Love, Lex (11 page)

“I was afraid of that.” Yesterday in jail trigged a dark
storm in her head and heart.

We made our way down the narrow hall toward the public
restrooms. They were located right past the “Most Wanted” wall and payphones.

In order to get to Vive’s place safely, I’d have to disguise
myself.

“How bad it is out there?” I bit my lip and glanced toward
the front doors but couldn’t see much.

“Horrible. Every TV station is lined up on the sidewalk.” He
scratched his chin and continued, “Let’s see, there are all the local and
national stations, Germany and Italy. The Soho arsonist is popular in Japan
too. Apparently, there’s some Japanese horror movie where a girl goes around
blowing stuff up when she gets pissed off. That’s what they’re associating you
with.”

“It’s an American book made into a movie you goof. And
you’re thinking of
Carrie
by Stephen King.”

“No. That ain’t it.” He knocked on the handicap bathroom
door.

“Out in a second,” someone shouted.

We waited.

“
Firestarter
, same author though. Drew Barrymore
starred in the movie adaption?”

He nodded a confirmation. “That’s some scary shit, boo.”

“Forget the press. What about Mom’s groupies?” I asked
uneasily.

“Birdie’s fan club camped outside overnight. I slept in
here, on the lobby floor.” Blake put his hand on his hip as if his back hurt
him. “I wasn’t sure when they’d let me see you. Anyways, those groupies kept
holding up the nastiest signs about you too.”

“What’d they say?” This was a new low in my life, for sure.

“Not worth repeating. Besides I took pictures. Don’t worry
the fans are all gone. Once Birdie held her press conference, their tunes
changed. They fled when they realized you are innocence.”

“Thank god. I thought for sure I’d be lynched. Then I don’t
need the bag.”

“Yeah,
gurl
, you do. The fans are gone. But, like I
said, every journalist in the world is waiting on the steps.”

“Why?” Shock flew through me.

“To ask you if you
really
tried to kill your mother.”

“They don’t believe Birdie?” I leaned up against the wall
feeling faint.

“Miss thing…the press ain’t Birdie’s fan. Her groupies will
do whatever she says. If she tells them to leave you alone, they will. But the
media—” Although his lips parted, he appeared hesitant to tell me what I
already knew.

“Just say it!” My anxiety soared.

Then he finished, “—every network from ABC America to the
BBC England has aired the video of you and Vamp following the Bentley.”

“So what…” Forgetting that I wasn’t innocent, I scolded him
as if otherwise. Note to self, you are a guilty twat.

“Honey, I could give a witch’s tit if you set fire to the
penthouse or not. You may have been dismissed from the legal system, but to the
world, ya look guilty as sin,” Blake warned half seriously.

“So they’re buzzing around out there waiting to get at me?”
Terrified, I poked my head down the hall again hoping to get a better glimpse.

My childhood fears about being made fun of in the press came
back stronger than before. I realized being the daughter of Eddie and Birdie
meant paparazzi would be following me for the rest of my flippin’ life. I hated
that.

Would I ever know normal? What was normal anyways?

“Like a pack of bees ready to sting.”

An elderly lady came out of the bathroom. Blake held the
door open and nonchalantly greeted her as if she hadn’t taken the stinkiest
dump of her life.

“Let’s hope no one recognizes me.” Snatching the bag from
him, I pulled it into my chest. 

“Man. It smells!” He clenched his jaw.

“Make sure no one comes into the bathroom, please.”

“Oh trust me, it reeks so bad in there, no one will.” Waving
under his nose, Blake shut the door.

Holding my breath, I had to make this quick. In the bag was
a black wig. The shiny straight fibers reminded me of Asian hair. I pulled my
blonde hair up into a bun, stretched the skullcap on, and then adjusted the
strands to appear natural. Taking a look at myself in the mirror, I resembled
Katie Holmes on Dawson’s Creek.

Move over Lex Easton—here comes Joey Potter.

My lips puckered with annoyance. Alright, I’ll admit I was a
tad plumper than Joey or Katie.

Also inside the bag was a shirt and a pair of faded denim
overhauls, in a plus size. Damn Blake was good. No one in their right mind
would guess this was me. I stepped out of my designer stretchy pants into my
disguise. Then I swapped out my boots for the pair of Converse.

Ughhh.
They were half a size too small. I squeezed
those effers on my left and then my right foot. “Ouch.” Making it work, I
walked out gratefully inhaling the lobby air.

“Ready?” Blake held out his arm.

