Confessions of a Bad Boy (8 page)

I
spend
the rest of the week leading up to the big trip arranging for someone to fill in for Jessie at work, and double, triple, and quadruple confirming that Jessie is still coming. I barely get any work done, the big mental countdown in my head distracting my attention like a bikini-wearing rollerblader on Venice Beach.

In case it wasn’t obvious, I hate depending on other people – no matter who they are. The truth is, not many people in my life have been dependable to begin with. On my own I feel like I can move mountains, that there isn’t a goal in this world I can’t achieve. No deal too tough, no woman too unattainable, no obstacle too big. Control. Focus. That’s my philosophy, and I’m proud of it.

Things start to get messy pretty quickly when you depend on others. Even when they’re doing their best, even when people are capable – shit can happen. I trust Jessie more than anyone – probably even more than her brother – but my entire career is in her hands right now, and it’s enough to make my stomach do barrel rolls every time I think of it.

I turn the car onto Jessie’s street and see her standing on the sidewalk, her backpack and an overstuffed duffel sitting on the ground beside her. She’s in short jean cut-offs and a tank top, and my eyes immediately scan her legs with all the tender patience of foreplay.
Fuck,
does she know she wore those same shorts the night we…? No, probably not, she wears those a lot. Still, maybe she’s trying to send me a message…shit, of course she isn’t, and the last thing I need right now is to start thinking with my dick. I park the car in front of her and she pulls open the passenger door and ducks her head down.

“Just the BMW?” she says, tossing her backpack in the footwell and her duffel in the backseat before climbing in. I keep my eyes on her face. “I thought you’d be bringing your Lamborghini this time.”

“When everyone at the party can afford to be flashy, it’s tacky to actually do so.”

“Right,” Jessie says, nodding sarcastically.

“And besides, I don’t have a Lamborghini – well, not anymore. That’s the kind of detail we still need to iron out before we arrive,” I say, putting the car in gear and pulling away.

“You know, I could swear I saw a French movie once with a plot like this.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask. “What happened?”

“Nothing. It was a French movie.”

She looks at me with a smile and I laugh.

“Well I’m sure they’re going to love you at the retreat – even if they don’t believe you’re actually my fiancée.”

“Fiancée?”

“My boss keeps pressuring me to get married, seeing as we’ve been together for…”

I point at Jessie.

“Three years – I know,” she says, rolling her eyes.

I relax in the seat a little as I stop the car in traffic.

“We really should go over some things. Just to be extra sure.”

Jessie sighs, then turns to face me.

“Okay, tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.”

“I don’t think that’s the kind of thing that’s going to help us.”

“But it might. Come on! Weren’t you saying we need to have good ‘rapport’ and seem like we’re really into each other? I’ll go first if you want.”

I glance at her and see the determined look on her face, then shrug.

“Okay. Go first.”

Jessie puts a finger against her lips, a gesture that she’s thinking but which some part of my brain interprets as incredibly fucking sexy. Maybe it’s the fact this at this point on a Friday evening I’m only thinking about one thing, or maybe it’s the way the sunlight catches the curves of her body in a way that draws me in like a moth to a flame.

“How about this,” she says, smiling softly with genuine embarrassment. “I’ve started writing a diary.”

“A diary?”

“Uh huh.”

“Like, ‘Dear Diary, today I got a zit’ – type of thing?”

“Not
exactly
like that. But yeah, a typical diary. Totally lame.”

“Why do it, then?”

“I dunno. I just went into a card shop the other day, saw they had these really pretty notepads, and bought one. Then I started writing in it. That’s all. It’s kinda therapeutic. I spend every waking moment so busy, it’s really nice to just sit down before bed and think and write. Helps me order my thoughts.”

I nod in appreciation.

“Well I think that’s pretty awesome. Not lame at all.”

“Thanks,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear in a shy gesture that seems totally out of character for her. Even after all these years, I guess she can still surprise me sometimes. “Okay. Now you.” I look at her, quirking a brow. “Tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone. Come on.”

The only thing that comes to my mind are the Confessions video blogs. I try to push them away and think of something else, but they just cut through all my thoughts like a giant neon sign. I wince and breathe in through my teeth to try and make something up.

