by Eve Rabi
“Say anything to Jake and I will …”
I hold up both hands in a surrendering motion. He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for me to know what he means.
“Good.”
With a long sigh, I drag myself back to my room. Wide awake now, I stand at my window and stare blankly. One hundred and eighty days since I returned from Iraq and no word from Reed. He’s never going to contact me again. Iraq was a dream. My baby was a dream. Reed was a dream.
***
My busy celebrity life keeps me busy, leaving me with little time to think. All thanks to my unwanted but greedy husband, who can’t get enough of this life. Now that he’s appointed himself my manager, he fills every moment of my time with appearances, celebrity functions, and photo shoots, leaving me exhausted and drained, while he drains our bank account with parties and shiny new toys. Just bought himself a red Ferrari.
I’m scheduled to attend a POW celebration tonight. Six soldiers were recently rescued from Iraqi insurgents and are being honored at the White House. I don’t want to go, but Damien won’t hear any excuses.
Dex has chosen a stunning emerald-green, floor-length gown that shows every curve in my body and resurrects any that the naked eye may have missed. I don’t know why they bother – I’ve already been to the White House several times and I turn down many invites because of my tight schedule.
Damien, on the other hand, comes alive at these functions. He works the room, collecting business cards, giving out his, brags about me, about his new cars, my book deal, my upcoming movie deal, a miniseries coming our way that I’ve never heard about.
Omar would have loved the way he works a room.
Each time I hear a boast, I choke with embarrassment.
“The guys are jealous,” he says with a smirk. “Did you see the look in their eyes? They wish they were me.”
I barely listen. My mind is a zillion empty miles away.
You said you will find me. I remember you saying that. You forgot me. How could you? I feel so let down. I give up. I surrender. Finally.
***
I’m at the hairdresser’s, having a protein silk treatment to help flyaways and ensure my hair is going to shine like spun gold, when a shadow blocks my light.
A woman, exotic looking – long, dark hair, olive skin, and amber-speckled eyes, puts her face close to mine and whispers, “Angel-man says hello.”
I jerk upright to look at her, splashing protein treatment all over her in the process. Did I hear correctly? Can’t be. My mind is playing horrible tricks on me.
“Wyatt too,” she says.
To hear someone utter those names, those names that no one around me has uttered in six months, those names from a secret life, makes me freeze and I have trouble talking. “W…who are you?” I finally whisper, my hand on my throat.
“A friend,” she says in a shaved–off Middle Eastern accent. “You interested in seeing them?”
“Wha … how … I mean, when …?”
She raises both eyebrows as if that’s not the answer she was looking for.
“Yes!”
“O … kay then, I’ll be in touch.” She straightens up and starts to move away.
I jump up and grab her arm, my heart thudding in my chest. “No! Tell me now – are they safe?”
“Very safe,” she says and looks pointedly at her arm. “And close.”
“Close? Whaddyamean? How close?”
“Miami.”
“Miami?” Reed said he would never come to America, as he hated the U.S.
I expected him to call, make contact with me, but I didn’t expect him to actually come to America.
I look at her with narrow eyes. “You’re lying. Who are you?”
“They’re in Miami, Megan. They came here to see you.”
Chanice, the hairdresser, strolls over, so we fall silent. Chanice eyes the woman suspiciously. “Everything okay, Mrs. Saunders?”
“Eh …yes.”
She smiles. “Another five minutes, then we’ll rinse and style.”
“Sure,” I say and fake a smile, all the while holding onto the woman’s arm.
When Chanice leaves, I jerk the woman toward me. “I want to see them,” I whisper. “Where are they? Please!”
She nods and shakes off my hand. “Reedwan wants to make sure you want to see them, Mrs. Saunders.”
I ignore the pointed reference to my being married.
“How did he get here? Is Wyatt with him? Are they alone? Where about in Miami are they? Please!”
She gives a condescending smile. “You go to your White House party and have a good time and remember, it’s being televised live. We’ll be watching and hopefully, we’ll see you on TV again.”
