Bad Boy Rich

Swallowing the pain that consumed me more than I had imagined, I take those baby steps back towards the door but this time I don’t turn around. I keep walking and link my arm into my brother’s, resting my head on his shoulder for support.

I did this the whole plane ride over.

Crying silently as the plane took off and I said goodbye to home.

It had been an eventful few days in Los Angeles.

We found a place to rent; a small, run-down but liveable apartment—in a questionable part of town. It was all I could afford until I landed a job and earned some decent money.

Flynn hated the apartment. It was nothing like our home; dreary with brown walls and squeaky floorboards that creaked with every step. There was no view of mountains, instead, a brick wall that belonged to some Indian restaurant and a questionable massage parlour on the top floor.

He had made a few friends at the backpacker hostel that we stayed at and wanted to crash there. As much as I also loved chatting to the friendly tourists that were sharing the rooms with us, our purpose was to make a life here and that meant finding a permanent place to live.

Once we finally had the keys to the apartment, Flynn made himself scarce, busying himself with God knows what. He refused to talk to me, shutting down all channels of communication like this was my fault.

It only made it all the worse. Battling being homesick and trying to be strong for everyone became a difficult juggling act. I couldn’t recall a time that I had felt an enormous amount of pressure on my shoulders and the worst part was—I couldn’t run to Mom to save me.

I tried my best to make the apartment feel like home with the little I could afford to spend. We had our own beds, a small sofa and fridge full of food. The first night in, I cooked us a meal and all I got was a grunt before Flynn disappeared into his room.

It was the night before my big interview and the nerves were eating away at me. Phoebe called me to run through some prep questions but all it did was make me more anxious.

“Okay, just breathe,” she says, calmly. “What are you wearing tomorrow?”

“My black pantsuit and white blouse.”

“Too simple. What about your red blouse?”

“You don’t think it’s too loud?”

“Milly.” She laughs out of nowhere. “You’re in Hollywood. I highly doubt your red blouse is too loud.”

True. I saw a man in a pink sundress earlier and carrying a straw purse like it was normal. I let out a loud sigh, hoping to alleviate the stress.

“Hollywood…nothing like what the movies depict it to be.”

“I’m still jealous,” she reminds me. “Movie stars and fancy cars. Rodeo Drive, the Playboy mansion.”

“All of the places that have no interest to me.”

“I love you, you’re my best friend, but Jesus Christ woman, you need to live a little. Head out of your sandbox and go have some fun in Tinsel town.”

This wasn’t the first time Phoebe had told me to let loose, often calling me Nanna Milly. A joke that didn’t bother me since I had no concerns with my social life. I didn’t need one; happy to prod along doing what I do. Phoebe was deprived of hurrahs, often telling me that it was the only place I would let her down in the best-friend department. But despite Phoebe’s eccentric ways, she knew my limits and never pushed me beyond my comfort level.

We talk for a few minutes before hanging up. I needed sleep and prayed that I would get some with all this anxiety building up. I had so much riding on this that the more I forced myself to sleep, the harder it was to shut down.

The next morning, I woke up early just as the sun began to rise. Flynn was still sleeping; snoring loudly through the thin walls. The coffee begins to brew; the aroma reminding me of back home. I pour myself a cup while reading through my notes. I practiced my answers out loud—at least, the questions I expected to be asked in a face-to-face interview.

The clock ticks past eight and it’s time to leave. With my purse in hand, I grab my keys just as Flynn stumbles out of his room wearing only his boxers, rubbing his eyes vigorously like a vampire struggling to see through the sun.

“Hey,” he calls as I open the door, “good luck.”

It meant everything that he had mumbled those two words. I offer him a smile, closing the door behind me, ready to catch a cab to the address scribbled on the piece of paper that sat inside my nervously drenched hand.

“Miss Milenov.”

My head lifts to face the lady that calls my name. I stand up too quickly, and walk towards her as my foot slants to the right almost causing me to lose my balance. Dear God…calm the hell down, Milly.

The three women waiting in the reception area snicker; each of them impeccable in designer dresses and nine-inch heels. Between the three of them, there is so much silicone that my eyes had no choice but to look. My small chest—though natural—looked flatter than ever.