We Are US... Read online

  Passing by them, I yell across the boutique, "Bye, Mrs. Rinaldi. I'll see you tomorrow." Smiling at Kayla I remind her, "Only one week to go," as she nods walking away to engage her crazy sisters and mom.

  Okay, so they aren't technically crazy like I've been, but they are seriously deranged, and bitchy, and just LOUD. I don't think I've ever heard them have a conversation that wasn't raised even when it was friendly.

  Christ, the first 5 times I met them all I was sitting away from them breathing my way through a near panic attack at all the yelling until Kayla's mom smiled and hugged a yelling Laura and Kayla like they were just having fun.

  It was a trip for sure realizing people can actually just yell and talk loudly, or even scream over each other to get their point across without it being about abuse, or hatred, and even anger. It was definitely a learning experience for me about families I never had from my own family growing up.

  Not that my mother yelled. She didn't have to. My mother's cold tone of hatred, disapproval, and abuse was scary enough without yelling at me, too.

  My mother could say she hated me and was going to punish me for absolutely anything at any given moment with just a look. She didn't need to even speak before I was cowering in a corner or hiding in the smelly hidden closet to avoid her.

  When my mother did raise her voice though, only an octave higher than her usually calm, reserved tone, I knew I was going to suffer badly.

  And I always did.

  ➰➰➰➰➰

  Entering the hair salon, I don't remember hailing the cab, the drive, or even walking into the building. Looking for Dee, I exhale thoughts of my mother and smile at her in the corner.

  "Hey, Suzanne. The usual?" She asks walking me to our corner chair as I nod. I love my sexy up-do’s, and Dee knows how to keep all the wispy front bangs and sides of my hair down so I can hide my face in public. She also knows I need to sit in the corner chair away from everyone else while she works my hair so no one can see me clearly. When she lifts my hair away from my face to comb and tease, I need the privacy of the corner so I don't fear anyone but Dee seeing my ugly scarred face.

  "So, what's going on tonight?" She grins as I smile back through the mirror once I'm seated.

  "I honestly don't know or remember. I think Z told me, but I've been distracted with Kayla's wedding crap and can't remember anymore. It doesn't really matter though. I have all the black dresses I need, and my hair will look fabulous," I smile at my favorite hairdresser.

  "You would look fabulous anyway, Suzanne. Even without my hair magic," she laughs.

  "Uh huh. Just work your magic, sister, so half the battle is over for me."

  Nodding, Dee starts sectioning my hair, clipping it in place at the back first because she knows I hate having my face exposed for longer than necessary.

  "How have you been? I saw that newspaper article on Wednesday," she whispers and I freeze instantly. Nearly panicking, I breathe hard until she quickly jumps in. "It's nothing, Suzanne. No one here knows, and I would never tell anyone. I was just curious, that's all," she tries to soothe immediately but it's too late.

  Shaking, I try to fight the panic, but it gets me anyway. No. No. No... I'm so much better now. I'm almost all better now. Shit, this doesn't happen to me anymore.

  Reaching for my own throat, I try to fight the hard swallows and the growing tightness as I stare panicked at Dee through the mirror.

  "I'm so sorry. Just breathe, Suzanne. Let me get your medication," she whispers while reaching right into my purse as she turns her body to hide me from the rest of the salon. "Here..." she extends my pill bottle but my hands are shaking too badly to open it, so she takes it back from me again to open and pour a pill on my hand. "Can you walk?" She asks already pulling at my arms to lift me.

  Standing, I'm barely breathing and my legs are shaking so badly Dee wraps her arm around my waist as we move into a little room at the back where women get waxes. Once inside, Dee quickly closes the door as I slump into the nearest chair.

  Hanging my head while deep breathing, Dee hands me an opened bottle of water so I can take my pill.

  Swallowing between gasps for breath, I see Dee lean in my peripheral against the wall while we wait for the pill to take effect. With my hands on my knees and my head hung, I breathe in and out as slowly as I can while the panic slowly recedes.

