Treasured Yet Discarded

Unexpected Visit

I pull the ice pack away and gingerly feel the back of my head. It’s still tender to the touch, and the Advil is only doing so much to ease the ache in my skull and stiffness in my neck, which means tomorrow at the diner is going to be a gruelling eight hours.

“You sure I can’t get you anything?” asks Amber, sitting on the end of the bed against the glass pane, smothering Ily with affection.

“I’m okay. I appreciate you bringing me food though,” I say graciously. “I really didn’t feel like getting up. I just want to spend the day resting so I can be alright for work tomorrow.”

Amber looks at me with a deep frown of displeasure. “You’re not seriously going to work tomorrow.”

“Of course, I am.”

“Lani, you could have been really hurt last night. I would be so shaken if it was me,” she says while nuzzling Ily who playfully paws at her face.

“I’m not. No one intentionally hurt me, it was just an accident. I’m not bleeding or have any broken bones, so there’s no reason for me to stay home.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t accidentally punch you or it might be a different story. This isn’t even a celebrity thing; this is a typical man thing. Men love to go around saying women are hormonal, then blame their love of violence on testosterone, like that isn’t a f*****g hormone,” she sneers. “They go around solving their problems with their fists and comparing d**k sizes and have convinced themselves that’s healthy and as a result, innocent bystanders minding their own f*****g business get hurt in the process.”

“But it’s not like this frustrates you or anything,” I tease, taking a bite of the souvlaki Amber brought me.

“Why aren’t you mad about this?” she says with disapproval.

“Because it’s genuinely not worth making a big deal about. I got paid and got to go home early. That’s a win,” I say brightly.

“Can I ask you something?” she says hesitantly.

“Sure.”

“I’m not here to judge and I swear I’ll keep it a secret but…are you an illegal immigrant?” she asks quietly as if ICE has my apartment bugged. “Because if you need a lawyer I would gladly represent you, pro bono.”

I roll my eyes. “I assure you I’m very legal. Took two painstaking years, but I was sworn in and have a very legal citizenship, thank you very much.”

“Okay,” she nods. “I wasn’t judging, I don’t care if you are or aren’t, I just thought maybe that’s why you didn’t want to go to the hospital.”

“I didn’t want to go to the hospital because it would cost me an arm and a leg, and I just can’t afford it. I’m only going there if I’m dying or could die.”

I get up and walk over to the kitchenette grabbing a root beer. I hold one up for Amber, but she shakes her head.

“That’s pretty fair. What’s health care like in the Dominican Republic?”

I open my drink and take a sip. “Kind of a mixed bag. It used to be better, but between hurricanes and economic decline it’s a struggling system.”

“Is that how things ended up bad for your dad?” she inquires compassionately.

“That was more like a series of bad luck, starting with the accident and then realising his insurance had expired,” I sigh, remembering the day that changed my family’s life forever.

“Insurance is such a f*****g scam; I don’t care where you live. Thousands of years people managed just fine without insurance.”

I raise my eyebrow questioningly. “People died.”

“Because we didn’t have the science or technology we have now. Now they die because the insurance they’ve paid for their whole lives found some loophole so they don’t have to pay and now people can’t get lifesaving procedures,” she rants.

“Are there any causes you don’t get on a soap box for, or is everything up for grabs?”

“I don’t support causes that endanger people or allow criminals to get away with crimes,” she says definitively.

“That’s a really small list. How many protests have you been to this year so far?”

“Ten. No! Eleven. No! Wait…thirteen. I forgot the one in San Francisco at the start of the year and the one in New York.”

“At least you’re getting out and seeing the world,” I commend her. I walk over, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and give her a tight squeeze. “I admire your passion and dedication to wanting to make a difference in the world.”

“As they say, the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,” she says triumphantly.

“Or in your case women,” I tease.

“As usual, women do most of the heavy lifting in our society.” She gets up, puts Ily on the bed and gives me a tight hug. “I have to get ready for work, but I’ll check on you later, and if you need anything just text or call or just come knock on the door, okay? That’s what neighbours are for.”

I smile, hugging her tightly. “It’s a comfort just knowing you’re there. You go show those suits who is boss,” I grin at her.

“When don’t I?” she winks, seeing herself out.

I smile, shaking my head. Amber can be an incredibly intense woman, but she’s the person you want if you’re ever in a crisis. The woman is a lawyer and an activist. That’s a rare combination. She used to work criminal cases, but she said it became too mentally taxing, so she switched to civil law. Maybe it’s just me, but there seems to be more drama in civil cases.

As I’m about to climb back into bed, there’s a knock at the door. With an amused smile, I open the door. “You couldn’t possibly have forgotten something,” I tease, swinging the door only to freeze like I’ve been encased in ice when I see the 6’7” figure standing in my doorway.

“No, I definitely didn’t forget anything.” He graces me with a smouldering smile as he removes his Ray Bands, tucking them into his black hoodie, revealing those deep blue eyes that looked at me with worry just last night. I stare with my mouth agape, producing the perfect place for flies to seek sanctuary as I process the sight before me.

