Drunk Dial

  First Edition, August 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by

  Penelope Ward

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced nor used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Model: Vadim Ivanov (Two Management)

  Cover Photographer: Kevin Roldan

  Cover Design: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs

  Proofreading and Formatting by Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgements

  Other Books by Penelope Ward

  RANA BANANA

  The room spun as I plopped down on my bed. Still dressed in my royal blue and gold belly dancer outfit, I looked down at the beaded tassels scattered around me.

  I hadn’t even waited to get out of my work clothes before opening that wine. The bottle of Shiraz that I was still holding was now empty. It slipped out of my hand but thankfully didn’t break. At least, I didn’t hear it shatter.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d come home from work and immediately opened a bottle of vino. But this day had hit me particularly hard. It felt like I was drowning in sadness.

  I didn’t even really know why.

  Whenever I would sink into this place of melancholy, for some reason, my thoughts would always wander to Landon. I had no clue why after thirteen years, I was still thinking about that boy. Well, technically, he was a man now.

  I forced myself up and stumbled over to my closet. After unzipping the black, canvas backpack, I dug inside, sifting through the dozens of notes he’d given me. Each was folded into a triangle. Choosing one at random, I opened it.

  Rana Banana,

  I wish I had as much arm hair as you.

  Landon

  P.S. Will you let me braid it?

  My name is pronounced RAH-na, so Landon used to call me RAH-na Ba-NAH-na. For a short time in my life, he was everything to me.

  At thirteen years old, I was a tomboy living with my parents in a converted garage on Landon’s parents’ property in Dearborn, Michigan. They’d turned it into a rentable apartment with a kitchenette and bathroom. I didn’t have much aside from the roof over my head and, well, the hair on my arms.

  Whereas Landon’s dad was an executive at Ford, my father, Eddie Saloomi, worked at a bakery downtown and made just enough to make ends meet. My mother, Shayla, who was significantly younger than my father, never worked.

  My parents’ marriage was arranged. Papa preferred that my mother stay home and take care of the house. In reality, all Shayla really did was cook the occasional meal in between trips to the mall to steal clothing from Macy’s. She’d also sneak calls to her boyfriend, who was closer to her age. I just remember my mother being miserable most of my childhood. I also remember thinking she was physically the most beautiful woman in the world. While Shayla had soft features, I had inherited my father’s nose and unibrow. I was also hairier than other girls my age. Maybe that was why Landon treated me like a boy. He certainly couldn’t have known that I had a crush on him. He also couldn’t have known that hanging out with him every day after school was what I had lived for.

  My time at the Dearborn apartment was short-lived. Landon’s parents ended up kicking us out for defaulting on the rent, and I remember feeling like my entire world had come crashing down.

  In two days, my father had packed up his old Toyota pickup and moved us to live with my grandparents across the state.

  I never saw Landon again.

  I had chosen not to say goodbye. He never came to say goodbye to me, either. I was so incredibly mad at him, feeling as though he could have done something to prevent the ouster. It was a horrible way to end things.

  Over the years, I’d thought about Landon a lot. Never once had I considered looking him up or contacting him, though.

  Until now.

  Why the urge all of a sudden on this random Thursday night? I had no idea.

  I refolded the note and placed it back into the backpack. Stopping to look at myself in the mirror, I caught sight of my runny mascara. The heavy eye make-up brought out my green eyes just as my light olive skin accentuated my black hair. Despite the hot mess, I liked what I saw and hated feeling that way. But I’d worked damn hard to look like this. Of course, the alcohol had probably given me a false sense of confidence.

  I wonder what you’d think of me now, Landon.

  The one thing I knew for certain: he wouldn’t recognize Rana Saloomi if he saw her on the street.

  I had my ideas about how Landon might have turned out, imagining he went to a great college, had a high-paying job, a beautiful wife or girlfriend. I imagined him happy. I imagined he never thought of me. I was obsessed with my image of Landon, and I couldn’t figure out why it mattered. It was all in my head, but somehow his happiness was a reflection of my unhappiness.

  Despite my confusion over these lingering feelings for Landon, tonight, in my drunken fog, I was just angry. I wanted to talk to him. And no one sane was here to talk me out of it. I had myself convinced I would never have the confidence again. This was my one and only chance. Calling him tonight seemed more and more like a bright idea by the second.

  Opening my laptop and clicking on Google, I searched Landon Roderick. A listing with that name came up in Los Angeles.

  Los Angeles?

  Was it even him?

