And Love Said No
Part Three
Esme settled into her seat and took off her beanie. She put on her seatbelt and curled up against the window, peering outside to get one last look at Finland. Beyond the tarmac, the green expanse of the city stretched out for miles and miles, and spots of color from buildings peeked through the trees. Esme grazed her ring finger with her thumb. She didn’t know when she would return, but she was very aware that she was running from her problems.
She closed her eyes as she felt the plane shift away from the gate and heard the captain over the speaker. The sound of her steady heartbeat rocked her to sleep.
Thirteen hours and several terrible meals later, Esme landed in LA. It was a sharp change from Helsinki: crowded corridors, loud voices, and blistering heat. She only had a carry on filled with the clothes she had packed when she first left Ville’s tower, so she didn’t bother waiting at baggage claim. After finishing up at immigration, she walked out and probed for a sign with her name on it. There were too many people for her to scan but after fifteen minutes, she spotted an older gentleman with a whiteboard that read “Nikula.”
“Hi, I’m Esme, I believe you’re here for me.” She approached.
“This way.” He huffed and turned for the exit.
The town car reeked of cigarettes. Between that and the old musky cologne, Esme could hardly sit still. Though the hotel wasn’t far, LA traffic was a nightmare and it would take nearly an hour to get there. She rolled down the window to air out the car and looked out the window. She’d called Ville before she left, only to tell him that Jussi would be coming by to get her stuff. She couldn’t bear to do it herself, but she also didn’t want to leave it in his way; Jussi took her clothes and whatever else he could manage to fit in his car to his house. Ville had been short on the phone, and she couldn’t tell if he was angry or hurt. Regardless, her chest ached at the sound of his voice.
When Esme finally got to the hotel, she practically sprinted out of the car and to the lobby to get away from the smell. The Millennium Biltmore was in the heart of downtown, and she frequently stayed there when she had business in LA. It was a beautiful, extravagant building. From the facade to the indoor pool, there were marble columns, bright blue, gold, and red tiles, and high ceilings. It was built in the 1920s and heavily influenced by Spanish styles, and a century later, it retained its Renaissance touch.
By the time Esme made it up to her hotel room, there was only one thought on her mind: she needed alcohol, and lots of it.
Esme set her drink down on a coaster at the bar. Her eyes were fixated on the swaying hips of a blonde. The music was peppy and upbeat, but others were playing games and chatting. She danced without a care in the world, and she paid no mind that she was the only one enjoying the music. Esme was mesmerized. The woman approached, still dancing to the song, and tugged on Esme’s hand, inviting her to the dance floor. Esme wriggled her hand free and shook her head with a smile.
“Come on, you’ve been staring at me through the past three songs, at least.”
Her cheeks flushed as she hadn’t realized she was ogling. She gulped the last of her Jack & Coke and reluctantly followed the intrepid blonde. She held Esme’s hand above them and twirled and swayed to the beat of the music. Esme quickly became comfortable and danced with her. She let loose, and between the alcohol and the music, she forgot her troubles. She closed her eyes and held her partner’s hips.
They swayed to the rhythm and grew closer together. Esme’s glazed eyes hooked on the blonde’s full, pink lips before meeting with her blue eyes again. She smiled genuinely. Esme spun her around and held her waist from behind, allowing their hips to move synchronously to the soft, steady beat. She turned her head just a touch so that her nose grazed Esme’s cheek, her hot breath hitting her lips. Over the past six or seven songs, the bar had gotten more crowded and other people joined the couple on the dance floor; they blended in with the others quite easily, affording them more privacy since everybody else was engrossed in their own dance.
The music changed from a soft song to an upbeat one to match the mood of the crowd. It didn’t fit the scene for Esme and the blonde, though, who became preoccupied with each other rather than the music. She wrapped her arms around Esme’s neck and fearlessly connected their mouths. Esme pulled her closer and opened her mouth to the woman’s prying tongue. It didn’t take long, though, for Esme to realize what she was doing. As though she had touched a hot pan, she peeled away.
“I-I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t.” She stuttered and shook her head. She wasn’t even sure if the woman heard her over the music until she grabbed Esme’s hand and led her to the bar.
“Two of my usual.” She told the bartender before walking to an empty booth. Esme sat across from her, and a waitress brought their drinks to the table.
“I’m Charlie.”
“Uh, I’m Esmeralda, but I go by Esme.”
“Okay well, my name is actually Charlotte, but only my mother calls me that.” She admitted.
“That sounds very posh.”
Charlie snorted. “Yep, that’s Mother. She moved to LA from the Bronx, married some millionaire, and had me, so I obviously had to fit the part.”
“You sound bitter.”
