Helpless (4 page)

* * *

              A rare sunny London day in early summer.  No clouds, only blue sky and bright sunshine.  I’ve got two weeks at home before my next assignment.  What in the world am I going to do for two weeks here?  While I am sipping on coffee thinking about my options my phone rings.

             
Caller ID says Dad.  I get ready.

             
“Hello, Nat; how are you?  Back in London?”

             
“Got in last night.”

             
“Would you like to join me for lunch?”

             
I hesitate.  I wonder what his angle is.  In the end, boredom wins out.  “Sure.”

             
“Great.  Come on over to the club at 1:00.”

             
“Ok, see you then.”

             
“Bye.”

             
Ah, what a heartfelt conversation with a father that tried to have me locked up a few weeks ago.  I’d call that bizarre.  I hope he doesn’t try to harp on my boosters at lunch.  I’ll have to just walk out on him.  Still, I would like to have a dad who asks how my work is going and is part of my life.  I guess I’ll give him another chance.  What’s that up to now?  Two hundred and ninety? 
ha.
  Will I never learn?

             
But lunch is not too bad.  Even at this member’s only club people come up to dad and ask for an autograph.  I guess he’s a heartthrob for women in their 40s.  Rugged tan, tall and salt and pepper hair.  He has a fairly strong jaw and I think it is his green eyes, just like mine, that help him stand out from the other actors. 

             
He never refuses to give a personal autograph; therefore much of our conversation is interrupted.  That is perfect for me.  He keeps the convo light and soon his golf partner, some flashy female British actress, arrives and he kisses me on the check and tells me to behave myself.  Guess he doesn’t follow his own advice.  He is off to play golf with some arm candy and I am off to find something to do. 

             
Really, now would be a great time to call up a girlfriend from high school and chat and send her a ticket to London to spend the next two weeks with me.  But the way Mom ran our house, I never got to have sleepovers and build up bonds with girlfriends.  I am deep in thought as I pass George holding the shining door for me as I make my way up to my equally shinning apartment. 

             
I turn my thoughts toward the sports clothing line, trying to pin down an answer of yes or no to being their spokesperson.  I can’t concentrate.  I tap my feet.   I decide some afternoon coffee is in order.  That’s just what a fidgety red-head needs, more coffee.  I laugh while I walk into my sparkling white kitchen and pull out the organic dark roast. 

             
Anytime I shop, I shop organic for two reasons.  One is it is trendy.  All the A List movie stars and models have gone organic.  I’m building up my career and I want to be seen doing what the top level is doing.  Two is for my body.  I could care less about the spotted turtle frog or whatever people cry about needing a clean grassy home.  However, I know for sure that eating and drinking pesticides that the USDA takes money to pass as safe for people is going to age me faster than organic food.  I heard all about that while I was still living in Texas.  Here in the U.K. I’m not as up on what agency is being bribed to pass whatever new chemical is supposed to be none-harmful in whatever little amount.  It is all a bullshit game of buying the reports and getting things passed.  I don’t care, I have enough money to buy the expensive organic stuff and not put poisons into my body.  And bonus – I get to be seen in the stores buying this stuff alongside executives, stars, reporters and other top shelf personas. 

             
I also have to take care of my skin from the outside in with expensive lotions to go along with the food taking care of me from the inside out with pure nourishment.  Simple.  If the papers want to say how sweet I am for caring about some grassland in the middle of a swamp, good for them.  I’ll just smile and nod.  It is all a win for me. 

             
I guess there is a third reason too, if I take my boosters and the occasional pill to sleep, I have to make sure I don’t burden my body in any other way.  Kind of a way to balance it all out, I suppose. 

             
Anyway, the coffee is almost done so I’ll sip on the balcony and try to make some plans for at least tonight.

             
My mind buzzes with white noise.  I start to fidget and tap my fingers again.  Well, I was going to try to just do stuff around the apartment tonight, but I’m too wound up.  Guess I’ll go to the site and see if there is a lonely guy.  I really wanted to have some good sex.  I think about this again, and if that is what I want, I guess I am going to have work a little to get it.  I decide that instead of taking on any old guy, I am going to search out some rugged handsome guy for tonight.  This time I will look at the open posts.  Usually all I do is put out a post and wait and take the first guy that answers.  I’ll spend a little more time and search the posts the guys put out there.  Nothing like a change. 

             
After nearly a whole hour, I am, literally, just about to give up on the posts.  The pics of all the guys posting show grey hair and/or wrinkles.  I don’t’ seem to be finding my lumberjack.  Then I spot a post that looks promising. 

New in London.
  Looking for a fair-skinned beauty to spend a few days with. No strings. 

             
The pic is of a guy with a strong face topped with very dark brown, almost black, hair.  His pic looks like he is in his mid-thirties.  There don’t look to be any real wrinkles on his face.  This may work out.  I feel a little catch in my heartbeat.  Wow – could I actually be physically attracted to this guy?  That would be a really nice change. 

             
I send out an answer.  Of course I expect that within a few seconds I will have an acceptance of my offer.  Nothing.  I force myself to open a new tab and do some research on my competition – Rachel Barrgeone, the hottest fashion model around today.  I am coming up hot on her high heels.  That bitch is only two years older than I am and I am determined to start taking jobs from her by the time this year is out.

             
So, Rach has been sunning on the French Rivera.  Dashing to Paris at night to be seen in the clubs.  I can’t copy her exactly, but what she is doing is pulling in the paparazzi and getting her attention at the clubs.  Attention I deserve.  My hair is unique and totally natural.  My legs are longer. My skin is almost pure milky white, my eyes are just a stunning emerald green. Rach is just a run-of-the-mill blonde bimbo.

