Beautiful Failure Page 2

  “I can’t...” I move my head back and look away. “I would like to be considered for the other positions, please.”

  “There are no other open positions.” He zips his fly and walks to the door. “We’ll keep your application on file, Miss Anderson.”

  “What?”

  “We’re done here. You can leave, Miss Anderson.” His voice is cold.

  I shake my head and stand up, slowly walking past him. As I move by, I hear him hissing, “Stupid cunt” before he slams the door.

  I look at the other women who are sitting in the ballroom’s chairs, wondering how many of them will be offered that same job. I’m not sure what comes over me, but I walk to the front desk in hopes of speaking to another manager; that pig can’t be the sole decision maker when it comes to hiring.

  A blonde with bright brown eyes smiles as I approach. “Hello, Miss. How may I help you?”

  “May I speak to the general manager please?”

  “I’m the general manager.” She smiles wider. “What do you need?”

  “Can you...Can you give me some more information about the manager mentoring program? Are there other managers that have available positions under them?”

  “I’m sorry.” She takes off her glasses. “Manager what program?”

  “The manager mentoring program...It pays sixteen dollars an hour and I would get to work directly under a manager. Right?”

  She raises her eyebrow. “We haven’t had a manager mentoring program in years, and no one here gets paid sixteen dollars an hour. Are you supposed to be at the Marriott, hun? It’s right down the street.”

  Son of a bitch...

  I park my car outside my grandparents’ house and pull out my last cigarette. I’m supposed to quit after today, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to. Not after the day I’ve had.

  After the hotel “interview,” I drove to three more job fairs. I stopped at every table, filled out every application, and shook every hand, but the best responses I received were: “We’ll keep your application on file.” “We’ll be in touch.” “We’ll see you soon.”—i.e. “You’ll never hear from us again.”

  To make matters worse, there was no willing valet to watch my car, so I’m drenched from head to toe.

  Discouraged, I finish off my cigarette and spray myself with perfume to mask the smell before heading inside.

  Once I close the front door, I see my grandparents eating dinner at the table, setting a place for me as usual.

  “Hey hun!” My grandmother beams. “How’d it go today?”

  “Not good.”

  “Ohhhh, Emerald!” She pulls out a chair for me. “You’ll find something one day, hun. Don’t look so depressed.”

  “I look depressed?”

  My grandfather nods. “Why don’t you just work part-time at the church for a little while?”

  “Yes!” My grandmother holds her hand over her chest and gasps. “I don’t know why I didn’t already think of that! We could always use more people to spread the lord’s word! Working for Jesus would definitely make you feel better!”

  I try not to groan. I’ve only known them for a couple of years, but I swear they think Jesus is the cure for everything.

  My grandparents are Henry Lee and Virginia Marsh, and they are the perfect example of what happens when you’ve lived too much of your life in the Bible Belt of America: They take their Bibles everywhere, are prone to say “Praise Jesus” at any given second, and spend more time in church than they do anywhere else.

  “Thanks for the offer,” I say as I pop open a can of Coke, “but no thanks.”

  “That’s probably why you can’t find a job.” She points her fork at me. “You haven’t been to church with us in a long time.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Mary Fine’s son started coming to church two weeks ago and he got himself a job at McDonald’s...And he’s an ex-con.”

  “Jesus...”

  “Praise him!” They shout in unison.

  I sigh. “If I don’t find anything in two weeks, I might be forced to take you up on that offer.”

  But I really hope not...

  Virginia claps and smiles. “You would love it! We would have so much fun together bonding! Saving souls is exhilarating!”

  I pull the mashed potato bowl closer and change the subject.

  For the next hour or so, I sit and listen as they give a full recap of their days: more sick children at Virginia’s hospital, another good recruit at the fire department for Henry. Another lost day of yard-work for their favorite neighbors due to the rain, another “exciting” cow birth at the farm down the street.

  The second they start to debate who should bake the brownies for the church’s upcoming bake sale, I excuse myself from the table and go upstairs to my room.

  Hitting the lights, I sigh when I see the same miserable sight I’ve seen for the past few months: My walls are covered in rejection letters from almost every big name publisher and literary magazine.

  My window pane is framed with copies of my former college transcripts and I’m actually proud of myself for making all the D’s and F’s line up on one side. The highest grade I ever made, an “A+” in Art Design, is hanging high above my mirror.

  It’s the one thing that always makes me smile, the one thing that makes me feel like no matter how many things I’ve fucked up in my life—school, jobs, relationships, friends, that I’m not a complete and utter failure...

  Chapter 2

  Fall 2011

  “Harder...” I whisper. “Harder...” I reach up and thread my fingers through Parker Dalton’s dark brown hair, begging him to give it to me.

  He presses his lips against my neck—softly biting it, as he slides into me again and again. “You feel so fucking good, Emerald...So fucking good...”

  I shut my eyes and scrape my nails across his back, moaning as he speeds up his thrusts. As he trails his tongue between my breasts, I wrap my legs around him even tighter.

  The sound of our skin slapping against each other echoes off the walls of his room, and before this can become pleasurable for me, he slows down.

