It's a Fugly Life Read online

  “Hey, don’t ignore me, principessa!” Patricio’s deep voice radiated from my left.

  “Gah! What the hell?” I scrambled to the foot of the bed and hopped out.

  “Lily,” said Max in a domineering tone, “get back here this minute. We are going to take turns making love to you so you can tell us who is better.”

  Patricio nodded. “Si. I must know who is the best fuck, Lily. This is the only way to settle things.”

  Holycrazyexboyfriends! “Get out!”

  Max shrugged, looked at Patricio, and they started making out.

  “Shit!” I rocketed into a sitting position from my bed, my body covered in sweat. Dear Lord. That had been the weirdest dream of my life.

  I staggered from bed and stumbled to the kitchen. My body still felt heavy and tired. I needed a few weeks off, not just one night of solid sleep.

  I went to my small kitchen—Formica brown counters and cabinets with ten layers of dried, lumpy white paint—got my coffee maker going, and checked my cell. I felt grateful to see nothing from Max or Patricio, but super ungrateful to see a text from Danny, who was my old roommate from Chicago, where I’d lived when I worked for Max. When I came back to California, she moved in with her boyfriend, Calvin, but we still texted all the time, mostly about our boyfriends. She was not a fan of Patricio’s, but I always thought it was because she’d been a huge Maxwell Cole fan.

  Maybe she was onto something. I stared at the picture attached to her text. It was of Patricio dancing with Adeline at some crowded nightclub, their hips pressed tightly together and his arms wrapped around her midriff.

  Danny: You gotta dump this scumbag, honey.

  “Wow.” I pushed my hands through my hair. I had heard what Patricio said last night about the pictures being from his past, but my gut twitched with doubt.

  Me: I hate men.

  The wavy dots on my screen told me her thumbs were tapping away.

  Danny: Have you learned nothing?

  Me (frowning and getting out my power digits): Like what? That men suck?

  Danny: You need to make up with Max. There is no other. FYI, he’s still in my top five.

  My mouth sprang into the O position. As in “Ohhh…she did not just go there.” While we’d been roomies, one of our running jokes—not really a joke—consisted of comparing notes about our “lists.” These were the men who occupied our minds when the “power washer” in the shower was set to “stress relief.”

  Me: I’m telling Calvin, you horny perv.

  Danny: Who says C-man isn’t in on it? For your reference, I offer role-playing wig—evidence #3.

  A pic of a brown wig, sort of like Max’s hairstyle, popped up on my screen.

  “What! Ewww…” I pulled back my phone with utter disgust. “Keep your kinky to yourself, girlfriend.”

  Me: TMI. TY. Adios.

  Danny: FU. BTW, when are you coming for a visit?

  Me: Not sure. Have business to run.

  Danny: Jeez. Thanks. You open a new shop ten minutes from my apartment and you won’t even come by for a coffee? WTH, L?

  I simply didn’t understand, but that knot in my stomach had a horrible premonition. This time, I dialed Danny, who answered immediately.

  “What do you mean ‘my new shop’ is only ten minutes away?” I asked.

  “Well, well, well…hi there, stranger! How the hell are ya?”

  “Very bad. You have no clue.”

  “Could that be because I was right about Patricio?” she offered.

  I sighed. “Not now. What did you mean about the store?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  “No.”

  “How’s that possible?” she asked.

  “What? Tell me!”

  “Okay! Sorry! Do you remember my friend who’s dating that day trader?”

  “You mean that guy Gary, who works out of his parents’ basement?”

  “Yeah. That’s the one. But now he works at M.S.—”

  “Morgan Stanley?”

  “No. Milford and Schleppy. They run it out of his friend’s parents’ garage.”

  Gary was moving up in the world. Literally.

  She went on, “Well, my friend said that Gary said that he heard through another friend, who’s some big investment broker, that Maxwell Cole took that building he owned downtown and sold it to a private investment firm.”

  I’d heard about that because my “Maxwell Cole” Google alert remained active—don’t judge me—but it had said nothing more than Max sold the building.

