Tap Tap Tap

‘Ma’am?’

Tap Tap Tap

‘Ma’am can you hear me? MA’AM!’

A bright light pierced my eyes as a deep, muffled voice filtered slowly through my unconscious.

I groaned and turned away from the light.

‘Ma’am, this is LAPD please step out of the vehicle.’

I groaned and tried to snuggle deeper into my headrest.

…Wait, since when did my bed have a headrest?

... In fact, since when was my bed come with the steering wheel that was digging into my side?

Damn, I must have fallen asleep in my car again. That’s third time this - Did he say LAPD?!?!

My eyes flew open to see the beginnings of a beautiful sunrise in front of which stood a wary police officer holding a heavy, black flashlight which he was now shining around my car.

I felt my face warm as his eyes widened as the sheer amount of Starbucks Espresso cans, boxes of Captain Crunch, and wrinkled clothing strewn all over the backseat and floor.

My voice sounded like gravel as I cracked the door and asked, ‘Is there a problem, officer?’ I tried for a cute smile, but it must not have worked since the officer not only didn’t smile back, but wrenched open the car door and repeated , ‘Please step out of  the vehicle, ma’am.’

Ma’am, who am I, my mother? This guy didn’t look a day below 30 and he was calling me ‘Ma’am’?!?!

I frowned and got out of the car, ‘Is there a problem officer?’

‘Ma’am – ‘

‘Miss.’ I interrupted with a bit more bite than intended.

‘Miss,’ he said with a sarcastic eyebrow -  the bastard, ‘We received a report of a possible B&E, breaking and entering, in regards to this vehicle.’

I looked at him like he had lost his mind, ‘I’m sorry? I don’t understand.’

He smirked, ‘A concerned citizen called 911 to report a homeless woman sleeping in a Silver Prius in the parking lot of the In N’ Out Burger on 21st and Grant.’

My mouth simultaneously dropped open while my face turned tomato red…well more of a mauve really as my mocha skin tone darkened the blush, but that’s beside the point.

Homeless? He thought I was HOMELESS?!?! Me, the former Miss Teen Georgia that was voted Most Likely to Be Famous in high school?! Me, the 2003 and 2004 Emory University Homecoming Queen, a – a  - BUM?!? Oh this is too much! I randomly thought of my mother who would have smacked the policeman across the face for such slander. I mean, sure I didn’t look my best but –

I glanced down at myself and froze in horror.

A filthy red flannel shirt with God knows what splashed across the right arm opened to bedraggled, muddy tank top with one shoulder almost ripped in two. My former pink Victoria’s Secret bottoms were covered and stiff with mud and to add insult to injury, there were grease stains from the fries near the crotch area where I must have dropped the bag when I fell asleep. To top it off, I had one shoe on, a now muddy brown Converse, and a bare foot.

Tears of embarrassment welled up in my eyes.

I could only imagine what the officer saw when he looked at my face. The ruddy complexion and peeling nose and cheeks I now have due to the  intense sunburn I’d gotten a few days ago when Justin had me put grass seed down over his entire lawn, a sprawling multi-acre task, because he thought his neighbor’s grass looked greener than his. My hair, once glossy and thick, now hung in a limp frizzy ponytail since I hadn’t had time to meet with Jackie in weeks and my own hair care treatment consisted of drying my hair out with a flat iron every morning just to look barely presentable. There were bags under my eyes that even Covergirl couldn’t hide. And what was worse…what was worse than the mud or the sunburn or anything else…was the fact that I smelled suspiciously of urine and I didn’t know why.

As I inhaled my own foul stench, I realized this self-righteous prick of a cop had every right to think I was homeless and breaking into cars just to have something soft to sleep on. Why? Because I would have mistaken myself for a homeless person too. My breath suddenly started to hitch as tears began to flood down my cheeks, making trails through the dried mud on my face. I broke into sobs while trying to explain to the officer that this was my car. Ten minutes later, I was left alone in my car with a warning to go home and get a good nights rest.