  “Fuckkkk....” He slides inside of me one last time and cums, leaving me without a release. Again.

  Shaking, he collapses onto my chest and places a light kiss on my forehead.

  I hide my disappointment by smiling, thankful that I have Art Design in an hour so we won’t have to cuddle afterwards.

  Although Parker Dalton claims to “really like me” and insists on having me on his arm as much as possible, he isn’t my boyfriend—not even close. He’s a carefully chosen sponsor.

  He’s the senior president of Omega Chi—the most respected fraternity at New York University, and the current president of the Student Government Board. He’s already taken the LSATs and scored a nearly perfect score, making him a shoe-in for Harvard Law School. He also comes from an established family of wealth.

  By staying close to him, I’m sure I’ll get something out of it down the line. Hopefully the ticket to a happier life.

  Tapping his back, I clear my throat. “You’re hurting me...”

  “Sorry, babe.” He rolls off me and pulls me into his arms. “Was it good for you?”

  I give him the sheepish grin I’ve perfected over the years and murmur, “Yes.” What I really want to say is that I’ve only had good sex a few times, and none of those times were with him.

  “Your eyes are so damn pretty, Em,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “Don’t call me that. It’s Emerald.”

  “Sorry. I keep forgetting you’re sensitive about that.” He traces my lips with his fingers. “How’s it feel to be halfway done with your freshman year?”

  “It’ll feel better when I’m a senior. I hate college.”

  He laughs. “Trust me, when you’re a senior it gets even worse.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  “Don’t you have all A’s so far? You’ve never menti
oned getting anything less. You must like something about college.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not challenging enough. I wrote my paper for Seminar in Comp two hours before it was due. A plus.” I want to add that I also wrote my most recent literature analysis on a classic book my teacher hadn’t even read, but Parker’s taste in literature is terrible so he wouldn’t understand.

  “Would you like to write my final thesis next semester?”

  “I’ll pass.” I shift from underneath his hold and climb out of bed.

  “You sure you don’t have some other boyfriend waiting for you back at home? Some other guy on campus you’re dating behind my back?”

  I narrow my eyes at him as I squeeze into my jeans. “What? What are you trying to say?”

  He stands up and pulls me into his arms—kissing me softly, and I try not to flinch.

  I’m not supposed to kiss my sponsors for more than five seconds. Any longer than that and they’ll start to think that this has the potential to be something more than what it is. The rules I’ve memorized have always been simple: Fuck him. Get whatever I need. Leave him.

  I step away from him and force a smile. “Seriously, Parker. What are you trying to say?”

  “I just need to know that you’re completely mine.”

  I look at him in utter confusion.

  “It’s nothing, Emerald...You’re just really beautiful, and you don’t seem like the type that would be content with one guy’s attention.”

  “You’re two for two. Is that a compliment?”

  He smiles and kisses my lips again. “It is.”

  “Okay...” I force myself to return the kiss. “I’m all yours. I’ll call you later.”

  I sprint across campus and head to the observatory where the other students of my Art Design class are already grabbing their brushes and canvasses.

  I grab mine and follow them up to the roof, where for the next hour and a half, the professor lets us paint our pieces in silence.

  This is the only thing that makes college somewhat bearable—the ability to create something beautiful in my mess of a life.

  Later, I hand the professor my work and head back to my dorm, hoping to sleep the rest of the day away. That’s how I deal with life when it bothers me—no crying, no whining, just sleep.

  “Hey.” I drop my bag at the door and nod at my roommate, Amy. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Are you still coming with me to the party tonight? You promised!”

  I sigh. I haven’t gone to one party since I’ve started college. They’re not the same without Leah dolling me up and making me look like the woman on my fake ID.

  “Come on, Emerald! You owe me this!” She gives me her best sympathy look. “I’m your friend!”

  Amy Houston is not my friend. She is my roommate and a potential sponsor. Her parents are chief advisors to the state governor and they give her anything she wants—including the brand new bedding set that’s currently draped across my bed. She had it designed just for me since she wanted our shared room to look “cohesive.”

  I honestly don’t trust this girl—I don’t trust anyone, but she’s the closest person I have.

  She tells me about her life, laughs at my jokes, and always encourages me to go out and meet more students. There was even this one time that she held my hand after I found something in my suitcase that reminded me of Leah. She didn’t ask me what was wrong and she didn’t try to pry. She just consoled me until I calmed down.

  I groan. “Okay, I’ll go. But only for one hour.”

  “Yes!” She jumps up and hugs me. “Do you have a fake? I’ll need to make sure it’s good enough before we leave.”

  Nodding, I pull out my wallet and hand over my fake driver’s license. It reads “Autumn Mills” and the woman on it has long black hair and big green eyes like mine.

  “Wow!” She hands it back to me. “You’ll totally get in with that! Where did you get that done? That’s professional grade! It has all the watermarks and embedded lines!”

  I almost tell her how Leah had one of her regulars get it for me when I was sixteen, but I hold back. “One of my friends in Jersey did it for me.”

  She nods and turns on her radio. “I can’t get dressed without music. Hurry up and get ready, makeup and all!” She pulls a bottle of vodka from under her desk and pours six shots—three each. “It’s party time, bitch!”