  “So?” I asked.

  “So then a few weeks ago, LLL opened. The store takes up the entire bottom floor.”

  “And?”

  “And I went there yesterday. It’s a cosmetics store and there are lilies everywhere—the walls, their logo, and the packaging. I bought some skin lotion and lip gloss. By the way, Lily, the place is amazing. It’s like visiting girly heaven.”

  What? Huh? No. Nuh-uh. Fogettaboutit. Not possible. Olivídalo. Bullshit. Pa-leez. “You’re fucking with me.”

  “No.”

  Blinking, I held the phone to my ear with my shaking hand.

  She continued, “It’s beautiful, Lily. The kind of place where you walk in and instantly feel at home, but in a cool way, because my home is a pigsty and stresses me the hell out. But if I had a magic home on a cloud to hide from the world, that would be it.”

  What. The. Everliving. Hell? “You’re telling me that Maxwell Cole secretly opened,” deep breath, “a cosmetics store?” Deep breath. “With lilies everywhere?” Another deep breath.

  “How’s it possible you don’t know?”

  Max. That’s why. That was what he’d been doing these past months. But why keep it from me?

  “Danny, let me call you back.”

  “Sure. Just promise you won’t forget. I mean,” she chuckled, “it’s not every day my best friend’s hot ex-boyfriend opens the nicest cosmetics store I’ve ever seen in tribute to her. Did I tell you it brought tears to my eyes?”

  None of this made sense.

  “I’ll call you right back.” I hung up and dialed Max, but it went to voice mail. “Max, you already started this new company? Why would you not tell me?” I drew a breath. “Call me.” I hung up and grabbed a mug from my cupboard, my mind a mess of emotions. This was so like Maxwell Cole. He did what he wanted. And why had he not said anything? He’d had every opportunity to mention it.

  It all made me wonder, though, if his return to my life wasn’t part of some bigger plan, because starting up a new company was big, big news, and I hadn’t heard a word, which meant he’d been keeping it a secret from everyone.

  Why?

  I glanced at the clock on my microwave. Crap. I was already running late. I opened the store at nine on Fridays. I scrambled to the bathroom to get myself together, trying not to think about how badly my heart hurt—the pictures of Patricio with that other woman, Max keeping secrets from me. I simply couldn’t understand why they behaved like this.

  A half hour later, I pulled into the back lot behind my building. My boutique was one of five shops that occupied the quaint little block filled with art galleries, souvenir shops, and small restaurants. Even though people came from all over the world to vacation in Santa Barbara or go to college, this section still had that small-town charm.

  I walked down the narrow driveway, out onto the sidewalk, and to my store. The moment I shoved the key into the lock, my shop neighbor LaSandra called my name. She was a silver-haired woman—not sure from what country—but she made the best fudge and caramel apples in the world. She also sold magazines and newspapers. A very strange combo.

  “Good morning, Lily!” she said with an unusually chipper tone. Normally, we’d bump into each other after closing when she looked exhausted and ready to call it a day.

  “Hi, LaSandra.” I twisted the key and popped open the door.

  Wearing a bright yellow summer dress, she walked over, grabbed my free hand and san
dwiched it between hers. “Our prayers have been answered.”

  What is she talking about? “Prayers for…?”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Nope.” I’m far too busy getting face time in the Enquirer.

  “There’s a new owner who’s generously offered to lower our rents by ten percent.” She unexpectedly wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. “It’s a miracle, Lily. I was considering closing my shop after my lease was up—I just couldn’t afford the increase.” She released me. “But a decrease? This is wonderful! I can advertise for the holidays and make a profit this year!” She hugged me again and then trotted off to her shop.

  Meanwhile, my mind buzzed, trying to understand it all because no one ever lowered rents. Not in California. And the owner happened to buy the place right around the same time Maxwell Cole walked back into my life?

  I slid my cell from my pocket to call Max again but paused. Now was not the time to get into it with him when I needed to open the store. Our next conversation would require a solid hour of talking. Okay—screaming.