“I’m waiting,” Jessie coos in my ear.

“Um…okay…I keep sort of a diary too.”

“Be serious, Nate!” Jessie punches me in the arm. “I told you mine. Come on.”

“I am serious. I mean, it’s not exactly a ‘flashlight under the bedsheets’ sort of thing, but it’s a diary – more or less.”

“Are you fucking with me?”

“Absolutely not. It’s the truth. I’ve been doing it for a couple of years now. Like you said, it’s a cool way to organize your thinking a bit. Figure things out for yourself. Kind of like…”

“Like making your thoughts count for something. So you know where you stand.”

I look at Jessie, who’s gazing at me so sincerely I can’t look back at the road. A second later I do, somehow feeling like she’s just pulled at a part of me I didn’t know existed.

“Yeah, something like that.”

We settle into an easy rhythm for the long drive to Napa. Jessie hooks her iPhone up to the car stereo and plays a bunch of bands I’ve never heard of while we enjoy the scenery. The open road winding between the lush coastal mountains and the serene blue ocean makes me feel like we’re a million miles from the hustle and bustle of LA.

I try to focus on a game plan for my networking weekend, but Jessie is such a bundle of energy to the right of me – drumming on the dash, singing choruses out loud, and basically making me feel more like we’re heading to the beach than an isolated resort full of stuffy corporate types – that I soon give up and relax into the simple joy of the road trip. As I look over at her, taking in the goofy grin and the gigantic coffee table book of Renaissance costumes that she brought along for a little light reading, I start believing that we might just be able to pull this off.

W
e can tell
we’re getting close to the retreat long before we actually do. The hills start to curve and roll like Picasso painted them, and the endless fields of grapevines seem to almost glow with greens and browns under the California sunshine. Everywhere you look, the valley appears to have had the most flattering Instagram filter applied to it, almost surreal in its perfection and vibrancy. I glance at Jessie, who’s doing her best ‘Alice in Wonderland’ eyes out the car window.

I guide the car down a narrow path through the vineyards, and when we round a corner, Jessie gasps as the retreat we’ll be staying at comes into view.

“Pretty nice,” I say, slowing the car down as the path widens into the forecourt.

“
Pretty nice?
” Jessie exclaims, almost like she’s offended. “This place is gorgeous.”

I don’t say anything – she’s right. Even I’m a little taken aback as I bring the car to a stop in front of it. The building’s three floors are set against the gentle curve of the hill, all red-tiled roofs, sun-faded terracotta, and vines of bougainvillea that coil themselves around columns and dangle from arbors. It looks perfectly cohesive with the nature around it, as if its multiple terraces, balconies, and aged colors sprouted out from the ground as organically as the dense fauna around it.

We step out of the car and grab our bags, a valet running over towards us. I hand him my keys, and he drives my car away like he’s just committed a robbery, leaving us standing there in the awesome presence of the place.

“Shall we,
Tessa?
”

Jessie turns to look at me in confusion, then quickly smiles when she realizes.

“Sure,
booboo.
”

“What?”

“Booboo, it’s a pet name. Nothing screams authentic couple like a saccharine and infantile pet name.”

“Sure,” I say, seeing the point but not really liking it. “But ‘booboo’?”

“I’m sure you’d prefer something like ‘big boy’ or ‘studmuffin,’ but I’m not giving you that.”

“Okay, then I should get to call you something.”

“Sure, take your pick,” Jessie says, nonchalantly.

I try to think of all the pet names I could call Jessie, and make the stupid decision to look at her for inspiration. My eyes go straight to the soft curves hiding beneath the thin fabric of her tank top, and suddenly all the things I can think of to call her wouldn’t be suitable outside a sound-proofed bedroom.

“Um…‘cutie’?”

“Aww!” Jessie says, smiling broadly as she presses the warmth of her taut body against me and puts her arm through mine. I feel the sudden, throbbing power in my groin of a man who hasn’t had sex in years, and realize it’s going to take a lot of cold showers to get through this weekend without doing something stupid. Again.

