Page 24 of Dark Ugly Places

“Yeah, I went to lunch. Look what I got.” Bambi twirls and shows off a few of the items.

“Very nice,” says Lucita, admiring her. “You look pretty, Miss Bambi.” Her round face falls. “How about I make some dinner? Something to eat?”

“I ate today. I told you I had lunch.”

“But it’s six o’clock. You don’t want dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Please, Miss Bambi, let me cook for you. Just something light, how you like it. A little salad?”

“I said I’m not hungry, Lucita.”

Bambi goes to her bedroom and checks her phone again. Jason should be finishing up the shoot and coming home tonight. He would arrive tired, have a drink, and do his nightly laps in the pool.

Downstairs, Lucita hums while she cleans and changes the towels in the guest bathrooms. Bambi hears her removing the washed linens from the dryer and muttering, “Ay, Dios mío,” probably because of that stain. But really, she should be used to seeing them by now.

Outside, the streets are quiet. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Is she the only person on the planet without one? Why does everyone seem to have a dog in Beverly Hills except her? Maybe tomorrow she should go buy a little fucking Chihuahua or something. But lately, the thought of caring for another living thing fills her with indefinable terror.

Bambi pops an Ambien and lies on the bed, the house still and quiet now. She spreads her arms out wide on the bed, letting the drug work. It’s a nice way to feel, like you’re falling, falling, falling into a pit, never to crawl out again. It’s gotten easier lately, reaching for the Ambien, the compulsion to take it stronger than ever.

She inhales the scent of the night air and the perfume of Jasmine on the breeze. A car drives past. Her eyelids lift for a split second. Jason?

Stop thinking about him, she tells herself. Just relax. He’ll be home when he’s home.

Bambi glances at the small golden-framed picture of them when they first moved to LA. As she closes her eyes, she can still see him, dancing under the flashing, colorful lights, the dimly lit bar behind him, everyone watching them. She can still feel her body in that dress, the way the fabric hugged her, her cleavage perky, her lips matte red with a new shade gifted by YSL. In moments, he was buying her a drink, his hand on her small waist, lips against her ear, talking loudly over the thudding music, the prickle of his stubble on her earlobe. Her chest burned with the shots, and when he got close again, his unshaven cheek was against hers—harsh, warm, and a little cutting. When he kissed her, he held her tight and slid his hand down over her left thigh. Normally, she would have stopped that sort of thing, but not this time. She never said no to him.

Outside, the headlights pass, and Bambi sits up to look for him. Sure enough, his car turns into the driveway. Beyond him, something skitters in the shadows. More paparazzi trying to get a closer look, perhaps. She shudders. Maybe she should call security, or maybe the police. Glancing back, though, she follows the shadow darting back from the curb until it disappears, moving with a strange, uneven gait. Then the Ambien pulls her downward, where the thought disappears along with the passing light.

10

Nicola

I’m alert as I drive home, my leg stiff and cold. Inside, the apartment is dead quiet, remnants of dirty dishes in the sink, the living room cluttered and untidy with laundry to be folded, Emmy’s school papers and books. I head upstairs, careful not to wake Emmy. Scotch must be asleep with her in his room, I think as I walk past his empty bed in the hall.

I practically fall into bed, the tiredness in my body soothed by the cold sheets wrapping around me. As I roll onto my side, the pain in my lower back shoots down my leg, causing my entire limb to go numb, dead, cold. I close my eyes for a moment, and when I open them, Ben is lying beside me. His large brown eyes stare into mine. I wriggle closer to him until we are nose to nose.

Do that butterfly kiss thing, he whispers. I lean into him, and he starts flapping his big brown eyes. I love you, gorgeous.

I love you too, Benjamin. I feel myself cry.

Whoever falls asleep first loses. He smiles, his teeth gleaming.

Okay, I nod, trying to keep them open.

I always win at this game now, he says.

The darkness closes in, and I know this is the end. The memory is soon to be complete. Stay with me a little longer, I ask sleepily.

I pull up the sheets between us, but Ben is gone. I turn onto my bad side, facing the window. My nerves crackle until my leg bristles with pain. Soon, my limb is cold and dead.

I can hardly feel a thing.

The next morning, I see Emmy hunched over the counter, her head cradled in one hand over a bowl of cereal.

“Em?” She glances up, uncontained and raw, like a toddler lost in the middle of a busy store and longing for a familiar face.

I place a hand on her back, and for a moment, I think I sense her heartbeat, fast, anxious. “How are you?”