  I flipped on the lights and set my purse behind the counter as the door jingled.

  “Ciao, Lily.” My head snapped up to find Patricio—wearing black slacks, a red button-down shirt, and a gray fedora—standing in the middle of my front door, holding a coffee.

  “Patricio, what are you doing here?” I didn’t know how much more of their drama I could handle.

  He shrugged his brows and smiled. “Am I not allowed to visit you?”

  “Not when I’m trying to get my shop ready and your presence will do nothing but give me the urge to commit murder.”

  “So you are upset?” Patricio approached me and set the coffee on the counter. It had “Lily” written on it, so I knew it was a white mocha.

  Dammit. I love those.

  “Lily, listen to me. I was not with that woman. You know not to believe the garbage they print in the tabloids, si?”

  I narrowed my eyes. What I knew was that Patricio used to be a world-class player and might not have hung up the ol’ love gloves like he’d claimed. “The tabloids might lie, but pictures don’t.”

  “It is like I told you, Lily—or was it Max I told?” He shrugged. “No matter. It is like I said; I was with Adeline a few years ago. The pictures are old. We are simply working together now.”

  I stared at him with one raised brow. “Then why keep it a secret?”

  “I did not wish to remind you of Max.”

  I wasn’t buying it. Yes, Adeline was Max’s sort of ex—they’d been casual lovers—but Adeline was a movie star. I saw her picture all the time—magazines, on Netflix, and at the checkout stand. Patricio had to know that.

  “So,” I crossed my arms over my chest, “you want me to believe that you had a fling with Adeline many years ago, but kept it a secret from the world. And then you also decided to keep it a secret that you’re doing a movie with her—a movie that I would see eventually when it comes out.” I hoped he saw the flaw in his bullshit “secret” excuse.

  He stuck out his hands. “Okay, okay. I didn’t tell you because I did not want you to see the truth in my eyes and feel jealous.”

  “What truth?” At this point, I really couldn’t wait to hear what garble would be coming out of his mouth next. This is getting comical.

  “We have done a lot of kissing in the movie, and yes, I am a man and enjoyed it—just a little. But this is very different from what I have with you, Lily.” He took my hand and cupped it between his. “I have something with you that I have had with no other woman.”

  “A death wish?” Because right now, I could see it in his eyes—the man was acting.

  Patricio made a little laugh and then raised my hand to his lips, planting a kiss. “Silly Lily. We have true love.”

  He lowered his head, and I snapped my hand away before he could plant another phony kiss.

  “Patricio, I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m not buying your bullcrap. And, frankly, I’m not sure how you obtained the best actor in Italy status because you’re the worst liar ever.” I simply wasn’t sure what he was lying about—loving me or cheating on me? Either way, it wasn’t good.

  Patricio’s bright green eyes narrowed on my face. “And you, Lily, are the weakest woman I have ever met.”

  “What?” I snapped.

  “You let Max poison your opinion of me, didn’t you? You listened to his lies and allowed him to turn you against me.” Okay, now Patricio wasn’t acting. The anger was just as real as the tinge of frustration red on his handsome face. “What did that asshole tell you, eh, Lily? Eh? Did he say I took advantage of his sister? Or that I don’t love you? Because before you go believing what other people say, you might want to attempt to give a man the chance to give his side of di story.”

  Jesus. I felt my shoulders sag with exhaustion. He was right. On the other hand… “Like you gave me the chance to explain why Max was kissing me the other night?”

  “That was different. I caught you in the act.”

  “Okay. Fair enough, Patricio. But tell me this: why didn’t you call me when those pictures of you and Adeline came out? Why say nothing?” It made him seem that much guiltier.

  “I planned to call you later, but I wanted to make you jealous a little first. It seemed only fair after I found that asshole’s lips on your mouth.”

  “That was pretty low.”

  Patricio took a deep breath. “Yes. It was, but now I know that your head must be all crazy with the hormones and tings.”

