"Sweetie, what's wrong?" Rachel cooes into the line when her first question is met with sobbing.
"Oh, you know. I stayed late to close with Ian. He called me beautiful, accused me of flirting too much with Wilson, then made me come by grinding against me in the kitchen. Yep, that's what's up with me. No, wait, I forgot – then he acted as if I had the plague and he couldn't get away from me fast enough. Yeah, that's it," I cry into my phone. "I wish you were here!"
"Wellll … ." she drawls, "I was going to surprise you, but since you are so down … I'm coming out on Thursday and staying until Sunday morning! I have a deposition in Century City Friday morning but I'm free all the rest of the time!"
"Are you serious?" I yell into the phone.
"As a heart attack," she replies. "Don't worry, honey, we'll figure Ian out together."
And just like that, my tears dry. With Rachel by my side, I can handle any situation.
I spend the next two days cleaning my tiny place; Rachel is a neat freak and even though she swears she doesn't judge me, I'm not totally sure I believe her. I stock up on Rachel's favorite foods and make a reservation for us at a happening dinner spot for Saturday night. It'll give her something to talk about that'll make life in L.A. sound glamorous. I wonder if we should try and see the Hollywood sign while she's here...
I text Ian asking if I can have Thursday night off, explaining about Rachel's visit. He says yes, but that he needs me for at least a couple hours both Friday and Saturday night. Tracey has gone to visit family up north and he'll need some help in the kitchen.
At the mention of the kitchen my mind speeds back to our previous encounter, but I won't allow myself to dwell on that. Ian didn't call or text in the two days since we hooked up, so clearly it was not something he wanted to repeat. I'm more than a little mortified at having to see him tomorrow, but I'll go in with my head held high, that's all I can do, right?
I let him know that Friday and Saturday nights are fine; Rachel can always hang at the pub and keep me company in the back. And I can handle tomorrow. Sure I can!
Walking into the pub the next day is hard, but I quickly focus on marketing for the first few hours and then Abby and Ben are there, grabbing a beer after work and arguing about the merits of the recent production of Macbeth starring Michael Fassbender. Abby, like most every other female, thought Fassbender did an outstanding job, and Ben thought the portrayal of Lady Macbeth was too far afield from standard interpretation to be believable.
"Fassbender's hot; I'd do him," I shoot across my shoulder as I make my way into the back to put the laptop away. Ian is at the end of the bar, and looks briefly at me before going back to wiping down glasses.
Abby exclaims some sort of agreement which has Ben shaking his head as I reenter. "It's not about whether or not you'd do him, it's about upholding the integrity of the written word and remaining true to the intent of the character."
"Look," I say, "Anything that makes Shakespeare accessible to today's generation is a good thing, is it not? Plus, the beauty of the Bard is that his works are based in very real, simple human experiences and dilemmas - making them immensely relatable. Who cares if they took a few liberties here or there? They made the story fresh, and sexy, and Fassbender? Damn he's hot; I'd do him," I repeat for good measure.
"Yeah, you already mentioned that," Ian says. He glares at me, and I glare right back. How dare he act likes he gives a shit. He's the one who made a mess of this situation, not me.
The conversation continues between Abby and Ben but I lose track, too lost in the glaring contest Ian and I have begun.
Tom enters the bar about twenty minutes later, "How's my favorite bar wench?" he asks as he takes his customary stool at the bar.
Determined to ignore the ass also known as Ian, I turn a brilliant smile to Tom and say, "Superb! Guess what?"
"What?" he asks.
"Tomorrow you all are going to get to meet my better half!" I beam.
"What?" Ben asks quickly.
"You're married?" Tom and Abby ask in unison. Ian's head snaps up at this.
"What?" I stammer. "No! I'm not married. My better half, as in my best friend, Rachel!"
"OH!" Tom says with a sigh. "Whew, you had us worried there."
I shake my head, "How could you think I was married?" I hold up my left hand, "Um, no ring!"
"Well, you did say ‘better half' Kelli," Abby says. "Come on, you do know that is a very common phrase for spouse, do you not?"
"Yes, Abby," I say patronizingly. "I also know I've worked here for a month and have spent hours upon hours talking to you losers. I'd imagine if I had a husband I might have mentioned him by now."
"You never know," Abby replies. "Maybe he's super hot and you were worried I'd seduce him."
Everyone laughs, and they begin asking about Rachel. I tell them how I thought she was hitting on me the first night we met, and how we played Helena and Hermia opposite each other in a production of a Midsummer Night's Dream in college. I recounted our trip to Scotland where I thought she was going to murder me because I insisted we take a hike and she was basically eaten alive by those tiny Scottish flies, midges, not to mention the fact that she fell into a very cold creek. By the end of the shift, everyone seems as excited about Rachel's visit as I am.
Everyone except Ian that is, who had stayed busy and distant the entire night. If I had any hope that he enjoyed our encounter on Sunday night, it has been thoroughly dashed. He regretted it, no doubt. And while I am desperate to hide and lick my wounds, I put on a brave face and try to focus on seeing my best friend tomorrow.
******
"Rachel!" I screech at an unseemly volume and pitch.
Rachel's head swivels towards me, along with half of those in baggage claim, and she lets out a shriek of her own before changing direction and charging over to me. Dropping her briefcase and releasing her roll-on, she hugs me fiercely, swaying back and forth. Having my arms around her, smelling her perfume, I suddenly burst into tears. I hadn't realized just how lonely I was until this moment.
"Sweetie, what is it?" Rachel asks, pulling back to look at me.
Not wanting to indulge in a total break down right here in LAX, I try to pull myself together. "Nothing, nothing," I say wiping my eyes. "I'm so happy to see you. I can't believe you're here!"
"Me either! I've missed you so much!"
"I've missed you, too. Come on, let's get out of here," I say, grabbing her briefcase and leading the way outside.
"Oh my god, it's so hot! I was sure the weather forecast had to be wrong, but it wasn't!" Rachel exclaims.
"I know; it's called the Santa Ana winds and they are really common this time of year. I love them! Supposedly they blow much of October and November and keep it warm through Thanksgiving," I explain, calling upon the weather lesson I received from Tracey shortly after beginning my tenure at McGregors.
We grab an Uber and the constant chatter begins instantly. Although we have been Skyping and emailing regularly, nothing compares to face time with the bestie and it has been about a month and a half since we've seen each other. I ask about her flight, the kids, and the work that brings her out here, and by the time she's through, we've reached my tiny apartment.
"Want to take a shower? I always feel gross after a long flight. I'll open a bottle of wine," I say.
"Fantastic idea," she agrees enthusiastically. I set her up with clean towels and grab a bottle of wine to open.
I'm almost done with my first glass by the time she gets out, she takes forever in the bathroom, but she wastes no time catching up.
In between sips she says, "Alright, tell me what's going on with Ian."
"Oh god Rae, I don't even know where to begin," I say miserably.
"Have you talked to him since it happened?" she asks.
"Yeah, I went to work yesterday. Of course, he barely said two words to me. Then he had the nerve to get annoyed when I talked about wanting to screw Michael Fassbender."
"Oh, I want to do him too," Rachel says, nodding her head.
"I know, right?" I can't help but grin at her for a moment. If only I could live in fantasyland where it was Michael Fassbender, and not Ian, who was rocking my world. I'm sure good old Mick wouldn't jerk me around like Ian is doing.