by Kara Hart
I swallow and feel her one last time. Breathe her in one last time. But I’ll remember these moments forever. Even if she leaves for good, they’ll be tattooed to the front of my brain.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just a little stressed.”
She leans forward to kiss me. It’s the best kiss in the world, slow and meaningful. “Look,” she says, “I’m going to ask my friend if she can take Sammy for the night. She’s got a few kids of her own, and they’re near enough to her age that it won’t be a problem.”
I’m staring at the only person I’ve ever loved, knowing I won’t have her tomorrow. What a fucked up predicament. “Who is it?” I ask.
“Amanda, the teacher you met,” she says.
“The woman who watched us collide,” I correct her.
She bursts out laughing. “Aw. I miss that.”
It feels like I’m blushing. I hope it’s not too bad. “Me too.”
“So, can I call her?” she asks.
I’m nodding, but my brain is screaming no.
“Definitely.”
Hours later, Ali’s teacher friend Amanda arrives to pick up my daughter. The first thing she says to me is, “You look like shit.”
I shake her hand, head bent with confusion. “Why does everyone say that about me?” I ask. It’s supposed to be a joke, I think. I hold out my hand and introduce myself. “I’m Marc Wylan.”
She laughs and smacks my arm a few times as if we’ve been buddies for years. “I know who you are. You’re dating my friend.”
It’s weird I was single for so long. I’m not a promiscuous type of person. For a while, I thought I’d never find someone worth locking down. The word dating makes me feel pretty fucking good, but it’s not exclusive enough. I want the whole thing. “Dating. Is that what she called it?”
She shrugs. “More or less.”
This woman is something else. “Okay, well, forgive me for looking like shit.”
“It’s just that I know that look,” she says. “You’re worried about something.”
“There’s no look,” I say.
She narrows her eyes. “There’s a look.”
Of course, I start to worry she can see right through me. She knows I’m full of shit. She’s probably trying to find reasons to put a target on my back. I deserve it.
“We had a big night,” I say. “Plus, my house is pretty messed up, so I’m just trying to deal with this right now. Sue me for feeling a little tired.”
She meanders up the first few steps of my porch before sitting down. “What’s really wrong?” she asks.
I try to find Mount Ranier in the horizon, but I’m not high enough in the sky, and the fog is too dense. It doesn’t make sense to spill my guts to her friend, but I have some time until I need to pick up Ali. She’s got a very give-no-fucks attitude, so maybe she’ll end up giving me some sagely advice.
“I’ve got a lot of stuff to take care of,” I say.
“Ali related stuff?”
“Work related stuff. I got myself in a pretzel of bullshit,” I say.
She nods. “As one does. You own Momma Bear Magazine, right?”
“Yeah, among other publications,” I say. That ownership meant something to me at one point. “Why?”
“I never understood what happened to it. You guys got some real good interviews,” she says.
I look her up and down. Her clothes look like they’ve been assembled at one of those outlet stores on the way out of Washington. It’s not a diss at her. She’s just our prime readership base. “You were our target demographic,” I say. “Let me guess. You bought the dollar organic soap.”
Laughing, she pats her thigh with force. “Every freakin’ month. I ordered so many patchouli bars, my house smelled like Woodstock ‘69.”
That’s pretty funny. It’s even funnier that she still smells like patchouli. I guess people don’t really change. It’s a slow evolution until you find that special someone, the person to end the torment of habit. “The shareholders want to can it for good,” I say. “They say it never generated enough money, and they’re unsure I can get the advertisers on board.”
“I guess money rules the planet, right?”
I chuckle. “You’re asking me?”
“You see, this is part of your problem,” she says. “You’re used to swimming against the tide. It’s probably how you made it big in the first place. You’ve got lucky this far, but keep trying to fight it, and someday you’re bound to get caught.”
I grin. “By the Momma Bear?”
“You laugh now, but you know I’m right.”
Listening to my inner voice is what got me here in the first place. Everyone tried to warn me about my big, dumb brain. I should probably listen to her.
