Saporosity: The Story of Luke and Lana Read online

  "I already told you, I have a boyfriend." And you're old. And creepy. And smell like summer sausage.

  "I don't believe it for a second." Great, even a stranger thinks I'm destined to be alone. I shake my head and look around and point to the first guy I see.

  "That's him. Sorry, I have to go," I walk toward a guy that has his back facing me, not waiting for the man’s response.

  I can feel him following close behind and it makes me cringe knowing that I'm going to have to play this out.

  "There you are," I say with a smile. The guy turns around and glances down at me as he slips his phone from his ear and into his pocket. I look up at his confused, yet very handsome face. Alright, Lana. At least you picked a good looking guy. I stand in front of him, not wanting to look over my shoulder to see if the crazy man is still there.

  "Excuse me?" His dark eyes crinkle in confusion. My God, he's gorgeous. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, dark scruff.

  "Yea, I've been looking everywhere for you." He raises a brow.

  Okay, good looking yes, overly friendly, no, not at all, and definitely not one to pick up on what I'm trying to accomplish here.

  I peak over my shoulder and see the man still standing there, looking between us awkwardly. I look back at the stranger who follows my gaze. He looks back at me with a frown.

  "Is this guy harassing you?"

  What is wrong with this guy? You never say that out loud about a crazy person. Why can't he just pretend we're together and walk away with me?

  First I can't get an actual boyfriend and now I can't even get a guy to pretend to be my boyfriend. I’m doomed.

  "Is this your boyfriend? The one you were waiting for?" the man says, taking a step forward, reaching toward me. I flinch away from him and feel myself being tugged backward, behind hot, moody guy.

  "Back off," he says, sternly. The man takes a step backward and raises his hands in surrender.

  "I was just saying hello to the pretty girl." Oh my, crazy.

  "Well you said it. Now say goodbye." I peak at the man and he gives me a big smile. He's missing two of his bottom teeth. He waves as if we’re friends and I look down at the ground until I know he's walked away. I take a deep breath when Mr. Moody turns to me.

  "Thanks, I,"

  "Be more careful next time," he blurts out, interrupting the gratitude filled speech I had prepared

  "What?"

  "I said be more careful." I shake my head.

  "But I wasn't even..."

  "Don't walk around flaunting yourself then freak out when a guy shows you attention." I scoff.

  "Are you serious right now?"

  He looks at me with a straight face. I would think that yes, yes he is serious right now. And for the record, I’d like to retract all previous thoughts of this guy being hot. He’s a jerk and that cancels out his looks.

  "First of all, I didn't flaunt anything." I'm wearing jeans and a sweater. What is there to flaunt?

  "I don't care," he says with a sigh before walking away. My jaw drops even lower.

  "Hey," I say, running after him. I tug on his arm roughly. He doesn't budge at the movement but turns around on his own.

  "Don't walk away from me. I wasn't done yelling at you."

  He mumbles a ‘whatever’ and turns to walk away but I run in front of him, fully aware that I have become the crazy stalker of the situation.

  "I was minding my own business when that guy started following me."

  "Then maybe you shouldn't be walking around here by yourself."

  He side steps me and begins to walk away again. I catch up with him easily so I'm walking next to him. This is where that whole keep your mouth shut and let it go thing would come in handy. But I just can’t. I always feel the need to explain, or more so, win. I must have the last word.

  "Oh, I need a babysitter to walk around Central Park in broad daylight with hundreds of people around?"

  He stops and looks at me from head to toe before turning his dark brown eyes to mine. I ignore the fact that his open perusal of me makes me feel self-conscious.

  "I'd say yes, apparently you do." I glare at him and he smirks! The bastard actually smirks at me.

  “You’re a jerk,” I exclaim. He chuckles like he’s heard it a million times before, and I have no doubts that he has. "Well I was going to say thank you but never mind. I would have been better off handling that guy on my own," I say turning from him and stomping off before he can walk away. I chant 'do not turn back, do not turn back' the entire retreat, proud of myself when I finally disappear into the foot traffic without so much as a glance back in his direction, yet a little disappointed at the same time that I didn't get to look at his face one last time

  FOUR

  "So, Lana, what are your plans after graduation?" Mr. Peterson asks me from across the dining room table. I smile at him politely.

  "I've gotten a few offers but I want to make sure I find the right fit before I accept anything." It's a lie, I haven't gotten any offers. I could, if I use my name, but it feels like cheating. I want to get a job on my own, not because my parents are Thomas and Victoria Harrington.

  "Good for you. That is so important. These kids nowadays hop from one job to the next. No loyalty," he says, shaking his head. Mr. Peterson is one of my dad's business partners at his law firm. He's an alright guy I suppose. A little stuffy, but not so bad to talk to if forced.

