Trashley: Part Seven
Thirty grand
Ashley’s “wife” found me on Instagram and Twitter, where she told me she was eight months pregnant, and accused Ashley of lying about her identity. Days earlier, I’d posted an article on Medium about what it was like to date a Theoretical Physicist, and somehow Cecelia had stumbled across it. I was caught in the middle of something I didn’t understand. I know I’m blonde and tall and have side chick energy, but this wasn’t what I’d signed up for when I started dating Ashley.
Cecelia made some pretty big accusations: Ashley wasn’t a Physicist. They lived in Minnesota, and Ashley never went to MIT.
But if Ashley didn’t get her doctorate at MIT, I didn’t understand why her own Mom wore MIT sweatshirts around the house, or why she introduced Ashley to her co-workers as a professor.
I was on a night hike when I saw the messages from Cecelia. I left early and went home to confront Ashley. Before we could even have a conversation, she went ballistic. I knew this would be a whole thing, so I poured myself a tequila on the rocks. Actually, I made it a double.
Ashley screeched, “Cecelia’s a liar! I did go to MIT! I am a physicist! She’s trying to get you to break up with me. She’ll do everything she can to ruin our relationship! And you fucking believe her!” She began furiously packing her bags.
“Lower your voice,” I said, “I don’t want my neighbors to worry.” I tried to de-escalate the situation and gently took a step toward Ashley as if I were a bomb negotiator.
That only enraged her more. “I’m not screaming! YOU’RE SCREAMING! You’re blocking me from leaving! You’re yelling at me! You’re cornering me!”
I put my hands up as if someone had just yelled freeze. “Can you please calm down? Seriously, my neighbors are going to call the cops.” She ignored my pleas and continued to scream and pack, and then she stomped out the front door.
Phew. It was over.
I poured another tequila on the rocks and took a shower. I was exhausted from Ashley’s chaos, which accompanied her everywhere she went. As I stood under the hot water, I heard my front door open. Ashley was back. I got out and grabbed a towel. I walked into the living room where Ashley was crying to her Mom on speakerphone. “Lauren believes Cecelia’s lies! She’s taking her side.”
Ashley’s Mom calmly explained, “Lauren honey, Cecelia is just trying to ruin Ashley’s life, and she won’t stop until Ashley has nothing. She can’t accept that Ashley’s moved on. You should just block her sweetie; nothing she tells you is true. This woman is excellent at Photoshop; she’ll make things up and photoshop texts and conversations that never happened. It’s all lies.”
It was Ashley and her Mom’s word versus Cecelia’s, a woman I’d never met. I didn’t know who to believe, and I was too drained to care. Ashley continued to talk with her Mom, and I put on my pajamas. Once they hung up I asked Ashley why she was still there.
“My Tesla’s not working. You must’ve done something to it when you drove to your hike.” She said. “I called a tow truck and the guy will be here in forty minutes. I have to stay here tonight.”
“Fine, but you have to leave in the morning.”
It was late, I was tired, and I had a headache that made my temples pulse.
I got into bed, and Ashley went out to meet the tow truck driver. I had Cecelia’s first and last name, so I googled her, and sure enough, their wedding announcement came up on The Knot. It was the first time I’d seen anything about Ashley on the internet. I opened the link. The announcement was a selfie Ashley had taken of her and Cecelia sitting in a car. They both looked young and happy. Cecelia was naturally beautiful; how dare she. Her eyes were big and crystal blue. She didn’t wear make-up, she didn’t need to. She had a gentle smile and warm energy. It was hard for me to believe this person was as psychotic as Ashley and Stacey made her out to be.
The caption read, “Ashley is married with two kids. She isn’t single and living in LA. She doesn’t have a degree in Physics.” I choked. Ashley sounded so smart though when she explained Maxwell’s Equations and ZigZag Lighting. I couldn’t tell if this caption was the truth or a woman scorned. Clearly Cecelia was in charge of the website, because this definitely didn’t come up when I had googled Ashley. I needed to do some more digging.
I looked at the date of their wedding, they had gotten married on the same day my golden retriever Madison had died in my arms. It was the saddest day of my life, and probably, up until now, one of the happiest of theirs.
I looked at Cecelia’s Instagram for the first time. There they were, a happy little family. I scrolled: Cecelia and Ashley canoeing together, riding bikes, and having pajama parties. They went on vacations and took their daughter to Europe, Costa Rica, and Florida. They wore matching pajamas as they opened presents together on their daughter’s first Christmas morning. There was nothing I saw that made me think this person was abusive or dishonest. In fact, she looked like someone I would be friends with in another dimension.
It made me so sad.
My front door opened, and I closed Instagram. Ashley came into my bedroom, her eyes were bloodshot from crying and screaming. She sat down on my bed, put her hands to her head, and started to sob, “You have to believe me. I love you so much, I don’t want to lose you.” Snot ran down her face, “You’re my soulmate. I want to marry you. But you have to believe me, Cecelia is manipulating you. That’s what she does. She’s trying to make me look like a monster so you’ll break up with me.”