 I leaned my head back and closed my eyes and thought about how I’d gotten to this point.

It had been six weeks.

Six weeks of pure, unadulterated hell that promised not to cease until either I quit or Justin ran out of evil ideas. 

It had started off with little things. Texts at 5 o’clock in the morning saying ‘Go get my blue shirt from the cleaners’ or ‘Go get shoes from Mike’, making sure he always neglected  to tell me key details like which blue shirt or who the hell Mike was. True to my competitive nature, I’d risen to his challenges at first, pulling pranks like adding excessive amounts of flavorless Metamucil to his tea for a week (which locked up his colon better than rush hour traffic) then slipping a small laxative pill in one of the sandwich bags full of Captain Crunch that Justin always steals from my purse and wolfs down like a Doberman. God,  that had been a sweet victory. I had time to watch a movie on my iPod and take a nap, while Justin holed himself up in the bathroom, moaning and grunting the afternoon away.

After a while though, his constant rudeness, the middle of the night orders, his never ending demands for the impossible started to take a toll. I started having trouble sleeping in part because I couldn’t stop thinking of what I’d forgotten to do that day or how I was possibly going to have time to be with him in the studio and clean the endless supply of Nikes in the closet. I quit sleeping in my bed because I was afraid I’d get too comfortable and fall asleep and miss a call, so I started napping on the couch or even my car, so I could be ready for the next call.  He would always call in the dead of night, asking for things like a Starbucks low-fat blueberry crumble at 2am or telling me at 3:15am that I had to reorder his closet again the next morning at 8 because he wanted his clothes to be organized by color and in alphabetical order by brand.

And all this I’ve had to take in silence. If I even look like I want to complain, he says the same line, the same annoying-ass fucking sentence that I just want to shove back down his throat and make him choke on.

 ‘If you don’t like it, you’re free to leave.’

Free to leave. Just like that. Just throw him the bird, turn around, and stomp out shouting curses at the top of my lungs. Like I don’t want to. Like I don’t have to struggle every morning just to wake up and go about my day. Like I don’t have to ignore every fiber of my being that tells me to run away screaming. But at night, when I’m fortunate enough to be able to actually go home, go up to my apartment, and see my two best friends, the two people who make my life in LA worthwhile, I know that tomorrow I’m going to wake up at some ungodly hour and do it all over again. I do this all for them, even though they don’t see it that way. Every time I walk into the apartment, the tension gets so thick you could cut it with a knife. James is so frustrated he can barely speak to me anymore without berating me for taking Justin’s shit. I ignore the words, but the look of disappointment in his eyes when he sees what I’ve done to myself makes me feel even worse about myself. Jen, on the other hand, has been walking on eggshells for the last few weeks trying to assuage the guilt that came from knowing she caused all this. I honestly don’t blame her though, sure she made a mistake, but after selling practically all her worldly possessions to pay Kline back and taking a shitty job as a waitress in some sleazy bar, I saw she was trying to change. In truth, the only person to blame for all of this was Justin.

I have to give it to him though, he’s good. I mean, he’s really good. For example, two weeks ago, after I stupidly mentioned that I was allergic to pollen and pet dander (ie - fur), he immediately went to the pound and adopted a one year old border collie that he even named Emma because ‘you two look so much alike’. Emma who, though lovable, sheds everywhere and pee on everything, was now my red eye - runny nose - skin irritating  personal responsibility,  nevermind the fact he had people in his employ that took care of his other two dogs, Emma was mine and mine alone. In fact, it was Emma that got me to where I am right now, slightly damp, reeking of pee in a fast food parking lot.

Justin had an awards show to attend (thank God) and I had finally gotten the night off, flying home to go sleep in my bed for the first time in weeks. God, I’d been so ecstatic. I put on my favorite pair of pajamas, something I hadn’t worn in a while as I always ended up passing out in my work clothes, and dove into my bed, dumb enough to think I’d have one night of peaceful slumber. Then it came.