  "And are you seeing anyone, Lana? I've heard you can be quite the free spirit." His wife, not so much. Wait, did she just call me a whore?

  "No, I'm not seeing anyone right now."

  My mom clears her throat, uncomfortably. She had a very large diamond on her finger and a baby in her belly when she was my age. I glance at my father who doesn't even look like he's paying attention to the conversation that's happening at his own dinner table. How many times can a person reshuffle the food on their plate?

  "Carter Williams seems to have eyes for you."

  She gives me a knowing smile, like we're all in on a dirty little secret. I want to tell her that Carter Williams has eyes for anything with a vagina but I'm pretty sure using the word vagina at the dinner table would earn me another lecture from my mother.

  "Carter and I are just friends," I say with a smile. It’s the nicest thing I’ve said about Carter in years.

  "What about that Harris boy? You two seem to get along well." She's fishing for gossip that doesn't exist.

  "Calvin and I are just friends as well." She laughs and it sounds like a cackling hyena. All high pitch and forced at first before it starts rolling in ear piercing waves.

  "Nonsense, dear. You two are well suited for each other."

  I continue to smile at her even though I want to fling my foie gras in her face. But I don't. That wouldn't be proper dinner etiquette. No food fights and no vagina talk at the table, I remind myself.

  "Victoria, these kids," Mrs. Peterson presses, shaking her head at my mother like she's a wise woman.

  My mother just continues to stare at me like I'm not even here. Seems someone still hasn't forgiven me for last weekend. Now that I think of it, I wonder if she even knows what forgiveness is.

  I've always been curious about her upbringing. How her parents were. They died when I was a baby and she never talks about them. She doesn't even have pictures up around the house of them. I hate to think poorly of the dead, but they clearly did a number on her. But that's no excuse for how she acts. A crappy childhood doesn't give you the right to act like a crappy adult. All I know is that her therapist probably makes a small fortune from having her as a client. Best kept secret in our social circle, Victoria Harington goes to a shrink regularly. What I would give to be a fly on the wall during her sessions.

  "Yes, they do seem to be a bit more headstrong nowadays."

  My father finally looks up from his meal like he just realized there are people in the room with him. I wish I could tune people out like him. Mrs. Peterson laughs in agreement.

  "Oh, isn't it
the truth. We would never have gotten away with the antics these children pull." She turns to me with a condescending smile. I want to point out to her that she doesn't even have children but I remain silent.

  "I did hear about your words with Peggy Johannes," she says in a tsking voice.

  "Just a misunderstanding," I say as I continue to smile at her.

  "Yes, I'm sure it was," she says, distastefully.

  "I understand the jealousy though, dear. Her Emily is quite accomplished for such a young age."

  I give a fake laugh. Word on the street is that Emily had to sleep with two junior execs to get that fancy new job of hers, but I'm not one to judge. Well obviously I am, but I won't with Mrs. Peterson.

  "Yes, her Emily sure is one of a kind," I say as I stab at a red potato on my plate like it had somehow offended me.

  "Lana," my mother warns, knowing where this is headed. I glance up at her then look at Mrs. Peterson satisfied face. She's trying to bait me.

  "Indeed she is. I've noticed she has caught the attention of that Harris boy."

  Didn't she just say Calvin and I should date? I shake my head.

  "Last I heard, Calvin was dating someone." Mrs. Peterson gives a tarty little laugh.

  "Yes, some barista." I drop my fork and it loudly clanks against my plate.

  "She's a student at NYU. She's actually a very down to earth girl."

  "Who is ready for dessert?" My mother says, interrupting our conversation.

  "You've talked to her?" Mrs. Peterson says, eagerly, as if she's getting some hot piece of information from me.

  "A few times, actually."

  "And what could a girl like that possibly have to say?"

  "A girl like what?" She waves her hand and purses her lips as if I already know what she's insinuating.

  “Lana,” my mother’s stern voice barely registers.

  "You mean a girl that actually has to work for things? One that isn't handed everything?"

  "Lana," my mother warns again but I stupidly ignore her.

  "Or do you mean the kind of girl that doesn't only care about bagging a rich husband so she can spend her days bossing around the house staff to feel more important? Which one is it?"

  Mrs. Peterson narrows her eyes. It seems she has heard the gossip that flies around about herself. She’s a small town girl that managed to lock down Mr. Peterson after she claimed to be pregnant with his child years ago. The pregnancy was a sham and the poor fool didn’t ask for a prenup. She’s notorious for hiring then firing her house staff just so she can feel like she has authority. It’s a revolving door of employees. Or so I’ve been told.

  "Apparently Peggy was right about you." I snort, so very ladylike.

  "Peggy Johannes is right about nothing. She's got her head stuck so far up,"

  "Lana," my mother yells, slapping her hands on the dining room table causing everyone to jump. I glance at her red face.