“Let’s roll.” Slipping a New York Giants baseball cap over
my head, I pushed a pair of sunglasses over the bridge of my nose as we left. I
glanced back over my shoulder; no one noticed.

Blake wasn’t in the public eye, not like Taddy or Vive. Born
and raised in Connecticut, his picture hadn’t been taken for anything other
than their family album. I adored his
unassuming
ways. He’d called it
his New England roots.

We held hands and stared ahead at the reporters. A quick and
upsetting thought struck me. What if they all turned around, at the same time,
and jumped me for questions while taking photos. Leaning in to Blake, I put one
foot in front of the other and started to walk past them. A suffocating
sensation tightened my throat with every step.

“Where is Alexandra the Great?” one of them asked.

I gasped in panting terror, but kept moving.

“The Soho Arsonist should be out any minute,” another
reporter replied.

Frickin-A, the warning voices screaming in my head said to
run like mad.

Two and half blocks later, we’d made it to the limo.

“You don’t think anyone followed us, do you?” Blake held up
his hand, blocking the sun from his light eyes, and looked around. 

“Don’t get cray on me please. Come on.” I reached for the
car door.

We piled into the back of the Bentley. The camel-colored
leather interior and cushy seats felt comfy on my bum compared to the jail
bench I’d slept on last night.

Once we closed the doors, a visual of Taddy in this very
limo, drinking with Vive—their heads bobbing back and forth, right before we got
pulled over—came to mind.

Nah, we’ll be fine, I thought.

“The Sherry Netherland, please,” Blake said to the driver.

I noticed he wasn’t the same chauffeur we’d had before. I’d
feel horrible if Mr. Farnworth had fired the one who’d been arrested with us.
Poor bastard, probably quit. I made a mental note to ask Vive later.

“How many Bentley’s does Vive have?” I tapped my hand on
Blake’s knee. Maybe this wasn’t the same limo.

“Four or five, it’s hard to say. With that FF logo on the
back, they’re all identical. Why?”

The car pulled out onto Centre Street and headed north.

“We probably should’ve taken a cab or the subway. Not
this
limo.”

“Why not?”

“When we got arrested, this ostentatious set of wheels was
on TV with us,
hello
.” I snapped at him. I didn’t mean to.

“Ohhh, right.” Blake’s face flushed. He glanced out the back
window. “All I see is a white SUV behind us.”

“Could be reporters.” In fact, I’d bet my fuck-it bucket
that they were the press.

“I’ll keep my eye on ‘em.”

Leaning forward on the bench toward the driver, I said, “No
sir, actually we need to go to Pier 76 over on Thirty-Eight Street and Twelve
Avenue, please.”

“Kindly ignore her.” Blake scolded. “Taddy and Vive gave me
strict instructions to bring you straight to the Sherry Netherland.”

“We gotta pick up Vamp.”

“No ma’am.” Acting butch, Blake crossed his arms. It was
cute. “That’s why last night I got you this Dylan’s candy. No stops. I’ll get
your scooter later.” From the far seat, he plopped the bucket on my lap.

“Just cause you’re a top with your boys in bed doesn’t give
you the right to boss me around, Mr. Morgan.” I gritted my teeth.

“Gurl, you deaf? I said
no
.” He always acted like he
knew best. Usually he did.

I put my hand over his mouth to shut him up and repeated the
address of the impound place to the driver, who then began to turn a corner
taking us west.

Leaning near Blake’s ear, I whispered, “My mom fucked my
boyfriend. I spent the night in jail. While I appreciate the fuck-it bucket,
Blake, I need to take Vamp for a ride and release some birthday steam before I
blow up your dorm at school. Okay?” They weren’t calling me
Firestarter
for nothing, I thought.

“Fine,” his eyes narrowed. “But if anything happens on the
way home, I’m not to blame. I don’t need Taddy coming after me.”

“Deal!”

We shook on it.

Then I reached in the bucket and pulled out some Sour Patch
Kids. “There’s nothing better than this watermelon flavor.” I popped one, two,
three, four pieces in my mouth and chewed.

Closing my eyes, I felt a slight rush. I chanted, “sugar” to
myself, as I had “cock” in my dream.

“Hahaha,” I laughed, thinking about my Ford fantasies.
Wouldn’t that be nice if they were real? I swallowed and then popped more
pieces in groups of two’s, four’s, and six’s in my mouth. I needed a fix. I
didn’t care. I couldn’t eat the candy fast enough.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about Birdie?” Blake adjusted
the air vents.