“You would be, too, if your mother shipped you across the country to keep you from meddling with her lavish lifestyle and the delusion of being a hot twenty-something.”
“You came back to LA, though?”
“It’s home. Everybody else will complain about the traffic or the plastic people, but when the weather is as great as it is here, nothing else really matters.” Charlie sipped her drink. “So, what’s her name?”
“Hmm?” Esme cocked her brow.
“You’ve been rubbing your ring finger dry, I have to assume there was something there to miss. And besides, I’ve been told that I’m a good kisser, so I can’t take it personally that you turned me down earlier. There’s gotta be someone else. What’s her name?”
“His name. Uh,” she looked down at her hands and breathed a deep sigh. “It’s Ville.” It had been nearly a week since she’d uttered his name. It stung her lips.
“Should I ask what happened?”
“We returned to old habits.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant but didn’t push it. “Oh.”
“I continued to sabotage commitment, and he returned to screwing his ex.” Esme deadpanned and made eye contact with her.
“Oh. Okay, we need more alcohol.” Charlie motioned to the bartender.
“He’s in Europe. We were living together, and I figured if I was gonna be burning cash for a hotel room, it might as well be as far away from him as possible.”
Charlie placed her hand near Esme’s, leaving their fingers barely grazing. “Well if you’re not with him, then what’s the problem?”
“I, uh, I got lost in the moment earlier, but I really shouldn’t do anything.” Esme stared at their hands on the table. “It’s not healthy for me to get involved in something new so soon.”
“That’s very self-aware of you.” Esme looked around the bar, not knowing what to say. “So, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a writer.” She curled her fingers, creating a space between her and Charlie.
“You’re in the industry?”
“No, no, not like an entertainment writer. Well, I guess all writers are in entertainment, by their very nature–” Esme took a deep breath and looked at her. “I’m an author of psychological thrillers.”
“Like horror stories?”
“Yeah, kind of. Not the traditional monster-under-your-bed type of horror, but more about the battles within the mind.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“Yeah, it’s good, I love it.” She tried not to think about the fact that her manuscript was due at the end of the week, and that she had two whole chapters left to write. “What about you?”
“I own a bakery. It’s nothing fancy, just a little shop on the corner. But it’s mine, and I enjoy it. It doesn’t feel like work, you know?”
“Yeah, that’s important.”
Charlie extended her hand out to her. “Gimme your phone.” Esme smirked but handed her cellphone to her. “I have to head out, but if you change your mind, just let me know.” She met her gaze. “To pick up where we left off or otherwise. You seem like you could use a friend.”
Esme smiled. “Thanks.”
She closed her eyes as she felt the plane shift away from the gate and heard the captain over the speaker. The sound of her steady heartbeat rocked her to sleep.
Thirteen hours and several terrible meals later, Esme landed in LA. It was a sharp change from Helsinki: crowded corridors, loud voices, and blistering heat. She only had a carry on filled with the clothes she had packed when she first left Ville’s tower, so she didn’t bother waiting at baggage claim. After finishing up at immigration, she walked out and probed for a sign with her name on it. There were too many people for her to scan but after fifteen minutes, she spotted an older gentleman with a whiteboard that read “Nikula.”
“Hi, I’m Esme, I believe you’re here for me.” She approached.
“This way.” He huffed and turned for the exit.
The town car reeked of cigarettes. Between that and the old musky cologne, Esme could hardly sit still. Though the hotel wasn’t far, LA traffic was a nightmare and it would take nearly an hour to get there. She rolled down the window to air out the car and looked out the window. She’d called Ville before she left, only to tell him that Jussi would be coming by to get her stuff. She couldn’t bear to do it herself, but she also didn’t want to leave it in his way; Jussi took her clothes and whatever else he could manage to fit in his car to his house. Ville had been short on the phone, and she couldn’t tell if he was angry or hurt. Regardless, her chest ached at the sound of his voice.
When Esme finally got to the hotel, she practically sprinted out of the car and to the lobby to get away from the smell. The Millennium Biltmore was in the heart of downtown, and she frequently stayed there when she had business in LA. It was a beautiful, extravagant building. From the facade to the indoor pool, there were marble columns, bright blue, gold, and red tiles, and high ceilings. It was built in the 1920s and heavily influenced by Spanish styles, and a century later, it retained its Renaissance touch.
By the time Esme made it up to her hotel room, there was only one thought on her mind: she needed alcohol, and lots of it.
Esme set her drink down on a coaster at the bar. Her eyes were fixated on the swaying hips of a blonde. The music was peppy and upbeat, but others were playing games and chatting. She danced without a care in the world, and she paid no mind that she was the only one enjoying the music. Esme was mesmerized. The woman approached, still dancing to the song, and tugged on Esme’s hand, inviting her to the dance floor. Esme wriggled her hand free and shook her head with a smile.
