By Degrees by Elle Casey
“Hush your mouth, woman. Can’t you see I’m in church right now?”
“You let him talk to you like that?” asks Ricky, standing behind me, obviously amused by what he’s seeing and hearing.
I walk out of the room and gesture for him to go in front of me. “Once a week he gets a pass to be a complete fool. He just used it all up in there. Could you show me to the kitchen? It’s time to get this party started.”
“I’ll be with you in a minute!” says Scott at our backs.
“Yeah, come on,” Ricky says, his long strides carrying him swiftly down the hall.
I follow Tarin’s driver and sometime babysitter through the large house, taking in the details as we make our way to the kitchen. An interior decorator was hired to do the designing, that much is clear. It has a cold, beige, perfectly-put-together look about it. I can’t picture Tarin being happy here or being involved in the buying of any of these items other than to sign a check. The place could go up for sale tomorrow and be purchased by a wealthy couple not at all involved in the entertainment industry, that’s how not Tarin it is.
It makes me sad knowing that maybe this is the whole point for him; he doesn’t want to connect here and needs to be ready to fly the coop at a moment’s notice without any attachments holding him back. Maybe this should bother me on Jelly’s behalf, but it doesn’t. I don’t want him to be with her, and the idea of them being a couple out of a sense of duty over a child makes me want to rage at the world. It’s because I care about him as a musician and a person, nothing more. I hate to see a wasted life. It has nothing to do with the fact that I find him attractive and annoying and maddeningly similar to someone I once loved with all my heart. Tarin deserves that kind of love and dedication. Not from me of course, but someone. Someone who wants to be with him for who he is, not because of his money or status. Grrrrr … Jelly. I smile bitterly, thinking how it’s those two things that make him the completely wrong person for me. He has too much of both the money and the status. Never ever will I get involved with someone in this world again.
“Hello? Anybody in there?” Ricky is stopped in the middle of the hallway and I do the same behind him without even consciously doing it. He’s caught me staring off into space.
“Oh, ha, yeah…” I giggle, trying to play off my space cadet act, cringing when my goofy laugh makes it worse, “…just lost in thought for a second there.”
“Looked serious.” He’s probing.
“What’s behind that door?” I ask, letting him know without exactly saying so that I’m not the sharing type.
“That’s the music studio. No one’s allowed in unless invited.”
“Do you get invited?” I ask, staring at the door handle, wondering if it’s locked. My curiosity is instantly off the charts. This would be the room where Tarin can be himself. I really want to see that, and then again, I really, really don’t. I have a feeling it would do something irreparable to me, and I’ve already had those kind of things done to me before. I’m not fond of being broken like that.
“I’ve been in there once or twice maybe. But I don’t stay.”
I look up at him. “Why?”
He shrugs, looking sad. “I don’t know why. I guess … I don’t like to see him doing something he should love and looking unhappy about it.”
A lump develops in my throat as a picture of Tarin’s tortured expression comes to mind. I nod, taking a moment to collect myself before responding. “Yeah. I know what you mean.” It’s exactly how Austin was near the end. I’m so glad I’m here to help Tarin. Everything I learn about him makes me feel stronger about my goals for him. This is so going to happen. We’re going to get Tarin back on his feet and performing healthy again if it’s the last thing I do.
I’m jerked out of my inner pep-talk by Tarin’s voice coming from the kitchen. It’s loud, and he’s clearly angry.
“That’s not going to happen! I’m telling you right now, it’s just not!”
“Uh-oh,” says Ricky, loping down the hallway and turning a corner ahead.
I follow behind, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen.
Tarin’s on the phone. He looks at me as he listens to the person on the other end of the line and throws his hand up while rolling his eyes. Apparently, I’m the icing on his poo-cake.
“No … no. Fuck that. No.” He pauses before launching into another tirade. “You tell them they can kiss my fucking ass and suck my dick twice while they’re at it. I’m not paying them shit.”
I walk over and stand in front of him. “Lawyers?” I ask softly.