They’ll be watching me on TV?
The woman turns to leave.
“Wait!” I cry. “Did he come here to see me? Does he want to be with me? Is Wyatt …?” I swallow hard. “He’s nine months now …”
“And he’s beautiful.” Her smile reaches her eyes. “Sooooo beautiful.” I stare at the woman who thinks Wyatt is beautiful.
From the corner of my eye, I see Chanice walk toward me.
“Tomorrow morning, 11 a.m.” the woman says. “I’ll pick you up from outside your home.”
Before I can answer, she hurries off. If Chanice wasn’t on my tail, I would probably have run after the woman.
Sitting back, I clasp my hands together. I can’t believe it. They’re here. In Miami! My baby is here. So close to me. And Reed wants to see me. My Angel–man wants to see me. He came all the way to America when he said he wouldn’t.
My baby! Oh my God!
Suddenly, my day is bright, I see color everywhere. For the first time, I hear birds and I feel I could run a marathon, then go to the gym. For the first time since I arrived in America, I care about my appearance. Reed will be watching me on TV. Oh, God, what pressure!
Hot – that’s how I want to look if Reed is watching me.
When I finally slip on the emerald-green gown, I look in the mirror and nod. Reed has never seen me looking decent. All he’s ever seen was a scraggy ragamuffin in mismatched clothes that were always a size too big and made me look like a parcel wrapped in a hurry.
My shoes I planned to wear were kitten-heel sling backs. One notch above sensible. No fucking way! I dig into my closet and pull out a pair of black ankle-strap stilettos. Sexy.
For the first time in years, I fuss over my makeup. I’m high on anticipation.
Damien fusses over me too. Like I’m about to take part in a Miss World beauty pageant.
“Now, remember, show teeth when you smile,” he instructs. “Don’t want to look like you’re grimacing. Work the room. Say things like, “You look familiar, have we met?” even if you never met him before. It’s all about future prospects. Never know when you’re gonna need these guys. Everyone at this party is important and influential and that’s why they’re …”
Wyatt, my baby. I hear you’re still beautiful. How could you not be? Reed, you came. I’m so happy. I’m so happy.
“What? Are you crying again?” Damien asks.
I shake my head and quickly wipe away a tear. “Something in my eye.”
***
The party at the White House is surprisingly informal, even though it’s a black-tie event. The band plays, but you can still hear the sound of people laughing. To my embarrassment, the cameras zero in on me the moment I walk in.
“Smile!” Damien hisses as he takes my hand in his.
My smile today is sincere. You watching me, Reed? Is Wyatt with you?
When the president asks me to dance, I am honored. I dance for Reed – slowly, steady and sexy. All eyes are on us and I don’t care. Today, I’m dancing for my honey.
“You look different today,” Damien says, peering at me. “You high or something?”
“No, not high,” I say as I pick up a breadstick.
“Then how come …?” He frowns at the sight of me eating brea
d. “Easy with that now. Don’t want you looking like a house. Fat chicks don’t get lucrative modeling contracts, you know. How much wine did you have today?”
I sigh and put down the breadstick. If only I was drunk. “Just a glass,” I say meekly.
***
11 AM. I pace as I wait for the woman to contact me. I smooth down my skirt, double-check my teeth for lipstick, and hope that … well, I really don’t know what I hope for, but news of my loved ones will be like water to a soul in the desert. What if she is able to take me to Reed today? Have to look good, just in case. When she arrives, I run up to her Ford Sedan and get inside before she can even let me in.
“So, what’s your name?” I ask.
“Abeeda,” she says.
“Nice to meet –”
“Reedwan needs to be certain you aren’t going to call the police on him and maybe take Wyatt away.”
“What?! He said that? I would never do that. How could he even think that?”
She shrugs and brings the car to a halt. I crane my neck, but I don’t see Reed or Wyatt around. Disappointed, I look at Abeeda.
