Treasured Yet Discarded

What's The Tea?

“Thank you,” I say with a courteous smile to the waitress as she sets my order down on the table. As someone who works in the service industry, I always try to treat other servers with respect. We have enough problems; we don’t need to make life harder for each other.

I take a sip of my Pepsi and start digging into my delicious and juicy looking bucket of wings as I wait for Irina at our favourite barestaurant. Aside from the food, we love the alfresco-style dining that opens out onto the streets of We-Ho. It's sophisticated but with a tropical decor and vines that wrap and weave through the shaded pergola. It reminds me of the hotel resort my mum works at back home. Growing up I was allowed to play and swim in the pool for free. I always thought it was weird having a resort pool that looks out onto the ocean though. I mean, that's basically one free giant pool. Either way, it's the closest I can get to feeling like I'm back home.

I’m onto my second wing when Irina finally graces me with her presence, racing over and sliding into her seat opposite me. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Traffic was a b***h and then I couldn’t find a damn park,” she sets her purse down, looks at my plate and pouts. “You ordered without me.”

“I just got off work Irina, I’m starving,” I respond shamelessly as I suck the meat clean from the bone. These habanero wings are absolutely to die for!

“I can’t believe you still went to work.” She shakes her head in disbelief as she waves over the waitress.

“I have bills to pay.”

“I get that, but your health should be a priority too. Your dad wouldn’t want you out here killing yourself for him,” she consoles compassionately, reaching out and rubbing my arm as the waitress returns.

“Hi, what can I get you?” the waitress asks brightly.

“Hi,” Irina smiles back, “Could I please get a Perrier, loaded potato skins and a side of jalapeño poppers? And we’ll be paying separately.”

“Great, I’ll go see to your order,” she confirms and walks off.

“Someone’s hungry,” I comment.

“I forgot to eat lunch. But enough about food, I want to know everything that happened on Saturday, starting with the club. You were too tired to talk when I dropped off your car, so spill,” she urges, sitting on the edge of her seat and leaning over the table like a child eager to open their gifts from Santa.

“Before I get into that, I have a bone to pick with you,” I declare, cleaning my fingers with my napkin.

“Besides the ones you just sucked clean?” she teases.

“Why the hell did you give a stranger my address?” I snap, that feeling of having my boundaries grossly stepped on rushing to the surface just as they did when Julian appeared at my door, a fact I still can’t comprehend.

She stares at me, taken aback by my harsh tone, but her face quickly splits into a grin, “Julian Easton came to your apartment?!” she squeals, causing several heads to turn our way.

I quickly hush her, gesturing for her to lower her voice. “Would you keep it down? I don’t think the whole block heard you.”

“Whoa, what’s with the attitude?”

“You gave a complete and total stranger my home address! Are you crazy? You don’t do that, Irina, that is a horrible invasion of my privacy. How would you like it if I did that to you?”

“I would love you to send a nearly seven-foot-tall hunk to my front door. It would be the greatest gift you could ever give me,” she states matter-of-factly.

I roll my eyes in frustration. “You might be fine with that, but I’m not. I don’t care if he’s a celebrity, he’s still a stranger. I felt extremely uncomfortable. Besides, you don’t know what happened in the lounge, for all you know he could have assaulted me, and you’d just gone and given my attacker my home address!” I reprimand her, appalled at her lack of critical thinking. I love her to death, but when it comes to celebrities and all things Hollywood, it’s like she’s got blinkers on and can’t see their world and those in it for what they truly are.

Her face falls, worry setting in as my words seem to pierce through those rose-coloured glasses.

“f**k…Lani, I’m so sorry. I never even…shit, are you okay?” she asks, reaching out and holding my wrists. “Did he hurt you?”

I sigh and rub her arms reassuringly, “I’m fine, he was somewhat polite and very apologetic. I just needed you to see why that wasn’t okay. Please don’t do that again, please?” I implore her.

She nods vehemently, “You have my word, I will never give out your details to anyone ever again. He just seemed so nice, and he stopped me while I was getting in your car, and he begged me to help get him in touch with you. What exactly happened in that lounge?”

I lower my voice to not be heard by eavesdroppers. Hollywood is full of them. “As you know, Mr Easton and Mr Chapman were in the lounge.”

She nods, “I do indeed.”