  This medication, found for me by Mack and Dr. Phillips through trial and error, actually works the quickest to numb me the fastest from the panic. I don't need it much at all anymore, but I always carry it with me in case of an emergency, which this just became. Right here in my favorite goddamn hair salon.

  "Let me get my stuff, and we'll finish your hair in here. Okay?" Dee asks kindly and I can okay nod. I don't trust my voice yet, and I really don't trust my emotions if I start speaking.

  Waiting in the silence once Dee leaves, I'm shocked by the suddenness of my panic. I haven't freaked like that in a while, even when I actually read the newspaper article she mentioned.

  I know Z hid it from me because I couldn't find the paper Wednesday morning, but he obviously didn't think I would just go online to read the news. I'm sure in his ever-protective mode, he even walked the paper all the way down our building to recycling so there was no chance of me finding it in the hallway recycling room if I looked.

  I remember sitting with my coffee Wednesday morning looking online for the paper, and there I was again. A front page picture, amazingly, a good picture of me smiling with Z. With my face covered by my hair, they talked about my horrendous past, the charges, the trials, and the outcome of pitiful Suzanne Beaumont-Anderson-Zinfandel, the wife of New York's famous bachelor extraordinaire who was so taken with his little wife he married her immediately.

  Surprisingly, the article was somewhat complimentary about me and my charities and good works, and how I am the love of Z's life. But it was learning about one of the men making release early because somehow his sentencing conviction was lessened that prompted the article, and my past to rise up again to the collective surface of New York.

  It also prompted me to feel pissed at Z for hiding it when clearly everyone else knew what was going on around me. Christ, my friends, the DA, everyone would have known, but Z chose to keep me in the dark. I assume to protect me, but it still infuriated me. I mean, come on. As if I don't deserve to know what's happening with my own life and past.

  Anyway, the anger is what made the panic stay away Wednesday morning, and by the time I saw Z that night I wasn't in the mood to confront him, so I let it go. Until today apparently.

  Today, the upset and panic decided to hit in a hair salon with my favorite hairdresser looking at me with pity again which I hate.

  "Did you call anyone?" I ask immediately upon Dee's return to our room feeling much calmer and breathing almost completely normally.

  "No. Would you like me to?"

  "God, no. Please don't tell Kayla or Z. Kayla’s a psycho right now with her wedding, and Z is Z," I grin lifting my head finally to Dee's understanding nod.

  "I won't tell anyone, Suzanne. It's none of my business anyway, and I shouldn't have brought it up. I was stupidly bringing it up only to mention how great your hair looked," she smirks as I laugh a little. Dee did do my hair the night that picture was taken.

  "It's okay. I'm fine now," I exhale again straightening in my chair. "Can you hurry with my hair though because I have to be home in just over an hour which doesn't give you much time to work with."

  "45 minutes then? No problem. I'm a professional," she grins spinning my chair back toward the only mirror in the room. "I'm so sorry, Suzanne," she whispers before taking my hair again. Squeezing her hand on my shoulder I let her know everything is okay between us.

  Dee is amazing. She's actually Kayla's cousin's wife, and she knows enough about me to be supportive and sensitive, but she doesn't usually let it fill her eyes with pity when she sees me. Usually, she jokes and teases about 'sexy Z' like we're friends, without looking li
ke she's worried I'll have a freak out at any second, which I usually don't. Actually, this is only the second time out of the many visits to Dee that I've lost my shit.

  The first one was bad though, and it required Dee to call Kayla who promptly called Z to come get me because I couldn't recover or function enough to even make it to a cab for home. It was also the day Z explained a little about me to Dee with the strictest of confidence and gave her his phone numbers in case I ever needed him again.

  After that day though, Dee acted like I was normal anyway when I returned and I've actually been normal at the salon ever since.

  Smiling through the mirror while Dee pins the last few strands in place, my hair looks beautiful. She always seems to get my natural high and low lights on the surface of the up-do so the contrast looks amazing.

  "You did it again, Dee. I love it," I beam to her return smile.