She looks past me, and when I follow her eyes, I see him. My love, my life, my Angel-man, who was so cruelly wrested away from me. He walks, shoulders slightly stooped, hands deep in his jacket pockets, a look of uncertainty on his handsome face.
Immediately, I start to cry. That’s not part of the plan. I always imagined I’d do what they do in the movies – run over in slow, gazelle-like moves and throw my arms around him. Crying is all I manage. Can’t help it. Not a pretty cry either – quivering lip, scrunched-up face …
With tears streaming down my face and blurring my vision, I stagger up to him, my knees threatening to give in. He runs up to me and crashes into me.
“Reed! Reed! Reed!” I sob into chest. “You took so long. Why d’ya take so long? I needed you, Reed. I needed you.”
“Megan!” he whispers, “Megan … Megan …”
“You should have found me. I waited for you. I needed you, Reed.”
He says nothing – but the way he buries his head in my shoulders and squeezes me to him, the way he repeatedly whispers my name – tells me he’s missed me and that he needed me too.
To feel him, to touch him, to bask in his familiar scent, to be held only the way he holds me – overwhelming. I can do nothing but cling to him and weep for all those months I was deprived of him.
When I finally stop crying, I raise my head and say, “Where’s my baby?”
With his thumbs, he gently brushes away my tears. “Let’s go to him,” he says in a hoarse voice and steers me by the waist toward his car.
Abeeda has disappeared, so it’s just Reed and me in the car. As he drives, we take turns to stare at each other. Not sneak glances, but just openly stare. He looks taller, darker, more handsome than I remember. His eyes are lighter and he seems broader and more muscular.
With a smile that makes me feel warm and fuzzy, he takes my hand, kisses it, and clamps it to his chest. I smile as he drives with one hand and struggles with it.
At each traffic light, we lean over and hug each other.
“I think I’m dreaming,” he croaks in my ear.
“I think I’m dreaming,” I whisper in a hoarse voice.
After driving for ten minutes, we pull up outside a house, where I see Abeeda standing with a baby in her arms. My baby!
Before Reed can fully stop the car, I throw open my door and sprint toward him. My heels slow me down, so I stop, kick them off, and race toward my darling son.
I grab Wyatt, hold him to my breasts, and sob into his soft body. “My baby! My baby! My darling baby!”
Afraid of this stranger who’s holding him too tight and wailing, he screams and reaches out to Abeeda. She tries to take him from me, but I swing him out of her reach.
“I’m your mommy, Wyatt,” I say. “Please, don’t cry. I love you so much. I love you, please don’t cry. Please!”
Finally, Reed runs up to us and takes Wyatt from me. After he quiets Wyatt, he draws me to them and we three circle each other. To my disappointment, Wyatt hides his face in Reed’s chest and won’t look at me anymore.
“Tell him not to be afraid, Reed,” I weep. “Tell him who I am. Tell him I was … I was dying without him, Reed. Please. Please!”
It takes more than an hour to settle me, let alone Wyatt. Finally, we’re on our way to their apartment. Reed drives as I sit with my baby in the back seat.
He’s nine months old, and as Abeeda said, beautiful. Angelic – his skin is smooth like marble and the color of honey, his eyes are cornflower-blue, his smile toothless, but mesmerizing. I just want to touch him and kiss him all the time and bask in his baby scent.
Reed eyes me in the rearview mirror and winks. At the moment, I can’t manage a smile because of my overwhelming emotions. All I’m able to do is reach over a couple of times and lovingly caress his face.
“I missed you, Reed. I died without you. Thank you for finding me and thanks for … for keeping your word, Angel–man.”
He turns his lips to kiss my hand on his cheek.
Reed’s apartment is only ten minutes from my house. Turns out, he’s been living there for more than a month.
“So close? And you never contacted me till yesterday? What the hell, Reed?”
“Megan, do you know how hard it is to get to you? Plus, your face is on buses and billboards. You’re famous. I had to make sure you wanted to see me again.”
“I can’t believe you’re even thinking that.”
