“I know I don’t know all the details, but I still think you need to go see him. Sam, there’s no way the guy can’t be in love with you, too. He’s too smart not to see how amazing you are.”
“And you’re smart enough to realize how biased you are.”
“Maybe a little, but I’m still objective enough to see you for who and what you are. I know you’re not perfect. You have a terrible sense of style, you need to take better care of your skin and your morning breath could knock over a fruit stand from ten paces.”
“Like yours is any better!” I defend indignantly.
She giggles. “What I’m getting at is that I know your flaws, so I’m not blind. But you’re the catch of a lifetime even in your terrible clothes.”
“Half the time I wear things you pick out.”
“I know! Thank God you look nice part of the year.”
I roll my eyes. There’s just no reasoning with Chris.
“Did you call just to point out all my shortcomings?”
“Oh, hell no! There’s no time for that. I called to invite you out for a girl’s night. Let’s go get drunk. You wanna?”
For the first time since the conversation started, I hear the sad desperation in her voice. That or it’s the first time I’ve had my head out of my butt long enough to perceive someone else’s pain.
“What’s the matter? Did something happen between you and Greg?”
There’s absolute silence on the phone. I wonder for a few seconds if we got cut off, but then I hear her sniff.
“It’s over. Done.”
“What happened?”
“We got in an argument and he got pretty mad. I guess I just got spooked. You know, old fears, ghosts from the past, all that shit. I freaked. Threw a vase at him. Hit him in the head.”
“Ohmigod, Chris! Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. It only grazed him. But still…”
“Oh,” I say, deadpan. I do see. He got to see some of Chris’s emotional wounds and he ran. Every broken person’s worst fear—that no one will be able to love us in spite of our scars.
“I apologized, but it didn’t do any good. So now I get to live the rest of my life knowing that I ruined the best thing to ever happen to me.”
“Stop it right now, Chris! This is not the end. Greg is a nice guy. He might just need to cool down. And if he can’t ever forgive you then you’ll meet another great guy, one who will love you for exactly who and what you are, past and all.”
“You sort of lost your credibility when you refused to go give your perfect man another chance.”
“But you don’t know how it went down. I was such a bitch, Chris. I said awful things to him. My situation is different than yours.”
“Is it? Is it so different? You showed each other your ugly and then it all fell apart, isn’t that right? Isn’t that what you told me?”
“Chris, there’s more to it than that. You just…you just had to be there. I can’t go into it. It’s not fair for me to tell you what he trusted me with.”
“I’m not asking you to tell me. I’m just hoping that you two can show me that there’s hope. If you can find happiness, I know I can, too. But if someone as great as you can’t make it work, what does that say for someone like me?”
“Chris, you’re amazing. You don’t need me to start counting all your wonderful attributes, do you? Do you really want me to bore you with things you already know?”
In some ways, Chris is the most confident person you’d ever hope to meet. But in other ways, ways she keeps closely guarded, she’s every bit as screwed up and insecure as I am. She just does a better job of hiding it than I do. According to Alec, I write about the ways I hope to heal, about the life I wish I had rather than experiencing any of it.
“Fine. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give the thing with Alec one more shot if you promise to go talk to Greg.”
Sniff, sniff. “Really?” she asks in a small, childlike voice.
“Really really.”
“Okay, but can we still do girl’s night tonight? I need to go have a little fun. Plus, I’ve got this really cute dress I’m dying to wear.”
I sigh and shake my head. Fashion will always be the thing that drags Chris out of a funk. Just like my writing will always be mine.
I look at the blinking cursor and the happily ever after I just can’t seem to conjure.
At least I hope so.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX - Alec
My internal office line buzzes. Only the most important clients, employees and a few personal friends have this number.
“Brand,” I say brusquely into the receiver.
“Alec,” comes the familiar purr.
“Carla,” I respond. “So nice to hear from you.”
“I was hoping you’d think so,” she confesses in her feline way. As it turns out, however, I’m not in the mood for her, or any reminders of what I’m trying so hard to forget.
“What can I do for you?”
“Ooo, sounds like you need me a lot worse than I need you.”
“How do you figure?”
“I can hear that tension all the way through the phone. And I have just the thing for it.”
“I’m busy, Carla. What’s this about?”
Her laugh is sultry and grates on my nerves. “I’m having a mixer at the club. We’re adding a couple of new members. Thought I’d invite you. It’s all strictly downstairs. Unless, of course, anyone wants to go upstairs…”
“I don’t really have—”
“I really hope you can come. It’s important for members to show their support. You know it keeps everyone honest when we all mingle occasionally.”
In other words, what she’s saying is that, by mingling at her mixer, we all have something on each other, which means no one tells. Ever. The risk is too high. And she wants to bring the new members right into that. Like a hush party.
I don’t really approve of what she’s doing, but I do need to stay on the good side of her and her…endeavors. Besides, I have frequented the place for several years. I guess the least I could do is go for a drink or two, especially since the lure of the upstairs won’t be the focus of the night.
“I’ll try to stop by,” I answer noncommittally.