Chapter 18
Sage
The next morning, my body aches as I stretch my muscles in bed. Rolling over, I check my phone. I have no missed calls, but a text from Charlotte and another from Jane.
I send a quick message to both saying that I haven’t spoken to Casey yet, but I’m safe at a hotel and will call right after I speak with him.
I’m not surprised that Casey hasn’t called or texted me back. Jane said as much before I left, but I can’t help feeling a bit miffed about it. I flew all the way here to see him.
I walk outside and I’m instantly cheered up by the sun warming my face and the palm trees lining the streets. Now that’s a sight I’ve never seen out east.
This is my first time in Los Angeles. Despite their hippie ways, my parents never felt drawn to come this way. They preferred the East Coast.
I consider taking a cab to Casey’s building, but it’s only four blocks away. Spotting a coffee shop down the street, I stop and grab some breakfast for us.
Every seat in the café is occupied, and no one is wearing a suit like I’d expected.
Whenever I visited New York, even at ten o’clock in the morning, there are people in suits walking the streets and filling up coffee shops.
Instead, there are a lot of yoga pants and crop tops, sweatpants and sunglasses.
Strangely, I look less out of place here in my sandals and flowy dress than I would in Manhattan.
“Morning,” the girl at the cash register greets me. “What can I get you?” She has the loveliest shade of green in her hair and perfectly straight teeth.
“Um, I’ll get a soy cappuccino, please, and a regular coffee.”
“Sure. What size?”
“A medium cup for the cappuccino, and a large one for the regular coffee.”
“So, one tiki, and one tapa. Anything else?”
“Tiki?”
“Yeah, that’s what we call our medium size here. Anything else?”
“Oh. Um, can I get two egg sandwiches?”
“Egg whites only?”
“No, the yolk is fine.”
She frowns and shrugs her shoulders. “Two dirty birds, then. Anything else?”
I don’t question the name, in case she’s the one preparing the sandwiches. “No, that’s everything.”
“That’ll be $42.50.”
“For two coffees and two sandwiches?”
“Yes. It’s Monday, so you got a ten percent discount.”
I’m not about to tell her that I think it’s too expensive and not the other way around, so I tap my credit card and smile.
“Next.”
I shuffle to the side and wait for my order. Some girls beside me chat about their yoga class. “He’s so hot, right? I mess up every pose, so he has to correct me.”
The girls laugh in unison, and I suppress the incredible urge to tell them that they could be putting their bodies at risk by intentionally posing incorrectly, but I mind my own business as Jane has warned me to do countless times.
“Tiki cappuccino, tapa coffee and,” she pauses with a strange look on her face, “two dirty birds?”
“Yeah, that’s mine,” I say, raising my hand.
She shakes her head. “Here you go.”
“Um… thanks.”
I walk the rest of the way to Casey’s apartment, stopping to give change to the homeless man on the street corner, and he nods his thanks.
When I arrive at Casey’s building, I groan when I see the same security guard in front of the desk. Wasn’t he here late last night? Does the man work all hours of the day?
“Good morning! I’m here to see Casey.” I hold up the bags. “I’ve brought him breakfast.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Mr. Tucker has left no note to let you in.”
“You’re not letting me in. I’m just dropping off breakfast, then I’ll leave.”
He hears the hesitation in my voice. I’ve always been a terrible liar.
“I’m sorry.”
“Come on,” I say in a squeaky voice and big smile. “I’m not going to bother him. I’m just going to leave the bags by his door. I promise I’m not a stalker. Here let me show you.”
I pull out my phone and show him a picture of me and Casey.
“That doesn’t prove anything, ma’am. There’s no note.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. This isn’t the FBI building. It’s not like I have a bomb or anything.”
The security guard’s eyes widen, and I immediately recognize my error. He reaches for the telephone, and I lunge across his desk to stop him. “No, no. I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m sorry. I just want to see Casey—”
“Sage?” a man’s voice calls from behind me. “Sage Summers?”
With my feet off the ground and my stomach on the desk, I turn toward the voice. A man wearing a grey suit and silver glasses is staring at me, but I don’t recognize him.
“Do I know you?” I ask slowly, but I don’t remove my hand from the security guard’s forearm in case he decides to call the police while I’m distracted.
“I don’t think so, but Casey mentioned you and hearing his name… and the way you look… I took a guess.”
The way I look? I purchased this yellow linen dress at an expensive thrift store in New York while I was visiting Charlotte. It was one of my best. I let go of the security guard’s arm but give him a stern warning with my eyes that I’m watching him.
“Are you here to see Casey?” he asks and nods to the security guard, who puts down the phone.
I stand and smooth out the wrinkles from my dress. “Yes. I’m sorry, who are you?”
“The name is Brett Campbell. I’m Casey’s agent.” Then he turns to the guard. “She’s fine, Sergei. She’s a friend of Casey’s. You can let her up.”
“I tried telling him that—”
“Casey has had many ‘friends’ loitering outside of his building.” He looks at me and smirks. “Although you don’t quite look like any of them, he was just being cautious.”