He nods.
I hold out my hand.
His eyebrows go up, but he shrugs and hands the phone to me, placing it in my palm. “You want to deal with ‘em, go for it. I’m over that shit.” He leans back against the counter and snatches a plastic bottle filled with orange stuff, preparing to take a swig.
I take the container from his hand and sniff it before putting the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I take a quick sip of the drink to make sure it’s alcohol-free. When I’m sure it’s just orange juice, I hand it back to him. Tarin’s mouth is hanging open at my nerve, but I ignore his reaction and concentrate on the phone call.
“Who’s this?” asks a frustrated male voice.
“This is Scarlett Barnes.”
“Oh … Hi, Scarlett.” His tone goes from angry to conciliatory in the blink of an eye. “This is Nick Galanos. I was told you’d be getting involved over there.”
“Hi, Nick. Nice to meet you. So what’s going on?”
Tarin takes another swig of his juice and I watch his Adam’s apple bounce up and down in his throat. When his head tips down again, he stares at me, licking a couple droplets of juice off his lips. It sends a tingle through my body that I work desperately to ignore. Such a bad idea, Scarlett. Stop looking at him. I cast my eyes to the floor.
“We have a possible civil suit I need input on. A settlement offer’s been made. Two people from the press are claiming Tarin hurt them when he grabbed their cameras and trashed them a few weeks ago. They’ve made a demand and they’re threatening to sue for damages.”
“I know you’re busy, but is there any chance I could come in to see you soon to discuss all his outstanding legal issues?”
“Sure. How’s tomorrow look for you?”
“One o’clock works.”
“I’ll make a space for you. See you then. In the meantime…”
“In the meantime, just put anyone off who calls about Tarin. He’s unreachable for the immediate future. We’ll come up with a plan when I see you.”
“Great. I’ve heard good things about you, Ms. Barnes. Glad to have you on board.”
“Call me Scarlett,” I say, finally warming to him. He doesn’t sound like the man-eater I know some of his kind to be.
“Good. And you can call me Nick. Gotta go, see you soon. Bye.”
“Bye.” I give the phone back to Tarin after shutting it off. “We’ll go see him tomorrow together.”
Tarin’s brought his anger down a notch or two, but it’s not gone entirely. He wipes his upper lip off with the back of his hand. “I’m not paying them jack shit. They came after me and hit me in the face with a camera. I was just defending myself.”
I put my hand on his shoulder but quickly pull it away when the heat coming through his shirt surprises me. I can smell him too, so I take a step back to clear my head. Talking while under the influence of Tarin would be a bad idea. “Don’t worry about it now. I’m not into rewarding the bad behavior of paparazzi. It just encourages their bullshit.”
Tarin smiles for the first time since he flirted with me about the drugs in his pants. It’s a slow movement across his face, transforming the dark clouds that had gathered there into rays of sunshine. He truly is a beautiful specimen of a man … if you like that type, which I don’t really. Not anymore.
“I like you,” he says, before taking a careless swig of his juice.
His words make my heart do
I press my lips together. “You shouldn’t. I’m about to bring you pain in the worst kind of way. Liking me will only confuse you. Better just stick to the hate for a little while longer.”
He’s still smiling when the juice bottle moves away from his lips. It distracts me temporarily from what we were talking about. I like how his eye-teeth look sharp and one of them kind of overlaps the tooth next to it. His face is unique, handsome in a dangerous kind of way. He’s careless and it shows everywhere, even with the way he wears his hair and how he looks around at the people nearby. He’s got the world at his feet and he knows it.
This is the closest I’ve been to him, and I can see his imperfections. I list them mentally so I can tally up all the reasons why he’s really not all that good-looking and definitely not someone I should be paying any of that kind attention to.
His nose has been broken before and not perfectly set. His lips are full but his mouth too easily twists into a smirk. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and the almost-black beard growing in is sparse and patchy. Both of his ears are pierced with a couple holes each, but there are no earrings there. His eyes are a dark green, so dark they’ve always seemed brown to me until now. He’s about two months overdue for a haircut, but the unkempt look goes alarmingly well with the rest of his careless attitude. Ugh. I hate him for being attractive even while being ugly.
