hadn’t seen each other for years, but some part of me always longed for his approval, especially with me and Cathy. And now, I’d never get it. My mind flashed back to Hindley’s text.
Instead of saying yes, I typed ‘What do you want?” in the box and hit send. The response came back in seconds. ‘Need to talk about Father’s estate.’ I didn’t need prompting on this one. I typed back fast and furious. ‘We can discuss it after.’
I never expected anything from my Father’s will, nor did I have a need for anything…except her.I’d long ago accepted I’d always need her.
My cookies done, I quickly cleaned up, stored the extra dough, and put away the supplies. Then I forced myself to walk calmly down the hallway toward my room to poke my head inside the door. We’d need to start getting ready for the wake soon. I retreated a moment and texted Nelly, ‘Need Cathy’s wake clothes.’
A response came back quickly, ‘Will send a messenger over with something.’
I slipped inside the dark room and stood there for another minute, watching her as she stirred under the covers.
“Are you going to stand there and watch me sleep like a serial killer?” she called softly, covers muffling her words.
Her voice, throaty and deep, still reached into me, grabbed my heart in its vice like grip and threatened to snatch it from my chest. As if she hadn’t locked it away long ago.
I entered the room and skirted to the other side of the bed so she could see me. “I wasn’t trying to freak you out. I’ve been checking on you periodically like the doctor suggested.”
“So I don’t turn into a pumpkin?”
“Are you always so antagonistic in the morning?” I asked.
“Are you always so creepy in the morning?” she countered.
We both stood in a familiar standoff, and I broke it by sliding on top of the covers next to her. She flinched away as I swung my legs around to lay on the soft down pillow and faced her. “I don’t think so. You just bring out the best in me.”
