HARMONY

Part 8 "When everything goes wrong"

Michelle buttoned her emerald green Anne Klein blouse and slipped on the beige pencil skirt. She smoothed it. Looking in the mirror, she pulled the collar up to cover the mark. Don't cry. Just take a deep breath, leave enough to cover the room and walk out the door. A quick brush of her tangled auburn hair and a fresh slick of lip gloss. She looked in the mirror. You filthy, filthy whore.

The painter was comfortably propped up in the bed, flipping through channels. "Where's Letterman on these damn hotel TVs?"

"I don't know," Michelle answered. She pulled open her Marc Jacobs wallet, counted out hundred dollar bills and placed them by the ice bucket. She headed toward the door.

"Babe," he called. "Don't leave before dinner comes. I ordered you a salad."

"I have to get home." She sounded as pathetic as she felt.

"Ok babe," he answered, clicking away. "You know how to reach me."

Her hand touched the handle and she turned to him. "I...I'm not calling you anymore. This is....it's the last time," she stuttered. "I'm...we're done."

He ripped off the covers and brought his warm, naked body to hers. With a shove, he pressed her against the door and kissed her, hard. She felt herself go limp. He slid his hand against her stomach and under her bra. "You say that every time," he whispered hot in her ear, "but I know how to make you miss me."

She raised her hands and gently eased him from her. "Okay, I just...not for a while. I don't want Steve to think...."

He began to unbutton her blouse. "Baby, all I think about is you," he said. "Stay with me."

"No," she said, trying to push him away. "Later, another night...I..."

Knock! Knock! "Room service."

He released his hold on her and she straightened herself as he opened the door. The bellhop carried in the tray and Michelle hustled down the hall. She pushed the elevator button once, twice, come on, come on. Ding! The doors split open, she gave a last look down the hall as the bellhop stepped out of the room. Then their eyes met. Oh god, is that Drew's friend from band? She couldn't take a chance at a second look and jumped into the elevator. Click click click, she pushed the 'door close' button. Click click. Come on, come on.

She ran to her car, paying no attention to the lurking darkness around her. She already felt raped. She pulled out of the garage and onto PCH. 

That's when her phone picked up messages again. 

At a red light, she read three texts: 

Drew: truck's stolen 

Claire: call me asap. Really really important. 

Steve: I'm not coming home.

***

Chad stumbled through the parking lot, alone. Radios blared while fans of all ages and states of sobriety leaned against their cars for a last smoke. Spotting his green minivan, Chad tried to smooth his shirt.

Darcy's mousy brown hair was piled on her head in a late night mop. She wore her plaid PJ bottoms and a black tank top over her modest, bare breasts. Since she rarely wore make up, her olive complexion radiated with an organic beauty. Seeing her high school sweetheart stagger toward her made her smile. "Where's Steve?"

"Coming," Chad answered. "I love you baby."

"Oh, I bet you do," she said. The sliding door only worked from the inside, so she reached around, moved Tommy's toys to the back, and slid it open. Chad landed on top of her and playfully bit at her neck.