  My father is looking between all of us distantly like he doesn't care to be involved in another one of our arguments. Poor Mr. Peterson continues to eat, totally tuned out from the world.

  "Why don't you excuse yourself. We can discuss this later." Great. I give Mrs. Peterson one more smile before pushing out from my chair.

  “Mrs. Peterson, it’s always such a pleasure,” I say as I give a dramatic curtsy before walking away in my heels.

  My stomach is in knots as I push through the dining room doors to head toward my car. I might have taken this one just a tad too far.

  FIVE

  The next morning my phones buzzes loudly on the nightstand next to me. I squint at it and debate throwing it across the room to make it stop. I barely slept last night, constantly replaying the evening in my mind on a repeating loop. I should have just kept my mouth shut, why is that so difficult for me to do? Why can’t I just let things roll off me like everyone else? My phone starts buzzing again and I roll over and grab it off the nightstand this time, yanking it off its charger just a little too forcefully.

  "What?"

  "Please tell me you did not tell Sharon Peterson that she was a gold digger on a power trip last night." I laugh with a croaky voice.

  "Good morning to you."

  "Lana," Calvin says in a serious tone that causes me to sigh.

  "I didn't say that...exactly." Now he's sighing.

  "What happened? My mother's been on the phone all morning. I overheard her say that you said Peggy Johannes has her head stuck up her ass." I laugh again.

  “Why are you gossiping with your mother?”

  “I’m not gossiping with my mother, I overheard her talking on the phone.” I see no difference in his explanation.

  “Why would you tell her that?” His tone is both pleading and impatient.

  "Peggy Johannes does have her head stuck up her ass."

  I pause and think for a moment. "Well I guess that's not completely true. It's more like Emily's ass that her head is stuck up." I sit up and stretch my arms over my head.

  "Of course she does, but you aren't supposed to say that out loud to anyone. Most of all Sharon Peterson."

  “Why not?”

  “Because Sharon is the biggest gossip of them all. You should know that by now.” I do know that.

  “I meant why am I supposed to hold my tongue? Why is everyone supposed to? I think a heavy dose of honesty is exactly what these people need.”

  “And what makes you think you should be the one to give it to them?”

  “It’s fun,” I say, like it’s painfully obvious.

  “Lana,” he pleads.

  “You need to relax. Why do you care so much anyway? You weren’t even there."

  I climb out of bed and head toward the kitchen to make some coffee, knowing I’m going to need multiple cups to get me through the morning.

  "Because apparently it had to do with Misty."

  "Not really," I say, opening the top lid of my coffee maker before filling it to the top with water.

  "That’s not what I heard. Just tell me what happened." I grab my favorite mug out of the cupboard and place it on the counter next to the coffee maker.

  "Misty was brought up but it wasn't really about her. I kind of got lost on one of my tangents."

  He should know how I operate in those situations by now. I don’t know why he’s acting like it’s news to him. I dump the coffee grounds in the filter and place it in the coffee maker before flipping it on.

  "Well now my mother wants me to bring her for dinner since she and I are supposedly so serious." I must be really tired because I’m not seeing the issue here.

  "What’s the problem? You two are serious and your mother really isn't that bad. It was bound to happen eventually anyway, you might as well bite the bullet and get it over with. Just plan it for a night when your dad is out of town.”

  Calvin's father is the male equivalent of my mother. Demanding. Stoic. Scary. One guy you’re better off avoiding if you can help it. I grab some coffee creamer out of the fridge and poor it into my mug before putting it back away. My phone beeps with an incoming text as Calvin babbles on about how Misty’s not ready for this step in their relationship.

  "Hold on," I say before he can respond. I click through my phone and see a text message from my mother. I deflate at the words that are displayed on the screen. They read like a death sentence.

  Victoria Harrington: I will be at your loft in 20 minutes. We have things to discuss.

  Yes, I do have my mother saved in my contacts as Victoria Harrington. And yes, I may have just peed myself a little.

  "Calvin, I have to go. My mom is on her way here to 'discuss' things." I pour the coffee into my mug until it reaches the top.

  "That doesn't sound good."

  "Is it ever?" I turn and walk toward the bathroom to get ready.

  “What do you think she’s going to say?”

  “I don’t know, the usual.”

  “Just tell her you’re sorry before she can say anything.”

  I laugh at
his naivety. As if those words would mean anything to her. She is dead set on coming over here to yell at me and nothing is going to deter her, including a quick apology.

  “It’ll be fine,” I say, trying to reassure my sensitive friend. He hesitates before finally responding.

  "Call me later to let me know how it goes."

  I can tell he feels responsible but he shouldn’t. He didn’t cause my outburst last night, that was all my doing.

  "I will. Just promise me you’ll send out a search party if you don't hear from me within the next couple of hours," I say, lightly.