Build Your Fence

Shia wasn’t kidding when he said he was followed over here. Peering outside through my curtains, I noticed there were at least five or six paparazzi standing outside; their camera in hand.

Frustrated, I let the curtains fall back in place, I turned and saw Shia was no longer in the living room with me. I started walking towards the kitchen. I saw him standing by the sink with the window wide open; cigarette in hand and smoke coming out of his mouth.

“Do you mind?” I snapped. I walked closer and snatched the cigarette from his hand and tossed it out the window. “This is a non-smoking house, nimrod.”

“I know that,” he replied with a cocky tone. “Cab’s here, lets go.”

“Cab?” I repeated. “You’re so classy.”

Shia led the way out of the house, and right on cue as I locked the door to my house, a bright yellow taxi cab pulled up to the driveway. Camera flashes were occurring every second and if it were any darker, I would have been blinded by the flash bulbs.

I wouldn’t say I was exactly used to this, but for a person who isn’t famous, the camera always seems to find me. I was constantly with Shia whenever I had nothing better to do, so I was labeled as his girlfriend. Ha. That always made me laugh, especially when his little teen fans come up to me and tell me how I am no good for him.

They can have him. I really am no good for him. I am better than him.

“Where are we going?” I questioned when the cab driver continued driving. It was getting darker now and to be honest I was getting even hungrier as the seconds ticked by. All I ate was a few fruit snacks and I was in the mood for some real food.

“Charlie’s,” he said. I stared at him with my eyebrow cocked. “What? It’s new and I want to try it out.”

“Why haven’t I heard of it?”

“I just told you,” he said. “It’s new. Don’t you listen to a word I say?”

“Well excuse me you fucker.” I moved closer to the door and began staring out of it. I scoffed when I realized we were headed towards Malibu pier.

As the cab cruised down Pacific Coast Highway, it started slowing and directly in front of us stood Charlie’s. I stared at the small diner-like restaurant. I hastily opened the cab door and got out, glaring at the cement sidewalk.

“Stop looking so smug,” Shia remarked as he closed the cab door and it took off.

“It looks like a fucking diner,” I snapped. “We could have gone to McDonalds.”

“It’s not a diner,” he replied walking towards the front door. “Grow up D and come in.”

Walking in, I felt I needed to take back my last comment. Sometimes looks can be very deceiving. The outside may have looked like a typical diner, but the inside looked more like a fancier version of Olive Garden. The young hostess stood waiting next to Shia with two menus in her hands.

She smiled widely at me, while I continued to wear a blank expression on my face.

“Would you two like to follow me?” she asked in a bubbly tone. Following her, I bit down on my bottom lip – hard. The whole place looked like a typical downtown Los Angeles restaurant that nobody who isn’t anybody could ever afford. It was not a place I would ever step foot into. Every chair had an identical cheetah like pattern that made me weary of sitting on. I was afraid I would spill something and it would leave an embarrassing stain.

The young hostess sat us down in a more secluded area of the restaurant and left us alone – an awkward silence currently occurring.

“So, what do you want?” he questioned, opening his menu and looking at it. I looked over at him and saw his eyes moving up and down, pondering on what he was going to eat. I noticed the wine menu sitting right in the middle of the table, completely untouched compared to all the times we normally go out. That was always the first thing he would glance at before deciding on his food.

I started looking at the menu. Everything was pricy, which made me want to get just a salad.

“You’re not getting just a salad either,” he said, breaking me from my thoughts. “I know you better than you think. And don’t say you’re not that hungry. We’re getting appetizers, salad and or soup and dinner and desert, okay?”

“Pushy much?” I questioned under my breath. I glanced at the menu and looked at the pasta section.

“Hello there. My name is David and I am your waiter for this evening. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

I looked up at the waiter and he was staring intently at me. “Oh, right. Um, Coke.” He wrote it down on his pad and looked over at Shia.

“I’ll take the same,” he said looking up at David. He scribbled it on his pad and looked down at us again.

“Are you ready to order or would you like more time?” he asked.

“I’m ready.” Shia said. David nodded his head while Shia looked back down at his menu. “Can I have Fried Calamari, also, a Caesar Salad and Prime Filet Mignon.” Shia looked up from his menu and in my direction. “You ready D?”

“I’ll take a Mediterranean Misticanza with a lot of Ranch,” I replied. I closed the menu and saw Shia’s stare. I sighed and looked up at David, “And Penne in Pink Sauce.”

He smiled and muttered something about our drinks and appetizer should be out soon.

“About the other night,” he said fiddling with the napkin in front of him, “Can we have a normal conversation about what happened?”

“What’s there to say?” I questioned. I was looking over Shia’s head at the painting across the room. “You already said you fucked up, what more do you want to say?”

“Do you know why I drink?” he asked.

“That’s such a stupid question,” I snapped, giving him my full attention. “Of course I do because you’re an idiot and you hang around a bunch of fuck ups.”

“It’s because it fills in the emptiness in my life,” he replied, causing me to laugh sarcastically at him. “Danielle, you know everything about me. Lately nothing has been great. My hand fucking hurts, I don’t have a girlfriend anymore and people think I’m a worthless piece of crap.”

“Who are these people?” I asked. “And since when do you care what other people think of you? Be thankful you have a job and that there are even more people that could care less about your activities, just as long as you stay hot.”

“By people I mean you. You think so negatively about me.”

I inhaled loudly as David arrived with our drinks. He set them down and left us alone once again. “Do you really give me any reason to not think so negatively of you? I-”

I stopped talking abruptly, noticing I was close from repeating everything I have already said and of course causing a huge scene. If it’s one thing I am not, that is a drama queen. I refuse to act like all the girls that throw themselves at Shia – needy, dramatic and sluttish.

“Never mind,” I said swirling around the Coke with my straw.

Just one glance at Shia and I noticed many emotions. He looked genuinely sad and upset. Not sad like when he lost his favorite album when he moved from house to house, but sad like his best friend just told him to fuck off and leave her alone.

Great, now I am starting to feel like shit. The groveling will occur and I will open my arms wide for him to come crawling into. I am so damn predictable.

“Want to come over later? Watch a movie and see who can stay up the longest?” I questioned.

His head shot up and the sparkle in his eye was back. “Like old times when we randomly picked a bunch of movies and watch them all?”

I took a long sip from my glass, deeply regretting what I just said. I let him off so easily this time when I lost my job because of him.

I lose a lot of things because of him. I lose sleep almost every night worrying about him and that’s excluding the nights he is passed out in my bathroom. I lost hope in him a while ago. And now I’m starting to lose faith in myself.

I fear that his wit and charm is going to win every fight we get into. He’s going to play the guilt card every single time and I’m going to fall into his invisible trap.

“Sure. Think of it as my way to thank you for taking me out to dinner.”

To be honest, our movie night is the easier way to get out of my usual “Let’s Forgive Shia one more time” routine when we jack whatever liquor is in the house, stay in my room all night while we take shot after shot and lets just say all of our actions aren’t the purest after the tenth or twelfth shot.

I never said I was an angel.