crescendo

Welcome

OLIVIA

"Everything will be okay, " I tell myself.

Deep down I know that's not true.

The feeling of uncertainty intensifies. I get out of the Uber and slam the door.

I bring all my stuff to the front desk of the apartment.

"Hi, I'm moving into apartment 7B today. I was wondering if you had my key."

"Your name?"

"Olivia Weiss."

"Oh, there you are. here is your key, and welcome to Los Angeles."

"Thank you. Have a nice day," I say a little too loudly.

I press a button for the elevator. Nothing happens. I press it again. Still nothing.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, I forgot to inform you that the elevator is currently out of order."

"Oh," I say quietly.

"You can take the stairs if you like."

I say nothing as I start the trek up to the 7th floor. It's already late. I should be in my apartment looking at the view. Instead, I'm in a grimy stairwell lugging my suitcases up seven flights of stairs.

I hear footsteps coming up from behind me. A man with the most beautiful green eyes stares at me.

"Need some help," he says with a suave voice.

"No, I'm alright. You go ahead," I say, moving out of the way so he can get past me.

I'm drenched in sweat. My makeup is probably runny or gone by now.

Without a word, he picks up two of my suitcases and starts to walk up the stairs.

"You coming?"

DEAN

We finally get out of the Lyft in San Fransisco. After being in a car with Tom and another guy for about 45 minutes, I can't wait to breathe in some fresh air.

We walk into the hotel, check-in, get our keys, go up, and get changed for the party.

"Did you bring a gift?"

"Oh... I knew forgot something."

"Dean! It's almost time for the party! Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I... I don't know. I must have forgotten."

"Well, I told Jack I'd come early to say hi and have a few drinks before everyone else gets there. Meet me there in an hour at the bar."

Tom grabs his jacket and his gift. He turns around.

"See you soon."

ISABELLE

I hesitantly take a breath and speak.
"I-I've tried. Nothing has been working ."

"Really Isabelle? I thought I raised you to be better than this," he says, disappointed.

"Did you? Because I don't think you raised me at all!"

"Don't start with this "victim" shit, Isabelle. You know I worked hard to get to where I am today! You wouldn't have everything you have now if not for me," he yells back, getting angrier with each sentence.

"You keep saying 'today' and 'now', Dad. Where were you back then, when mom was working three jobs and I was getting bullied for being poor? Where were you then, huh?"

The line is silent.

"I have to go Isabelle. Goodbye." I say nothing in return and hang up.

After everything that just happened, I'm exhausted. I take off my club clothes and get into my pajamas. I crawl into bed and clutch my pillow tightly.

In the room next to me, I hear a man and a woman arguing. I hear sobs of protest and glass breaking.

It almost seems like I'm 12 years old again, cautiously listening to the arguing that I will never understand.

When the silence settles back into the room, I lay on my back and soak in the constant lull of the city. It's almost loud but seems quieter than my thoughts as I contemplate my life choices in the stiff hotel bed.