Duh-dum-duh duh- duuuuhhh- dum dah- dum dah- dum daaaa

Chopin’s Funeral March blared from my phone, letting me know I had a text from Justin. I rubbed my eyes and bleared at the clock to read a glaring red, 3:34 AM. I let my head drop back down onto my pillow and let out a sigh, before opening my phone.

911.

I stared. 911? He’d never sent a 911 text before, maybe a ‘get here now’ or a ‘move your ass’, but never an actual emergency text. I threw on my gym shoes and grabbed my car keys on the way out the door. I streaked across town, blowing through red lights and breaking speed limits to go all the way across Los Angeles, making it there in 30 minutes, a new personal record.

After passing Hank, the neighborhood security guard who gave me a piteous smile like he did every time he saw me, I zoomed through the neighborhood, my fingers shaking so bad I messed up the security code to his house twice.

Leaving my car in park with the door open, I ran up to the house, sweating bullets, and entered the foyer screaming, ‘JUSTIN!!! JUSTIN!!!! ARE YOU HERE?!?! ARE YOU OKAY??? JUSTINNNNN…’

I started up the stairs, then froze as I took in Justin, standing at the top of the stairs, clad only in a pair of boxers, with a look of drunken amusement on his face.

‘Why the fuck are you yelling so loud? Do you know what time it is?’

I continued to stare at him, bewildered. ‘What? What’s wrong? Are you ok? Is Jess ok?’

My eyes roamed frantically over his body, looking for bruises or burns or something to justify his text.

‘Yeah, we’re fine except for you scaring me half to death by coming in screaming like a banshee. What the hell is wrong with you?’

I felt my jaw start to clinch in anger, ‘Then why did you text 911 at 3:30 in the morning?’

‘Psh, it’s 4 o’clock now. If I was really in trouble, I’d be dead already. Who the fuck takes thirty minutes to respond to an emergency? Do you want me dead? Is that it?’

I remained silent, feeling the blood start to boil in my veins.

‘Anyways,  Emma needs to go out.’

I paused, allowing ten seconds of silence to float through the house as Justin began a slow smile slightly reminiscent of the Grinch after he stole Christmas from the Whos.

I blinked once, then twice,  ‘What?’

‘I said Emma needs to go out. See, that’s why you do such a shit job, you never listen.’

My eye twitching, I ground out, ‘Emma needing to go out does NOT qualify as an emergency, Justin.’

‘I’m sure Emma thinks it’s an emergency. Plus, I don’t want her peeing all over the carpet again. Your hands smelled horrible.’

My voice shook with contained fury of volcanic proportions, ‘That’s because you didn’t give me gloves, Justin.’

‘Whatever, look just take the damn dog out and do your job. If you don’t like it, you’re free to leave.’

There it was again. You’re free to leave. Oh, I’d leave him alright, Broken and bloody at the foot of the stairs after I pushed him down. I took a deep breath to control myself and let it out over five seconds before calmly climbing the rest of the stairs and walking past him to get Emma out of her bed in the hall.

After a fifteen minute jog around the block, I returned to Justin’s ridiculously large mansion and began walking up the driveway. I was about halfway up when I heard of small squeak and began getting sprayed with water on all side, causing me to let go of Emma’s lease in surprise. It seemed that Justin had changed the sprinkler timer for the second time this week, drenching me and allowing Emma sprint off  through the mud.

Giving a loud groan, I ran after her, falling multiple times, losing a shoe, and ruining my best pair of pajamas in the process. After a five minute chase through sprinklers that gave off shockingly cold water, I caught Emma who, unhappy with being denied freedom, immediately peed all over me.

I hung my head as I walked towards Justin’s garage, knowing that if I brought Emma in all muddy, he’d send me right back out anyway. Grabbing the kiddie pool I used for bathing her, the garden hose, and a dirty shirt belonging to George, Justin’s gardener, in a futile effort to save my pajama top, I set off to clean the dog, tears of shame silently running down my face.

