Lustful Memoirs
By: Gina - gina@basic-nstynct.com
Chapter Forty NineI arrived at the entrance of the hotel, my head such a whirlwind of thoughts that I couldn’t recall the path I had taken to get there. Images of JC and Brenda swirled through my mind, I couldn’t understand, yet so badly wanted to. I dreaded the coming night, wanting more than anything to have had the chance to talk to Brenda, to discover this sibling that I did not know existed, to discuss her life, to discuss mine, to find out if we had similarities other than our outward appearance. With a deep breath, I pulled myself from the car, handing the key to the valet. I forced myself to push all my thoughts to the side. It wasn’t the time to be thinking about those things, it certainly wasn’t the place, and I had a job to do. A job that I had no desire to do, but with Marie’s offer of only having to work four more weeks dangling in front of me, I knew I must.
I entered the lobby, the cool air enveloping my heated body. That’s when I noticed the girls, the many girls standing around the lobby. The anxiousness of the gathered crowd could be felt even from my distance. I inwardly groaned, unsure of why I had not even considered the fact. I stood in the lobby of the nicest hotel in LA and never once had I thought that they would be staying there too. They, the five men, I had just watched perform, he, the one that had loved my sister only to have her desert him, he, the one that I dreaded seeing more than anything. I turned away, making my way to the elevators, cursing my luck, and cursing the gods.
I pressed the elevator button, staring intently at the numbers above the doors, not wanting to see the awaited. Not wanting them to know that I was there, especially not wanting him to know that I was there. I watched as the descending numbers lit up, indicating the elevator path. Without prompting and unsure of the reason I turned my head toward the crowd. That’s when I saw him. He stood, his shoulders slumped, his face pulled into a fake smile. He signed a few autographs, posed for some pictures, and gave away hugs. His posture stiff, his movements forced. He then walked away, waving good-bye, but not before grabbing the hand of one of them, pulling her toward him. She was a slight thing, so much smaller than he. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back. Her bright blue eyes were visible even to me. My chest constricted as he pulled her to him, wrapping her in his arms, before turning his head to plant kisses on her cheek.
I stood shocked, watching as he so affectionately held her hand walking toward the elevator. I wondered if she had spent several nights in his bed, or if she was the lucky one, the one chosen out of the droves of thousands to share his bed for the few hours that night continued to blanket the sky; she chosen to satisfy his every whim, his every desire. His every word rang in my ears, what bullshit, what utter and complete bullshit. He had told me that he didn’t bring girls back to his hotel room, didn’t want to be involved with the hiring of the prostitute. That he did not partake in the "benefits" that his position afforded. He had said, "I’ve never done these things, would never want to." I wondered when it changed, when was it suddenly okay. Or maybe it had been all along, maybe every thing he had ever said, every feeling he had ever expressed was a lie.
Or, perhaps, in the three weeks since I left, he had found the one, the one that he cared for, the one that was able to hold the stress of his life at bay, so that he could have peace. The one he longed for, the one he could love completely, overwhelmingly. My face flushed red with anger, though I could not think of a rational reason for the emotion. I held no claims to him. It wasn’t like I had any hope that he would someday be mine. He could be with whomever he chose, it shouldn’t matter to me. And there it was, the very thought that sparked the rage that coursed through my veins, it did matter to me. So much so that it rendered me motionless, I had to sit down. I lowered myself onto the overstuffed chair that sat in the elevator alcove, sighing at my own immaturity, but unable to push the unwanted, unfounded emotion away. I knew. Deep down at the core of my being, I knew that he and I would never be. I knew it as intimately as I knew my own name. Yet, to see him with another tore at me, more so than I could even admit. Fuck him, I muttered to myself, intent on forgetting the few rational thoughts that remained. Who cared that I was pissed, enraged, incensed. He wouldn’t ever know, and rightfully he wouldn’t care. He told me I held a piece of his heart, that I could never be replaced. I wondered what portion I occupied. Fuck him.
I rose from the chair, shaking the thoughts of him to the side. Fuck him.
I placed a finger on the button that would summon the elevator car. Fuck him. The car arrived and I stepped aboard. Fuck him. I had a job to do, and that's why I was there. Fuck him. I arrived on the designated floor, stepping out I turned to the left and began my journey to the client's room. Fuck him.
"Blake" I heard my name, recognized the voice, but did not turn around, had no desire to turn around.
"Blake." A second time, my name, echoed throughout the hallway, this time louder.
"Blake is that you?" I heard his question, heard the, was it surprise, in his voice. I kept walking, not wanting to face him, not wanting to face my feelings for him, not wanting him to see that I wanted him, even though he had another. Fuck him, I whispered to myself once again, hoping that the more I said it the more I would come to believe it, to feel it, to live it. To convince myself that I didn’t care, that he didn’t matter, that he could fuck, that he could love who ever the hell he wished, and I wouldn’t care. It was all bullshit I knew, but I didn’t think I would get through the night thinking anything else, and I certainly wouldn’t survive an encounter with him.
