And they both laughed together.
“Go get your friends.”
The look on Mia’s face let him know he had made the right decision. She could see it in his eyes. “Thanks. Umm, what’s your name?”
“Charles.”
“Thanks, Chaz.” Mia teased.
“Do you want to go to the end of the line?” He flipped to serious in a nanosecond.
“Getting my friends.” And she took off to grab Seth and Rory.
“How’d you do that, Line Cutting BBC?” Seth wanted to know. “Did you show that boy your tits?”
“Shut up.” Mia backhanded him in the arm.
An hour and a half later, a dancing-sweat drenched Mia emerged through the front door and stepped out into the cool night air with two plastic drink cups in hand. Wordlessly, she handed one to Charles.
With a furrowed brow, he sniffed the contents of the cup, his facial expression immediately changing.
“How’d you know I was a scotch man?”
“Intuition. And when I saw a bottle of Glenlivit on the bar, I thought it would be a nice way to say thank you for ensuring I didn’t go postal while waiting in line tonight.”
Charles laughed, “Was that story you told me for real?”
Nodding, “Sad, but true.”
“And this happened today.”
Mia continued to nod. “I was walking home from my office and thinking about this leftover Eggplant Parmigiana in my fridge that I was going to warm up and eat before I went back to the office.”
“Bet you haven’t eaten today.” Charles finished his scotch.
Mia thought about that for a moment. “Wow, you’re right. I haven’t.”
“The crowd’s pretty thin here now. Have you ever eaten at Kiev?”
Mia smiled and just the thought made her stomach growl. “Best tuna in New York.”
“Absolutely. Come on, let’s go. Let’s get some food in you.”
“Just let me tell my friends and I’ll be right back out. I don’t want them to think I’ve jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge.”
Mia and Charles headed one block up to Kiev. Out of date and seedy, Kiev was one of the best places in downtown Manhattan to people watch. East Village hipsters, punks after a CBGB’s show on The Bowery, gays, straights, transgenders, the twenty-four hour diner attracted all types. Renowned for their perogies and other eastern European delicacies (including their famed tuna, which was not Eastern European, but a delicacy just the same), Kiev was a New York staple for middle of the night munchies.
“So, you look like you’re in pretty good shape considering your day.” Charles sat back in his chair regarding Mia.
“I feel pretty ok. My ego is severely bruised and battered, I’ll tell you that. But I think I knew deep down that we probably had been at the end of the road for quite a while.”
“It was comfortable?” Charles probed.
Mia nodded, her brows knit together.
Charles looked down at the table. “I recently got out of one of those.”
The waitress, dressed in a 1950’s style uniform, dropped off the tuna sandwiches. “Together long?” Mia picked up half of the overflowing rye bread.
“Four years.”
“So what happened?” Mia hoped Charles hadn’t found her with another man.
“She wanted to get married.”
“And you didn’t?” It was interesting for Mia to hear the guy’s point of view.
Charles shook his head.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, before Mia opened up. “What I am a little freaked out about is going home. I’ve never lived in my apartment alone. He was always there. I’m scared it’s all going to hit me when I’m there all by myself.”
Charles nodded and between bites. “It’s weird. But after a few days, it’s great.”
Mia smiled. Her emotions were traveling at bullet train speed — angry at Tom for what he did, relieved that it was over, sad that it was over, scared to be on her own, excited to start a life that was just hers, missing him, despising him. She was starting to feel what she’d been too keyed up to feel all day.
“You’d be a terrible poker player.” Charles laughed.
“It’s starting to hit me, I think.” Mia could feel tears welling.
“Let’s go back. We’ll do a few shots. I finish up in about an hour and I’ll make sure you get home safely.”
As they talked, it was clear they had a lot in common — both were young business owners feeling the weight of responsibility for those they employed, both had been involved in long term relationships with someone they had lived with and both were dyed in the wool New York City kids. Their paths had just missed crossing many times at concerts and events they had both attended. By the time they had walked back to Mia’s apartment she felt like Charles was a forever friend and they were discussing potentially working together on events for Mia’s clients.
“Did you change your locks this afternoon?”
“No. I told him I was, but I haven’t done it yet.” And for the first time she started to feel nervous. It had not occurred to her before — what if Tom was up there?
As if sensing her agitation, Charles put a hand on Mia’s shoulder. “I’d like to make sure your apartment is secure. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that you are not walking into any surprises.”
Riding up in the elevator, Mia’s nerves started to combust, her mouth began to feel like sandpaper and not taste much better. If Tom was in there, walking in with Charles at 4:30 A.M. was not going to be a pleasant scene.
Exiting on the sixteenth floor, Charles held out his hand for the keys and Mia handed them to him, her hands visibly shaking. “It’s going to be fine,” he reassured, as he opened the locks.
The apartment was dark and Mia flipped on the light. Nothing looked out of place. Charles walked through the living room into the dining room and then the kitchen. Mia thought it felt like a movie — checking to see if it was all clear. He pointed down the hallway and mouthed the word “bedroom?” Mia nodded and Charles headed down the hall. Please don’t let him be in there, Mia prayed.
