I couldn’t make out the figure running towards us, but as it got closer, I realized it was Zach.
“Hi Zach,” I said slowly.
“I looked...all over...for you. You ran...out of there...so fast,” he panted, as he put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Katie and I just looked at each other, dumbstruck.
“Can I have your number?” he spit out.
Even though I had circled him as a match, there was no way I would want any more communication with the Speed Dating Midnight Screamer. “Uh, well, I circled your name on my card, so they’ll be getting in touch with my information, so call me and we’ll go out,” I lied.
“Really!? Score!” He exclaimed, giving me two thumbs up. “Thanks, Carla!” Then he proceeded to run back to the bar, screaming into the night “I got a date, I got a daaaaaaaaaaate!”
“Got any other bright ideas?” I asked, my eyes fixated on Zach leaping in the air like a crazed gazelle in heat.
“Online dating?” Katie offered meekly.
■ ■ ■
We proceeded to go back to Katie’s house and sign up for LoveAtFirstSite.com, the same dating service that aided Mark in his great escape. As much as it pained me to be on that website (and to sign up for online dating in general), I figured I’d earned some karma points with them since they most definitely owed me a boyfriend. Besides, what other options did I have at this point, the nunhood?
One thing was for certain. Anyone I met on here would be serious about getting into a long-term relationship because they put you through a thousand questions--compatibility survey-boot-camp--that took hours to complete. The faint of heart would not be able to sit through questions such as: “What flavor birthday cake do you prefer?” and “If you were a bird, what kind of bird would you be?” (So what, if we both put “chocolate fudge filling” and “flamingo” that meant we’re destined to be together? Please.)
Once you completed the hours long endurance test, “Cupid” then “shot his arrow” at all your perfect matches, and a few at a time were delivered daily via a series of floating hearts that danced across your homepage. If you thought someone was cute, you “blew” them a kiss and started some sort of guided communication that eventually led to normal contact (that was, if you answered even more questions “correctly”). If you weren’t feeling them, you “broke” their hearts and they were banished from your world forever. (Judging from the seven matches Cupid delivered immediately after I signed up, I was going to be breaking a lot of them.)
All this fun, for a three-month membership costing only 180 dollars! Honestly, the whole thing made me dizzy. What happened to the good old days of meeting someone through a friend of a friend, or at a club, or even at church? Hell, how about arranged marriages? Were speed dating and corny, gimmicky websites that cost half a week’s worth of salary really what the single’s society had resorted to?
8
Day 48
The fact that the only dates I had in the last month and a half were with the fifty freaks from speed dating tells you off the bat what I didn’t do this summer. (LoveAtFirstSite.com FAIL!) The rest of my reunion resolutions didn’t fare much better, no matter how many hours I stared at my vision board of dreams.
For starters, despite Xander’s rigorous coaching, passionate pep talks and motivational morning text messages, I hit a plateau with my weight loss at the start of August - plateau as in gained five of the seven pounds I had lost. (In my defense, Xander didn’t really explain that you aren’t supposed to celebrate a torturous, hour-long jog on the beach by indulging in your favorite cookies ‘n cream waffle ice cream dessert from the Point Pleasant boardwalk.) But how else was I supposed to get through the incessant talk of my brother’s wedding, on top of everything else that still wasn’t happening?
I knew I was disappointing Xander with my backward progress, and I actually felt guilty about letting down one of the only non-family member males that gave a shit about me. He was annoyingly relentless, but the condescending gorilla I met on Day One turned out to be a genuine sweetheart (whose silent crush on my best friend was growing by the minute…and seemingly, vice versa).
As for work, the days endlessly dragged on. I still had no word about my demo tape (not that I was expecting any), and Laney’s rumor mill wasn’t churning out any news on Tommy Jay’s possible partner. On the outside, I was the same rah-rah Carla, but on the inside, I was screaming for mercy. In short, patience and positivity certainly weren’t my virtues, and since I wasn’t getting the instant results I needed, negativity took hold across the board.
