"You Can't Stay a Saint in This City"

I got the cab driver to drive me to a random Starbucks in the North End. Those were harder to find than I thought. But I knew Milan lived somewhere near here. The cab ride only took about three minutes and if I had known that I probably would’ve just walked. It was pretty late but I ordered a skinny Caramel Macchiato and hunkered down in a comfy armchair. I set my iPad on the slightly sticky table, typed in my password and connected to the Wifi.

Number of time a GPS People Tracking Application has saved me from having to sleep on the street: 1

My iPad gave me directions and as I walk outside I realize how peculiar Boston is. The streets are winding and narrow, I’m just trying to take it all in. Living here wouldn’t be so bad, I think to myself. I’m not sure if I mean it. After all I’m walking up a strange street in a new city with a device worth $600 and it’s eleven at night. I’m going to say whatever I need to convince myself that you won’t be chopped up into little pieces by an axe murderer.

After walking three blocks, I stand in front of a non-descript building on Salem Street next to a meat shop that has closed its doors for the day. I don’t know what I was expecting, this is Milan we’re talking about, but I certainly wasn’t expecting this. There’s only a single wooden door and the lobby is just a small area with a moldy looking couch and a light fixture with several burned out bulbs. It looks like somewhere normal people live. Maybe my iPad has failed me. I prepare to walk further down the street until I hit a main road but my cobalt blue Louboutin clad feet don’t make an attempt to move.

“There’s no shame in trying” I tell myself.

“Are you lost?” asks a tall guy in his early thirties with glasses opening the door with a bag of groceries. I guess that’s pretty obvious isn’t it? I’m not exactly dressed appropriately for any city that isn’t New York or LA in my orange sequinned Alice + Olivia dress with a Burberry trench coat and purple tights.

“I’m not sure,” I say feeling absolutely exhausted. “I’m looking for someone…” I bet girls come around here looking for Milan Lucic all the time.

“It’d be easier to help you if I knew who it was,”

“I’m looking for Milan Lucic.” I say and there’s a look of recognition on the man’s face but he doesn’t say anything. “Are you honestly concerned for? His safety he’s almost than a foot and a half taller than me and wins like 75% of his fights” I say when though I know that off the ice Milan wouldn’t hurt a fly.

The man seems convinced that Milan can defend himself against me “He lives in 3B.”

“Thank you so much,” I tell him as we walk up the stairs together.

Shiny brass numbers are on the green doors that line the hallway I stop at Milan’s and test the doorknob, its open.

“SURPRISE!” I shout as I follow the flickering blue glow of the television into the living room situation but I’m greeted with screams.

Screams as in plural.

I see the two of them in an extremely intimate position. I feel sick. I think I would’ve much rather have caught them having sex. But they aren’t. He and the girl from the Cup Finals are on the couch in their sweats. Her face is makeup free and she looks amazing. Bitch. I guess you couldn’t really compare the two of us. It’s like apples and oranges but I can’t help but do so. We look nothing alike, the closest thing I own to sweats are Juicy Couture tracksuits, and her heart is fully intact while I think mine just imploded.

_____

Amber is biting her lip looking like she wants to cry. I can’t stand to see her like this.

“Amber,” I call out “Why don’t you sit down.” I look around and realize that there isn’t any room for her on our couch.

“Here-” Brittany begins to stand up but Amber cuts her off.

“Its fine,” Amber replies emotionless, grabbing a fold chair from the corner and wordlessly sitting down. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Amber this pissed off.

“This isn’t what it looks like. It’s a funny story really.” I tell her but Amber seems more interested in watching Pawn Stars.

“I’m listening,” Amber lies but her eyes are robbed of emotion. I never realized how intimidating she was. Just the look on her face makes my blood run cold.

“When I came back Brittany was still living here, so I was like ‘get out of my house’ but she said she wasn’t leaving. So I tried to sue her but—here’s the funny part—since we leased it together we have equal rights to the property. Isn’t that funny?”

“The two of you live together.” Amber states.

“If the two of you want some privacy, I could stay over at a friend’s.” Brittany offers, clearly afraid of Amber. That makes two of us.

“Its fine,” Amber says for the second time tonight. That’s my clue that everything isn’t fine. “You were here first and clearly there is no room for me here.” Amber says getting up as Brittany shoots me an apologetic look.

“Amber don’t leave.” I tell her as I follow her to the door. “Look I don’t blame you for being mad but don’t leave Boston because of it. We have a pretty long home stand and I want to show you around.” I can see Amber here, taking walks together in the Public Gardens and leaving the Johnny Cupcakes store with a smile on her face and arms loaded with novelty t-shirts.

“Milan, please just take me to a hotel.” Amber says as I follow her into the elevator

I would’ve given her the moon if she asked for it “Okay.”

“I’ll probably feel better in the morning I’m just feeling a little emotionally unstable right now.” Amber gets into the passenger seat of my Range Rover “must be the travelling and hormones” she lies.

“Mandarin Oriental is that okay?” Amber nods as she types away at her phone.

Amber: As much as it pains me to say this, you were right Mike but I’d rather know than have lived in oblivion.

When I stop at a red light I notice that Amber has a book in her hands and trying to use the light from the street lamps to read.

“What are you reading?” I ask, I’m hoping by the end of this drive I’ll have earned myself a goodnight kiss. That’s my goal. If I can accomplish that then maybe when I visit her in the morning she’ll be willing to let me in and we can have a nice day of pre-game sex.

“The Cell by Stephen King”

“What’s it about?” I ask the obvious follow up question.

“The beginning is set in Boston. It’s about a group of people who get brainwashed, turn into zombies, and go on a violent rampage.” Amber’s face is somber.

“That’s interesting.” I’m unsure of what else to say. “Here we are,” I say attempting to lean over for a kiss because we haven’t had physical contact in months and Amber was reluctant to even hold eye contact let alone hold my hand. Amber doesn’t kiss me she runs out of the car like the Mandarin Oriental is her safe haven. I swear I see her shed a tear or two before she can make it through the revolving doors.