Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We enter the convention center and park in a spot reserved for Anthony. Walking to the front entrance is like walking the red carpet. They ask us to stop several times while they take our photos. Reporters seem to swarm everywhere. It strikes me as funny. If people knew how down-to-earth Anthony is, they’d probably lose interest. He doesn’t live the jet-set lifestyle his income would lead people to believe he does. He’s a simple man with simple needs.
The first thing that hits me as we walk in is the sheer number of smells I’m assaulted with. I say assault because the moment we enter, my senses are assailed by the pungent aroma of everything from curry to the sickly sweet smell of fresh-baked cookies. Any other day I’d have swooned at the scents coming from the various vendors, but today I’m overwhelmed.
Booths are set up everywhere, and each is showcasing some delectable morsel or beverage. People are strolling through the space as white-jacketed servers walk through the crowds, peddling whatever their trays are loaded with. I break free of Anthony’s hand and head straight for the bar. A glass of sparkling water and a peppermint will remedy what ails me. I ask the bartender to put a splash of bitters in my drink. It’s a surefire cure for a weak stomach.
“Still queasy, I see,” he says as he orders his drink. I didn’t realize he’d followed me over to the bar. I shouldn’t be surprised; he always seems to know exactly where I am.
“I’m okay. It was just the first onslaught of smells, but now that I’m acclimating to it, I’m fine.” He receives his Diet Coke and shakes his head.
“I knew we shouldn’t have come. You look pale again.” He narrows his eyes and purses his lips. He’s not happy.
“I’m fine. I am,” I respond, not sure if it’s him or me I’m trying to convince.
He slips his hands into mine and threads our fingers together. We walk around the venue and mingle. I recognize the faces of Emeril Lagasse and Wolfgang Puck. As we round the corner, I hear the unmistakable voice of Paula Deen. I love her Southern twang. I feel the pull as Anthony directs me to a quiet corner where a younger man is sitting. He looks familiar, but I can’t place his name. As we get closer, I realize it’s Jamie Oliver. He has done so many positive things in addressing childhood obesity.
“Hey, Jamie, how are you?” I hear Anthony say. He walks over to the blond chef and shakes his hand.
“Anthony, so good to see you. I’m just hiding out here for a bit. The crowds can be overwhelming. Have a seat.” He motions for us to join him at his table. “Who’s this with you?”
I reach out my hand and offer it to the man in front of me. His warm hand embraces my own as he brings it to his mouth for a gentle kiss. If I weren’t already in love with Anthony, I’d have swooned. “Hi, I’m Emma Lloyd.” I pull my hand back down and place it in my lap.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Jamie. This is my girlfriend––my Emma.” Anthony pulls me possessively to his side .
“I’ve been in London for far too long,” he says in his English accent.
“Watching you kiss my girl’s hand, I think it’s time you went straight back to your wife and kids in London, my friend,” Anthony quips. I giggle at his comment.
After several minutes of chatting, we decide to make the rounds, leaving Jamie behind. I walk to where I see Kat and Damon standing near a wine vendor’s booth.
“Love that outfit, Kat.” I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. She turns around and smiles at me. She looks happy to be rescued from the endless drivel about this year’s grape crop.
Kat and I head toward the corner of the booth, so we don’t interrupt the conversation being held by Damon and the wine vendor. Anthony walks up to Damon and joins in their discussion.
“You look a little pale today. Are you okay?” Kat asks with concern in her eyes. “Are you sick?”
“I’m having a little tummy trouble today. Remember when I used to get sick from spicy foods?”
“It was the wasabi from yesterday, wasn’t it? I was wondering why you ordered a spicy tuna roll. I thought it was brave, considering your history.”
“It was so good, though. I felt fine until I walked into this room. I thought for sure I was going to throw up again. I was sick this morning, but I’ve grown accustomed to the smells, and I’m good now.”
Kat and I talk for a few minutes until I feel a strange hand wrap around my waist. It’s not Anthony’s; I’d know his touch anywhere. I look to my left and see Blake Havers standing entirely too close to me. I think back to Anthony’s description of him, and he does look like a slimy little worm.
He leans over and plants a wet kiss on my cheek that makes my skin crawl. I never had that reaction to him before. Maybe it’s still my stomach bug. I reach down to his hand and try to break his grip on my waist, but he pulls me tighter against him .
“Hello, Mr. Havers, how are you? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.” I greet him with kindness, hoping he will just say hello and leave.
Kat gives me a look that says, Who the hell is that?
