“Yes… for the meantime.”
“Why the meantime?”
“I’m looking into other things.”
“Like?” He slurps on his milkshake, following it with a loud belch.
Jesus, no class.
Should I even bother going into my aspirations? He’s fucking twenty-one. His resume probably consists of a string of fast-food chains. I’m not used to these types of conversations with other human beings. After moving to LA, I struggled to meet friends, especially when I was so high on coke all the time. My dealer was my only friend, or enemy, whatever the fuck you want to call him. All my friends are still in New York living the high life I left behind.
“I don’t think journalism is for me anymore.”
It’s the honest truth, and it is something weighing heavily on my mind of late. The passion, ambition, and desire to succeed in journalism no longer ignites the spark within me. I’ve tried multiple times to put pen to paper. However, nothing but utter nonsense comes out. I have no idea why I told him I am thinking of changing careers. Maybe because there’s a part of me hoping Tristan can gain some sort of lesson from my mistakes.
“But didn’t you go to college to study that shit? Isn’t it a bit too late to change your mind now?”
“Perhaps… I don’t know.”
“See, that’s the reason why I didn’t go to college back home. What’s the point?”
“For academic reasons? To make sure you’re educated enough to follow a career?”
“I don’t need a career, I’m happy bumming it.” His response is so chilled, so absolute.
Great, I have a bum on my hands. Josie obviously thought dumping him in boarding school would work wonders.
He continues to ramble on about skateboards and competitions, but I’m distracted. I know what time it is—Thursday afternoon, four o’clock, and just like clockwork, it happens… she’s here.
Yes, there’s a reason why I suggested we take a stroll down to Venice Beach.
Charlotte’s with a woman who I often see with her, but I don’t recognize her by name. She has blonde hair and a stunning figure. They’re wearing their workout gear, Charlie’s stomach protruding from underneath the tank top.
I remember the moment I discovered it about three months ago. Her stomach popped overnight, and there was no denying she’s pregnant with her second child. I went on a bender after that, straight lines of coke every night and a mixture of pills. My dealer has practically moved in. The only thing that pulled me out of it was a warning I got from my boss telling me to get my shit together or I was gone. With my savings account drained, I have no choice but to stay clean.
To do that, I stalk Charlie even more.
It’s a vicious cycle.
One I know has to stop.
I simply don’t know how.
Placing my sunglasses over my eyes, I continue to stare at Charlie making sure she can’t see me. She‘s unbelievably gorgeous. Her hair is cut shorter, just touching her shoulders, and it’s tied back in a ponytail. She and the blonde do these yoga poses, and goddammit, there’s a lot of spreading going on. It’s like porn with clothes on.
I’m lost in my yoga fantasy when Tristan’s voice repeats, “Are you listening to me? ‘Cause you seem to be preoccupied with the brunette and that hot piece of ass next to her. I would have called the brunette a hot piece of ass, but it seems politically incorrect to call a pregnant woman that for some reason.”
I wince at his choice of words. “Do you always talk that way about women?”
“What way? Just pointing out the obvious.” He shrugs, still eyeing them. “How about I go say hello?”
Panic sets in. “No. No, don’t you dare. Plus, you need to stop hitting on women. You’re cramping my suave style. Anyway, we need to go.”
“Why?”
Why, Julian? Quick think of a fucking reason why.
“I’m taking you out to a Lakers game tonight.”