  If so, he probably wasn’t going to remember me. But I didn’t care. Unable to talk my inebriated self down, I needed to tell him off. I needed him to know how fucked-up it was—what his parents did. And I needed him to know that he was no better than me. Basically, I needed to say the things I had been yelling at him in my head all of these years.

  I dialed the number and listened to the ringing.

  A deep, gravelly voice came on the line. “Yeah…”

  My heartbeat accelerated. “Is this Landon?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “I’m sure you don’t remember me. Well, with your fancy California life and all.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You need to know something. I had feelings.”

  “The fuck? What?” He repeated, “Who is this?”

  “Maybe all I was to you was the pudgy, little tomboy with the bad haircut and the hairy arms—just the girl who lived in the garage. But I mattered. Not only that, I looked up to you. I looked forward to every day spent riding my bike in circles in the front driveway while you skateboarded around me. I still have all your damn folded notes. I don’t know why I even kept them. Meanwhile, I bet you don’t even remember who the hell I
am. Nooo…not my-shit-don’t-stink Landon Roderick…in his L.A. mansion, too good to remember the little people. In case you’re wondering whatever happened to me, well, everything went to hell after we moved. My mother left us. And my life was never the same again. So, even though you don’t even remember who I am, I remember you. Sadly, the last time I was ever happy was with you.”

  With tears streaming down my cheeks and no words left, I hung up and threw the phone across my bed.

  And then it sank in.

  Oh, shit.

  Oh, no.

  What did I just do?

  My heart was pounding. The room was spinning faster than before.

  A few seconds later, the phone started to ring. Clutching my knees to my chest, I simply stared at it as if it was a bomb that would have exploded upon answering.

  No. I wouldn’t answer. I’d made a fool of myself. When it stopped ringing, I let out a sigh of relief that barely lasted until the phone started going off yet again. I still didn’t answer. It eventually stopped—for about five minutes.

  Then, it started ringing again.

  I finally lifted the phone and looked at the caller ID: L. Roderick.

  Straightening my back against the headboard, I took a deep breath in and prepared to answer.

  Clearing my throat, I did my best to sound like a composed woman, one who’d maybe just had a drunken demon exorcised from her. “Hello?”

  He let out a deep breath. A moment of silence passed, until he finally said, “Rana Banana?”

  HE SAID-SHE SAID

  To hear those words spoken through that deep voice was truly surreal. Since when did Landon sound like that?

  I finally answered, “Yes.”

  He let out another breath. “Holy shit. Rana Fucking Banana.”

  “Look…just forget I ever called, okay? Go back to doing what you were doing. Pretend this never happened.” I was just about to hang up when his voice stopped me.

  “Wait.”

  I said nothing but kept on the line.

  “Are you still there?” he asked.

  My voice was low. “Yes.”

  “I’m supposed to just forget this phone call ever happened?”

  “Sure. Just like you forgot I ever existed.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “How can you even ask that? Your parents kicked us out onto the street. You never even came over to say goodbye. In fact, you magically disappeared during that entire ordeal.”

  His voice grew louder. “Wait a second. First of all, I have thought about you—a lot, if you really want to know. It’s haunted me, actually. And second of all, you have it all wrong.”

  “How?”

  “My parents didn’t kick you guys out. They told me your parents left without paying the rent. I remember going in there afterward and helping to clean out half the shit you all left behind.”

  “Well, your parents lied. We were forced to leave.”

  “Look. This is apparently a he said-she said situation. The bottom line is, I never meant to not say goodbye to you. I wasn’t there when it all went down. I’d gone to visit my grandmother for a couple of days. No one told me you were moving until after it had happened. I got back, and you were gone.”

  I didn’t know what to make of this. Either he was lying, or my parents had lied to me. Either way, I felt like a complete idiot at the moment.

  “Look. Again, this phone call was a mistake. There’s no point in rehashing all of this thirteen years later anyway. Have a good—”

  “What made you call me tonight?”

  “I was drunk.”

  “You drunk dialed me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re still drunk?”

  “Unfortunately, it’s wearing off.”

  “How did you even get my number?”

  “You’re the only Landon Roderick in the United States, apparently.”

  “Lucky me. Why are you drunk on a Thursday night?”

  “There are too many answers to that question. Let’s see. I got groped at work again. I’m late paying this month’s rent—I know what you’re thinking, that apparently some things never change, right? Oh! And my roommate is a psychopath. I’m pretty sure he’s plotting my death as we speak. Shall I go on?”

  “What the fuck?” He chuckled.