“But, she’s pregnant. And she says you’re moving back to Minnesota when the baby comes.” I watch for Ashley’s reaction.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Ashley’s tears were the size of golf balls. “I didn’t know she was getting pregnant. She did it on her own, thinking a baby would save our marriage, which ended years ago. You just need to block her, or she’ll never stop.”
“I’m tired, and this is all really exhausting. We can talk about it tomorrow.” I went to sleep, chaos can be really draining.
The next morning, Ashley brought me coffee in bed and said she had a present for me, but we had to pick it up in Beverly Hills. She was acting like the night before didn’t happen while I was still processing everything — her pregnant (ex?) wife, the accusations of not being a real Physicist — I still hadn’t responded to Cecelia’s messages. I wasn’t sure what to do.
Ashley and I drove my car to Beverly Hills. Her Tesla was still in the shop and wouldn’t be ready until the following day. We parked in the parking garage below the Crate & Barrel store on Beverly. She surprised me with a new SMEG coffee maker. I’d talked about wanting one because I loved the design, but the reviews were mostly negative. I accepted her gift. It was the least she could do after going off on me the night before.
When we got back to my place, Ashley said, “I have to tell you something,” She started, “I’m having suicidal ideations. I feel depressed. I feel numb. I just want this all to end.” I was not prepared for this conversation, but I took it seriously. I asked what I could do to help. She cried and said, “Nothing.”
I ordered her Silver Lake Ramen because I know when I feel low, soup always gives me a reason to live. When the meal showed up I put it in a nice bowl and debated whether I should give her a fork or a spoon in her current state. Spoon it was. After she ate, Ashley laid down on my couch and I wrapped her with enough blankets to warm an army. She fell asleep, and I went back to searching for clues on Cecelia’s Instagram.
The next morning, Ashley woke up energized. She scurried to the kitchen to make my new SMEG’s first pot of coffee, a nice gesture since she didn’t even drink coffee. She also offered to walk Perci, something she never did. Ashley was on her best behavior, and I was just happy she wasn’t feeling suicidal anymore. Ashley’s Tesla was ready to be picked up, and she told me Tesla gave her four hundred dollars in Uber credits to use while her car was in the shop. An Uber Black picked us up in front of my place. The ride to Burbank should’ve cost twelve dollars, but an Uber Black cost eighty. I knew multi-millionaires who wouldn’t even do this. But whatever, it was Elon’s money to spend, so I didn’t care.
We were sitting in the backseat when Ashley’s phone buzzed. It was Cecelia, Facetiming Ashley. Surprisingly, Ashley answered it. “Hi Monkey!” Ashley said, “I miss you, I love you.” It was her daughter. Ashley frantically clicked the volume button all the way down, but not before I heard Cecelia’s voice for the first time.
“Why are you wearing a mask?” Cecelia asked. Her voice was light but direct.
“Because I have to have a mask on,” Ashley explained, without answering the question.
The call barely lasted thirty seconds before Ashley hung up. I felt sick again but didn’t ask questions. I just wanted to stay out of it.
After Facetiming, Ashley turned to me and said, “Do you want a job at my company? Like, writing their tweets?”
“Writing tweets? Not really.” I wasn’t desperate for money, and I had a big fancy Hollywood job that paid a very nice six figures and was starting back up again in a few weeks.
“What if you only had to write five tweets? What would you charge?” She asked.
“Ashley, I’m not even sure there’s an amount of money in the world you could pay me to write tweets for a head-hunting company,” I said, getting annoyed.
“That’s too bad,” she said, “because I have a twenty-thousand dollar budget for a writer, and all I need are five tweets.”
I perked up, “Twenty-thousand dollars to write five tweets?” I asked. Suddenly, she had my attention. That was nineteen thousand eight hundred dollars more than I thought she would say.
“Yeah, and it’s twenty-grand every quarter, not just once a year. You’re a great writer. The job is yours if you want it.”
How could I say no to an unexpected eighty grand a year? It was enough to make me temporarily shove Ashley’s drama aside. I added up the money I would make from my MTV job with the money I’d get from writing a few tweets. I could almost taste the Aperol Spritz I’d be sipping as I pictured myself poolside at a Villa overlooking the sea in Positano.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll do it.”
Any time I was close to ending things with Ashley or questioned her, she lured me back in with shiny objects. She knew that was the key to my heart. Like my new SMEG, and now twenty grand for tweets I could write in my sleep.
We picked up Ashley’s Tesla and returned to my place later that day. Ashley said to send her an invoice so she could start the process of setting me up as a Vendor. It sounded too good to be true. But it was worth a shot.
Ashley opened my invoice on her computer. She deleted the line that said “Total Due: $20,000.”
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She looked up at the ceiling as if pondering something, then looked back at my invoice and typed in a new amount: thirty thousand dollars.
I had no idea whether Ashley was bullshitting me, but for a bonus thirty grand, I was willing to find out.
I need more!!!! Where is 8?!???? I need it now!!!
My head is spinning. I can't even imagine how confusing this must have been.