Julian Easton is standing in my doorway. Julian Easton knows where I live?!

“Um…what are you doing here?” I quietly ask, the shock of the situation preventing me from remembering how to turn the volume up on my voice.

“I wanted to check on you, make sure you were okay after last night,” he says with genuine concern. But he’s an actor so I’m not sure how genuine it actually is.

“How did you find where I live? Who even let you in the gate?” I ask, alarm quickly replacing my shock.

“I got your address from your friend Irina. I explained I wanted to apologise and pay for any hospital bills if there are any.”

“And the gate?”

“Some guy let me in when I said I was here to see you,” he shrugs.

“So much for feeling safe and secure in my own building,” I say indignantly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. In hindsight this probably wasn’t the best idea,” he chuckles bashfully, running his fingers through his messy hair.

“Probably not…but thank you for wanting to check on me. I really am fine,” I say with a sincere smile.

“So no concussion or anything like that?” he presses.

“Nope,” I say, popping the P. “Just a headache…would you like to come in?” I politely ask though I’m not sure why.

He looks surprised by my offer but smiles and nods, “I would love to.” I open the door for him, and as he steps in an intoxicating cologne wafts past my nose making my mouth water. It's warm, sweet, spicy and heady to say the least. I shut the door and see him scanning my apartment and then looking back at me. “Nice PJs,” he says with a playful smirk, as he looks me up and down.

As I shut the door I look down at my oversized night shirt that says, ‘No Pants Are The Best Pants’ and become incredibly self-conscious that I’m talking to a Hollywood actor in my pyjamas. This is so embarrassing. I shyly tug at my night-shirt as if that will magically make it longer than where it currently sits at mid-thigh, but no such luck.

I clear my throat. “Thanks.”

Coming to my rescue and cutting the tension in the air, Ily walks to the edge of the bed and starts meowing at Julian.

“Who is this beautiful kitty?” he smiles with a bright smile, walking over and gently scratching and petting her head as she brushes her head against his palm.

Great. I guess all p*****s love him. Go figure.

“This is Ily.”

“How old is she?” He scratches under her chin, making her close her eyes in contentment.

“I’ve had her for five years, I’m not really sure about cat age to human age ratio.”

“Ily is an interesting name. Where’d you come up with it?” he asks, picking Ily up and cradling her in his arms. She curls up like a contented baby, comfortably swishing her tail as he rubs her tummy.

What a traitor! She could at least hiss at him or something. How did I end up with the only docile cat in existence?

“Well, when I moved to America I was getting used to a lot of phrases and I kept hearing people say ‘Ily’ this and ‘Ily’ that which just sounded weird. Then I realised it was short for ‘I Love You’, which made it sound dumber, but when I got her as a kitten I thought Ily sounded like such a cute name,” I say cheerfully.

He looks at me questioningly, “Your cat’s name is an acronym?”

“Uh-huh,” I say with a bright smile.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re weird?”

I huff, attempting to fold my arms only to realise I’m still holding my root beer, so I keep my hands at my sides. “Anyone ever tell you you’re rude?” I clap back.

“All the time,” he says smugly.

“Well, just know they’re being honest,” I say saccharinely.

He chuckles in amused disbelief, placing Ily back on the bed as he steps into the living area – like two steps – as he looks around. “Your place is so tiny.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you came here to check on me, not make fun of what I name my pets or the size of my apartment,” I say belligerently.

He turns to face me, holding his hand up in surrender. “You’re right, that’s more than fair. I apologise. Truce?” he says, holding his hand out for a shake.

I eye him suspiciously and despite my better instincts, I reach out and shake his hand. His skin feels soft and warm and it's making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Truce. Feel free to have a seat,” I say, gesturing to the couch as I shake off the sensations.

“Thank you,” he says, walking over and sitting down, suddenly making the two-seater seem like a single. “I’m glad you’re okay and with that quick wit your brain seems perfectly intact,” he says playfully, then lets out a sigh. “Carter just has an anger problem, he always has but I promise he’s working on it.”

“That’s good to know. I’d hate for someone else to get knocked into a wall.”

“I have no right to ask, but if you would be kind enough not to go to the press about this or post it on social media, I would be in your debt,” he says, pleadingly.

I roll my eyes. “I see, so you’re not here to see how I am, but to make sure I don’t muddy yours and your buddy’s names in the press.”

He looks at me affronted. “I don’t appreciate the assumption. I really came to make sure you’re okay. I can’t stop you from talking about this, but I just figured since I was here I’d try. Carter and I have been friends for a long time, and I owe him a lot, okay?”

“Look, I get in your world of celebrity that’s probably how people respond to things, but I’m a rational adult who doesn’t believe you solve problems by posting about them online. I only use f*******: and that’s to check on my family, so even if I ended up in the hospital it’s not something I would have advertised.”

He blinks at me in astonishment. “You’re not like the kind of people I’m used to.”

“You mean the kind who throw themselves at you or use you to get a leg up?” I ask pointedly.

“Well…yeah,” he shrugs.

