Page 45 of Dark Ugly Places

Oh, sweet Nicola. You don’t know me at all, do you?

20

Bambi

All Bambi can think about is getting her heels off and sinking into a nice, hot tub. The fake smiles and too-bright flashes, the sweaty hands of strangers, and iPhones snapping away at her and Jason have all but zapped the last of her energy.

When she’s back in the crowd, Jason takes her hand and squeezes it just enough to make an impression on her skin. In moments, they are standing outside, the cool air blowing her dress slightly and lifting her hair from her shoulders. She shuts her eyes, taking in the fresh air, the pleasing sound of traffic, and the blissful moment of in-betweenness of being neither somewhere nor with Jason at home.

Jason seems normal enough as they leave the restaurant and say their goodbyes, but when they get into the car and the doors close, his energy shifts. Bambi can feel the tension in the air, the quiet seething blame like static electricity—as though somehow, the crab mix-up was her fault. Her hands quiver slightly as she adjusts the temperature of the car.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually cold,” Jason says. “It’s like seventy degrees outside.”

“I’m not cold,” Bambi insists. “I just feel a little funny, that’s all.”

His head whips around toward her. “You feel funny, Bambs? Well, that’s ironic, isn’t it?”

She holds silent, pressing her hands beneath her thighs.

“I mean, I was the one with an EpiPen in my leg two hours ago. You don’t see me whining about it, do you?”

She turns slightly to look at Jason as he drives along Wilshire, the veins in his neck bulging slightly as the car picks up speed. He pulls through a yellow light, then a red.

“Jason, slow down.”

“And now you want to tell me how to drive, too?” He laughs bitterly. “You models are all the same. Demanding and selfish as shit. Did you even think for one second tonight about me? Did you?”

And there it is, the vengeful, hateful tone she’d been dreading. Her stomach sinks as she puts her hand on his leg, one last attempt. “Of course I did, baby. Just relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax!”

Bambi swallows, the ache to be alone for a few quiet moments all-consuming. Good thing Jason is leaving tomorrow. And even if being alone feels different in LA, with its perpetually sunny skies, its fake people, and the sprawl of the city that lacks the excitement and anticipation of Manhattan, it doesn’t matter. She needs space to breathe. To think. To exist without him for a bit.

“Are you listening to a thing I’m saying?” Jason shouts.

Bambi nods, but her mind is elsewhere now, on her Craigslist ad, her one thing that’s hers and hers alone.

When they get home, Bambi pours herself a glass of water while Jason fishes in the fridge for a beer. When she comes to check on him, he’s lying in front of the TV searching through the channels.

He groans and tosses the remote control onto the large coffee table, then pulls out his phone and dials Agnes on speaker. Bambi stands listening as her voice answers, gruff and tired. It’s after eleven.

“Hi, honey, what’s up?” A smoker’s voice.

“I want the press lineup.”

“You have press on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, then the shoot on Friday.”

“Which shoot?”

“The Guardian. We’re doing Entertainment first, then People, Rolling Stone, and then The Guardian.”

“Fuck The Guardian. I’m not doing The Guardian.”

Pause. A cough. In the background, someone calls Agnes’s name. She ignores it.

“Okay. Can I ask why not?”

Bambi motions for Jason to calm down. But she can tell by the tone of his voice that it’s a little late for that. “You know why.” Jason gets up and starts pacing. “They fucked me over the last time with that article. That cocksucker journalist with his review of The Telegraph. I’m not stepping into that trap again.”