“Kat, this is Mr. Blake Havers. He is a highly esteemed food critic. Mr. Havers, this is my friend, Kat. She works at Ahz and is engaged to Damon Noble.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Havers. Have you been to Ahz? Anthony Haywood’s is there. You should come and dine with us someday. I’m sure Anthony and Emma would love to host you for an evening.”
I subtly try to give Kat a dirty look that says, “no damn way.” At the mention of his name, I see Anthony look our way. His smile fades to a grim line as he looks at Blake and his hand placement.
I try once again to pry his hand from my waist, but I’m unsuccessful in my endeavor to free myself.
Blake’s face comes close to my face. He breathes against my ear and whispers, “You look all cozy, sidled up to Anthony Haywood. I watched you walk hand in hand around the venue today. Had I known that it was just a money thing, I’d have paid double to get into your pants.” His tongue darts out and leaves a trail of his saliva down my neck. The smell of liquor on his breath makes my stomach lurch. It takes every ounce of energy to break free of his grasp and push him away from me. In his inebriated state, he stumbles back and crashes into a table, sending wine bottles and glasses flying everywhere.
Everything from that point on seems to happen in slow motion. Anthony sees me push Blake away from me and comes rushing to my aid. Kat grabs my arm and pulls me away from the chaos. Blake is covered in wine and broken glass. Several photographers are snapping pictures rapidly. How is it that there is always paparazzi around when you least need them to be? It’s a photographer’s dream, but a celebrity’s nightmare .
Blake stands and brushes the glass from his trousers and turns on me once again. “You’re just a whore for hire,” he yells for the entire world to hear.
In the next instant, I watch as Anthony’s right hand fists up and takes the shot. His aim is dead on. Blake Havers falls flat on his ass, out cold.
Kat pulls me farther off to the side and sits me down. She must have seen the shock in my face as the scene unraveled. I try to get up to see what’s happening, but dozens of reporters are snapping pictures. This is going to be front-page news.
It doesn’t take long for security to arrive. I’m grateful when they take all of us to a small room away from prying eyes and telephoto lenses. I just created a spectacle that will generate a lot of bad press for Ahz and Anthony.
I look over at him sitting in the corner. His expression is grim, and his eyes are full of fire. He’s still pissed. The only thing keeping him under control is the paramedic looking at his hand. They seem to be checking to see if it’s broken, and I watch for any sign that the injury is more serious than it is.
I see another paramedic running smelling salts under Blake’s nose. He shoots up as if someone set his feet on fire. He looks disoriented, but as he sets his sight on me, it appears as if he has a good recollection of everything that has gone down.
I watch in horror as Blake asks to see a police officer. He is yelling that he wants to press charges. His face is mottled red as rage spews from his lips. “That whore’s new John punched me.” His hands flail around, pointing to me, and then to Anthony. “I will own you, Mr. Haywood. Everything you have will belong to me, including her. She is all about the money.”
I’d have risen myself and rushed over to punch his face if I didn’t see Anthony bolt for the man and land another direct hit. Blake Havers is silenced once again.
It takes two hours to sort through everything. The police fill out many reports, including one from me accusing Blake Havers of inappropriate sexual behavior. I could’ve accused him of kidnapping the minute he wouldn’t let go of my waist and held me in place. His hands on my body can be categorized as sexual assault. They accuse Anthony of two counts of assault and battery.
In the end, we all drop the charges. It wouldn’t suit any of us, or our careers, to be in court for years. That I could press serious charges against Blake left him no choice but to drop everything.
The paramedics wrap Anthony’s hand in a bandage after stitching his right middle knuckle. It was the last blow that broke his skin. Kat has been by my side the entire time. Damon has been trying to calm Anthony down for the last half hour. The police escort us out of a back entrance so we can avoid the press. Unfortunately, they are waiting in the garage. I take Anthony’s keys, and we dash straight for the Aston Martin. There is no way he can drive with his hand all bandaged up. We take a lifetime to maneuver our way into the car. We say nothing to the reporters except, “No comment.”
I put the car in reverse and back out without hitting any cameramen. We spend the ride home in silence. I reach over and turn on the radio, only to hear the song “The Fighter” by the Gym Class Heroes playing. The irony is not lost on me. Anthony sits brooding in the passenger seat with his head leaning against the window.
“Do we need to listen to this song?” he asks.
I glance at him. I’m met with a look of fierceness that leaves chills running up my arms. I have never seen him look so angry.
“Change it to what you want. I didn’t choose it; it’s what was playing when I turned on the radio.”
