Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel (3 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

I woke up the morning I was to meet Heath with a sense of resolve. I was going to get this gig.
Party Planner to the Stars.
Mingling with wealthy partygoers all summer would be just what I needed to expand my business network. This was mine.

I used a barrel curling iron to press soft curls into my long black hair. For makeup, I went with a soft peach blush, nude lipstick, and some variations of olive green eyeshadow and hunter green eyeliner to bring out my honey-speckled eyes. I rocked some edgy, skinny faded black jeggings with a horizontal leather detail on the knees, pairing them with a cream silk blouse, leaving the top few buttons undone (just enough for sex appeal without being an invitation to motorboat). Black ankle boots with just enough of a heel for added height, but not too spiky as to elicit thoughts of how they might look in the air, topped off the look.

I hopped into my 1999 Toyota Camry, which was about as average of a vehicle as one could have. But it was all paid for and well-maintained, and it wasn't worth investing in a new car as much as I used public transportation. In fact, I only kept the car for transporting food to catering gigs. The weather was nice enough to drive with the windows down, and surprisingly, I enjoyed the drive, already making plans in my head about how I would return to the city every two weeks or so to check in on my Nonna. As the meeting fell on a Wednesday, traffic was minimal and I got to the East Hampton home in three and a half hours. Since we were meeting at his home, I stopped for a quick bite to eat and to kill time so as not to catch him off guard. At about 10:50, I pulled up to the road that the GPS indicated would lead me to his house.

When I turned up to his driveway, it did not look at all like the traditional Hamptons homes I expected from endless
Real Housewives
episodes and the occasional spread in
Vogue
. The driveway, which wound through tall stalks of bamboo, was paved with tiny pebbles Elegant, vaguely Japanese water fountains trickled into lily-dotted ponds and faux water pumps rhythmically poured water, allowing for a retreat-like feel. It had just the right amount of Asian-inspiration, providing a zen-like ambiance without feeling like I had entered an Epcot version of Japan. I pulled up to the garage and parked my car in front of one of its closed doors. There was not a peep of life outside of the home. The house was multi-tiered with a flatness about it that complimented the Asian modernist theme. If I had to guess, I would say they were cedar planks that lined the exterior walls of the house; a brownish-black dark steel framed the entire structure.

I tip-toed to the front door and took one last deep breath before ringing the doorbell. I stood there for maybe a minute or two, but there was no response. I pressed the doorbell again, this time harder, feeling I may have not done it properly the first time. Another thirty seconds.
This house is big, give him some time.
I rang again. Nada. I remembered that Mindy gave me Heath's cell number just in case I got lost, so I called him, feeling very uncomfortable and embarrassed that I might have driven out all this way to get stood up.

After four rings, the phone went to voicemail. His voice was deep, but playful.

This is Heath, leave a message!

I hung up, feeling a mixture of frustration and disappointment. The previously tranquil sounds of the water fixtures now served as mocking reminders of the silence around me.
One more ring and I'm gone.
I should have left right then. I took another deep breath to calm myself and pressed the doorbell. This time, the door whipped open. Heath stood there, squinting into the sunlight. His blond hair was disheveled. He was shirtless, in a pair of worn jeans with the top button undone and barely holding onto his hips. He brought his right arm overhead and leaned it against the doorframe; the tension this created made his abs flex.
Mindy was right, even half asleep, he is divine.

He cleared his throat. "Oh yeah, the chef, right?"

I nodded. "Did I get the time wrong? Mindy said..."

"No, no...come in. I had too much fun last night." He stepped aside and extended his arm to welcome me in.

"Have a seat." He was barefoot and hadn't even attempted to find a piece of clothing to cover his bare torso.
I guess I missed the memo that this was a shirts-optional interview.
Heath strolled over to the fridge with the ease of someone who hadn't just woken up to an interview he had completely forgotten about. "Orange juice, coffee, vodka, all of the above?" He sounded a bit like a car salesman.

"No, thank you. I'm fine." Guys like Heath have always made me tense, at least upon first meeting them. I know his type. They walk around like they own the world, like they can have whatever they want, and it's because they do and they can. But I had my share of guys like him, and I vowed since the last one that never again would I fall for the bullshit. I don't just mean fall in love, I mean even as a friend, I wouldn't fall for the fake charm bullshit. I would be the thorn on his side. I would tell him exactly what I thought of him.