“Sounds like a challenge,” he says, pushing himself off the counter to stand more squarely in front of me.
“Nope. More like a warning.”
“I don’t scare easy. I thought you knew about my reputation.”
My heart is hammering behind my ribs, making it very likely he can see it moving my shirt ever so slightly. I step to the side, brushing off the silly flirting he’s trying to play at, acting like it’s all just a big joke to me, like I do this kind of thing all the time.
“Oh, I heard all right.” I grab his orange juice and hold it up as I move towards Ricky and Scott at the entrance to the kitchen, walking backwards. “If you have any more of these, might want to grab a couple.” I spin around and leave them all standing there, taking off at a fast clip down the hallway.
Yes, I’m running away like a total chicken-shit, but it’s better than getting caught up in a game that I cannot win. Tarin has me at a distinct disadvantage. He’s full of himself and has nothing to lose in his mind, so it makes him bold, fearless. I, on the other hand, doubt myself almost every second of the day where men are concerned, and for the last two years, I’ve had no heart left to break. I’m the one with nothing left to lose, and I’m full of fear that I’ll never have anything worthwhile in my life ever again.
Chapter Thirteen
I GREET THE OWNER OF Charlie’s Gym warmly. He and I go way back. I practically grew up in this neighborhood, and Charlie and my dad were friends for years before my father passed away.
“Sweet Mary, look at you,” he says, giving me a hug and then holding me out so he can see me better. “All grown up. Where does the time go?”
I chuck him in the shoulder, unable to hide my smile. “You say that every time you see me, Charlie.”
“I only have memories of you as a little girl, that’s why. Short term memory’s shot all to hell.” He shifts his gaze over to the others. “Who’ve you got with you this time?”
I follow his gaze. Ricky looks only a little uncomfortable with the fact that we’re in a boxing gym that saw its best days about thirty years ago. Tarin’s nodding his head in appreciation, most of his attention fixed on the ring near the center of the big space. It warms me to think he likes Charlie’s place despite its shabby parts. Hopefully, the rough-edged clientele who’ll be showing up later won’t scare him off.
I put my hand on Charlie’s shoulder and hold out my other towards my crew. “You know Scott, of course.” I remind him because it’s not a joke that his short term memory is gone. He never remembers Scott. Too many punches to the head as a youth has taken its toll on his brain matter.
“Nice to meet you, young man.”
Scott shakes his hand, scowling. “Come on, Charlie, you know you remember me. I’ve been here hundreds of times now.”
“Nope,” Charlie says matter-of-factly, “never seen you in my life.” He turns his gaze to Ricky. “Who’s this big guy? My next project?”
“No. He’s just here for the fun. Your project is Tarin.” I nod my head in his direction.
Charlie shakes Ricky’s hand first and then eyes Tarin up and down. “He’s pretty skinny.”
“Yes.” I try to hide my smile at the frown on Tarin’s face. He’s finally paying attention to what we’re talking about.
“He looks soft,” Charlie continues.
“He most definitely does,” I say, having a very difficult time not laughing my butt off.
“Hey, now!” Tarin puts his right arm up and flexes his muscle. It’s lean but small, and when he looks at it, he frowns again. “Oh, shit. What happened to all my muscles?”
“They went up in smoke,” says Ricky. He looks instantly chagrined when Tarin cuts him with a sharp look.
Charlie ignores their banter. “If we’re gonna do this, you gotta get him to eat. I mean eat. None-a that La Jolla froo froo garbage. Real food. Meat and potatoes with two desserts minimum. Six meals a day.”
“Trust me, I plan on it,” I say. “So you think you can do it?”
Charlie chews on something, maybe his cud or his tongue, I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Charlie doesn’t invest much of his income in dental care.