             
I frown as I start to compare my breast size with my rival’s.  An internal voice says she looks top heavy.  Another little voice says that is what the magazines are paying for.  I have to be desirable.  I make up my mind that maybe during the hottest part of summer after my next job I will discreetly increase my cup size by just one size.  That way no one will say I got my boobs done, but I will look more desirable and at the same time I can lose some weight so that my waist looks even thinner and thereby it will seem like my boobs are even bigger. 

             
I check the sugar daddy site for a response.  Nothing.  I toy with placing my own ad and just taking whatever old fogey answers when my phone rings.  I actually jump just a little from the sudden sound in my quiet apartment.

             
“Hello sweetheart, I just saw your Cabo spread and had to call. What a delightful set of pictures.”

             
Mom. I’m stunned. I have nothing to say. So I don’t.

             
“Natalie?  Dear?  How are you?  Come on, you just can’t be petty enough to hold a grudge this long.  Speak to your mother when I am only calling to wish you well.”

             
“Right. Hi Mom.”

             
“That’s better.  So, Cabo.  I really wish you had called me before you went down…” she let her voice trail off. 

             
I couldn’t help it.  I had to bite. 

             
“Why?”

             
“Well, dear, that tropical sun is just
murder
.  I did notice in one of the close-ups that you had a
WRINKLE
around your left eye.  I am sure the sun was drying up your skin.  I could have told you what blocker to use.  Now you are going to have to really take care of that eye all summer. You should have called me. You have been staying out of the sun since Cabo, haven’t you?”

             
My stomach clinches.  No.  I actually spent more time in the sun.  I can feel my left eye now, it does feel tighter.  Oh God, I feel like I am about to throw up. 

             
“Someone’s at the door, gotta go.  Bye.”

             
I click the connection off and rush to the bathroom.  I am headed to the mirror to take a look at my dry eye, but I don’t get that far.  I slide on my knees to the toilet and projectile puke.  I barely make it to the toilet.  I dry heave a few more times.  One hand is holding back my thick hair.  The other is holding the lid up.  How disgusting.  I get up and flush.

             
My whole body is shaking.  I can’t even look into the mirror right now.  I limp my way into the kitchen for a glass of water.  My whole body is flushed.  I feel like I am on fire.  My mind is spinning.  I grab a sleeping pill and wash it down with the next glass of water.  I am not even thinking now.  I have no idea what time it is, no idea if I need to eat or sleep.  I just know I need to mentally shut down.  Check out.  Sleep is all I can do right now.  I don’t know if I took a booster pill or not, so I take another blue sleeping pill to make sure I can wind down enough to fall asleep.  I can’t fool around, I have to go out now.

             
I hobble back to my bedroom and crank the air, then sink into my down comforter and pull it around me tight, just like a cocoon.  I wrap it so tight I can barely move.  My brain is buzzing so fast with images and thoughts but I have no idea what I am actually thinking. 

             
I am still shaking, then the world fades to grey.

My mouth is dry.  I try to move.  I can’t.  I don’t open my eyes yet.  Damn, am I in another fucking hospital?  My eyes don’t feel all gummy, I’m going to have to look around sometime soon.  I peek out.  Oh, thank God.  My room.  I’m just swaddled up in my own down comforter.

             
I twist and wiggle my way out.  The apartment is totally dark.  I remember I had my panic attack during daylight.  I wonder if this is the same night.  I click on the bedside lamp and sit up.  I check the clock under the lamp:  10:30pm.  So now I just need to figure out what day it is. 

             
I walk down the hall, much more steady on my feet now.  I find my laptop and think I better get a tablet – this laptop is starting to feel bulky and I think I remember seeing Rachel with a tablet.  I’ll have to have some sugar daddy get me one that is not even released yet.  That will impress.  I’ve got to get myself out to a few more club nights to make sure I’m seen by the paparazzi.  I blink my eyes while my laptop starts up.  Oh, yeah, dry mouth.  

             
Off to the kitchen.  Should I have a beer even though I just woke up?  I smile because I can do that if I want, it would be like beer for breakfast, but also the start of the night.  Then I picture my new boobs and a fat waist.  Water it is.

             
Google is blinking at me as I sit down and pull my laptop over.  I am settled on my cushy white couch.  I check the date/time on the screen and see I have actually been sound asleep for a little over twenty-four hours.  Great.  At least I didn’t miss a job or anything important like that.

             
My stomach growls.  Oh, yeah – I upchucked and then slept for a day.  Better eat.  But I am on a strict diet as of NOW.  I don’t have much in the house except for breadsticks, fruit and the like.  I’ll have to go out to eat.  No way am I going to eat alone, so I open a tab for my favorite website. 

             
After I log in I see a message flashing for me.  It is Tall Dark and Handsome.  I see he sent something late last night asking that I show him around London tonight.  Guess 10pm is a little late, but he should be grateful I even answer him.  I send out a message that I am available now if he can make it.  I get an IM right back asking where he can pick me up.  Good.  I don’t have to eat alone. 

             
I set my pick up for in front of the Arch as usual and head off to put on something ravishing.  Ravish is going to be the word for tonight.  Hope he is ready for me, because I am lustful tonight and hungry all around.

             
He pulls up to the curb and I swear he looks like he is barely twenty-five.  I am both disappointed and pleased.  I want a guy old enough to have money and know what to do with it.  Still, being out with a guy close to my own age would be a nice change.  When he spots me, an engaging grin crosses his face.  That’s good.  At least he likes what he sees.