About a mile down the road, Britney lowered the radio’s volume. “All right, I’ve decided we need to discuss this. Let’s get it over with so that we never have to talk about it again.”
Her flippant tone was incredulous. She’d decided? Well, if the queen bee had made her decision, then I was sure everything would be peachy. The way Britney scrutinized me with her eyes let me know I was her only problem at the moment. Basically, I was a dry peeling cuticle on Britney’s perfectly manicured finger. The other women were going along entirely fine with Britney’s plan. I was the only one showing any kind of remorse.
“We agree that we’ll never discuss this again after tonight, am I right?” Britney focused her attention on me.
I knew the answer I had to give, so I nodded. “No discussion after tonight.”
A devious smile spread across her gleaming pink lips. “Good, I’m glad that we understand.”
I was never so happy to see the lights of Los Angeles come into view. Thank goodness that earlier in the day Britney had picked us up at Whitney’s house. That meant I wouldn’t have to stay alone in the car with Britney. The last thing I wanted was to spend another second with her tonight.
Once at Whitney’s home, Britney pulled up along the curb in front. Lights shone from the windows of the white stucco mansion. My black Mercedes Benz convertible waited for me in Whitney’s driveway. After hurrying out of the Bentley with Whitney, I headed toward my car as if it was the life preserver that had been tossed to me as I fought not to drown.
“Bye, bitch,” Britney called out.
“Are you okay?” Whitney asked as she followed me.
Now she wanted to show an ounce of empathy? It was a little too late for that.
Once next to my convertible, I faced her. “No, I’m not okay, but I guess I have no choice in this matter, do I?”
As Whitney studied my face I realized I’d never noticed the extent of her ruthlessness and the remote look in her eyes. Without another word, she walked toward her front door. I had nothing else to say anyway. After climbing behind the wheel, I backed out of the driveway, releasing a pent-up breath.
Soon I found myself at the scene of the crime. I’d parked down the street a bit and would have to walk back to the alleyway. Before getting out of the car, I paused with my hands on the steering wheel. Being back there would only cause more anxiety, although I wanted my phone. I had no choice but to get out of the car.
Once a gap in traffic came, I opened the car door and climbed out from behind the steering wheel. Trying to look down at the sidewalk as much as possible, I hurried down the sidewalk as if everyone around me knew what had happened. I felt as if all eyes were on me.
When I reached the alleyway, I told myself this wasn’t a scary place and there was nothing to be afraid of. After all, this was Beverly Hills. Seeing the man’s makeshift home brought back a rush of emotion. Though I knew there were homeless people around since I’d seen security shoo them away on more than one occasion as the down-and-out residents had tried to panhandle near stores.
I inhaled and slowly released a deep breath. As if diving into the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel, I plunged into the alleyway. Immediately I froze. Everything was gone. The cardboard boxes and the man’s other possessions all missing. Security must have cleared out the area.
Slowly I walked down the alleyway until I came to the spot. My anxiety had spiked so much that I thought I might hyperventilate. Just find the phone and get out of here. To think a brief time ago the man had been living by this store. In a split second his life was over. This had probably felt like a safe place for him.
Surveying the scene, I soon realized my phone was nowhere in sight. Someone must have taken it while cleaning out the other stuff. Now I had to pick up a new one. My life was on that phone. Surviving through the night without one would be impossible. If I hurried, I could get a new phone before the store closed.
With one last scan of the area, I gave up and rushed away from the alley. Maybe if I put this all behind me it would be as if it had never happened. Sadly, I knew that was impossible. Remorse ate away at me. The man’s blue eyes would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Once back in my Mercedes, I released a deep breath. Checking the rearview mirror, I spotted people walking down the sidewalk. Were they headed to the alley? Since they carried shopping bags, I assumed they had no intention of snooping around the crime scene. I needed to get the hell away from here. Starting the ignition, I pulled away from the curb. No matter how far I drove, the memory would always be with me.
After a quick stop at the Apple store, I navigated the streets toward my house. Thoughts whirled in my mind like a sandstorm in the desert. Even with the overwhelming thoughts, I was thankful to be alone and away from Britney, Whitney, and Sophie.
Switching on the radio, I tried to concentrate on the songs, singing along to Bruno Mars, but that didn’t help. I tried filling my head with happy thoughts to get my mind off what had happened. However, with so few joyful memories, it was hard for me to recall true happiness. Shopping brought me happy memories. Now that had even been ruined for me thanks to Britney.
Moving to LA had been the last time I remembered being genuinely happy. The Greyhound bus ride from Atlanta to California had been unpleasant, but my hopes and dreams had kept me going. I’d had a hundred dollars to my name and an offer to stay in my friend’s aunt’s spare bedroom until I could do better. Now shopping gave me a temporary high, but it never lasted. What could I think about other than shopping or shopping?
Mine was a sad and pathetic life. It never really occurred to me until now. I had nothing else. No career, no children, and a husband who was someone completely different than I’d anticipated. I had no hobbies, and my friends were psychopaths. But I had been the one who chose this path. Everything I had done had put me here, so I had no one to blame but myself, right? This was my life. I’d have to deal with it.
Palm trees on the side of the street guided the way as I traveled down Hollywood Blvd. until reaching my street. When I’d first arrived in LA, I’d been in awe of my surroundings—the palm tree lined streets, the brilliant blue sky that gleamed like a mirror, and the sun that bathed everything with a golden glow. It had been almost magical. Now I took it all for granted. This was just another city like any other.
After the short drive down my street, I rolled up to my house. Perfectly manicured hedges enclosed the perimeter and an iron gate shut off the front of the drive from the rest of the world. Landscape lighting highlighted the palm trees on the front lawn. More lights beamed upward toward the backdrop of the white stucco three-story home, casting a silvery glow over the façade. I wasn’t Hollywood royalty, but the place cost a good sum of money. With over four thousand square feet, some may say the home was too big for just the two of us, but there were certainly more prominent houses.
Without a large house, I’d consider myself a failure. In my mind, everyone I’d ever known had expected me to be a complete failure. Possessing material possessions was my way to show them that I’d made it. Only I hadn’t made it. Beneath the designer labels was the same Alexsis from the small town on the outskirts of Atlanta, Georgia. My teachers reminded me often that I was an average student who hadn’t applied herself. Alexsis, the college dropout who never kept a job. Why couldn’t I get my act together?