"Suit yourself." He poured himself a glass of juice before taking a seat across from me in a camel-colored leather Herman Miller Eames chair.
I want that chair.
He placed his cup on the ottoman (I prayed in my head that he would not spill OJ on that extremely expensive piece of furniture) and leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as if examining my face. I leaned back subtly, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

"Where are you from?"

"New York."

"No, I mean ethnicity. You've got a look about you."

"A look about me?"

"I mean that in a very good way. Different. Intriguing."

"I'm Italian, Puerto Rican and Japanese, in varying percentages."
Does he realize he's breaking about ten different employment laws in this interview and it hasn't even been ten minutes?

"That's an interesting mix."

"Yes. And you? What
are
you?"

"Oh, I'm just white. Some German, British, I think I'm one millionth Portuguese or some shit," he said, taking a swig of his juice. I nodded, waiting for the interview part of the interview. "So, yeah, I heard you are a good chef, that you used to cook for Brock Jameson? I need someone to help keep me lean. Traveling a lot has gotten me off course."

"You look great."

"I know, but I have to maintain."
I know. Typical cocky response to a compliment.
"You must know how to cook healthy. I always imagine chefs to look like Paula Deen, but it looks like you have a tight body under that blouse. I mean that in a professional manner, I have to see nice bodies all the time in my line of work."
Woah. If he was ugly, he would so not get away with this shit.

"Thank you. I guess."

The clacking of heels from somewhere in the large house came closer and closer until a leggy, amber-haired, Slavic-looking chick appeared around the corner. She was wearing high-heeled mules and a button-down dress shirt – mostly unbuttoned. That's it--
That's where his top must have been all this time.
My presence seemed to be of no consequence as she headed to the kitchen and began to make herself some coffee.

I think my mouth must have been agape because Heath interjected. "That's Ilyana. She's a guest of mine. Say hi Illy." If by
guest of mine
he means
the girl I humped last night and was probably humping when the doorbell rang
, then sure.

"Hi." Illy said dryly, with a sarcastic little wave. Her accent was indistinguishably Eastern European. Her left boob would come in and out of sight as the shirt moved with the wave.

I cannot believe I am seeing a stranger's tits at 11:30am on a Wednesday.

Heath turned back around to face me and he gave me the quick once over, clearly trying to peek into the opening of my blouse.
Pig.

"I need a smoke. Let's go outside."

"Sure."
I hate smoking.
He lead me out the back of the house to a lush Japanese garden. It was hard not to swoon over it, it even had one of those little bridges over a little pond. "Your house is gorgeous by they way."

"Thanks, I just rent it for the summer." He pulled out a bowl of weed, lit it up, and took an inhale. "Want?"

He has to be fucking kidding me.
"No." And then I finally blurted out something to him that was out of the bounds of proper job-interview conduct, but we were well past that point thanks to him. "You know, if you're so interested in preserving your looks, smoking would be one of the things to scratch off of the list."

He didn't say anything at first, not because he was speechless, but because he was holding in another lungful of weed. He puckered his full lips and slowly released the smoke to his right as to not get it in my face, all the while maintaining eye contact with me.
How polite.

"You're right," he said, pointing his index finger at me with the same hand that held the bowl. "But, just a little here and there makes life so much better." He smiled the smile people pay millions to photograph. It's so beautiful that it's a weapon.

"Everything in moderation." I spat out the safest thing I could think to say. I began to wonder if this was some sort of joke on Mindy's part. I mean, this guy was such an arrogant bastard.

"
Not everything,
" he smirked. I pursed my lips and nodded uncomfortably, but he seemed immune to my discomfort. "So yeah, here's what I'm looking for. I would need you to start next week. Mindy said you were the best, and I only want the best this summer. I need a live-in chef, but I also want you to orchestrate the parties I will be having."

"What types of parties?" This was definitely not a joke, Heath Hillabrand is really this jerk in front of me and he's serious about hiring me.

"Well, the past couple of summers, I would go out to the clubs and have an after-party at my house. They got popular and things got out of control a couple of times. So I want to have better organization. I want catering, a bartender...I assume you would be able to arrange that, being a chef and all."

"Sure."

"I want security too. No more hangers-on coming into my home."

"I am sure I could help with that."

"Yeah, I'm sure Mindy knows some good companies that do that stuff. So basically you'd be a cross between a personal chef and event planner, a little bit of an assistant too. I'd rather have one person to go to about that stuff than hiring different contractors." He didn't seem so bad when he was just talking business.

"Makes sense."

"I should warn you, these parties get intense. You're not some religious type are you? You don't look it."

