Now
“Jacqueline Olsen?”
I answered my phone as I sat downstairs at the hostel with a couple of the other guests while they watched an action film on Netflix.
“Um, yes?” I responded.
It was an LA area code, so I answered, hoping it was a potential job offer.
“This is Lauren from Bon Appétit. We’d like to offer you the server position you interviewed for if you can start tonight.”
I gasped. “Of course. I can start right now.” I jumped up from the couch.
She laughed. “Great. We’ll need you for the 4 to 10 p.m. shift. Come dressed in black pants and a crisp, white button up shirt. Comfortable black shoes.”
“Okay, yes! I will be there!”
“Thanks. See you then.” She hung up, and I squealed with excitement.
I ran up to my room to grab my purse and go shopping for new work clothes. I had four hours until I had to be there. As I walked back downstairs, I grabbed my phone and realized I had no one to share this good news with. Loneliness suddenly crept up through my chest, and I stopped in my tracks. Don’t feel sorry for yourself, Jackie. You can do this . I was surprised at my inner monologue—she was nice to me for once. I continued on, taking the bus to West Hollywood to the Beverly Center; the restaurant was only a few blocks away, and I wanted to reacquaint myself with the area. I spent many of my teenage years stealing from the shops at the Beverly Center and sneaking cans of beer from the gas station across the street.
As I walked around H he probably recycled, gave money to charity, and fed stray cats in his neighborhood. He opened the passenger door for me and I kept repeating to myself: Do not trust him. Just because he’s nice doesn’t mean he’s not a monster . He got into the driver’s seat and started the car, glancing over at me with a smile before he drove off. I sensed that he was nervous. I couldn’t figure out, for the life of me, why he’d be nervous around me.
“So, Jacqueline. Not to pry, but don’t you have family around here you can stay with? Since you’re from here?” he asked as we waited at a red light.
I sighed as I looked ahead. “I don’t have family anymore,” I answered vaguely.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized.
I shook my head as I turned to smile at him. “You didn’t know. It would be safe to assume I have family here. But I was an only child and…I lost my parents when I was young.” Why am I volunteering this information?
He quickly glanced over at me with sad eyes as he drove. “That’s rough. My dad died when I was young too. I know how traumatizing that can be.”
“I’m sorry.” I wanted to change the subject. “So, where exactly do you live, Hot Elliott?” I asked, hoping to divert the attention to him.
He was smiling now.
“I’m in Los Feliz, not very far from here.”
I nodded. I only knew of beautiful houses and good dive bars in Los Feliz.
“And why exactly are you single?” I wanted to get the hard-hitting questions out of the way.
He looked over at me with a surprised grin that quickly faded. “If you must know—I’m widowed. I lost my wife four years ago.”
My heart dropped. Oh no . “I’m…I’m so sorry.” I shook my head at myself. Okay, so maybe he’s perfect…and maybe he really is just a nice guy. My guard was starting to slowly fall to the ground.
He shook his head as well. “Yeah. So…you’re really the first woman I’ve talked to for this long since she passed.”
My mouth shot wide open. “Why me ?” I muttered.
He took a moment to respond as we pulled into a parking lot that looked familiar; I realized it was across the street from a grocery store I used to frequent.
His face grew even more serious. “I don’t know. I just felt…drawn to you for some reason. I can’t really explain it.” He shook his head at himself and I wanted to reach over and kiss him. Instead, I made a self-deprecating joke.
“Because you’re a therapist and can sense a crazy person when you see one.” I laughed.
He gave me a small smile as he turned to me. “You keep calling yourself crazy—a mess. I’m not sure if a ‘crazy mess’ could be in Los Angeles for just a few days and land a great job like you have. You’re completely self-aware, maybe even painfully so, and that must be hard for someone who seems so sensitive and smart.”
I nodded, tears forming in my eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said with widened eyes.
I laughed, a coping mechanism for any strong feeling. “It’s okay. I’m sure you’re aware that I make self-deprecating jokes to mask how I really feel. As a therapist, I’m sure you can see right through me.” I shrugged.
He shook his head. “This isn’t from a therapist’s perspective. It’s from…me. I know you’re really smart and kind—I can tell that. And funny.” He raised his eyebrows at me playfully. “You’ve told me about your trauma and how you can’t trust anyone. But I think…I think it’s okay to let your guard down sometimes.”
I stared at him, my eyes falling to his lips. My guard was still up and fully locked. Does he always use these lines on women he meets? How do I know he hasn’t said this to a million other women before me?
“I…I can never trust anyone, Elliott. You don’t understand the extent of my trauma. It’s amazing that I even agreed to come have a drink with you,” I admitted, tears pooling in my eyes again.
He nodded. “I’m sorry for upsetting you. Do you think we can still try to have a nice night? Or would you like me to take you back home?” He seemed upset with himself. He wasn’t trying to be pushy, he wasn’t trying to kiss me; he was just talking to me. And he was offering me an out.
I sighed then smiled. “I really want to have this drink with you. I think that’s what terrifies me the most.”
His lips slowly curled into a smile. “If at any time I make you uncomfortable, please don’t hesitate to tell me. Or you can just tell me to fuck off. Then I’ll get you an Uber home.”
I shook my head. “Oh, you sweet thing. By the end of the night, I’m sure I’ll have made you more uncomfortable than you’ve ever felt.” I was warning him now; I knew I would probably say too much with some drinks in me.
He laughed and nodded. “We’ll see.”