  "You're too easy. I love working with your straight hair. It takes all the work out of blow-drying and straightening it first," she grins before I take one final look at my scarred face side all covered in cute little floppy layers looking like they artfully fell from the rest of my hair.

  "I'll see you next Saturday morning. And I get YOU. I don't care how great the others are I have to have you for the wedding, okay?"

  Walking out the little room back through the main salon together, Dee agrees. "I've already been told by your bitchy friend from Chicago that I was doing your hair or I'd be ‘whacked, New York style’ I believe she said, so I made sure you were my first of the morning," she laughs as I do. I can't believe Kayla said anything to her, but then I totally believe it, too.

  After paying Dee and leaving the salon I feel emotionally exhausted. The panic attack was quick, no more than 10 minutes from onset until I could speak coherently, but it was enough to make me tired as I flag a cab for home.

  And once inside, honestly, I can barely walk I'm so drained. It's only slightly after 2 and Z said he'd be home by 4, so there's plenty of time to relax before I start dressing for our night out.

  ➰➰➰➰➰

  "Suzanne... It's time to wake up. Are you okay, love?" I hear Z whisper against my forehead as I smile.

  "I'm good. What time is it?"

  "5:00. I didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful," he whispers again.

  "I did?" 5! "Shit! We're supposed to be there by 6 aren't we?" I yell scrambling to stand up from the couch in the living room as Z leans away from me so we don’t collide.

  "So we'll be fashionably late. Who cares?" He smiles and I want to smack him.

  I don't do late, and fashionably late is even worse. "If we aren't with the rest of the people arriving there's too much opportunity for pictures, Z. You know that. Why the hell did you let me sleep?!" I yell running for our bedroom to change.

  I shouldn't have fallen asleep! Shit, now there'll be picture of us for sure. God dammit, I hate when they take our pictures at these things.

  "Suzanne, stop for a second," Z says standing in our bedroom doorway as I grab a random black dress and run for the washroom.

  "I don't have time!" I yell scrambling to pull out all my makeup while leaning my dress against the chair back beside the vanity. Oh my god, this is a disaster. I can't be late to these things. We were late once, and unknowingly we became the focus of too many pictures for way too many local papers and magazines. Friggin' New York! There's like 50 different articles on any given night about all the events that take place.

  "Suzanne, stop. What's going on?" Z asks again from the bathroom doorway this time.

  Glaring at him, I rip my clothes off and start trying to pull my dress overhead without screwing up my hair. I feel so pissed at him suddenly, and I know I'm being irrational but I can't help it. My fear is making me bitchy.

  "Nothing. Forget it. Nice suit, Z," I practically snarl at him because he’s perfectly dressed and ready to go. The asshole!

  Walking toward me, Z leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest with his talk to me face. But I'm not doing it right now.

  Fixing my dress, and turning for the mirror, I notice my hair slightly messed up from sleeping, but not too bad. I think I can fix it myself with a few more bobby pins. I think I can, but Dee is magic, and I'm not, and with my shaking hands and growing anxiety, I'll probably look really bad.

  Stopping everything, I just close my eyes and place my hands flat on the counter as I breathe slowly. I don't want to do this again today. I can't do this twice in one day. And I know Z's waiting for me to speak, but I can't yet. I have to let this stress and anxiety pass first.

  Okay. Be rational. So we arrive late. I don't have to look up, and I don't have to acknowledge the cameras. If I asked Z to ignore them with me, he would. If I asked Z to just hold my hand and run inside the building with me, he would. This late doesn't mean I'll end up in the paper again tomorrow morning before the big wedding brunch. It doesn't have to mean an article, or an exposé, or a spread in a local magazine. It could mean nothing at all except simply arriving late. Then all this anxiety is for nothing. Okay. Deep breath.

  Keeping my eyes closed, I whisper in our silence, "I know about the article in the Times Wednesday morning. I know what happened, and I know you hid it from me. I'm mad that you still think I can't handle anything, and I'm mad that you think I'm too stupid to know what's going on around me. It's embarrassing and frustrating. And I'm mad at you."