  “Ready to hang up now, Landon?”

  “Are you kidding? This is just getting good.”

  “Don’t you have anything better to do? What were you doing when I called you?”

  “I was just smoking out on my balcony,” he said. “My place overlooks the water. It’s not a mansion, though. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “You smoke? You never used to smoke.”

  “I was thirteen when you knew me. I barely knew where my balls were back then. A lot can change in thirteen years.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “Plenty of time to fuck up and develop bad habits.”

  I sighed. “Yep.”

  “Like your Thursday night drunk dials. Have there been other unsuspecting victims? Or just me?”

  “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever done this before.”

  “Well…that you can remember.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. His laughter followed and the mood lightened.

  I could hear him light up another cigarette before he said, “Back up for a minute. You said you got groped at work. What do you do? Are you a prison guard or something?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t know. First thing that came to mind, I guess.”

  “I’m a belly dancer.”

  “What? Get out of here!”

  “Why do you find that hard to believe?”

  “You used to dress like a dude…baggy clothes. I just can’t picture you dancing around and shit.”

  “Well, like you said, a lot can change in thirteen years.”

  “Apparently.” He exhaled deeply. “It’s good to hear your voice, Banana.”

  “Your voice is a lot different. You sound like a man.”

  “Last time I checked, I am, in fact, a male. I thought you were, too, at one point.”

  “Asshole.”

  “I’m kidding, Rana—kind of.”

  I blew out a breath. “Anyway, I’d better let you go.”

  “Wait…one more question. Why do you think your roommate is trying to kill you?”

  “Okay, well, his name is Lenny. I had put an ad out for a roommate a while back. I wasn’t getting any bites and really couldn’t afford the rent. Lenny answered the ad. He doesn’t really talk to me, but sometimes, he mutters things under his breath. I get the feeling he’s obsessed with me but hates me at the same time, if that makes sense.”

  “It doesn’t make sense, no. But neither do you, really.” He laughed. “Is the apartment under your name…the lease?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, why don’t you kick him out if he’s a fucking weirdo?”

  “Because I’m afraid he’ll kill me.”

  “So, you’re afraid to live with him, but you’re also afraid to kick him out.”

  “More afraid to kick him out, yes. He hasn’t tried anything. It’s just…this sense I get.”

  Landon was cracking up.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You. You’re just funny. Not funny ha-ha…but freaking funny. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.” He spoke under his breath, “Holy shit. This is an interesting surprise.”

  Just then, I heard someone else’s voice.

  A woman called out, “Landon? What are you doing?” She seemed to have an accent.

  He answered her, “I’ll be right there. I need to take this phone call.”

  “Who’s that? Are you married?”

  “No.”

  “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “No. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Then, who is it?”

  “Her name is…um…”


  “You don’t know?”

  “Valeria.”

  “Venereal?”

  He laughed. “Valeria.”

  Clearly, I’d interrupted some kind of tryst.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to that.”

  His tone was urgent. “Don’t hang up.”

  “I’m pretty sure you need to go back to Valeria.”

  “No, I don’t. She went back to the room, anyway. She’s not out here anymore.”

  “Well, you don’t want to make her wait.”

  “She can wait.”

  “I’d better go.”

  “Rana, don’t hang up yet. Will you drunk dial me again? I feel like I’m not done with your crazy.”

  “Goodnight, Landon.” I hung up.

  My heart was pounding. The whole thing seemed surreal. Did that actually just happen?

  How awkward that he was with a woman and carrying on a conversation with me.

  I couldn’t sleep that night. All I could think about was this image of Landon smoking by the beach in California. I fantasized about the ocean air as I wondered about what he actually looked like now.

  When the insomnia wouldn’t let up, I pulled myself out of bed and walked over to my closet before taking out the backpack of notes and randomly selecting one to unfold.

  Rana Banana,

  Why do your clothes always smell like weird spices? It makes me want to go to Taco Bell.

  Landon

  P.S. You think your dad could drive us to Taco Bell some time?

  SHOW ME YOU

  The next afternoon, I passed my roommate on the way out.

  “Have a nice day, Lenny.”

  He simply grunted as he took his lunch to his room. I didn’t care whether he acknowledged me or not, as long as he didn’t bother me or suffocate me in my sleep.

  Dodging puddles, I rushed to the bus stop as my cell phone vibrated.

  I picked up without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”

  His voice was unexpected. “I feel like we ended on a weird note last night.”

  “I’m pretty sure the whole thing was weird, Landon. Not just the ending.”