“Heck no. Kelle and I are done. I’m outta jail. Mom is
alive. Dad can deal with her. Case closed. I’m gonna eat my candy and go for a
ride on Vamp. Who know? Maybe I’ll end up in Canada today.”

“Say what?”

“I’m gonna ride Vamp till I run flat out of gas.” I took an
orange Sour Patch Kid and stacked up a green one, then yellow, and lastly, red.
I glared at Blake’s beautiful blue eyes and then bit their heads off, hoping to
make my point.

“Birdie is
very
sorry Lex. She wants to make it up to
you.”

Shaking my head, I chewed, then swallowed. “Oh no
siree…don’t you start defending her. Hey, I know. Why don’t
you
try
being her daughter for a few weeks and see how it feels. I’ll take Paulina
Morgan as my mom, and you can have Birdie.” Admiring the sneakers which had
started to become more comfortable on my feet, I crossed my legs.

“Fuck no, my mom rocks.”

“Paulina totally does. You’re the only one, out of the four
of us, who has normal parents. I love your daddy too.” I popped two more pieces
in my mouth then tore into a box of Nerds. Strawberry. Grape. Deliciousness.

“Thanks,” Blake said faintly, almost as if he were afraid of
my candy-eating capabilities.

The gummy texture stuck to my teeth. With my nail, I
discreetly scraped, swallowed, and said, “Okay, let’s hear it. How did you get
Mom to change her frickin’ mind?”

“Well—”

“Wait.” I held up my hand. If I was going to listen to this
dribble, a real sugar buzz was totally in order. Flipping the lid back, I
downed the entire box of pink and purple irregular-sized bits. I crunched.
Dang
this tanginess is sweet.
My heart sped up. “Alright, go.”

“Blackmail,” Blake grinned proudly.

“Meaning?” I buckled my seatbelt. I always forgot. Riding
motorbikes does that to a person.  

“I told Birdie that you wouldn’t tell Eddie that she’d
screwed Kelle if she held a press conference and admitted to starting the
fire.” Blake put his seatbelt on too. “Birdie told the Fire Marshal that she
was upset you were moving out. Distraught, she burned your dress and some
pictures you’d left behind.”

“Genius! I still can’t believe she took the blame.”

“You told me to do exactly that.”

“Hello, I was complimenting myself.” Patting myself on the
back, I then dug my nails into a Mallow cup. I licked the chocolate shell.
“Mmm. The hint of coconut gets me every time.” Then I slid the whole piece
between my lips and sucked out the creamy center. Again my mind flashed back to
Ford and his cock.

“Well, I tacked on
rehab
to your press conference
idea.”

“Rehab?” The marshmallow confection nearly lodged in my
throat. In between coughs, I asked, “Whaa?”

“About two hours ago, after the conference, Eddie drove
Birdie upstate for a month-long detox and a new way of life program.”

“Nooo!”

“Yup. Birdie wanted to go.”

Un-freakin-believable.

“Blake she’s never gone to rehab before. Heck, she refused
to go to AA and NA meetings. What the fudge did you say to her?” I pushed the
bucket and wrappers to the side and turned my body toward Blake’s. Grabbing his
hands, I felt hopeful for Mom. Maybe she’d get herself together once and for
all. 

“Well, this was when Birdie was starting to come down a bit
from her high.”

“She was cranky?” I recrossed my legs.

“Very. She kept calling me Don Juan.”

“He’s her dealer.”

“I know. She thought Kelle was Don Juan too. We’ll get to
that in a minute. So, how I got her to agree to rehab was I told her I’d call
the reporter at
People
Magazine.”

“When I called you from jail, we didn’t discuss this
strategy. Why would you do a thing like that?” Wanting some air, I cracked the
window.

“Birdie needed a zinger to snap her out of it. She was nutty
as hell. The idea came to me, I’d seen it on a past episode of
The Bold
& The Beautiful
. I ran with it. I told Birdie you’d give the reporters,
from prison mind you, a full exposé confessional on how she fucked your high
school sweetheart while trashed.”

“Come again?” I gripped onto the seatbelt, feeling a tummy
ache.

“At first, Birdie thought I was kidding. She laughed and had
agreed to take the blame if I didn’t tell Eddie. I knew shutting her up was a
Band-Aid. But sobriety was the real fix. You know us gays, we love our
dramatics. So I picked up the phone and called 411 and got the Time Inc.
building. I started to leave a voicemail for a reporter. Gave them Birdie’s
hospital floor number and everything.”