“Believe it or not Mr Easton, there are those of us who are aware that celebrities, like the rest of us, are indeed human,” I whispering conspiratorially the last two words for dramatic effect. Hey, when in Rome.

He chuckles, lowering and shaking his head in amazement like this is really the first time someone hasn’t kissed his feet and treated him like a God. I actually find that incredibly sad.

“I find your honesty quite refreshing, Miss…?”

“Contreras. Nalani Contreras,” I introduce myself.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he says with a warm smile. “And please call me Julian.”

I nod, feeling a little strange to be calling him Julian, but I think I can manage. “Julian it is. Can I…get you something to drink?”

“Do you have another root beer?” he asks, pointing to the bottle in my hand.

“Sure.”

I walk over to the refrigerator and reach in for one of the remaining root beers, as I do so I feel goosebumps creeping up my spine and I become keenly aware of eyes on me. I glance back at Julain just in time to see him avert his eyes and look out the window, which he can’t do because the curtains are closed, so he just looks at his feet. Did I just catch Julian Easton staring at my ass? I can’t decide whether that is creepy or flattering.

I grab the root beer, walk over and sit beside him, handing him his root beer as I take a sip of mine. I pull my feet up, crossing my legs and tucking my nightshirt over my knees.

“Thank you,” he says graciously, taking the root beer, twisting off the cap and taking a long sip.

He examines the bottle with a nostalgic look on his face. At this angle, there’s a soft, boyish charm to him, and the look on his face adds a gentility to him that wasn’t there before.

“I can’t remember the last time I had one of these,” he says, taking another sip.

“You mentioned Mr Chapman has anger issues. How bad are they exactly?” I ask with concern.

He sighs. “Sometimes he can get a little riled up and things can get heated like last night. Aside from taking a few swings at me or the paparazzi, no one else has even gotten caught in the line of fire,” he says, glancing at me with guilt in his eyes.

I frown in concern. “Is he getting help? I mean, he could really hurt someone one day. Why do you stay friends with someone who likes to take swings at you?”

He takes another sip of his drink, staring at the bottle looking lost in his thoughts. “It’s a long story and I don’t expect you to understand. At the end of the day, he’s like family to me, and I just can’t abandon him.”

I watch him thoughtfully. There’s something about the way he speaks about Mr Chapman that feels more vulnerable and human than anything else he’s said since he arrived. It doesn’t feel performative either. I nod, deciding it’s not my place to judge a relationship I know nothing about.

“I respect your loyalty.” I take another sip and sit back, picking at the label on my bottle. Just sitting beside him suddenly makes the room feel even smaller than before and the air feels thick and charged with static putting me on edge and making me want to shift in my seat.

“You mentioned moving to America. Where did you move from?”

“The Dominican Republic. I grew up there and moved here five years ago.”

“To pursue a lustrous career in the entertainment industry?” he teases.

I snort cynically. “God no. No offence. Six years ago my father was in an accident, and he ended up pinned between two cars. He has irreparable damage done to his T8 and T9 and as a result, he’s been in a wheelchair ever since. It was really hard on my family, and with him unable to work it made it near impossible for my family to pay the living bills and his hospital bills. So, I decided to move here to find better work, and I send money to my family every month to help with expenses and pay off my father’s medical bills,” I explain.

I have no idea why I’m telling him this. I don’t usually tell anyone about the reasons why I moved or why I work so hard. It’s really not anyone’s business, but I guess the way Julian was being vulnerable about Carter, made me want to be open with him.

“Wow. I am so sorry, Nalani,” he says, reaching out and squeezing my arm gently.

I look up at him, once again finding myself lost and captivated by those deep blue eyes. They remind me of the ocean back home after the sun has gone down and the clouds have vanished. They’re almost hypnotic. His eyes seem to briefly dip to glance at my lips before he snaps himself out of it and pulls his hand back.

“I think it’s very admirable what you’re doing. Starting over in a whole new country, surrounded by strangers just so you can take care of your family,” he says, taking a long sip of his drink.

“It’s what family does. Wouldn’t you do the same for your family?” I gently ask.

The softness I was just admiring in his face quickly disappears, like a wall just went up and a guarded mask just took its place. It’s enough to make me feel uneasy.

“I should be going,” he abruptly announces, putting his drink on the table and rising to his feet. “I’ve got a lot of things I need to get to today.”

I put my drink down and scramble to my feet. I don’t know what just happened, but I feel like I may have said something out of line, I just wish I knew what.

“I understand. Well, I appreciate you coming to check on me,” I say sincerely as I walk him to the door, opening it for him.

“I’m glad you’re okay and thank you for being so kind about the whole incident. I really appreciate it,” he says, a genuine smile of appreciation slipping through the cracks of his façade.

I shrug. “Don’t mention it.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Nalani. I hope you feel better soon.”

He puts his sunglasses back on and walks down the hall, then turns out of sight. I close the door and lean back against it taking a deep breath as I let what just happened sink in. Julian Easton was in my apartment, and it was the strangest interaction of my entire life.