Charles returned. “All clear. One of your bedroom windows is open.”
Mia rolled her eyes, “Yeah, well … Guess I forgot to close it after I threw her shoes out.”
Charles let out a big, hearty laugh, “You threw her shoes out, too?”
“They were ugly.” Mia was dead serious.
Charles shook his head, smiling. “You are very amusing. But I’m sure you already know that.” And with that, he started checking the locks on the door and the window. “You know this place is not very secure. I’m going to have a couple of my guys come over first thing in the morning to make this a lot safer for you.” Noticing the confused look on Mia’s face, Charles explained, “Mia, I own a security company. It’s not just goons deciding who gets into hot clubs. These guys are very well trained, people have specialties and you would be surprised how many retired NYPD are on my payroll.”
Mia noticed an envelope on the dining room table, behind Charles. It was at “his spot” at the table. The place he ate, graded papers, worked on screenplays. Mia walked over and picked it up. The word “Jailbait” was written across the front of the envelope in Tom’s beautiful cursive. Reality was starting to grab at her throat and squeeze.
“Did he leave his keys?” Charles interrupted her thoughts.
“I don’t see them,” and she quickly went through the apartment. “No, he took them.”
Charles just nodded his head. “How do you feel about an almost complete stranger sleeping on your couch?”
“I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.” Mia felt relief in knowing she had protection staying in her living room. Not that she ever would expect Tom to do anything crazy or violent — that wasn’t Tom — but a surprise scene would not be a good thing.
Before leaving this guardian angel, who with a large leap of faith she chose to trust, Mia sat down next to him on the couch, “Charles,
thank you. Really.” He nodded, but remained silent. “You’ll now know when someone says they have something personal to tell you, you’ll have your guys tell the person to take a hike.”
He laughed and nodded, “No shit!”
Mia smiled and with a quick hug and a kiss on his cheek, she left him, letter in her hand.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she turned the envelope in her hands a few times, before taking a deep breath and gathering up the nerve to open it. She had the urge to say “Showtime,” but didn’t.
Jailbait,
I’m at such a loss for words. I want to make this right, yet I fear that is just no longer possible. I know you will never trust me again, and without that trust, we will never come close to being whole again.
First and foremost, my apology. I am sorry, Mia. I have hurt you, and until today, I had no understanding of quite how painful it is to know that you have hurt someone you love (yes, I just said the “L” word). I hurt for you and I would give up everything to change what I have done and what I have done to you.
I sit here writing this and I’m scared. I’ll be honest with you, I am very scared. I don’t know what life is like without you and I don’t want to know what life is like without you. I have never had a relationship that has had the length or depth of what we have shared and I apologize for not treating it and you with the deserved love and respect.
You are my life, Mia. I know you don’t believe that right now. I am an ass. I guess I wanted to feel like “I still had it,” if that makes sense and the irony is, I now have nothing.
I am praying this is not the end of us. You have my commitment that I will do anything and everything to make this up to you, to make things right. Please don’t close the door on us, Mia.
Today, I singlehandedly shot the sun out of the sky and I yearn to see it rise again, to see the glow of that beautiful golden side lit early morning light. Light that I long ago marveled at how it bathed a beautiful teenage girl and a tangle of wildflowers. But until then there is only darkness, for which I am responsible.
I love you, Mia. I really do. And I hope to not only tell you that, but prove it to you, every day of your life.
Forever, Tom
Mia stared at the page in her hands for a very long time. She felt nothing. Just numb. She couldn’t even begin to process Tom’s words or formulate what her reaction was supposed to be.
“I need sleep,” she mumbled and fell back onto the bed. (She noted that Tom had actually had the decency to change the sheets). Curling up under the blanket, on her side of the bed, she grabbed her pillow and shoved her left arm under it. Something silky brushed against her wrist.
Mia rolled over and turned on the bedside light. Lifting her pillow, she gasped at what Tom had placed there. Underneath her pillow, Tom Sheehan had left her his MFA tassel from Cornell.
And there it was, a wave cresting and rushing to shore and Mia had caught the wave wrong and now she was being dragged under — her face scraping on the abrasive sand and broken shells lining the ocean floor. The sadness swept over her and finally the tears flowed freely. Once again, that feeling she had too often felt, a feeling she had been able to sweep to the darkest recesses of her mind for most of the past seven years, leapt out of the darkness like a stalker and began coursing through her veins. Subway cars speeding though darkened tunnels.
Although they were not strangers to one another, Mia Silver was not pleased to once again greet loneliness.
Chapter Twenty-five
“Are you coming out with us?” Seth stuck his head into Mia’s office.
Mia just shook her head, not looking up from her PC. “Too much to do.”
“I would think you’d be more fun now that you’re single, but you’ve turned into this huge BBC bore.”
Mia smiled, still not looking up from her PC, “You certainly don’t want a bore with you. Have fun.”
Clearing off her desk for the weekend, Mia was feeling mighty proud of herself. Billings were higher than she had ever dreamed, they’d on boarded three new clients, and both she and the agency were up for CLIO and ADDY awards — an honor she could not believe had been bestowed on them.