  By “tings” I assumed he meant “things,” specifically baby related.

  “Yeah,” I said, “about that. I need to tell you, Patricio, that I am—”

  “No. I am sorry. I am sorry for playing these games with you when you were—are—feeling very emotional. And I should only be angry with Max, who has wanted revenge on me since I was with his sister.”

  “So you don’t deny you slept with her?” By my calculations, if she’d been sixteen, Patricio had been about eighteen or nineteen.

  “Of course not. She was very in love with me, and I liked her very much, but you know how teenagers are. She started talking about marriage and being together forever—nothing frightens away a young man like hearing that sort of thing—it is only natural at that time in one’s life when you want to be free.”

  Well, the way he’d put it, I supposed I might, might see his side. Nevertheless, Max still had every reason to be upset. It was the way of the big brother.

  He continued, “Max got very upset when I broke things off with his sister and he attacked me in the middle of a cocktail party my parents were throwing. He has issues with anger, that man. Which is another reason I would never trust him with you, Lily. So even if you do not choose me, I suggest you stay away from him. He cannot be trusted.”

  Okay, that sounded like a red herring. And wasn’t Patricio the one who’d attacked Max the other night? That being said…

  “Thank you for the advice, Patricio, but I am not getting back together with him.”

  “Of course not. You are in love with me and are going to have my baby.”

  “No. I’m not. I’m not having your baby. That was just some—”

  “What!” He slammed his fist down on the counter, making the coffee cup jump. “You are going to kill our baby?” he yelled.

  Whoa. “First off,” I held up a finger, “don’t yell at me. And second—”

  “You cannot do this, Lily! You cannot take this baby and—”

  “Ohmygod! Will you stop and listen? I am not pregnant with your baby!”

  Patricio’s eyes went wide and then wider. His handsome face went from upset to enraged. “You…you…” He shook his finger in my face. “I knew it! I knew you were fucking that Max behind my back.” He began ranting in a long string of Italian words I did not understand spare one: puttana. “Slut” in Italian.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. Lorrrd, if he’d just shut the hole in that hot head of his
for one minute and listen.

  I stood there as Patricio screamed at me, his arms up in the air, waving all around. Strangely, it sort of reminded me of the way he danced.

  After several moments, me waiting patiently for him to finish his giant man-tantrum, he said one final thing: “You and I are through! Finito!” He turned and headed for the door.

  “Wait, but…”

  He was gone with a jingle before I could finish, leaving behind only the angry static in the air.

  So…Max thought I was pregnant with Patricio’s baby and he still wanted me. Patricio thought I was pregnant with Max’s baby and then called me a whore and dumped me.

  Wow. Just wow. But my brother had been right. The baby variable really had shown me their true colors.

  “Well, you’re right about one thing, Patricio. We are finito,” I mumbled to the closed door. I would never let a man speak to me like that in English or any other language. He hadn’t even given me the opportunity to explain. Still, I needed to set the record straight. I couldn’t have him going after Max or taking some sort of revenge.

  I slid out my phone to text Patricio.

  Me: I’m not pregnant, you idiot. But, yes, we are over. Arrivederci!

  I set down my phone and covered my face. Dammit. How had things gone so quickly from walking up a hill toward a happier place in life to sliding down back into the muck?

  But as I stood there, looking around my empty store, at ten past the hour—not a customer in sight—I felt that churning in my stomach. Discomfort, knotting, nausea. It was like my body wanted to tell me something that my mind didn’t want to accept. Could it be the fact that I had been seriously considering marrying Patricio without really getting to know him? Was it that I’d opened this store, knowing my chances of making it a success were nearly impossible? I had ignored the facts because I’d been focused on having something of my own, something to control, perhaps? Or was it the fact that I kept lying to myself, looking for distractions and pretending I was over Max when I really wasn’t?

  I groaned. “I need my shrink.”

  “So you’re having doubts about your recent choices.” Sitting in a brown armchair in front of me, notebook in hand, Clara looked over her black reading glasses at my face. “Tell me more about that.”