And then, the Friday of Labor Day weekend happened. I was cleaning up the control room at work, fresh off another successful show, when I heard a man say, “Carla, can I talk to you in my office?”
I froze. I didn’t need to turn around to know who that voice belonged to. “Sure Dan!” I chirped to my boss, Dan “The Man” Durkin. I grabbed my purse and followed him to his office.
Butterflies filled my stomach. I mean, it made perfect sense. Summer was over, and the NFL season started the next week. There was no better time than now to introduce Carla D’Agostino to the masses.
Then again….summer was over, and the NFL season was starting the next week. Was he cutting me to make way for new producer blood?
“Sit down.” He motioned.
I took a deep breath, silently prayed he couldn’t hear my pounding heartbeat, and smiled a little too sweetly.
“I listened to your tape,” he began.
“Oh wow,” I blurted out a little too quickly. “Thank you!”
“Who did you cut it with? His name wasn’t on the label.”
Definitely not the first question I was expecting. “Um, a friend of mine.”
“What’s his name?”
“Dante. Dante Ezra.”
“What station does Dante work for?”
“Um, none.”
“Really?” Dan said, surprised.
“Yea, he’s a singer, but has absolutely no experience in this particular field,” I carefully explained.
“Really?” Dan repeated, sounding even more surprised. “By any chance, do you have a number that I can reach him at?”
“Uh-huh,” I muttered, taking a pen and scribbling it down on a Post-It from my purse. What was going on?
“Thanks, Carla,” he said, sticking the yellow paper in the middle of his computer screen. “Now, as for the co-host’s job with Tommy, we have finally come to a decision.”
“Oh, great!” I said wearily. I knew what was coming next.
“We’ve decided to bring in Ruby Smith from K-F-S-S in Los Angeles.”
My heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t getting the job. I mean, I KNEW I wasn’t based on the flow of conversation, but my fears were a reality. I blinked back tears. Don’t cry, don’t let Dan see you cry. “Oh, um, that’s cool,” I stuttered.
“We’ve been trying to get Ruby in here for years, but the timing was never right. Her station’s been having issues lately, so she’s been lobbying hard to come here. Her dream has always been to be on our airwaves, so here we are,” Dan explained.
She’s not the only one, I sadly thought. “When does she start?”
“We want her to start on Tuesday, right in time for the start of the NFL season.”
“Great!” I feigned enthusiasm.
“Tommy is very excited to have her here too. She was his top choice. I think you three are going to make a great team,” Dan remarked.
My face fell. Tommy was behind all this? “Go, team,” I said through clenched teeth, slightly punching my fist in the air. Except that was not what I wanted to punch.
“Thanks, Carla, I know we can count on you to make Ruby’s transition as smooth as possible,” Dan replied.
“Thanks, Dan, I appreciate it,” I lied. “Well, have a good weekend.” I rose up and quickly bolted towards the door. I barreled down the hallway, and coming towards my direction was Tommy.
“Hey darling,” he said.
“Ruby Smith was your first choice?” I snapped. “I thought you had my back. How could you?”
“Dags, please, let me explain....”
“I’m done with this conversation.” And I was out the door.
■ ■ ■
It takes a lot for me to cry, so the fact that I spent my car ride home hysterically in tears speaks volumes. I felt betrayed, worthless, and angry. Judas, aka Tommy, called me three times, but I let it go to voicemail.
“He didn’t even acknowledge me on my own tape?” I repeated in agony for the millionth time.
I wanted nothing more than to lock myself in my bedroom for the rest of the night, but my mother would probably call the fire department to break through my bedroom window once I ignored her millionth plea to “open up.”
So where else could I go to cool down? Laney was on vacation so I couldn’t call her to vent. I couldn’t go by Andrea’s; she was probably getting ready to go out to dinner at a swanky five-star restaurant with Richard. Katie was at work, and this was her busy time; I didn’t want to bother her. Dante? Until I could find out why Dan gave me the third degree on him, I was staying as far away as possible.