Mia walked over to her window and looked out over lower Manhattan. The Trade Centers were just beginning to illuminate the night. Standing in the cocoon of her brick-walled office, Mia felt disconnected from the world outside, a world of people laughing together, dreaming together, growing together. Maybe it was just the long haired blonde girls who got what they wanted — the CJ’s of the world, the blondes like Tom’s skanky student. Maybe girls like her just got handsome gay friends and asshole rapists. And advertising awards.
With a sigh, she walked away from the window and started to pack up her laptop. There was a bar on the walk home that had great pub grub — wonderful greasy burgers and hand cut fries. Mia was in the mood to indulge in a little food therapy. Add a cold Pilsner Urquell on tap to that and all would be right in the world again.
Entering the pub, there was one seat at the bar next to two handsome guys, both dressed in suits. Sitting next to them, they did not notice her as their eyes were trained on two blondes at one of the tables. Figures, Mia thought, blondes — the bane of my existence.
Sipping on her beer, she quietly observed everyone, trying to figure out their stories. Her burger arrived and the suited guy next to her turned around, “That looks really good,” he commented.
Mia had just cut the enormous burger in half and held up a half to him, “Want a bite?” And she gave him a devil grin.
“I can’t eat your burger,” he smiled back.
“You’re saying no to eating my meat?” She raised an eyebrow, the smirk on her face hard to control. “I’d never say no to eating your meat.”
He laughed and took the burger from her hands and took a big bite.
“You’re very good with your mouth.” She sipped her beer.
“And you are very funny.”
“This is true.” Mia acknowledged.
Thirty minutes and a shared piece of pecan pie later, Mia exited with the suited guy. On her way out, she smiled at the blondes. Score one for girls like her.
“So what did you end up doing on Friday night?” Seth asked on Monday morning, “I called here, your cell and your apartment to see if you wanted to join us for dinner after we’d had a few drinks, but you didn’t answer.”
“I ended up stopping into a pub on my way home for a burger, a beer … ,” she paused and smiled, “and some dick.”
“What? You got picked up by some guy and fucked him?”
“No.” Mia was shaking her head. “I picked up the guy and fucked him.”
Seth’s eyes narrowed, “BBC, you’ve been blowing us off a lot lately. How often do you do this?”
Mia shrugged, “When I feel like it.”
“Quantify, Bitch.”
“I don’t know. I don’t keep count.”
Eyes still narrowed, Seth leaned across the desk to Mia, “How many tables have we sponsored at AIDS benefits? How many benefits have we sat at and cried because the photos flashing on the screen were our friends — people we’ve hung out with, danced with, laughed with. I know gorgeous, brooding poet fucked with your head with what he did, but don’t you dare put your life in jeopardy over an asshole who can’t keep his dick in his pants. An asshole who I’m sure is miserable over losing what he had with you.”
Mia rolled her eyes, “I’ve got this under control.” If I’ve got being raped by two assholes under control, then I’ve certainly got being cheated on by a total player under control, she thought.
Standing to leave, Seth shook his head, “Sadly, you don’t,” and he turned on his heel and walked out of her office.
Chapter Twenty-six
Mia was standing at the mailboxes in the lobby of her apartment building leafing through the contents of her overstuffed mailbox. She heard someone say, “Excuse me,” and looked up into the gray eyes of her neighbor two doors down.
> Stepping aside so that he could have access to his mail slot, Mia smiled at him. She hadn’t seen either him or his friend since the day she shoved Tom’s naked skank out into the hall.
As she got into the elevator, he called out, “Please hold that,” and Mia pressed the doors open button and waited for him. He strode into the elevator with a confident gait. He was tall and wiry with short auburn hair.
“So, how have you been since … uh, that day?” He gave Mia a half uncomfortable, half amused smirk.
“That was quite a day, wasn’t it?” Mia smiled back. “I’ve been good.”
“The boyfriend is gone too?” He shifted nervously from foot to foot.
“Oh yeah. That very day.”
“Wow. That was really something,” he was now amused, seeing it wasn’t an off-limits conversation with Mia. They reached the sixteenth floor and the elevator doors opened, “Hey, I’m just about to sit down and smoke a joint. Do you want to join me?” he offered.
Mia thought to herself, why not. She hadn’t gotten high in the longest time and it was a Friday night, so she didn’t need to be sharp in the morning. Besides she had no other plans.
“Sure, let me just go change and I’ll be right over. My name is Mia, by the way.”
He turned around as he was heading down the hall, “Lyle.”
Mia knocked on his door about twenty minutes later, a bottle of red wine, a box of Carr’s water crackers, a hunk of cheddar cheese and one of triple crème bleu cheese, in hand.
“I didn’t know if you had food and I’m starved,” she explained, “and that’s pre-munchies.” Mia hit him with the devil smile.
She sat down on his chocolate brown leather couch. On the glass coffee table was quite the assortment of drugs. Multiple types of pot — large green buds, a stringy red variety, Thai sticks, chunks of dark hash, multiple joints already rolled. There were also single-edged razor blades on the table and little glass coke vials, letting Mia know that the glass top was not merely for decoration.
Moore to Lose Page 12
