Chapter 2 #2
She sighs. “Yes. But it took a good screaming match to get there. The fool doesn’t even get it, doesn’t understand why. I tell him my concerns, that I think he’s stepping out, and he’s just not budging. He’s lying. You know he’s lying.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “So, another fight?”
“A huge one.” She sounds so tired.
“You should have called me,” I tell her.
“You were on a date. I’ve interrupted your dates before and I don’t want to keep doing that.”
“Naomi, believe me, it’s okay. Call me next time and I’ll pick you up. You can stay the night.” I pause. “Why not come over tonight?”
“Nah. I should be here. He said he would watch a movie with me. Anyway, I’m sorry I laughed at your disaster date.”
I chuckle. “Well, it was a disaster. But hey…that’s my life. I’m inherently undateable.”
“Marina, you’re not.”
“I am. I should probably start putting out on the first date.”
“Look, honey. I’m not going to tell you how to date because Lord knows it hasn’t worked out so well for me. But you do what you feel comfortable with. If you need to sleep with a guy on the first date in order to keep him interested, there’s something wrong with him. You do you.”
“But the more I do me, the longer I stay single. I wish I could be like Laz and just get a girl with the snap of my fingers.”
“Girls are just as complicated.”
“You know what I mean. He gets the opposite sex without any effort. He dates them for months, then breaks up with them. He’s not getting rejected, he’s not getting hurt.
Then there’s me, who gets so far and then the guy just vanishes.
They all vanish. They can’t be bothered getting to know me anymore.
Fuck. Sometimes I just want to get laid. ”
“There’s nothing wrong with that either,” she says. “I would if I could.”
“You can,” I tell her. Though I know she won’t. She won’t let go of her upper hand.
“When he goes low, I go high,” she says. “But still…some honest dick wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
I burst out laughing. “Honest dick. I like that.”
“Let me know if you find any.”
After we hang up, I discover a text from Laz.
How was last night?
I respond
Shitty
He texts back:
How about we do lunch and go to B&N?
I smile, my heart growing warmer. Man, if he wasn’t my friend, Laz would be the perfect boyfriend.
Lunch in Studio City usually means scarfing down tasty treats at Umami Burger and then heading across the street to the Barnes and Noble that they repurposed in an old theatre.
Literally my idea of heaven and it’s become almost a tradition for us after we’ve had a bad day.
OK. I have to write a blog post and get ready. Pick me up in an hour
Why can’t you pick me up?
Because you’re the guy and this is your idea. See you then.
My blog post doesn’t take too long. Usually I update it every other day or so while I make it a point to constantly upload to Instagram.
My Instagram and social media feeds are the easiest part for me.
I have a huge database of microphotographs I’ve taken of my hives as well as bees out and about.
There’s a wealth of information about them I can share, so I usually just post a pic and a few lines about it.
Sometimes it’s me doing a hive removal and showing followers how insane some of the natural hives can get.
Sometimes it’s just of the queen, when I find her.
Other times I do slow-motion photography of bees.
I know it’s an odd career to have, but I love it.
When I went to university and got my bachelor of science, I got a minor in entomology.
To be honest, I’m not a fan of bugs in general and even more so after studying them, but I’ve been fascinated by bees for a long time.
Growing up just outside San Diego, my mother had several hives in our backyard and a huge garden.
Every single happy childhood memory came from being in that garden with her.
My heart clenches at the thought and I take a deep breath through my nose, closing my eyes and centering myself. I’ve been trying to wean myself off of medication lately through breathing exercises and I’m not quite sure if it’s working.
I go back to finishing up the blog post then wonder if there’s something else I need to do.
I started Palm Trees & Honey Bees two years ago, not really sure where my focus would be, but I was determined to become a full-time beekeeper.
I finally quit my job as manager of a local garden center a few months ago when I officially reached my goal but even so, I need to expand and find new ways of creating revenue aside from educational classes and hive removals.
The actual sale of honey, which I do out of the garage of the place I’m renting, doesn’t add up to much either.
Soon Laz is pulling up to the house in his vintage Camaro. It was originally a gift from his stepfather, and for various reasons he didn’t want to accept it. Now, thanks to Laz’s success as a poet, he’s been able to buy the car outright.