So my only options left were to go to the gym for a much-needed cardio session, sit at a seedy local bar—alone—and drink, or drive my car off a cliff. But before I could make a U-Turn to the nearest mountaintop, my phone rang. Dante. My sixth sense kicked in and knew that Dan had already reached out for him. As much as I couldn’t handle any more bad news, curiosity superseded my better judgment.
“Hey, I was just going to call you,” I fibbed, trying to control the shakiness in my voice.
“I wish you had. It would have been nice to have gotten the heads up that your boss was going to call,” Dante retorted, his voice booming all around me from my car’s Bluetooth system.
“I’ve been on the phone since I left work,” I lied again. “I didn’t think he would call you on the Friday of Labor Day-”
“He wants me to interview on Tuesday for the overnight show host position,” Dante interrupted.
“That’s great!” I exclaimed, my heart in my mouth. “Dan worked in the music business before this. He has so many great connections, and he could be great asset-”
“Cut the crap, Carla,” he interrupted again. “This dude needs an answer, and I wasn’t going to do anything without talking to you first. I know this has to upset you.”
“As a matter of fact, Mr. Know it All, it doesn’t bother me at all,” I coolly replied as I rubbed my aching chest with my free hand. Was this a heart attack?
“Oh, really?” He wasn’t buying it.
“Not in the least. I have a full-time job with full benefits,” I snipped. “What kind of friend would I be to get in the way of your finally making an honest living?”
He stayed silent for a minute. “Thanks, Carla, I appreciate it,” he replied suspiciously.
I saw red. He was going on the damn interview! “Let me just ask you one question though. Is this something that you even want to do?” Surely my question had to be a dead give away to my best friend that I did NOT approve of any of this.
“Well, I don’t need to tell you how much I love sports, and I realize how this could open other doors for me. So why not?” Dante answered, obviously not taking the hint.
“Why not!” I repeated with a manic laugh as I strangled my steering wheel. Dante WANTED this job, the little backstabber! He and Tommy were going to be great friends. “What time does Dan want you to come in?”
“Ten o’clock in the morning.”
“Awesome,” I replied as I watched my knuckles turn white.
“Yeah…”
“Well, I’ll talk to you later,” I said, eager to hang up the phone. “Good luck.”
“Wait!” Dante exclaimed. “Would you want to drive in together? Knowing me, I’ll probably oversleep or something. Then I’ll just take the train back after the interview.”
Was he serious? “Of course,” I sighed. The word “no” sometimes seemed to be the most elusive in my vast vocabulary.
“Great. Well, I’ll talk to you Monday night. Stacy and I are staying at her aunt’s shore house for the weekend. We leave tomorrow night.”
“Have fun,” I replied coolly, and we hung up.
By then I had arrived back in Honey Crest. I decided that, despite my lack of privacy, the only place I wanted to be was home. I pulled into my driveway and picked up my cell phone to turn it off for the night.
I dragged myself inside and faked a migraine to my inquisitive mother. When I walked into my bedroom, I was greeted by my once dazzling dream board taunting me. I promptly took it off the wall and slammed it face down on my desk. You were a lot of help.
I collapsed onto the bed, a fresh batch of warm tears streaming silently down my face. As I miserably lay there, I came to the sad realization that no matter how hard I worked, I didn’t have a substantial future at WSPS or anywhere else in the business. At almost thirty years old, I have to start over from scratch. I’d be very ashamed at throwing up the white flag, but wasn’t being an adult all about making tough choices and knowing when to walk away from something that wasn’t working?
But where would I walk to?
9
Day 49
“Your boss doesn’t have a clue!” Andrea exclaimed to me the next morning while walking out of Fitness World. I had just finished a killer kickboxing circuit training session with Xander (where I pretended to beat the crap out of a select choice of human beings), and Andrea was fresh out of a prenatal yoga class.
“He’s not the only one,” I puffed.