“Problem is, I’m tired of swimming. Period.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “You’re a billionaire. Just quit your job and live a real life.”
“It’s not the simple. People depend on me to pay their bills. I could quit, but then thousands would be out of jobs,” I tell her.
“Good point,” she says. “Never thought about that.”
It’s an unsolvable problem. Besides the obvious motives, one major motive being greed, that’s the sole reason why so many CEO’s stay with the ship.
“So what’re you going to do?” she asks.
I raise a brow. “About Mamma Bear?”
“Sure. It’s a simple equation,” she says. “If they’re trying to cancel it, how are you going to revive it? You need a plan.”
The answer is not to use Ali without asking. It’s a little too late now.
I shrug. “That’s what I can’t figure out.”
She snaps her fingers. It was a trick question. “Wrong,” she says. “You move on.”
Sammy comes to the front door. “Move on, daddy.”
Amanda stands on her soapbox, and my daughter jumps up and down to get as high up as her. “Who cares what the investors think? Do whatever you want.”
“They’ll pull me from the company,” I say.
As if the solution is obvious, she gives a laugh. “Duh, dude,” she says. “Isn’t that what you want? It’s the opposite of quitting. They’ll hire someone else. Everyone will keep their jobs.”
“Except me,” I say.
“Except you.”
I’m a little stunned. The idea of quitting was just entertainment. A fantasy, if anything. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without those meetings, without arguing with Sandra, or without being forced to go over the photographs with Brian when the photos themselves look like they’re from a JC Penny catalogue. The lack of stress might end up killing me.
Sarcasm aside, she makes a good point. I don’t need them. The shareholders can kick me out, prop up whatever publishing-tyrant that will do their bidding. Meanwhile, I’ll be taking trips to the beaches around the world with my daughter and my brand new wife, Ali Greenwald.
That’s right. She’s wife material. That’s how serious this is.
Amanda bends to greet Sammy. There’s purple food dye smeared across her face. “Hello, Sammy. You look very pretty today.”
She shows it off by angling her face higher. “I’m getting ready for the Easter bunny,” she exclaims.
“That’s coming up, ain’t it?” she asks.
My daughter has the luxury of moving onto the next holiday in her head. For me, I’m stuck in a bed of candy hearts like it’s Groundhog’s Day, and I’ve got the worst sugar hangover I can remember.
By the time I get to Ali’s house, I’m feeling pretty nervous. The talk with her friend eased my fears for a while. However, it seems to have led to an even bigger can of neurotic tendencies.
Ali steps inside the limousine wearing a classy dress that hugs the thighs just right and accentuates every curve on her body. It’s the look of a ten. The shareholders are going to love her. I’m biting my nails to the bone, forehead creased like a lunatic, and I’m sure I’ve got guilty written all over my face with a
permanent marker. If not now, definitely later, when I have to face Jim.
This has gotten so out of hand.
“Jesus,” I whisper.
“It’s not Easter yet,” she jokes. “You don’t have to worry about Jesus.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s just that you’re just so fucking beautiful.”
The joy of seeing me again shines across her face. “There’s my handsome man.”
I love this. I love her. If all this works out, I’m going to marry her. I’ll call my diamond dealer as soon as tonight’s fireworks fade.
Getting comfortable, she sits to my side, but quickly gravitates to her favorite spot against my lap. For her, nothing has changed. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just a fun party that will bring us together. Then we can go home, fuck, and talk about our wildest hopes and dreams.
I briefly close my eyes, and try to feel that way, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. I wrap my arm around her, bringing her even closer to me. I don’t want to lose her. “You’re my girl,” I whisper.
It’s a desperate attempt to hold onto everything as it is, but she doesn’t see it that way. And by the time we get to my office in downtown, she’s straddling and kissing me again. We’re insatiable together. It’s like that leash tied us up at the dog park and never let go.