Arm-in-arm, we walk up the steps to the giant porch of the retreat, waving breezy hellos to the people sipping wine on the tables off to the side as if we’re an actual couple here on vacation. Maybe this won’t be so difficult after all.

The second we step through the large, open entrance, the hot aromas of the vineyards give way to the cool atmosphere of luxury. The large hallway feels more like a hippie mansion than a lobby, full of wicker chairs, aged wood furniture, and overgrown potted plants. We step past a few other couples and look for some kind of check-in desk.

“What are we supposed to do?” Jessie leans in and whispers in my ear, the heat of her breath sending a little shiver down my back.

“I don’t really know. This is my first time here, and I guess they’re used to regulars.”

We take a few more steps into the middle of the lobby before I feel a smack on my back like a boulder just dropped on me.

“Nate!” comes the threateningly friendly voice of Robinson. I turn around to face him. “I’ve been waiting for you all morning!”

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Robinson not dressed like he’s attending a Viennese opera in the eighteenth century, but it’s still one hell of an outfit. As if his loose, cream, linen trousers and his untucked, half-buttoned cotton shirt didn’t complete his ‘turn-of-the-century colonialist’ look, he went and added a safari hat. It works. He looks like Hemingway shaved his beard and lost a few pounds.

“Ah, well it’s my first time finding the place,” I say, as we shake hands with out-of-office vigor.

“Won’t be your last, though,” Robinson winks, before turning his attention to Jessie. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Tessa,” he says, taking her hand so gently for a second I almost feel like he’s about to kiss it.

“Yes,” Jessie replies, with so much composure in her voice it feels like she’s doing an impression. “I’m sorry if I came across a bit curt last time, I was just a little anxious about Nate doing so much running around that day. You know how he’s always trying to do it all.” She punches me fake-affectionately on the bicep and I grit my teeth and smile.

Robinson furrows his brow like a strict schoolmaster.

“That’s no good, Nate. I like a hard worker, but a family emergency is a family emergency, and your loved ones should always come first. Speaking of which.”

Robinson turns around to get somebody’s attention and I use the opportunity to look at Jessie, casting a quick expression at her that says
what are you doing?
She quickly replies with a shrug that I interpret as
you wanted me to schmooze, didn’t you?

“This is my wife, Alexandra,” Robinson says, puffing his chest out with pride as he steps aside to reveal the woman approaching.

Suddenly Robinson’s obsession with ‘loved ones’ makes a whole new level of sense.

To call Alexandra a woman in her fifties would be deceitful fact – she has the kind of ageless, graceful beauty that’s far too remarkable to let a few wrinkles stand in its way. Her outfit stands out just as much as Robinson’s – but for entirely different reasons. With her grey, knee-length dress, tightened around her hour-glass figure by a white belt, she’s straight out of the Jackie Onassis look-book circa sixty-one. Hepburn shades below Bardot hair. On any other woman you would call it a ‘look;’ on her it’s like meeting a Truffaut femme fatale in the flesh.

“A pleasure to meet you,” I say, gently taking her extended hand.

“Likewise,” she replies, in a silk-wrapped voice, before turning to Jessie. “Welcome.”

“Well,” Robinson says, clapping his hands and waking me out of Alexandra’s spell, “I’m sure you’re tired, and want to get acquainted with the place.” He gestures to a nearby porter. “We’ll be having dinner by the pool tonight – should be a rather interesting affair, I’ve got quite a few people to introduce you to.”

“Thank you very much for having us,” Jessie says through a home-baked, wholegrain smile. She pushes herself up against me, arm around my waist, head pressed against my shoulder. I know it’s meant to show us off as the clean-cut happy couple, but the fact I can feel the softness of her breast against my chest makes my thoughts anything but clean.

Robinson grins widely at her, impressed and delighted.

“The pleasure’s mine. See you this evening.”

After the four of us nod gracious farewells, Robinson and Alexandra walk away. Jessie and I exchange a quick sigh and allow the porter to take our bags and lead us between the paintings and pottery that adorn every corner of the retreat.

“That was pretty good, Jess- Tessa. I think Robinson liked you. Keep it up.”

Jessie frowns at me.

“What did you expect me to do? Tell him a dirty joke or something?”

“No! You weren’t going to, were you?”