  The next two hours blur by in a haze of shots, laughs, and skimpy dress comparisons. By the time I’m buzzed, I find myself inside of a smoke-filled club off campus.

  Most of the attendees are upperclassmen and Greeks, so I don’t recognize most of them.

  I’m wearing a hot pink dress that leaves little to the imagination and my hair is pulled into a neat and sophisticated bun with a few tendrils falling over my eyes. As I make my way to the bar, I spot Parker talking to some of his fraternity brothers.

  I walk over and tap him on the shoulder. “Hey.”

  “Hey babe.” He turns around and slips an arm around my waist. “I thought you said you didn’t do parties.”

  “I don’t. Amy made me come.”

  “Where is she?”

  I shrug. She left me as soon as the bouncers let us inside and I haven’t seen her since.

  “Do you want to leave with me then?” He bends down and whispers into my ear, “I can think of something far more interesting for us to do tonight.”

  “Tempting...I can’t leave her here alone though. That’d be messed up.”

  “Okay, stay here. I’ll find her.” He kisses me before disappearing into the crowd.

  I look at the packed dance floor in front of me and raise my eyebrow because none of the people are dancing. They’re laughing and pointing at something that I can’t see.

  I’m sure it’s another one of those flash-mob videos that have become popular lately, so I turn around and wave for the bartender’s attention.

  “What can I get for you?” he asks.

  “Rum and Coke please.”

  “You got ID?”

  I flash him the “of age” wristband on my hand and he starts to make the drink.

  “Okay...” He sets the glass onto the counter. “That’ll cost you—” His eyes meet mine and he looks past me for a split second. “Holy shit. You know what? It’s on the house...”

  “Thanks.” I smile, knowing that my slight bite of the lip is working.

  I toss back the sour drink and slide the empty cup to him when I’m finished. I look over my shoulder—noticing that everyone on the dance floor is still transfixed by whatever is happening on stage.

  Annoyed, I ask the bartender for another drink, and he once again offers it to me at no charge. As the crowd begins to collectively “Ohhhh,” and “Whoaaa,” I roll my eyes.

  I know that Parker is probably watching whatever it is instead of searching for Amy, so I head into the crowd and start looking for her myself—taking short sips of my drink every few feet.

  I hear numerous groans as I weave my way through all the sweaty and drunk bodies, promising myself that I’ll curse Amy out for leaving me alone.

  “What a slut!” “Who is that?” “It’s that freshman girl...” “Her social life is over!”

  I bump into a sweaty guy who’s had way too much to drink and he staggers backwards, pointing at me, shouting, “Can I be next, sweetheart? I promise I’ll be better than both of them! I’ll make you feel really good!”

  I raise my eyebrow, wondering what the hell he’s talking about, and then I look up at the screen that has everyone’s attention.

  My glass slips out of my hand and shatters onto the floor.

  The images in front of me are so humiliating, so real and undisputable, that I pinch myself to make sure I’m not in the middle of a nightmare.

  It’s me.

  Me having sex with Parker.

  Me having sex with one of his fraternity brothers weeks before I met him.

  The video is split into two frames: One sex scene on
each side and it’s undeniably me. I’m in my dorm room and I’m making the same rehearsed faces I made when I lost my virginity two years ago—saying the exact same things.

  I stand frozen still.

  Confused.

  Mortified.

  I look around for Parker, hoping he’s stepped outside in his search for Amy, and make a run for the door.

  Pushing my way through the crowd, I stop once I hear my voice over the speakers. I look over my shoulder and stare at the screen again, watching a clip of me taking a shot with Amy.

  “Why are you sleeping with Parker Dalton if you don’t consider him to be your boyfriend?” she asks.

  “Maybe I keep hoping that the sex will get better one day. He is the president of Omega Chi and a future politician. I’m just using him.”

  “Is the sex that bad?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t like him at all?”

  “No.”

  “Not even a little bit?”

  “No. He’s just my meal ticket to a better life. Could you pour me another shot? More alcohol, less talking.”

  I don’t remember that conversation, but I know I must have been drunk out of my mind if I ever talked about something personal with Amy. With anyone.

  I head for the door again and see Parker standing in the corner. He’s shaking his head and looking utterly devastated. Crushed.

  I make my way over to him—planning to tell him that the sex with his frat brother happened way before we met, but his eyes suddenly meet mine. He gives me a death stare, and without moving his lips he says, “We’re fucking done.”

  I feel tears pricking at the corner of my eyes and head towards him anyway. I want to ask him to take me back to his room tonight so we can talk about this, so I can explain, but he disappears.

  The “ooohs” and “ahhs” from the crowd become louder and louder and I tell myself to keep going, to forget about whatever is playing behind me and go back to my room, but I can’t help it.

  I see myself emptying a small bottle of alcohol into the pink thermos I carry around every day. Then the video cuts to me rolling a small blunt of weed at my desk.

  My blood is running cold and I can’t stop my heart from pounding a mile a minute. I’m embarrassed, but I’m also infuriated. Beyond infuriated.