What the hell is that supposed to mean?
"No, no religion here. I don't party much myself, but I guess that's good considering I'd be organizing everything, not partaking." My idea of a wild night was a bottle of wine and a great book. Occasionally Mindy would drag me out to a party, but I usually ducked out early and grabbed a cab just in time to watch a reality-TV marathon on Bravo, falling asleep on my couch.

"Oh you can partake. I'm not a hard-ass boss or anything. In fact, I bet you'd be a lot of fun."

"Trust me, I'm not."

"I have a way to get people out of their shells."

"Not this titanium and concrete bomb shelter of a shell I am encased in."

"You're funny. So you in?"

"What about other details, like how long will you need me? Compensation?"

"Oh yeah. Shit, I'm still half asleep! So you start next week and I would like you here until the end of September. Payment...what did Brock pay you?"

"Six thousand a month, but I also had the freedom to do gigs on the side. If I work for you this summer, I'll have to turn down a lot of work." I really, really needed the job, but I could tell he wanted to get this process over with and I could take advantage of that.

"Okay, well how about sixty five hundred per month and an additional one thousand per party?"

"Can I think about it?"

"Yeah, but I need to know by tomorrow."

I know people always say yes to you Heath, but I am going to make you wait.

Heath looked like a lightbulb went off in his head. "You want to see where you'll be staying?"

"Well--I might not--Sure."

We entered the house again. Illy was watching TV half-naked with a cup of coffee in hand. Heath guided me past her like the sight was nothing unusual. We walked upstairs and to the left end of the hallway, I spotted large double doors, which I assumed led to the master bedroom, but we stopped short of reaching them. He lead me into another room, which was enormous and had a loft inside of it that nearly doubled the living space. The bedroom was bare except for the furniture. It was clearly an unused guestroom, but my mind immediately wandered with thoughts of how I could make it my own.

"Nice right?"

"Yes, it's huge."

"Here's the bathroom," he pushed open a door to an Asian-inspired bath with muted gray and sandy tones. Pebbles and bamboo were strategically used as accents in just the right proportions, in keeping with the Asian theme without being too garish. I could see myself reading many books in the soaking tub this summer. "I'm just a few doors down. We'd be roomies," he said jokingly.

"I guess we would," I laughed uncomfortably.

By the way, I should remind you that he was STILL shirtless. His perfect body made my eyes shifty and my body language rigid. It forced me to maintain near constant eye contact with his baby blue eyes, which were very striking despite his lax demeanor.

"So that's everything. I just need you to accept so we can have a wild summer."

We both had no idea just how wild it was going to get.

CHAPTER FIVE

I called Mindy during my drive back home. Heath invited me to stay for lunch since I had driven so far, but I declined, telling him I needed to get back home. There was a lot to think about and I had to get out of that den of debauchery while his supermodel sex-kitten piece of ass was gallivanting around in next to nothing.

"How did it go?" were her first words when she answered my call.

"Bizarre. He's so full of himself and he had a naked model prancing around the house the entire time!" Mindy howled with laughter on the other line. "I'm glad you think this is so funny."

"I'm sorry," she said between breaths. "It's just that I know he can be a bit much, but I didn't want to turn you off to him. I thought he might surprise me and behave."

"A warning would have been nice."

"I didn't know he would have a naked chick there. I just thought he would be his usual careless self."

"Careless would be the understatement of the century. He offered me weed for fuck's sake."

"What!" Mindy howled again. I was
so
glad this whole scenario was such a source of enjoyment for her.

"Yes, he pulled out a bowl and lit up. Oh, and he didn't have a shirt on, and he answered the door half asleep after like ten fucking minutes of me waiting outside."

"Okay, okay..." she caught her breath. "Besides him being high and shirtless, did you get the job?"

"Besides those minor details, yes, he offered me the job. He would have offered a homeless person the job. I think he might have still been drunk from last night. I felt like I was just there so he could brag to me about his amazing, party-fueled life. He didn't ask me about my qualifications or anything. I'm not even sure I want it."

"So you did get it? Yay!"

"He offered it, with good pay too. Like I said, I haven't accepted."

"You have to take it! It's only a few months and you'll make so many connections. How bad could it be? Think about it, what seemed to be really inappropriate professional behavior could make for a really fun summer."

"I can't stand guys like him."

"You can't stand guys like him because you have a weakness for arrogant assholes and you always end up dating them. As long as you stay in the friend-zone guys like that are really fun to be around. They're really only jerks to the women they feel they have power over. Speaking of arrogant assholes, guess who I saw last night at Nobu?"