“Why do you keep mentioning that?”
“Mentioning what?”
I sigh, controlling my frustration. “The way I look.”
“Sorry. This is L.A. Sometimes I forget it’s not polite to do so. In showbusiness, people get used to being judged by what they’re wearing and how they look. They’re more thick-skinned, I guess.”
“I don’t think it’s thin-skinned to not want someone remarking on my body or choice of clothing.”
He shrugs. “That’s because you’re from New York. You take everything personally.”
“That’s rude,” I say, affronted.
He laughs. “See?”
I narrow my eyes. Not sure that he quite proved his point, but I leave it alone since he’s gotten me past security and we’re finally going up to Casey’s room.
“I brought him breakfast,” I say when he knocks on the white door. The walls are also painted white with black carpet on the floor.
He looks down at my brown bag. “Well, let’s hope that will induce him to open the door this time.” He knocks loudly and steps back.
“You mean, you haven’t seen Casey either?”
He shakes his head.
Shit. This is worse than I thought. He’s not just ignoring his family. He’s ignoring his business partners, too.
Brett knocks again, harder this time. “Casey, it’s me. I’ve got a friend here from New York that wants to see you.”
He steps back and shoves his hands in his pockets. We wait but no one opens the door. Brett lets out a sigh of frustration and balances on the heels of his feet.
Finally, after five minutes he shakes his head. “We should go. He’s not going to open the door.”
“How do you know? How long do you usually wait?”
He shrugs. “A few minutes. I texted him. He knows I’m on my way. But he never opens.”
“Brett, are you telling me he hasn’t left his apartment in a month? Have you tried contacting his doctors?”
“Are you kidding? He wants nothing to do with doctors. I suggested a second opinion and he flat out refused.”
“Maybe we should call the police for a wellness check or something?”
“I have. They said he’s fine. He’s just not opening the door to any of us.” He looks at his watch, then at me. “Are you staying nearby?”
“Yeah, just a few blocks away.”
“Come on.” He motions with his head. “I’ll drive you back.”
I shake my head. “Thank you, but I think I’ll wait here a little longer.”
He checks his phone while he says, “Suit yourself. If you do hear from him, call me. Here’s my number.”
I pull out my phone and create a profile. “Okay, I will.”
“Thanks. See you later, Sage.”
“Bye.”
I watch Brett step onto the elevator and nod as I lift my hand, waving goodbye. When the elevator doors close, I turn back to Casey’s door and sigh. Why won’t he open it? I knock lightly. “Casey, it’s me, Sage. There’s nobody else here.”
I wait, then lean closer, pressing my ear to the door. I don’t hear a sound. No shuffled footsteps, doors closing or even the television. If Brett hadn’t said the police checked on him, I wouldn’t believe he was in there.
“I’ll just wait out here for a little bit until you’re ready to open the door.”
I lean against the wall and wait.
The back of my head rests on some molding, so I scoot over to the door where the surface is smooth. Pulling my dress over my knees, I sit and close my eyes.
After a few minutes, I pull out my phone and doom scroll. I fall into a rabbit hole of cat videos that make me smile and miraculously an hour goes by.
I turn my head to the right, pressing my ear to the door, and listen. Still nothing. Surely, if he was inside, he would have gotten up or made himself a coffee or something.
The phone vibrates in my hand, and I check it. It’s an email from Professor Fox, so I open the message.
‘Dear Ms. Summers. I hope this note finds you well. I want to let you know that the interview process begins in a couple of weeks and I’ve included some reading material to help you prepare.’
I put my phone down and lean my head back again. He’s going through a lot of trouble to help me get this position. But I don’t know how I feel about it. I don’t want to leave Cedar Brook Falls. Maybe I can ask him if this job could be remote?
But reading the description, it’s clear that it’s not. What I love most about physical therapy is that it is hands-on. I get to be there for my clients, see the look that crosses their face when they do something difficult and then the pride when they get through it.
I ignore the message because I don’t know what to say right now.
Frustrated with myself and with Casey, I stand up and knock again.
“Casey, it’s Sage. I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Not sure if this is a promise or a threat. But I didn’t come all this way to give up on Casey so soon. I’ll be back tomorrow, and the next day. I’ll come every day until he finally opens that door. I won’t give up.
I grab the sandwiches and coffee from the ground and bring them with me.
I think about giving them to the security guard, but he doesn’t deserve it.
We glare at each other as I walk by.
I’m about to dump the food into the trash can outside when I remember the homeless man I saw earlier.
I walk briskly toward him, holding the bag up.
“Hey, I bought this for a friend but he’s not home,” I lie. It sounds weird even in my head to say that my friend doesn’t want to open the door to his apartment to let me in. “Would you like it? It’s a regular coffee and egg sandwich.”
He shrugs but sits up. I hand him the sandwich and smile. “Have a nice day.”
As I turn around, I hear him ruffle through the bag and pull out the sandwich.
I’m so glad that I thought of him. At least I made someone happy today. But just as I approach the corner, I hear him say, “Who the hell orders a dirty bird?”