Thirty minutes later on the way home, my stomach growled reminding me I hadn’t eaten in….God, had it been 24 hours? I don’t really have an eating schedule anymore, relying on baby carrots and animal crackers to get me through the day (which probably explained why I’d lost twenty pounds in the last six weeks). I stopped in the In N’ Out, ordering some fries to go before parking to eat them, which is where I must of fell asleep.

With a dejected sigh, I opened my eyes again, glancing at the time, realizing I had to be in the office with Justin in two and half hours. I walked in my apartment, briefly relishing the feeling of home before heading straight for the bathroom. I took a long shower, doing my best to scrub off the depression and shame that seemed to coat my skin. After changing into another set of work clothes that now sat too loose on my frame, I stared longingly at my bedroom door, imagining myself floating onto the bed and sinking into a deep sleep. Slowly, almost painfully, I turned away heading for our hard, uncomfortable couch that we’d gotten for cheap at the Salvation Army.  Throwing a thin blanket over my legs, I sunk into a dreamless sleep, only to wake up two hours later, more tired than I was before.

----------------------------------------------

I walked up the stairs, carefully balancing two stacked cup holders with eight styrofoam Starbucks containers.

I hate studio days. Even though I normally get to just sit back and watch Justin work, (something that a few months ago I would have killed to do) studio days are when I have to suffer through public humiliation as Justin always finds something to bitch at me about in front of his entire production team and whoever else happens to be in there. Luckily they seem to like me, always joking with me when Justin leaves the room or goes in the booth. That, mixed with the fact that Trace had flown in for a few days which always improved Justin’s mood, had me hoping, no praying, that today would be better.

I walked in, passing Sherry the receptionist with a warm smile, before going back to door 3.

Awkwardly shifting to knock on the door with my elbow, Trace came to open the door, his face splitting into a grin as he saw me.

‘M&M! What’s up!’

Like always, his smile was contagious as I found myself smiling as well.

‘Hey Trace. How’re you?’

‘ Great now that you’re here.’

I laughed, ‘Oh you charmer, you.’

Giving me an obvious wink, Trace turned to give me a side hug and took the top layer of coffees.

I looked around to the other six people in the room.

‘Hi, everyone!  I know it’s an early session, so I picked everyone up some Starbucks.’

Everybody, with the exception of Justin who sneered in his headphones, said thanks as I passed out their coffee, remarking on how I managed to memorize everyone’s favorite. The last coffee I kept for myself, relishing the first sip of caffeinated goodness before I heard,

‘What the fuck is this?’

I slowly blinked and turned to Justin, annoyed that, as usual, he’d found something to complain about already.

‘What’s wrong, Justin?’

‘What do you mean what’s wrong? Come here, taste this.’

I stepped forward and took his cup, only partially lifting it to my lips before common sense got the better of me and, deliberately looking at Justin, I wiped off the opening with my sleeve, earning a hesitant laugh from the room and a death glare from Justin.

I took a sip and shrugged. It tasted like regular old tea to me.

His eyes bulged, ‘What do you mean - ’ he paused to pantomime my shrug.

‘I don’t know Justin. It tastes like tea.’

‘Wrong, it tastes like green tea. And did I ask for green tea, Emma?’

Fuck.

I sighed.

‘No, Justin you didn’t. You wanted chai and they messed it up. I’m sorry, I’ll go get another one.’

‘Jesus, Emma. That shit’s going to take forever with the way you drive. That’s time that I’ll have to sit here waiting and wasting my hard earned fucking money on studio time I can’t use because I can’t sing because you can’t do one simple thing.’

I looked down and closed my eyes, refusing to see the looks of pity everyone always gave me when shit like this happened.

Trace, the brave soul,  broke in, ‘J, man. It’s not even –

But Justin was too far gone to listen.

‘No Trace, she has one job. One fucking job. Help me with the simple shit. It’s not rocket science its…’

Justin’s words seemed to fade away behind the rushing sounds in my ears. Oddly enough, my head felt like it was floating away from my body and I was finally at peace. I giggled as I felt myself fall through a sea of clouds, barely registering my head hitting something hard, bringing the welcoming darkness.