  "It wasn't like that."

  Shaking my head, Z stops speaking immediately to wait for me to finish. "When everyone around me knows things about me that I don't know, or that you think I don't know I feel embarrassed and belittled, and actually I feel like I did growing up. It makes me feel like everyone has secrets about me and are talking about me behind my back. And not only is it scary for me feeling like I used to, but it hurts me, too. It makes me feel like a child who has no control over her life, like I didn't in my past. And it makes me question why I've worked so hard to get better and to move forward, especially when I'm just going to be talked about and lied to like I am that little girl again. It makes me feel like you don't trust me, and it makes me feel unsettled."

  Okay. Whew. I know I'm crying a little, but they're those annoying frustrated tears falling down my cheeks, not sad ones.

  "I'm so sorry, Suzanne," Z whispers in his sad voice, and finally my sad real tears fall. "I fucked up, love, but not intentionally. I actually just had a moment Wednesday morning."

  Opening my eyes, Z hasn't moved, but his upset face says everything to me suddenly. "A moment?"

  "Yes. We had gone out for date night Tuesday, and you were so happy and just adorable with all your laughter. And then when we came home we were together and you seemed so happy still, I felt happy because I did that for you."

  "You always do that for me," I whisper.

  "I know I try to. But Tuesday night everything was just effortless and fun and sexy, and when I woke up for work, you grumbled you loved me, and when I kissed you, you barely moved but your smile was amazing. And you forgot to cover your face from me, and I felt so big and strong and loved and trusted by you in that moment when you forgot to hide your face that I couldn't stop my own smile, especially when I slid my hand down your back to your ass and you moaned like a content little kitten," he smiles as I grin back.

  "Z, you are always big and strong and loved and trusted by me."

  "I know. But you have to work to feel that way most of the time. Wednesday morning though, half asleep and completely satiated by me through the night you didn't have to think about it. I saw you just feel it. And that made me feel so happy and loved I never wanted you to ever have that scared look again you get in your eyes that destroys me when I see it. The look I've watched come into your eyes thousands of times over the past couple years. The look that breaks my heart when you struggle with your past, and struggle to accept our present."

  "What happened with the newspaper, Z?" I need to understand this so I don't feel angry anymore.

&
nbsp; Exhaling, Z reaches out his hand slowly and takes my own into his when I don't object. Intertwining our fingers he looks so intense, I brace myself for the bad.

  "After I showered and dressed I leaned down to kiss the beautiful pale skin on your back and you moaned again with a smile. Do you remember?" He asks as I nod. "Well, I left you and grabbed the newspaper from the hallway, walked to the kitchen for coffee, and just as I sat down there it was. Our picture folded on the front, and your name plastered across the front page again. So I had a moment as I said. I couldn't even swallow the mouthful of coffee in my mouth. I just grabbed the paper and took the elevator all the way down to the utilities room, reading it as I went to throw it away when I was done," Z exhales again looking at me with his beautiful dark eyes, almost like he hopes I'll understand, which I actually do.

  I know Z is always protective, but we've talked about him hiding stuff from me out of his attempt to protect me, and he's promised he wouldn't do it anymore.

  "What else did you do?" I ask without anger.

  "Um, I called everyone. Mack, Chicago Kayla, Glenn Rose, our lawyers, Dr. Phillips, and even the security company we use sometimes, because I had a moment, Suzanne. I just couldn't have you lose the look I saw, and I didn't want you to be afraid. So I panicked. Ah, after the quick calls I entered the condo again prepared to explain why I was back with a lie about forgetting some paperwork if you were awake, but you weren't around."

  Smiling, I know where I was. "I was still in bed. I slept way too late Wednesday morning because someone loved me thoroughly through the night and I was exhausted," I smile so Z knows I'm not mad at him anymore.

  "Yes... I checked on you one more time before I left, and leaning against the doorway I saw you still sleeping as I had left you and I justified everything I had just done. I wanted you to sleep like that, and I wanted you to feel happy, even in your sleep. So I left for work feeling good about what I did."