Paullina Simons - A Beggar’s Kingdom

Julian, go and come back for me. Clutching the Bill of Mortality in one hand, the gold coin in the other, he kept hearing Mallory’s dying voice in his head—when he wasn’t dreaming of Josephine, walking toward his café table.

Julian, come back for me.

Why, when the new moon was invisible in the sky, did he dream of her smiling? Earth, moon, and sun all in a line, a meridian line, a wishing moon, Josephine smiling, Mallory pleading …

Come back for me.

And in Notting Hill, the cast-off girls had fun, then wanted more, got insulted, bellowed at him, all hawks in motion. He told them he wasn’t looking for anything. And they assured him neither were they. Yet there was so much yelling. I’m serious, he would say. Please listen to me. But they had three pints, two cocktails, half a bottle of wine, and they couldn’t listen. And when he told one sober woman right at the outset, even before they had ordered the wine, that he wasn’t looking for anything long-term, she slapped him across the face and said, don’t get ahead of yourself, buddy, who even says you’ll get anywhere with me. He got somewhere with her, and now she, too, was shouting at him.

“Jules, what a mess you’re making of things,” Ashton said. “I think you’ve forgotten how to date women.”

“You call what I’m doing dating?”

“That’s true, this isn’t quite what I had in mind when I advised you to plug back into your life. You’ve gone from a monk to a player overnight. But sooner or later, all this whatever you want to call it is going to turn into a bloodbath. You’ll be sorry when one of them bashes your brains in with a cricket bat.”

“How do you know that’s not what I’m hoping for?” said Julian.

AFTER CHRISTMAS, ASHTON ASKED JULIAN TO SIGN OFF ON THE sale of the Treasure Box. Nextel was becoming too big a responsibility. There was a lot to do in London, both in work and in life. And the prop business was dying without Ashton, who sounded philosophical when he spoke about it. It couldn’t continue. Back in L.A. over the holidays, he and Julian held an auction for the remainder of the props, gave away some posters and trinkets to friends, kept a few items Ashton valued, like his Bob Marley poster, and didn’t renew their lease on the building. “It’ll be a taco place now. They might call it Treasure Taco.” Ashton grinned.

“Are you sure that instead of selling Treasure Box, you don’t want to move back to L.A.?” Julian said.

“What do I have to move back for now?”

“How about for me?” Riley said two months later. It was March. She was visiting the boys for a long weekend to celebrate Julian’s 36th birthday.

“But, cupcake, you’re here in London with me,” Ashton said. “If I go back, I’ll be in L.A. without you. Come here, delicious. Give me a big smooch.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Is that why you love me?”

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