“Well, I was asked to take a tray of drinks up to the lounge and when I went in there, the two of them were arguing. I can’t really remember what they were arguing about, it wasn’t any of my business, but I remember Carter lunging at Julian and the two of them brawling and next thing I know I’m on the floor and the back of my head is killing me. I guess in the scuffle I got knocked into the wall. Next thing you know they’re panicking, some security guard is getting Monty, and Monty is taking me home and paying me for a full night.” I shrug. “That’s basically the whole story.”

“Wow,” she exhales. “Are you okay now? You look fine,” she states while analysing me.

“Like I keep telling everyone, I’m perfectly fine. My head doesn’t even hurt anymore. It’s a little tender to touch, but I simply avoid touching it and then I don’t have a problem.” I dive into my next chicken wing, letting the heat make my tongue and lips tingle.

“I’d heard in the magazines that Carter Chapman has anger issues. Apparently, he’s been in anger management twice in the past. I guess he’s going to have to make a third trip,” she sniggers.

“We don’t know if that’s true, the press makes up so much that it’s hard to distinguish fact from fiction. It’s plausible given Julian did say Carter has anger issues, but that’s not proof of anything.”

“Leave it to you to defend the guy who nearly knocked you out cold,” she chuckles.

“I’m not defending him; I’m just not jumping to conclusions when I don’t have the facts.”

“So, what happened when Julian came over?” she asks suggestively, wiggling her blonde eyebrows at me.

I once again grace her with an eye roll. “He came over, made fun of the way I named my cat, had a root beer, apologised profusely for Carter’s behaviour, we chatted briefly, and I ended up explaining why I moved to America and then he left because he had places to be. It’s really not the juicy story you’re hoping for.”

She slumps looking deflated. “You had the biggest celebrity in Hollywood right now, in your apartment, which basically means he was in your bedroom, and you let that golden opportunity slip through your fingers. I am so disappointed in you,” she tuts in dismay.

“What did you expect me to do? Tie him to the bed and make him my slave?” I ask in exasperation.

She thinks it over, “I mean, it’s a start.”

I ignore her and continue with my meal as hers finally arrives, and she dives in.

“You got his number though, right?”

“Why would I get his number?” I ask in bewilderment.

She hangs her head despondently. “Have I taught you nothing? You didn’t even get this number. What the hell is the matter with you?”

“I didn’t want his number. He was just a random guy in my apartment. I was just happy to get back to resting. But hey, if I ever bump into him again, I promise to give him your number, okay?” I tease.

“I can get with that,” she grins. “How was work anyway?”

“Same as usual. It was nice not having everyone hovering over me asking about what happened, fretting, or asking why I didn’t e*****e an actor when I had the chance,” I answer pointedly.

She snorts, “All I’m saying is, if a famous person seemed that concerned about me, I would feel like I won the lottery.”

“He should be concerned, their stupid testosterone-driven act nearly earned me a concussion. That’s a hospital bill and time off work I don’t need, thank you very much. Speaking of work, how was it for you?”

“Nowhere near as interesting as your shift. Sadly, you missed me performing a new song,” she gleams with pride.

“Oh no,” I whine. “I was really looking forward to hearing that.”

“It’s okay, I’ll just perform it the next time you’re working. I have to keep my number one fan entertained,” she says with a playful wink.

“I may not care about other celebrities, but the day you reach fame status I will be your biggest fan. I will be there at all the shows, I will be collecting your merch and your albums. You, I will promise to obsess over.”

“Aww,” she says, placing her hands over her chest. “You are just the absolute sweetest. I knew I loved you.”

We’re enjoying our food and drinks, gabbing about whatever random stories pop into our heads and just having a general good time, when a voice reaches my ears filling me with the same dread and dismay as if I were to hear the seven trumpets announcing the apocalypse. I close my eyes, praying this is just a side effect of my hit to the end, but I am proved wrong when Dylan saunters up to our table, leaning on it and encroaching on our space.

“Now what are the chances of bumping into you here? It must be my lucky day,” he preens.

“Hey, didn’t you read the sign? It says no dogs allowed,” Irina cautions, making me force back a smile.

“Then I’m surprised they let a b***h eat at the table,” he counters.

Irina raises her eyebrow in challenge, and I instantly know this won’t end well.

“Dylan, please leave us alone, we’re just trying to enjoy a nice dinner,” I request politely.

“Better idea, why don’t I join you,” he excitedly suggests.

“Over my dead body,” Irina sneers, sitting back and folding her arms over her chest.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Dylan glowers at Irina.