The driver opens the door. With my guilt pressuring me to give him more than my usual forty percent, I give him a much deserved tip. Not sure if he heard or saw me stuffing my face in Ali’s pussy, but he must’ve felt the shocks shaking.
I stick a full stack of hundreds in his hand and stumble toward the door with Ali. Looking back, I see the driver pump his fist with a big smile on his face. It’s a moment I’d love to take in, but Jim is in the lobby, and he’s got the happiest look on his face as someone talks his ear off. He looks up, and his expression just drops.
I make a quick note to wire the driver another check.
Seeing Jim makes my heart sink, but I knew this was going to happen. You can’t avoid a man with that much money. Eventually, he’ll hire your family to rat you out. Sammy is pretty easy to bribe, too.
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
Ali takes it as a command, rather than a statement every great man makes when he’s, indeed, absolutely fucked. “Mm,” Ali moans. “Maybe in the upstairs bathroom later?”
What have I done? I’ve created a monster. I once loved her spontaneous cooky teacher vibe, but little did I know it would add to the mayhem of the night.
As we enter the lobby, I sense the eyes, though I avoid it by looking at my new boots. The camera flashes come next, providing that quick hit of warmth. For Ali, it’s new, exciting and fun. She digs her nose into my neck, laughing. We both run from the fake paparazzi pit Sandra hired to give it that much more edge.
“So exciting,” Ali says. “The return of Mama Bear.”
I take a millisecond to look at her. “You did not read Mama Bear.”
“My chiropractor always had the latest copy,” she says.
“I’m surprised he didn’t try to rip the pages from its spine,” I mutter. “Come on. Elevator to the upstairs extravaganza just opened. We can make it if we run.”
These events are just another way to funnel in more donors. More investors can sign on to the project, which gives us more money to do whatever the fuck we want. It used to be cool to me. I’d live for these events. Networking was a dream come true.
I look at the inside of this building now as more of an obstacle course than a workplace. I have to figure out the best way to get upstairs to the main party without Jim getting a word in.
First, we dodge the cameras. Then, we smash through the elevator doors right before they close. I hear Jim shout my name, even see his mustached mouth turn to the side, but I manage to get away in the nick of time.
The upstairs is harder to navigate. The main bosses are Sandra and Brian, but Jim will be out for revenge in a couple of minutes. Mark my words, he’ll comb through the cubicles, overturn chairs, and bark my name like a faithful watch hound. There’s no avoiding this.
Unless…
If I time our movements just right, I can manage to hit all three targets at different intervals without the others catching it. I’ll need to separate from Ali as soon as Jim makes eye contact with me. That way, he’ll get a look at her from the bar. He’ll want to talk to her, which at that point, we’ll have already discussed all of the no-no’s I’ve been freaking out about for days. If I’m successful, I will have pulled off the most complicated heist in the history of dating.
Suddenly, I’m feeling more confident.
As the elevator doors open, my staff proves me right. I’m met with a loud applause, and I give a few humble head turns and waves. There are pictures Brian shot hanging on the walls like they’re great works of art. The main focus is a brown station wagon with decaying stickers near an abandoned gas station with strategically placed prop tumbleweeds scattered around the nearby desert. There’s even a dog, but it’s a Labrador. The replica is never the same, I guess.
I think I know what they’re trying to recreate, but it was nothing like how it went down. Luckily, they did a bad enough job at recreating the submitted idea that Ali doesn’t seem to notice the connection to our chance meeting. She simply points at the station wagon. “Hey, it looks like the piece of crap I left in your driveway.”
It’s just a test run. They still need the model, the content – her story. But they’re never going to get it. And when everyone finds out, I’m either going to lose my job or lose the woman of my fucking dreams. Who knows? Maybe I’ll lose both.
I push through the wild crowd, unable to focus. The party is bumping. People are already far too drunk. I quickly pull her toward a waitress with some champagne flutes. “A toast to you,” I say, handing her a glass.
She scrunches her nose in that cute way again. “To us.”