“You deal with too much drama,” she laughed while rubbing her pregnant belly. “See, this is why I never wanted to work.”
The worker bee in me wanted to defend my stance, but right then I totally saw her point. Maybe I too should marry rich and become a fellow trophy wife.
“Hey, Richard’s at work. Do you want to come and see the babies’ nurseries? The rooms are so adorable, it may make you feel better.”
I stopped in my tracks. “You really think that’s going to make me feel better?” We don’t get invited to Andrea and Richard’s too often, which is fine by me because their house is the epitome of everything I do not have in life: Love, money and success. (Okay, money and success.)
“No,” Andrea laughed. “But I at least deserve points for trying.”
“Sure, why not,” I sighed. It’s not like I had anything else better to do. I climbed into my little Mazda and followed her white BMW to the sprawling Deveroux compound. We walked into the mansion, as she was rattling off stats about cribs and diaper genies and things that we both already established I don’t give a shit about, but I played along gamely.
“Want something to drink?” Andrea asked.
“Sure, I’ll take a bottled water.”
Before entering the kitchen, I studied the gigantic crystal chandelier hanging in her three-story foyer. I wondered how much that bougie light fixture cost? I probably couldn’t even afford one of its light bulbs.
The unmistakable sound of a man groaning from upstairs broke my trance.
Worried, I rushed into the kitchen. “Andrea! Someone’s upstairs! We have to call the police!”
“What?!” Andrea shrieked, dropping the open bottled water on the marble floor. There it was, the groaning again, much louder this time. She clutched her stomach and started breathing very heavily.
“Okay, stay calm for the sake of the babies,” I urged her. “Sit down and call 9-1-1. I’ll go upstairs and see what it is.” I handed her the cordless phone that was sitting on the granite counter-top, but she stopped me.
“I KNEW IT!” she screamed and stormed out of the kitchen.
“You knew what?” I asked frantically, following her through the foyer and up the sprawling staircase.
“I KNEW IT!” Andrea repeated
“Knew what? Andrea, you can’t go up there, they could have a gun or a knife—”
“I KNEW IT!”
“YOU KNEW WHAT?!” I shrieked.
We stopped in front of the closed oak double doors that led to her bedroom. We heard the male screaming again coming from the other side. Now confident that this was not a burglary, I was going to hang back; after all, this was between husband and wife. But I was worried sick for her and twins’ health, so I stood closely beside her. (Plus, my curiosity wasn’t going to let me miss this show for the world.)
“RICHARD!” she screamed, and she threw the doors open. We both gasped at the sight before us. Butt-naked, in their California king bed, was her husband...with a short, stocky Spanish man who couldn’t have been older than 25. Apparently, Richard’s penchant for young blood spanned both sexes.
“Holy…shit, ,” I breathed, my jaw dropping to the floor. I was too paralyzed to pick my hand up to cover my poor eyes.
“Andrea, I’m so sorry,” Lover Boy apologized in a slight lisp.
“You know your husband’s boyfriend?” I gasped.
“Andrea, I thought you were supposed to be at the gym,” Richard howled, covering him and his lover with the navy Ralph Lauren comforter.
“And I thought you were supposed to be at work. AND STRAIGHT!” Andrea shot back. “I can’t believe you. And with our landscaper, to boot?! You wanted to fire him last week!”
“Heyyyyy!” Lover Boy exclaimed.
She pulled the comforter off, and the men used their hands to cover their privates. “Come on Cupcakes, rise and shine.” She rubbed her stomach, and before exiting the room, said defiantly: “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
■ ■ ■
“Katie, can you save us a table? We have a major crisis on our hands,” I explained cryptically into my iPhone. I glanced at Andrea, who sat next to me in silence.
“There are no tables here. Ever,” Katie answered glumly.
“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” I shrilled, not sure if I could take any more bad news this weekend.
“Kettle Black was shut down effective last night. The owners didn’t pay their taxes. I’m out of a job. So what’s going on with you?”
Ten Years Later Page 7
