Here’s the thing: I erase people from my life.
The moment you become a liability, I discard you. If I get the sense that you will hurt me, I’ll remove your existence from my mind and my heart, leaving a vacant place amongst so many holes within me. And I’m good at it. Once you’re out of my life, I’ll never think of you. I move on. You won’t even have the pleasure of being an afterthought.
You can call me heartless if you want, but the best way not to get hurt and not to get your heart broken, is by pretending that you lack one. And sometimes, I believe it. Almost.
So as I finish getting ready for work tonight, I erase Walker from my mind once and for all. It’s better this way. And I decide to give Mr. Lawrence Rothschild a call since I have some time to spare before heading to the restaurant.
I reach for my discarded clutch on the floor, get his card, and grab my phone.
Sitting on my bed, nervously running my hands over my leather leggings, I wait for him to answer. After his phone rings four or five times, I’m about to hang up when he picks up.
“Hello,” he says in that toe curling voice of his.
I grip the phone harder. “Hi … um … okay … this is so odd, but we met last night at the Met. You gave me your business card.”
“Ah … did you grow tired of that boy you were with?” he says mockingly, sounding cool and detached.
“How do you—? You know what … never mind. It’s not important. I’m calling because I want to know what you meant exactly when you gave me your card.”
“It means that I’m interested.”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing. I can tell that you’re a smart girl. Why do you think a man my age would be interested in you?”
I grin, the nerves finally leaving my body. I know how to play this game. “I could ask you the same question, you know … why would a girl my age be interested in a man of yours?”
He laughs in return. “Touché. It seems to me that we understand each other perfectly then.”
I’m silent for a second, biting the inside of my lip. “Yes, I think we do.”
“I’m flying to Hong Kong tomorrow morning for business but I should be back next Saturday. Meet me for drinks and dinner. We can discuss, for a lack of a better word, what exactly it is I’m interested in.”
“Do you ever ask?”
“No. Why bother?”
It’s my turn to laugh. I shake my head and say, “I’ll think about it and give you a call … or not.”
“I get the feeling that you enjoy having the last word, don’t you?”
“Blaire. My name is Blaire White. And, yes, but who doesn’t?”
He chuckles. “Ah … beauty does have a name after all. I’ll be here when and if you’re ready.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating his next words. “And I hope that you will be, Blaire. I truly do.”
With the ball back in my court, the last word is mine once again. “We’ll see …” I say before hanging up.
Unmoving, I sit on my bed as I wait for the beating of my heart to slow down, and wonder.
“WHAT’S UP, GIRL?” ELLY ASKS when she sees me walking toward the bar. “You’re early tonight.”
Before I answer, I take a moment to watch Elly polish a glass with a white towel. Dressed in a skin-tight black dress, her short brown hair blown out straight, Elly takes my breath away. It’s funny that the two of us are best friends. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t need people’s acceptance to feel good in her skin—to know her own worth. Whereas me … well, let’s just say that I need constant reminders.
“Um, you don’t want to know.” I sit on a black stool, spread my black leather covered legs in front of me and stare at my shoes to avoid meeting her eyes.
“Oh, Blaire … who do you think you’re talking to here? Hello! I’m your best friend and I can totally tell that you’re lying to me.”
I shrug my shoulders and continue to admire my shoes, tilting them in every possible angle. “Turns out you were right about Walker.” I look up and smile. “Apparently, now that his girlfriend—soon to be fiancée—is coming back in town, I’m no longer needed.”
Elly's eyes widen and her mouth drops open. “Wait, what? No fucking way.”
Bored with my shoes, I lift my eyes and stare at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “Yep. What were his words? Let me think … Oh, got it! He said that guys like him don’t settle down with girls like me, and then he proceeded to tell me that I’m just pretty trash and that without him I’m worth nothing.”
Elly puts the glass she's cleaning down on the counter before she makes her way toward me. Once she's standing next to me, she wraps an arm around my shoulders as though she is trying to shelter me from pain. Her touch is comforting, but the gesture makes me twitch awkwardly in my seat. Men can fuck my mouth, bend me over a table, or do anything they want with my body. I don’t find any of it as uncomfortable and unsettling as Elly’s kind touch. I blame it on the years I went without my parents’ affection. Or maybe I’m just coldhearted.