"Blake," again he said my name, followed by another pause. The sound of his feet hitting the floor coming closer and closer, "Blake," almost yelling, trying to get my attention. I tried in vain to ignore him and walk away, but as his hand grabbed my arm and seared my skin, I knew that any attempts at escaping were futile. He turned me toward him. I coldly smiled, letting my eyes meet his. Anger fueled inside of me, stupid, childish anger, but I was beyond that, beyond the reason why.
"Justin, what a surprise." My voice was frigid, distant.
"Blake," those damn blue eyes lit up as he spoke, his mouth pulling into that grin that could make me melt. I looked away as he spoke, one moment more and I would collapse in his arms and forget all about the girl in the lobby, "this is so much more than a surprise. I'm so glad that you came to see me."
"Came to see you?" I laughed, couldn’t contain the giggles rising in my throat, it wasn’t the type of laughter caused by the humor in a situation. It was the laughter that signals pure disbelief, disbelief so great that you can respond no other way."Yeah, that is why you are here, right." His brow furrowed, confused, before his eyes widened, realization hitting him. I smiled, this time sincerely. "Wait, you aren't here to see me at all, are you?" His voice cracked. I rolled my eyes.
"No, Justin," I regarded him, incredulously, "I didn't come to see you. Actually had no idea you were even in town." I lied.
"So, why are you here?" He asked, his voice low, he knew the answer, his eyes showed that he did. Yet he wanted me to say. I wasn’t going to let him down.
"I'm meeting a client." My tone even, steady, and confident.
As the words fell from my lips, he looked away, as if he’d been punched. A smug smile covered my lips. He had been dealt a blow just as I had. We were even."You’re...meeting...a client?" His words were quiet, stuttered, broken.
"A client?" He repeated, this time louder, his eyes rising to meet my own. "What do you mean, you’re meeting a client. I thought you were going to quit." He kept repeating the words, as if unable to believe them.
"What the hell is it to you, Justin? Why do you care? What we had in Florida was a joke, it was a joke to you and it was a joke to me. So, we shared a couple of good times, this is my fucking life Justin, my fucking job. Just as you have yours, I have mine, now if you will excuse me."
I moved to pull from him, but his fingers tightened around my arm.
"Wait, listen to me," his words were pleading. I sighed, frustrated, yet I remained still. "Blake, I thought we were friends. You told me that you were going to quit, you told me that you would call if you needed anything. You assured me, promised me. Why are you doing this? Why are you acting like this?"
"Get over it already, will you please? Stop acting like the spoiled brat you don’t want anyone to think you are. So, I didn’t do what you wanted, so what, I’ll repeat my question, because you seemed to ignore it the first time. What the hell is it to you?"
"I answered your question, Blake, I never ignored you. I would never ignore you. We are friends, or so I thought we were. You told me that you wanted to quit, that you were going to quit.""Yeah, well, so I lied. I guess we both did."
I watched his eyebrows furrow, his eyes cloud in confusion.
"What? What did I lie about? Blake, tell me that. Because I don’t think I ever lied to you."
"Oh, come on Justin, please. You don’t want me to believe that the little blonde thing you were kissing on in the lobby is your true love, that you found it in the three weeks I’ve been gone. She’s just some groupie right, the one to keep you warm tonight. I guess my replacement didn’t appeal to you, huh? Thought you might care for her and her sad story, we all have one Justin. Every fucking prostitute on the face of this earth has a fucking sad story, and you were afraid, huh? Didn’t want to get close to her, didn’t want to hear her sobs, didn’t want to have to be the hero that your sensitive nature would force you to be? Are the groupies better Justin? Do they make your body hum the way I did?"
His eyes burned into mine, his fingers relaxing before he pulled them away. He looked down at the floor and then back to me. He took a deep breath, then turned and walked away. I watched him go, saw his shoulders slump, saw the muscles in his back tighten. He opened a door to his right and disappeared through it. I wanted to run after him and run away from him. I wanted to apologize and I wanted to yell some more. Conflicting emotions ran through me, as I tried desperately to name the emotion that covered his face as I said the words I said to him. Was it disbelief? Was it regret? It didn’t matter what the feelings were, he was gone, out of my life, our ties severed by my words. I didn’t know whether to do cartwheels down the hallway, or go bang on his door, fall to the floor in front of him, kiss his feet and beg for his forgiveness. As it was, I was late for my meeting with my client, I had the chance to do neither. I didn’t have the chance to think about it. For the first time since I returned to LA, I was meeting a client, and I was actually looking forward to the distraction of lying there while he used my body.
I took the several steps to the door. The numbers that Marie had given me emblazoned upon it. After several deep, calming intakes of air, I knocked. The door swung open before me. My gaze met the familiar eyes, the familiar facial features, the familiar body of the man that stood before me. I never expected him to be on the other side.