He reaches over and presses another button on the car stereo. The next song that plays is “Titanium” by David Guetta. It’s as if the universe has created a playlist for our day.
I wind my way down the canyon and up the street we live on. When I pull into the garage, I barely have enough time to put the car in park before he jumps out. We are still rolling forward when he rushes out and slams the door. I’m left alone in the garage again.
I turn off the ignition and sit for a few minutes in silence. I’m scared to go into the house. My heart races, and I feel a full-blown panic attack coming on. I haven’t had one in years. My heart rate seems off, and I feel like I may die. I know I won’t, but the feeling is awful. I can’t breathe. There is an immense weight on my chest. My mouth is dry, and yet I’m sweating profusely. The scared feeling that overwhelms me is paralyzing.
There has been so much stress the last few days, and it’s taking its toll on Anthony. The look on his face reminded me of my dad when my mom disappointed him. I understand he isn’t my dad and isn’t going to respond as my dad would, but it’s hard not to go to that place.
What I want to do is run to Kat’s house. It would’ve been my natural response to a crisis. However, I can’t run away anymore, so I take a few deep breaths and inhale and exhale slowly. Once I get my breathing under control, I square my shoulders and exit the car. This situation isn’t going away on its own.
I trudge into the quiet house and walk over to the sink to get a glass of water. I don’t need to turn around to know Anthony’s in the room, but as soon as I do, I see him looming over me. His expression is one of unadulterated anger.
“What the hell happened, Emma?”
I walk past him, not liking how he is trying to intimidate me. I’ve never seen this side of him. He’s acting like a bully, and I did nothing to deserve his wrath.
“What do you mean, what happened? I didn’t do anything except push Blake away. He was inappropriate, and he licked my damn face. I tried to get him to loosen his grip on me. He wouldn’t let me go, so I had to push him hard. He was drunk, and he stumbled backward. He hit the table and sent everything crashing. ”
“Did you sleep with him?” he yells. I don’t know if I’m more surprised by the question or the tone of his voice. It’s not a question. He thinks I slept with Blake.
I can’t even think at this point. My world is crumbling around me. I knew things were going too well for too long. I stare at Anthony for a second and turn to walk away.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” he yells louder. “You can’t run from this, Emma. The man publicly called you a whore. I have to ask myself why a man would do that?”
The tears are stinging my eyes as they pour down my cheeks. “If you have to ask that question, then you don’t know me. I thought you were coming to defend my honor today, but you were just worried about your reputation. I was so convinced you were the one. I could never love someone who has so little faith in me. Screw you, Anthony. You’re just as big of an asshole as Blake Havers.”
I take my keys and purse and run downstairs to pack my bag. It’s time for me to go home. I get halfway down the stairs before I hear the unmistakable sound of breaking glass, and it transports me back in time.
I’m a twelve-year-old girl climbing out of my bedroom window. I hear shattering glass and the screams of my mother as she puts up the last fight of her life. My father yells at her, calling her a whore and she tells me to run to Kat’s.
I feel disoriented; nothing is as it should be. I climb into the closet and crawl deep into the corner. I bury my face in my hands and sob.
The minutes pass like hours. The house is silent as I hide in the closet like a terrified child. I finally get my tears under control, but my stomach is in knots. I feel physically ill. The fiery burn of bile rises in my throat and threatens to spill from my mouth. I make a mad dash out of the closet and into the bathroom just in time to empty my stomach. There isn’t much to lose since I ate very little today .
I wash my face and focus on packing my bag, grabbing my essential bathroom items and several changes of clothes. I hastily toss my things into a bag and breathe deeply. At the bottom of the stairs, I try to gain the courage to take the twelve steps up because I have no idea what will be waiting for me when I get upstairs. Will he still be in a rage? I refuse to repeat the mistakes of my mother.
I take the steps one at a time, reach the landing and listen intently. All I hear is the crash of the surf as it smashes against the sand. Most times, it’s a soothing sound, but tonight it sounds angry. The waves are loud and furious, just like Anthony. The wind blows through the open door, and a chill runs down my back.
I glance around to see what had been broken but find nothing out of place. My eyes are drawn to the beach, where I see the silhouette of a man. I can tell it’s Anthony by the sheer width of his shoulders, and the fact that no one else would have access to his private piece of paradise. He’s sitting on the sand, facing the water with head is in his hands, and his elbows are on his knees.
My first instinct is to run out and wrap my arms around him, to comfort him, but who will comfort me?
I take one last look before I walk into the garage and out of Anthony’s life.