“You didn’t ask anyone anything, and even if you did, the answer is no. I’m enjoying dinner with my friend, now please leave or I’ll call for the manager,” I warn sternly.

He makes an annoyed face, running his tongue over his teeth with a sucking sound as he leans into me. “You know, Lani, this playing hard-to-get routine is getting real f*****g old,” he hisses into my ear.

I recoil as soon as I feel his breath hit my ear. “I’m not playing anything, if I could put a continent between us, I would,” I spit in disgust.

“You can pretend all you want, Lani, but you’ll come around eventually, and when that day comes, you’ll be begging for me,” he promises, a smug smile on his face and a deviant look in his eyes that once again leaves me with that overwhelming urge to scrub myself clean.

“Begging for you to f**k off, maybe,” Irina mutters as a snide aside.

Dylan glares at her in contempt, pushing off our table and walking away, refusing to break eye contact with me until he is over the threshold and out of view. I breathe a sigh of relief as soon as he’s gone and sit back in my seat, rubbing my arms in discomfort. His very energy is toxic. His presence leaves this vile, suffocating weight behind that seems to linger. He sometimes teases that I can’t get him out of my head, and in some sick, twisted way, he’s right. He lingers in my mind like a bad smell because of reasons like this. What the f**k was he doing here? I really hope it was just a coincidence and not a result of him following me here.

“That guy is revolting. I’ve met more than a few sleezy guys in my days, even back home and that p*****t takes the cake. I can’t believe he’s still bothering you,” she says with concern.

“He just won’t stop,” I say in frustration, scrubbing my hands down my face. “He makes work an absolute nightmare. If it weren’t for him, my job would be an absolute breeze. He is literally the only negative.”

“What about the customers?” she quizzes.

“I can handle them. Even if I get a bad customer, it’s not a big deal because at some point they’ll leave, but with Dylan, I know that eventually I have to return to work and there he’ll be. Polluting the air with his rancid vape breath,” I gag.

“Oh, of course, he vapes,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “He totally seems like the kind of douche to do that,” she says acerbically. “Can’t you complain about him?”

“I did. I do. All the time, but it’s pointless because as it turns out, Dylan is Gary’s nephew.”

Irina looks at me in shock, “That lovely man is related to that sleazeball? Oh, that is just sick. So, he’s letting this continue just because it’s his nephew.”

“It’s his family,” I sigh. “I guess I can’t ask him to turn on his own blood.”

“Uh, yes you absolutely can. I don’t give a f**k who you are. If I found out one of my relatives was messing with someone I would put their fingers in a meat grinder then mail it to their parents with a handwritten note demanding to know why they didn’t raise their child right,” she says bluntly.

I stare at her, slowly blinking as her words paint a disturbingly vivid picture in my mind. “Um…that’s a bit disturbing.”

“So is that creep sexually harassing you. Your boss should act like a f*****g boss and do his job. You just say the word and I’ll kick Dylan’s ass for you,” she vows.

I smile appreciatively, reaching out and squeezing her hand, “Irina, he’s not worth the jail time.”

“That’s assuming I’d get caught,” she says with a conspiratorial wink.

We finish up our dinner, pay for our separate meals and head out walking down the street arm in arm as I walk her to her car.

“Do you want a lift home?”

“I would love one, thank you,” I smile graciously.

As we make our way to her car, I stop in my tracks when those deep blue eyes fill up the sky in front of me. The jumbo screen along the side of the building in front of me is playing the trailer for Julian’s latest film at the cinema. I find myself captivated, watching snippets of his performance and getting swept up in the emotions he’s bringing to life on the screen. I’m starting to see why everyone is so enamoured with him. He’s an incredible performer, at least from what I can tell from a two-minute trailer.

“Hellooo, earth to Nalani,” I hear Irina sing.

I snap out of my thoughts to see her hand waving in front of my face. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“Yeah, I could see that,” she chuckles. “I thought you don’t care for celebrities,” she mocks.

“I don’t, but I can appreciate talent. The trailer actually looks good,” I commend.

“Hell yeah, it does. We should go see it. I hear there’s a gay s*x scene, now that I have to see,” she says, rolling her R’s sexually.

I roll my eyes and pull her by her arm, “See, now it’s just going to be weird because I’ve met the guy.”

“No honey, the word in English is ‘hot’,” she playfully patronises me.

“I know what I said, thank you,” I huff, ignoring her comments. Though I hate to admit it, an image of Julian Easton shirtless did pop into my mind and at least according to my imagination…wow.