“Come on, you’ve been staring at me through the past three songs, at least.”
Her cheeks flushed as she hadn’t realized she was ogling. She gulped the last of her Jack & Coke and reluctantly followed the intrepid blonde. She held Esme’s hand above them and twirled and swayed to the beat of the music. Esme quickly became comfortable and danced with her. She let loose, and between the alcohol and the music, she forgot her troubles. She closed her eyes and held her partner’s hips.
They swayed to the rhythm and grew closer together. Esme’s glazed eyes hooked on the blonde’s full, pink lips before meeting with her blue eyes again. She smiled genuinely. Esme spun her around and held her waist from behind, allowing their hips to move synchronously to the soft, steady beat. She turned her head just a touch so that her nose grazed Esme’s cheek, her hot breath hitting her lips. Over the past six or seven songs, the bar had gotten more crowded and other people joined the couple on the dance floor; they blended in with the others quite easily, affording them more privacy since everybody else was engrossed in their own dance.
The music changed from a soft song to an upbeat one to match the mood of the crowd. It didn’t fit the scene for Esme and the blonde, though, who became preoccupied with each other rather than the music. She wrapped her arms around Esme’s neck and fearlessly connected their mouths. Esme pulled her closer and opened her mouth to the woman’s prying tongue. It didn’t take long, though, for Esme to realize what she was doing. As though she had touched a hot pan, she peeled away.
“I-I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t.” She stuttered and shook her head. She wasn’t even sure if the woman heard her over the music until she grabbed Esme’s hand and led her to the bar.
“Two of my usual.” She told the bartender before walking to an empty booth. Esme sat across from her, and a waitress brought their drinks to the table.
“I’m Charlie.”
“Uh, I’m Esmeralda, but I go by Esme.”
“Okay well, my name is actually Charlotte, but only my mother calls me that.” She admitted.
“That sounds very posh.”
Charlie snorted. “Yep, that’s Mother. She moved to LA from the Bronx, married some millionaire, and had me, so I obviously had to fit the part.”
“You sound bitter.”
“You would be, too, if your mother shipped you across the country to keep you from meddling with her lavish lifestyle and the delusion of being a hot twenty-something.”
“You came back to LA, though?”
“It’s home. Everybody else will complain about the traffic or the plastic people, but when the weather is as great as it is here, nothing else really matters.” Charlie sipped her drink. “So, what’s her name?”
“Hmm?” Esme cocked her brow.
“You’ve been rubbing your ring finger dry, I have to assume there was something there to miss. And besides, I’ve been told that I’m a good kisser, so I can’t take it personally that you turned me down earlier. There’s gotta be someone else. What’s her name?”
“His name. Uh,” she looked down at her hands and breathed a deep sigh. “It’s Ville.” It had been nearly a week since she’d uttered his name. It stung her lips.
“Should I ask what happened?”
“We returned to old habits.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant but didn’t push it. “Oh.”
“I continued to sabotage commitment, and he returned to screwing his ex.” Esme deadpanned and made eye contact with her.
“Oh. Okay, we need more alcohol.” Charlie motioned to the bartender.
“He’s in Europe. We were living together, and I figured if I was gonna be burning cash for a hotel room, it might as well be as far away from him as possible.”
Charlie placed her hand near Esme’s, leaving their fingers barely grazing. “Well if you’re not with him, then what’s the problem?”
“I, uh, I got lost in the moment earlier, but I really shouldn’t do anything.” Esme stared at their hands on the table. “It’s not healthy for me to get involved in something new so soon.”
“That’s very self-aware of you.” Esme looked around the bar, not knowing what to say. “So, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a writer.” She curled her fingers, creating a space between her and Charlie.
“You’re in the industry?”
“No, no, not like an entertainment writer. Well, I guess all writers are in entertainment, by their very nature–” Esme took a deep breath and looked at her. “I’m an author of psychological thrillers.”
“Like horror stories?”
“Yeah, kind of. Not the traditional monster-under-your-bed type of horror, but more about the battles within the mind.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“Yeah, it’s good, I love it.” She tried not to think about the fact that her manuscript was due at the end of the week, and that she had two whole chapters left to write. “What about you?”
“I own a bakery. It’s nothing fancy, just a little shop on the corner. But it’s mine, and I enjoy it. It doesn’t feel like work, you know?”
“Yeah, that’s important.”
Charlie extended her hand out to her. “Gimme your phone.” Esme smirked but handed her cellphone to her. “I have to head out, but if you change your mind, just let me know.” She met her gaze. “To pick up where we left off or otherwise. You seem like you could use a friend.”
Esme smiled. “Thanks.”