“Fuck him. It’s his loss,” Elly says.
I tilt my ass to the side, pull out my red lipstick from my back pocket and apply it. I watch as the bright color fills my mouth, enhancing the paleness of my skin and the blackness of my hair. “Whatever. He’s officially part of the past. I’ve already moved on.”
“But—”
“Listen, I guess if my life were a movie, this is where I’d stay home and cry my eyes out for weeks on end because I just had my heart broken by the man of my dreams. But that’s not me, and that’s not what happened, Elly.” I turn to look at her, both of our gazes unwavering. “I dated him, yes, but it wasn’t love. So I’m not going to sit around in my apartment sulking while I wait for him to change his mind and call me back. And I’m not going to wait for an apology because that ain’t going to happen either.”
“I get that, Blaire, but I don’t think you’re as indifferent as you—”
“It’s fine, really. Anyway, does the name Lawrence Rothschild sound familiar to you?”
“I hate when you change the subject like that,” she says, glaring at me.
I extend a hand, offering her my lipstick. “Does it?”
She shakes her head no, muttering, “Figures … another asshole. Just what you need.”
I ignore her. Sometimes that’s easier than facing the music or reality. And reality can be such a cruel bitch.
“We met last night at the exhibit. He gave me his card, which I’m glad I kept, by the way, since Walker ended up dumping me. I did some cyber stalking, and turns out he’s a gold digger’s dream come true. I gave him a call before I came to work.” I omit the part about deals and possible money. I always have relationships with the men I suck dry because I don’t do one-night stands. I’m not in it for the sex; I’m in it for the long-term benefits.
I get the feeling that whatever Lawrence offers will be completely different, and Elly won’t like it one bit.
“Blaire, ” she says carefully as if she’s gauging her words and my reaction to them, “I don’t want to be that nagging friend, but you just ended things with Walker.”
The moment you become a liability, I discard you. If I get the sense that you will hurt me, I’ll remove your existence from my mind and my heart, leaving a vacant place amongst so many holes within me. And I’m good at it. Once you’re out of my life, I’ll never think of you. I move on. You won’t even have the pleasure of being an afterthought.
You can call me heartless if you want, but the best way not to get hurt and not to get your heart broken, is by pretending that you lack one. And sometimes, I believe it. Almost.
So as I finish getting ready for work tonight, I erase Walker from my mind once and for all. It’s better this way. And I decide to give Mr. Lawrence Rothschild a call since I have some time to spare before heading to the restaurant.
I reach for my discarded clutch on the floor, get his card, and grab my phone.
Sitting on my bed, nervously running my hands over my leather leggings, I wait for him to answer. After his phone rings four or five times, I’m about to hang up when he picks up.
“Hello,” he says in that toe curling voice of his.
I grip the phone harder. “Hi … um … okay … this is so odd, but we met last night at the Met. You gave me your business card.”
“Ah … did you grow tired of that boy you were with?” he says mockingly, sounding cool and detached.
“How do you—? You know what … never mind. It’s not important. I’m calling because I want to know what you meant exactly when you gave me your card.”
“It means that I’m interested.”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing. I can tell that you’re a smart girl. Why do you think a man my age would be interested in you?”
I grin, the nerves finally leaving my body. I know how to play this game. “I could ask you the same question, you know … why would a girl my age be interested in a man of yours?”
He laughs in return. “Touché. It seems to me that we understand each other perfectly then.”
I’m silent for a second, biting the inside of my lip. “Yes, I think we do.”
“I’m flying to Hong Kong tomorrow morning for business but I should be back next Saturday. Meet me for drinks and dinner. We can discuss, for a lack of a better word, what exactly it is I’m interested in.”
“Do you ever ask?”
“No. Why bother?”
It’s my turn to laugh. I shake my head and say, “I’ll think about it and give you a call … or not.”