"Don't tell me." I knew who she was going to name. My ex had recently moved down the block from her and she had already spotted him several times.

"Kenneth, with some future Real Housewife on his arm. And you know what he had the nerve to do?"

"Don't wanna know..."

"When he came over to my table so say hi, he asked about you!"

"Did you tell him I moved? Far away? To another planet?"

Mindy laughed. "I told him you were doing well and I made it clear you are doing wonderfully without him. What a shit stain, huh? His date is two tables away and he's trying to dig intel about you from me. Some people never change. He is exactly the same Kenny we all knew from high school, all that's changed is the 'esquire' attached to him name."

Mindy's arrogant asshole theory was right, I had a track record of jerks. I don't know what it was, maybe naiveté and a lack of a father figure, but I would pick these guys who were
real priceless gems
. Always hot (probably my first issue there) and they knew it. They were usually cocky and super-extroverted, life-of-the-party types. I think my more introverted personality gravitated towards those people, because they easily drew me out of my shell. The thing is, hot, cocky, extroverted guys are also usually pussy magnets. And that usually means cheating, or forgetting to call for a few days and then suddenly reappearing when they were in your neighborhood, or professing their love for you one minute and going MIA the next.

But those people were short term relationships and that was all well and good. I never thought I was going to marry those guys, I figured I would kiss a few frogs and then land the prince. I thought that I had finally broken the cycle at one point, and that was who Mindy was really referring to: Kenneth Hull. I thought Kenneth, well I called him Kenny, was different. But I was a stupid, stupid little girl. See, he was all of the things I just described, but the difference was we were friends. I had known him since high school. Ironically, I had become friends with him when this other girl I knew begged me to speak with him on her behalf when they had broken up their
very serious
and
intense
two-week relationship (
high school bullshit
).

We ended up talking on the phone for hours and hit it off. The thing was, he was gorgeous, and popular, and wealthy. I was still working my way out of the awkward phase, and studious, and lived on a budget (the insurance money my parents had left behind, administered by my grandmother) so I didn't have all the pretty outfits and makeup. Don't get me wrong, I was comfortable, but in NYC, circles of friends can vary wildly when it comes to income levels. My competition was early bloomers with Bebe obsessions and Sephora credit cards.

Through all this, I was Kenny's shoulder to lean on as he hopped from one girl to the next, sometimes several at once. And I was pretty much a ball of hormonally-charged teenage love. I obsessed over him, but never had the guts to tell him how I felt.

Then he went to UPenn and we drifted away for a bit, keeping in touch online and trying to catch up during the holidays. It was the summer after he graduated when he took a job at a huge law firm in NYC, that we became reacquainted. By this time, I had nice clothes, and my curves had filled out, and I walked with confidence. I had dated plenty of guys and was no longer afraid of penises and boys and whatnot.

One night, I came over to his place for dinner, and well, you know:
we bumped crotches.

Then, all those feelings surged back up. I became that supercharged teenage version of myself again. I never had closure with Kenny and I felt vindicated that I landed the guy all the other girls tried to get. I was different, we were
friends
, and he had known me so long. I thought his past behavior was irrelevant, I thought I was somehow the exception.

We dated for two years, and when he proposed to me, I said yes.
I had won.

I considered myself to be a somewhat decent judge of character, that I could spot a complete and total scumbag. Like when I casually dated my usual type of asshole, I knew deep inside he was a jerk and wasn't surprised when he turned out to be one. Maybe hurt, but not surprised. But with Kenny, I was blind, blinded by my love and arrogance to think that guys like him change for anyone. That I was special enough to make a miracle happen.

It all happened innocently enough. Kenny was in the shower, after a late night at the office. His work at the law firm was
very
demanding. I had left my phone charger at Brock's and just needed to make a quick call, so I grabbed Kenny's phone. And then I saw it: a message. Not a regular text message, it was some sort of app that he had forgotten to log out of.

I just wanted to say I miss your cock already. Can't wait to see you tomorrow. Supply closet, maybe? I'll wear that thong you love so much. XOXO <3

I can't tell you what a betrayal like that does to a person. When someone you had pined over since you were 14, had told yourself that no one else could
get you
like he did, takes your heart and puts it through a meat grinder. How could he be so heartless? How could he betray the person who had been there for him through all of his bullshit? I didn't obsess over the boys on Tiger Beat, I obsessed over Kenny and I GOT him. But I never really had him. Because guys like Kenny (and, let's be honest, guys like Heath) don't actually give of themselves, they take. They just float through life being given, not knowing what it's like to want something and not immediately receive it. They take everything for granted.