I look into her eyes and drink the whole glass. It tastes more refreshing than water, so I grab another and knock it back as soon as Ali turns away.
So far, so good. But I can’t count on things to roll through in the smoothest way. Things are bound to go wrong. Lines have been made, but paths are crossing. I could end up with the trifecta of a conversation with Brian, Jim, and Sandra talking Ali’s ear off. I can only imagine what they’d say about me.
Sandra and Brian are positioned at opposite ends. They never could stand each other, so they avoid taking the same path. It’s perfect.
I make eye contact with Brian first, but Sandra takes the opportunity to smash through his line of attack. Brian deflates and cuts in the opposite direction, successfully avoiding my hyper-managerial team leader.
Ali looks at her with contempt. I return my team leader’s very business-oriented lock on me with a head nod. “Sup.”
“Sup?”
I shrug. “Yeah. Sup.”
Her face sags. “Don’t patronize me with bullshit small talk, Marc,” she says. “I’ve been working twenty-four-seven to give you what you need.”
I grab another flute of champagne, trying to relax as best I can. “I wasn’t aware I needed this.”
“Yeah, well, Jim has called looking for you over—”
Not wanting to listen to this rehearsed speech inside Sandra’s head, I cut her off. “Yeah, I know. He’s called me something like fifty times. I’m just not in the mood to deal with it, Sandra. The thought of it almost makes me sick.”
At work, I’m not as honest as I can be. I used to think it might cost me to share my true feelings on the business. Amanda helped clear that gap. Ever since I had that little talk with Ali’s teacher friend, I’ve felt able to remove myself from the business drama. Then again, I’m still here.
“You’re not in the mood?” Sandra asks.
And then, to my shock, Ali gets defensive. “Do you have to repeat everything he says?”
Sandra looks between both of us. She’s malfunctioning like a broken computer. No one stands up to my team leader, e
xcept me.
Sandra has had an easy time calming my outbursts in the past. That’s part of why I hired her. Now, I just need her to shut up and leave me alone for the night.
Thank God, for Ali.
Sandra shoots her head forward like a chicken. “Excuse me?”
Ali faces Sandra with the tenacity of a WWE fighter. “You’ve been eyeing my man ever since he walked in the room. He’s doing everything you want. What else could you possibly ask him to do?”
Unsure if I should butt in, I try to take Ali’s hand. She flings it away. “No. I’m tired of this woman always coming after you when you gave her everything and more.”
This could get heated if I don’t intervene. “Sandra, Ali’s right. I’m here, at the party I dreaded going to. Can you just find it within your heart to relax? We’ll talk in a few days when Mama Bear is thrown in the shit-can with the rest of my moronic ideas.”
Sandra huffs. She puffs. And then she tries to blow my house down. “I was there for you when all that shit went down seven years ago. I was there when the company almost went bankrupt in 2009. And I was there when you stopped caring about your employees,” she says, turning to face Ali. “Be careful. I’ve seen women come and go. In the end, all men are unfaithful.”
“Please leave,” Ali growls.
Some people look in her direction, then back at me. I give a funny and confused face, act like I’m too stupid to understand my team leader’s outburst, and then I slowly deflate onto the floor as a pile of skin. That was pretty awful. Apart from Sandra being a total tyrant, she’s been pretty faithful to me. There’s no time to ruminate over this, though. Ali is worked up.
“I’m sorry about that,” I mutter. “Sometimes she can be a real—”
“Bitch?”
I laugh. “I was going to say stickler.”
Ali leans into me, kissing so long I almost forget what just happened. “I like Bitch better,” she whispers.
“Cut her a little slack. She’s been faithful to the company for twelve years now,” I say.
“Faithful, my ass,” she says. “She’s spreading lies about you, Marc Wylan.”
Theres a sliver of doubt that hangs in her eyes now. It kills me, but I’m not going to blame Sandra any more than I already have. She’s right. This is my doing, and I need to take care of it. Eventually, things will smooth over.