“I get the feeling that you enjoy having the last word, don’t you?”
“Blaire. My name is Blaire White. And, yes, but who doesn’t?”
He chuckles. “Ah … beauty does have a name after all. I’ll be here when and if you’re ready.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating his next words. “And I hope that you will be, Blaire. I truly do.”
With the ball back in my court, the last word is mine once again. “We’ll see …” I say before hanging up.
Unmoving, I sit on my bed as I wait for the beating of my heart to slow down, and wonder.
“WHAT’S UP, GIRL?” ELLY ASKS when she sees me walking toward the bar. “You’re early tonight.”
Before I answer, I take a moment to watch Elly polish a glass with a white towel. Dressed in a skin-tight black dress, her short brown hair blown out straight, Elly takes my breath away. It’s funny that the two of us are best friends. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t need people’s acceptance to feel good in her skin—to know her own worth. Whereas me … well, let’s just say that I need constant reminders.
“Um, you don’t want to know.” I sit on a black stool, spread my black leather covered legs in front of me and stare at my shoes to avoid meeting her eyes.
“Oh, Blaire … who do you think you’re talking to here? Hello! I’m your best friend and I can totally tell that you’re lying to me.”
I shrug my shoulders and continue to admire my shoes, tilting them in every possible angle. “Turns out you were right about Walker.” I look up and smile. “Apparently, now that his girlfriend—soon to be fiancée—is coming back in town, I’m no longer needed.”
Elly's eyes widen and her mouth drops open. “Wait, what? No fucking way.”
Bored with my shoes, I lift my eyes and stare at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “Yep. What were his words? Let me think … Oh, got it! He said that guys like him don’t settle down with girls like me, and then he proceeded to tell me that I’m just pretty trash and that without him I’m worth nothing.”
Elly puts the glass she's cleaning down on the counter before she makes her way toward me. Once she's standing next to me, she wraps an arm around my shoulders as though she is trying to shelter me from pain. Her touch is comforting, but the gesture makes me twitch awkwardly in my seat. Men can fuck my mouth, bend me over a table, or do anything they want with my body. I don’t find any of it as uncomfortable and unsettling as Elly’s kind touch. I blame it on the years I went without my parents’ affection. Or maybe I’m just coldhearted.
“Fuck him. It’s his loss,” Elly says.
I tilt my ass to the side, pull out my red lipstick from my back pocket and apply it. I watch as the bright color fills my mouth, enhancing the paleness of my skin and the blackness of my hair. “Whatever. He’s officially part of the past. I’ve already moved on.”
“But—”
“Listen, I guess if my life were a movie, this is where I’d stay home and cry my eyes out for weeks on end because I just had my heart broken by the man of my dreams. But that’s not me, and that’s not what happened, Elly.” I turn to look at her, both of our gazes unwavering. “I dated him, yes, but it wasn’t love. So I’m not going to sit around in my apartment sulking while I wait for him to change his mind and call me back. And I’m not going to wait for an apology because that ain’t going to happen either.”
“I get that, Blaire, but I don’t think you’re as indifferent as you—”
“It’s fine, really. Anyway, does the name Lawrence Rothschild sound familiar to you?”
“I hate when you change the subject like that,” she says, glaring at me.
I extend a hand, offering her my lipstick. “Does it?”
She shakes her head no, muttering, “Figures … another asshole. Just what you need.”
I ignore her. Sometimes that’s easier than facing the music or reality. And reality can be such a cruel bitch.
“We met last night at the exhibit. He gave me his card, which I’m glad I kept, by the way, since Walker ended up dumping me. I did some cyber stalking, and turns out he’s a gold digger’s dream come true. I gave him a call before I came to work.” I omit the part about deals and possible money. I always have relationships with the men I suck dry because I don’t do one-night stands. I’m not in it for the sex; I’m in it for the long-term benefits.
I get the feeling that whatever Lawrence offers will be completely different, and Elly won’t like it one bit.
“Blaire, ” she says carefully as if she’s gauging her words and my reaction to them, “I don’t want to be that nagging friend, but you just ended things with Walker.”