I know the expression on Charlie’s face well; he’s considering Tarin, his physique, his structure, his overall look. He’s taking his measure. Charlie’s trained more middle weight champions than anyone else in the state. If he can’t get Tarin in fighting shape, no one can.
Tarin stands up straighter, his shoulders going back. I’m not even sure he’s aware of the fact that he’s trying to give Charlie his best, but he is, and that makes me very happy. Charlie’s routines are not like going to the local workout gym and pushing a few plates up and down on a machine. Tarin’s going to need a lot of motivation for this to work. I find that bringing men to a badass place like this is almost good enough to spark that flame. The rest has to come from hope, lying somewhere inside the man. I pray he hasn’t lost all of his.
“Where you from?” Charlie asks Tarin, as if that matters in his calculations.
“Chicago.”
“You do drugs?”
“Sometimes.”
“Gotta stop that. No drugs, no alcohol, no smokes.”
“I heard.”
“Hearing and doing are two different things. Don’t waste my time. You willing to quit, cold turkey?”
Tarin shrugs. “Sure. I’m no addict.”
“Good.” Charlie looks at me. “I’ll give him a shot. Just one. He messes up, I’m done. I’m too old to play games. I got people banging on my door all day to train them, but I say no to everyone. Everyone but you.” He sighs as he puts his rough hand on my cheek. “I never could say no to you.”
I hug him to me. “You’re not old. And I’m glad you can’t say no to me. Never say no to me, Charlie.” When my dad passed on, Charlie took up the space that was suddenly there. I think I did the same for him when he lost his best friend.
He pats me on the back, his voice going soft. “Easy now, chickie. I have a gym to run here. No tears allowed.”
I back up and smile. “Tears? Who’s got time for tears?”
He grins back. “That’s my girl. You ready to throw a few?”
I nod and then look at Tarin. “Oh, yeah. I’m ready.” A thrill goes up my spine when I see the look on Tarin’s face. First he’s confused, then intrigued. His expression reveals the exact moment he fully realizes what’s about to happen. Challenge accepted. Yea
Charlie helps Tarin and I get into our gear, all the while giving a safety and rules briefing. I’ve heard it a thousand times if I’ve heard it once.
“…And remember … when I call the match over, it’s over. You throw one more punch after I ring-a-ding and you’re banned for a week, you hear me? This isn’t one-a them MMA cage matches.” He’s grumbling again, never having gotten over the idea that boxing could turn into something so brutal. He’s an interesting man, born and raised to fight but believing in a very strict and finite set of rules of engagement. He doesn’t like change much. I’m convinced his memory loss is a self-induced refusal to acknowledge that the world has changed into something he’s not comfortable with.
Tarin’s holding up his gloves and looking at them through his face pads. “These things are pretty big.” He looks at me with concern. “I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you. I’ll just give you like half-punches or something.”
Charlie snickers. “I don’t recommend it.”
“But she’s a chick,” Tarin explains, as if Charlie doesn’t understand. “I was raised not to hit chicks.”
“Fine. Don’t hit her,” says Charlie. The glee in his voice is impossible to miss. I know he’s hoping Tarin won’t, just so he can enjoy the show.
“You worry me, old man,” says Tarin.
“It’s not me you should be worried about,” Charlie says, patting my wrist now that he’s finished closing up my glove. “Go get ‘im, girly.”
I climb into the ring, coming easily to my feet. I do some light bouncing to get the blood flowing, reminding myself of Scott. I nod at him and he smiles at me, giving me a thumbs up.
He and Ricky are standing ringside, both of them with arms folded across their chests now. Ricky seems nervous, but Scott has seen me at the gym before. This is almost as much fun for him as video games. I think the only thing that would make it better for him would be to have me hooked to a game controller he was holding.
Tarin rolls under the ropes awkwardly and gets on his feet. He walks around the ring, like he’s getting the lay of the land or something. I can see him warming to the idea of doing this, but not necessarily against me. Every time he looks in my direction, he acts guilty, his shoulders hunching and his eyes darting away.