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I wrapped Vic up in all the blankets we owned, and cut the TV to a comedy show. Vic, for all his posturing, had fallen dead asleep after only a few minutes. How cute, he was even snoring lightly. I took mental pictures; I was sure this would be the only time I’d see Vic vulnerable. I turned off the TV, not wanting it to wake him.
Now it was just me and my thoughts.
I was officially unemployed. My last paycheck was deposited two weeks ago and, because nothing was deposited today, I’m assuming I’ve been completely written off. I expected to feel more powerful, or excited. Something.
I hadn’t shown up to work since Dean’s attack. Vic was paying for everything right now. That didn’t sit right with me, but I didn’t really have a choice. I was going to need to get a new job eventually as I was definitely not comfortable with someone else paying my way. Be it my parents, boyfriends, girlfriends, or eccentric uncles, it didn’t matter—I paid my own way.
Yeah, I realized I’d inadvertently left two jobs without notice. That won’t help my job prospects much.
I didn’t call and quit my job, because the idea of speaking with Bethany was too complicated. If Dean had been telling the truth, then that meant Bethany had it out for me as well. How could I call and act like everything was normal, knowing that she had plotted such horrible things for me? On the other hand, she might just be a casualty in Dean’s war. I really didn’t like to think about it. So, I did what I usually do when things get complicated: I ignored it. I ignored it until it went away.
Lissie had been my inside source into what was s
till going on at Simply Santa. However, she’d quit on her own accord a few weeks after our drunken rent-a-cop debacle; she found a job suitable to her major.
The only other connection I had to Simply Santa Barbara were my paychecks, and the last one came two weeks ago.
My last connection to Dean stopped coming two weeks ago.
I was officially unemployed.
I stroked Vic’s hair absentmindedly. He was sweating again, probably going through another fever. The man ran a serious fever. Sighing, I brought my hand back to my lap.
Since F&F had gone under, Simply Santa was the only legitimate event planning company in Santa Barbara. This left me with about, oh, zero options for a new job. I either had to switch careers or start my own company. I liked the idea of starting my own company and answering only to myself and my clients, but I had absolutely no experience or know-how in running a business.
Vic had alluded to taking care of me. Like I said, I take care of myself. I will never be dependent on anyone, even someone as beautiful and mesmerizing as Vic.
Vic curled up in his blanket, still looking badass, even with a fever. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his long, dark hair stuck to his face. He was sleeping off the fever, no doubt he’d be perfectly fine by the morning. Completely back to normal.
Whatever normal was for us.
I brought my thumb to my mouth, thinking. Vic was gone when I left for lunch with Lissie and Zoe, meaning he’d come home sick. Come home from wherever he worked during the day. I’ve said it before, but secrets were like the oil in our car. They kept us running.
I wanted to break that car now.
Vic refused to tell me anything substantial about his job or the supposed “threat” after me and I’d yet to turn up anything on my own. He was too good. As I watched him lying in bed, shivering, I knew he was vulnerable. I don’t think it’s normal for someone in a relationship to look at their significant other and think of ways to use their sickness to their advantage.
Then again… Nothing about Vic and me is normal.
I slowly got out of bed, not wanting to disturb Vic. If he came home from “work” then maybe he brought something home with him.
I started with the bedroom. It’s easy to search for something when you’ve memorized every aspect of the place you’re searching. All I needed to do was spot the one thing out of place. I was hoping to find a briefcase or, I don’t know, something that said “hey, it’s me, I’m the answer to all your problems.”
In the end I found nothing.
No stone was out of place, no towel on the floor (that I didn’t put there).
I wish I could say I was surprised but I wasn’t. I returned to bed, Vic still asleep, and submerged my conscious in a cartoon. Anything to numb and drunken the fact that a tempest was brewing and Vic and I were busy building a shelter of straw.
I entered our apartment, carrying three paper bags of groceries. They were fucking heavy, but I hate having to take two trips more than I hate heavy things.
“Lucy! I’m home!” I bellowed, doing my best impression of Desi Arnaz.
“Sorry, no Lucy. Just me.”
Shocked, I let go of the paper bags. They landed on the floor, my groceries spilling out. Apples, soy milk (we’re a lactose intolerant household), and various snacks tumbled onto the tiled floor.
Mia Farrow, aka, Vic’s wife leaned casually against the counter. She eyed me with cool disdain.