It’s black and sleek, with red leather seats, and it’s sexy as hell.
I lock up the studio (which is pretty much a guest house) and make my way around the narrow slice of pool, a layer of leaves covering it, that sits between my place and the main house.
As I walk through the side gate, the fig leaves brushing against me, I can feel Barbara, my landlord, watching me through the blinds.
I give her a wave without even looking at her and hurry across the lawn to the car.
“You know, I’d love to meet her one day,” Laz says to me as I climb in the passenger seat, nodding at the windows where the blinds are moving.
“Barbara?” I ask. “Good luck with that.”
“You said she enjoys handsome men,” he says with a waggle of his brows.
I roll my eyes. “Yes. She did. In the forties and fifties. She says you scare her.” I wave my fingers at him. “You know, the piercings and the tattoos and all.” With his aviator shades and leather jacket, he looks particularly badass today.
“She doesn’t know about my dick piercing, does she?”
I punch his arm, trying not to think about his dick. It’s hard with the pants he wears sometimes and I will myself to keep my eyes from drifting down to his crotch. “Grow up.”
In July I’ll be at the two-year mark of living at Barbara Sullivan’s place.
For those that don’t know, Barbara Sullivan was a semi-famous actress from Hollywood’s golden age.
She’s pretty much Gloria Swanson’s character from Hollywood Boulevard, all reclusive and living in the past, dressing up in old fancy gowns and piling on the pancake makeup from ye old days.
She usually played the woman in B-movies that someone like Clarke Gable cast aside for someone else.
But despite Barbara’s borderline agoraphobia and quirks, we get along really well and I love living there.
The property consists of the main house, the pool, the guest house, and the garage, on a half-acre backed onto the dry craggy hills of Coldwater Canyon.
She’s owned the house forever, and because of that, the rent I pay is pretty cheap too.
Plus, she gets companionship and honey out of the deal.
That’s when she feels like talking. Most of the time she watches old clips of herself and smokes a carton of Camels.
After my mother died, I really missed having someone older to talk to on the regular and offer advice.
I can’t talk to my dad, so Barbara is a pretty good substitute with some amazing stories to keep you entertained.
She has yet to meet Laz, though, or any of my friends. Like I said, she has her quirks.
“So, are we going to talk about it?” Laz asks as we start cruising down the street. It’s May and the jacarandas are in full bloom, one of my favorite times of the year. I roll down the window and hang my head half out, closing my eyes, focusing on the smell of the flowers above all the smog.
“I take it that you don’t want to talk about it,” he says. “That’s cool.”
I bring my head back in and glance at him.
It’s one of my favorite things to do. Just take him all in.
My friend, Lazarus Scott, is extremely hot.
He was hot when I first laid eyes on him at his band’s show four years ago, and he’s even hotter now.
I don’t know what it is about men, but they honestly only get better with age, and even though Laz is still super young at thirty, he just gets more handsome every day I see him.
He knows it too, the jerk. He’s cocky but thankfully not in an obnoxious way, and he’s quick to point out his faults. But even so, he’s got this cool confidence that I wish I could siphon.
I sigh and lean my head back against the seat. “I wish it was as easy as this.”
“As what?”
“You and me. Talking. I wish the guys I dated got me the same way that you get me.”
He grows silent for a moment and I look over at him. He’s frowning, his attention focused on the road. “Maybe you’re just dating the wrong guys,” he finally says.
“You think?” I laugh. “I thought everything was going fine with David as the night started. He took me to this nice Italian place in Calabasas, and yeah, I was a little jumpy with the caffeine and then a little drunk with the wine, and then I…well, it doesn’t matter.
But even before disaster struck, I could tell that he thought I was a weirdo. ”
“What the hell are you doing on these dates anyway?”
“Nothing! I’m just being me.” I stare out the window as we cruise down Ventura. “But I guess that’s the problem.”
“I refuse to believe that.”
“I appreciate your loyalty,” I tell him as a current of warmth runs through me. It always makes me feel extra good when Laz lays on the compliments. Sure, I get them from Naomi or when I’m messaging with Jane, but when it comes from a guy, especially an extremely attractive one, it means a lot.