Page 60 of Beautiful Deceit
He looks right into my eyes and says, "I hate all these people. They constantly cater, thinking they know me and what I need.” He sighs, “I hate the person I become when they're around me even more." He looks up at the closed doors. It feels like he's just made a confession. “I don’t want to be ushered through my own life, but they won’t takenofor an answer.”
"It's okay to protect yourself, Beau."
The doors open, and he drops my hand to retrieve the keys from his front pocket. It's a simple ring with three large keys attached. He pulls one free and goes to unlock the only door in the hallway. The lock clicks open, and he steps to the side, beckoning me to enter first.
The first thing I notice is how similar it is Rita’s. The ultra-modern design is all clean lines and minimal decor. The colors I see are limited to primarily black and white, with a vibrant red splashed around in a purposeful manner.
"When I first got here I liked it." He looks around the rooms that are visible from our vantage point. "After seeing your place, it feels like a museum, a cold one."
"It's not that bad," I offer, and he grins at me.
"You are a terrible liar,” He boasts. “You hate it!"
"I don't hate it,” I defect. “I just don't like it either," I add sheepishly. He chuckles and moves to the fridge.
"You want a drink?" He opens the door. I peer inside the massive fridge that contains at least ten different beer choices and a few bottles of wine. His fridge resembles a bar. The only food I see is in the form of take out containers.
"Um water, if you have one."
He pushes aside a few bottles causing them to clang together. The sound takes me back to my childhood home, reminding me of a deranged Darryl sifting through empty bottles. He had poured them out into the sink the previous morning, amid a cloud of apologies. The night before being the first time he hit me. I remember him coming home drunk that same day, furious to find the bottles empty. He blamed me. It became a routine.
A nervous flood hits my belly. I didn’t emphasize to Beau how bad the drinking got with Darryl. I said things in passing, but I never told him how the thought of being around a man drunk terrifies me.
The excitement I felt at seeing his apartment is gone. This place isn't even really his.
A door in the apartment opens and I freeze.
Beau moves around the counter and calls out, "Hello? Who's there?"
"Who do you think?" comes a sultry reply. "You know I can't stay away for long." A woman with dark hair comes strutting out in only a pair of panties. Her legs are toned and impossibly long, her hip bones clearly visible, her stomach so flat it's almost concave. Her breasts are impossibly pert.
Before my gaze can land on her face, Beau moves in front of me and scolds, "Tasha, what are you doing here? Go put some fucking clothes on."
"That's new," she murmurs, moving closer. I can't see her around Beau, but I see him stiffen and take a step back.
"Knock it off Tasha," he warns in a deep voice.
"I love it when you get all bossy," she purrs. “Whatcha got behind you, Beau? A new plaything?”
I'm dumbfounded. I don't even move. I stand there and watch as she wraps her arms around him, bringing her naked body to his, eyeing me from his shoulder.
She mock whispers, "I don't mind if she watches. It wouldn't be the first time, but we've never had someone quite so—robust join us. Didn’t expect that—from you.” I stumble back. “Why didn't you call me, if you were desperate enough to bring a fat girl home?" I see her red tipped fingernails curving into his back. I take two further steps back.
My ears are ringing. I feel strangely calm when I turn and walk quietly out the door. I check out, automatically moving to the elevator. As I ride down, the elevator blinks, and I watch the numbers fall past. As the elevator doors open, I realize what this feeling is. The other shoe dropped. Someone finally said what I was waiting for them to say. It’s what I’ve been saying to myself all along. I leave the lobby and walk with little direction at all.
I still can't comprehend what I witnessed. He just stood there with her arms around him. He told her to get dressed and asked her to knock it off. Knock what off exactly? What was she doing that I couldn't see? Was that Lauren? I find myself unable to imagine their faces to compare, even though I have seen them. He called her Tasha. Just how many women are in Beau’s life that don’t make it to the Wikipedia page?
I’m reminded of her nasty words. I felt every single one, but I won't give her the satisfaction of knowing how wounded I really am.
Did I accept his explanation of his relationship with Lauren too easily? Maybe I was desperate to believe him, to believe he was this great guy I wanted or imagined.
When I finally look up from my musings, I'm closer to Central Park than I should be this time of night. I move to the nearest hotel and wait my turn in the queue for a cab ride home.
It'safter eleven when I walk into my studio. I strip my coat and boots off before falling onto my messy bed. My phone buzzes, but I don’t bother with it. Whatever it is can wait.
I grab the pillow he used, and without thinking I bring it to my nose, wishing it held some of his scent. A few tears fall as I will myself to sleep.
I wakeup only an hour later, gasping for air, startled by the incessant noise of my intercom buzzer ringing in my ears.