Even though I was past my teenage years, it was like I was there all over again, the heartache was so strong because I was still that girl when it came to Kenneth. Rescinding wedding invitations, the humiliation of explaining why I had broken off the engagement, the looks of pity: I would
never
subject myself to that again.
Never.

I had learned my lesson late, but I had learned it. Stay away from those types. They will ruin you. Any sweetness I had left had bittered. Even nice guys like Brock I rolled my eyes at, because I could see glimmers of Kenny in him: his taste for trashy siliconed-infused Playboy types or his inability to be in a relationship for longer than two months. After a while I started to see that nearly every man has a little Kenny in him. And Heath, well he was a new breed. Even Kenny at least
pretended
to be civilized.

Mindy tried to reason with me: "Was Heath mean to you?"

"No, not mean. He was actually overly friendly and familiar."

"See? He'll be fun!"

"Ugh. I guess you're right. And it'll only be a few months. I forgot to mention, he made some comments about my looks too."

"He's a bit of a horn dog, I thought I had warned you about that. Sorry again."

"Nope, no horn dog warning. I went in completely blind. In fact I recall you encouraging me to dress attractively."

"I wanted you to get the job. Guys like Heath don't want to see your résumé, they want to see that you can fit in, and all he had to hear was that you used to work for Brock and see that you're a hottie. Like I said, stay in the friend zone and you two will have a fabulous summer."

"That won't be a problem," I said, with a sprinkling of disgust in my tone.

"Trust me, I work with him and he's cool. Despite acting so carefree, one doesn't get to where he is by being a total airhead. He's actually quite sharp, he's just..."

"Used to getting everything he wants."

"I guess that's one way to put it. Yeah, he is very focused on his career, but when it comes to everything else he is a little carefree."

"And since he's rich and famous and everyone wants a piece of him, he's used to people caring about what he thinks and not the other way around."

"Look at that! You should be a shrink, not a chef."

"I'll stick to the kitchen, thank you very much."

"So when do you start?"

"He wants me to start next week and he wants a response tomorrow."

"I'll definitely be seeing you up there at least a few times. I love summertime in the Hamptons."

"Well, let's hope I don't wring his neck before it's all over."

"Let's."

I got home at about five and scoured my fridge for something to eat. Funny thing was I had been so used to eating on the run, I barely had anything to eat in my own house. I moved to searching the cabinets and found the only thing acceptable to my refined and delicate palate: Velveeta Shells and Cheese.

As I waited for the water to boil, I ripped off my fashionable getup and threw on an old sweatshirt and plaid flannel pajama pants. One bowl of mac and cheese turned into another as I became seduced by a
Keeping with the Kardashians
marathon. I had these evenings often when Brock was on the road. They always reminded me of how alone I felt, but I had resigned to this lifestyle, at least for the foreseeable future. My previous relationships were such unmitigated disasters that I had committed to the safety of a tattered sweatshirt and flannel pants. So, whenever the loneliness crept up I looked for a distraction, usually in the form of some sort of terrible Lifetime movie (not the new ones, the ones from the '90s are the best), a reality show, or a book.

This time, though, would not be a couple of nights. It could be much longer. Brock wouldn't return and force me to turn my attention away from the empty feeling; in fact, the feeling could metastasize to the afternoons and mornings if I didn't find a new gig to help me forget.

I stared at the gooey school-bus yellow substance (let's not kid ourselves, it's not actually cheese) that had remained at the bottom of my bowl. It's only there because my pointy fork wouldn't allow me to cleanly scrape the deep curves of the Velveeta receptacle. This is who I was becoming: the girl who was contemplating licking the fake cheese from the bottom of a bowl because some guy she cooked for had skipped town.

And so I knew it. I had to take this job, not just for the practical reasons, but for survival. I couldn't stand being alone with my thoughts for too long and I had the sudden realization, looking at the goo, that that's what it was about Heath that I couldn't stand. We were different, but I could tell that he was like me too. He couldn't stand being alone. There always had be a distraction. He was nothing like me and just like me all at once.
I fucking handled Brock Jameson, all six-foot-eight of his powerhouse, alpha-male persona. Heath Hillabrand wouldn't have shit on me!

I retrieved my phone from under the heaps of knit throws and crochet blankets on my couch and dialed Heath's phone number. After a few rings, his already all-too-familiar voicemail greeted me.

"Hi Heath, it's Sadie...the chef. I know you needed a prompt response, so I just wanted to let you know that I accept your offer."