“Megan, you’re still married.” I hear the reproach in his voice. “Last night, you were holding his hand …”
“Yeah, but … but …” I sigh and cock my head. “It’s complicated, Reed.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, but I’m not sleeping with him though.”
He looks at me, both eyebrows raised.
“I’m not. I swear.”
He nods slowly and stops the car at a traffic light. “That’s a relief.”
“But now that you’re here, Reed, I will leave him. I promise. It’s just a matter of time. I need time.”
“Good, ‘cause …” he turns and looks directly at me, “I came to take you back. I want you.”
A sensation, like I’m sinking into a warm bubble bath on a cold winter’s evening, oozes over me, and I have the urge to jump over into the front seat and just snuggle into him. I can’t, so I reach over and squeeze his shoulder. He leans back and places his hand over mine for a moment, then kisses my hand again.
The light turns green, so he drives again until we pull up outside an apartment block. His apartment on the third floor is small, sunny, and a little messy. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a tiny kitchen. But it has a lovely balcony.
As I look around, he watches me with Wyatt in his arms.
“Not as big as your mansion,” he says in an apologetic tone.
I think of my mansion with all its trappings of wealth and flash. Man, do I just hate going back. I’d give anything to never have to see that museum again.
I walk over to Reed, put my arms around his waist, and say, “I love it, Reed. I’m so happy. So, so happy.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I say as I rest my head on his chest and savor a dream come true.
He puts Wyatt down and hugs me and plants a light kiss on my lips. Unfortunately, Wyatt doesn’t give us much of a chance to hold each other. He cries after Reed so we untangle ourselves from each other and give him the attention he demands.
When Wyatt falls asleep, we lie on a settee facing each other and talk in soft tones. At times we fall silent and just look at each other, unable to believe our luck, the fact that our most impossible dream has been somewhat realized. Right now we don’t need words to express our feelings – the dreamy look in our eyes, the way we touch each other, our smiles – they all speak for themselves.
“I have a question.”
He looks at me with raised ey
ebrows.
“Abeeda?”
“Abeeda – she’s from Iraq,” he says. “Grew up with her. Her family and my family were good friends. But she’s here illegally. So is her family. They’ve been here ten years. She had a run-in with Uday, Saddam’s satanic son, and I don’t know what the full story is, but they fled Iraq and made a home for themselves here. I had to trust her because, well, I don’t think she can afford to rat us out. They’ve been wonderful – Abeeda, her family, her boyfriend Hashim – very good to me and Wyatt. I owe them. Wouldn’t have been able to find you and make contact with you had it not been for them.”
“I see.”
“More,” he says, flexing all his fingers in a bring-it-on motion.
I smile. “Well, I mean, how did you get here? The green card bit?”
“I’m a Canadian citizen, remember? Just strolled over.”
“Ah, yes.”
“I’m here legally, looking for my mail order bride, who, apparently, is still married and living happily ever after with her husband.”
I chuckle and rub his arm. “Hey! You’ve been working out?”
“Yes,” he says, flexing his muscles dramatically. “Wanted to look good for you.”
“Well, you do look good.”
He gives a shy smile.
When I look at the time, my heart sinks. Damien, Jake, and I have a scheduled dinner tonight, and there’s no way I can avoid it.
“What?” Reed asks.
“I have to go,” I say in a surly voice. “I have … I’m sorry, Reed, I wish I didn’t have to but I have an engagement tonight. Sorry, honey.”
His disappointment is visible. “Sure.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I say and stroke his arm gently.
“Sure?”
“Ohhhh, yes!” I fling over my shoulder as I make my way to the bathroom to freshen my makeup and fix my hair while he calls me a cab. Damien would have a fit if he saw me now – without shoes, hair disheveled, and no lipstick.
I’m a star, and I should look like a star at all times, he always warns.
That means heavy foundation, concealer, blush, and full lipstick at all times, so that I always look good in photos, no matter who takes them.
When I return from the bathroom, Reed lets out a low wolf whistle. “Must be a very fancy date.”
