Melina pulled Joshua closer. “You turned out OK. How?”
“I have no idea. I can’t think of a day that I don’t feel guilty that my life is really good, and theirs sucks. I mean, we’re brothers, we grew up sharing everything, getting everything the same. And they flushed their future. And there’s nothing I can do to fix it.”
“But you’ve tried.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah, I’ve tried pretty much everything. I send them money when they ask. I try to be the glue that keeps my family together. But my father is either still angry or ashamed of the choices they’ve made. There are no family gatherings anymore.”
“It’s like we’re both orphans.”
“No. There are so many things that won’t last long in life, but family shouldn’t be one of them,” Joshua said fiercely. “I’m going to fight like hell to keep the things I want in my life. Including you.”
Part Two
“When has speed ever scared me?”
EIGHTEEN
Even though it was an early-morning flight, Joshua cheerfully offered to take Melina to the airport for her business trip.
“It’s what boyfriends do,” he said.
“No, don’t bother, I’ll take a town car. I’ll expense it.” In truth, Melina wasn’t sure she was ready to have senior management catch a glimpse of her new boyfriend.
Melina paid the driver and stepped out of the car, looking every inch the commercial for lipstick or hosiery. A short business skirt suit showed off her slim legs that tapered to a vampy pair of pumps. Her hair was tamed neatly in a twist, a scarf carelessly flung over her shoulder, and she toted exactly one carry-on suitcase and a sleek leather purse.
Melina looked like she’d time-traveled from an era when flying was still glamorous. This was not by accident; the way you dressed dictated how people treated you. Dress like the herd in the airport—flip-flops and velour track suits or ragged jeans—and you’ll be treated like them. Dress like the elite and you’ll get certain privileges.
Melina headed for security holding a boarding pass for a coach-class seat. Management wouldn’t pony up for business class, and she dreaded the five-hour flight ahead of her.
Melina chose the short line, designated for exclusive use of first- and business-class passengers. When the security guard checked her ticket, she just smiled, exuding confidence. The guard raised an eyebrow but let her pass.
Next stop: the gate agent. Melina placed her boarding pass, ID and frequent flyer card on the counter and spun a short but convincing story about her difficult experience with a rude passenger who jostled her throughout a fictitious recent flight.
“Isn’t there somewhere on the plane with a little more breathing room, so I won’t have to go through that again?” she pouted.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Avgerakis,” the gate agent said, carefully pronouncing her last name but looking grim. “Coach is full, except for a few seats in the rear of the plane. I’m not sure I can find you anything more comfortable.”
She tapped a few keys and Melina held her breath. “You said you’re traveling alone? I do have an extra seat up front. I could accommodate you there for a fee.”
“Thank you so much,” Melina exhaled. Now five hours of sardine-can misery would be five hours of relaxation, good food and perhaps some interesting conversation with the person sitting next to her.
You never know when you’ll meet your next client, Melina thought, another of her maxims. All the more reason to dress to impress.
***
Miami was its usual muggy self when Melina stepped out of the air-conditioned comfort of the airport. She felt her twist frizzing as she crossed the sidewalk to pick up a town car to the conference hotel.
Pursuit Marketing’s annual meeting was part sales conference, part education, part Bacchanalian boozefest. All of the partners and senior account executives were expected to attend, as well as many of the regular account managers, creatives and media specialists who billed the hundreds of thousands of hours that clients paid for—dearly.
Each year, the firm flew its professionals in seventeen markets to one fun-for-all location. Last year was Vegas, this year Miami.
Melina wasn’t looking forward to it the way she used to. Since her split with Richard, company-wide events tended to put her on edge; she feared running into him when she was not at her best.
She missed the conference in New York two years ago due to a wicked flu bug. Last year, she was determined to face Richard with confidence, but after three days in Vegas she nearly melted down with the anxiety built up in her mind about facing him.
Melina found herself constantly looking over her shoulder and anticipating his arrival in the room. When she finally had the courage to ask her former Indianapolis co-workers about him, she felt a sharp kick in the gut: he was never there, because he was at home with his wife and their new baby.
Their third child. Melina felt sick—not with envy, but with the renewed pain of rejection. Richard had sworn that he wanted to leave his wife, but not his daughters. A third child proved to Melina that Richard had never wanted out—he just wanted a girl on the side.
***
Melina breezed into the lobby of the conference hotel, vowing that Miami would not leave her like Vegas, crushed and whimpering in her hotel room. She would take her place among Pursuit Marketing’s leaders, the senior account managers, with her six-figure salary and elite portfolio of clients.
Although she was a decade or two younger than most of the other senior account managers, Melina earned her place at the table with innate strategic skill and the remarkable ability to extract the best out of the creative team.
These commanded respect from her colleagues, but also isolated her. With the exception of Holly, Melina had no real friends at work. Despite her promotion, Melina suspected that other senior managers hadn’t realized—or refused to acknowledge—that she was their equal.
Melina declined a bellman’s offer to take her rolling suitcase to her room. She skipped a nap since her flight had been so comfortable and instead decided to catch up on reading by the pool.
A floppy-brimmed hat, Jackie O sunglasses and a halter-neck bathing suit made Melina the picture of nineteen-sixties pool chic. While other women broiled on the deck chairs in tiny bikinis, Melina coated her pale, flawless limbs in SPF-50 and secretly gloated about avoiding wrinkles.
More importantly, Melina’s look expressed the image she cultivated. She didn’t want to be the hot, easy party girl that so many rich men wanted—because they only wanted a girl for the evening. Melina remained aloof, knowing that men always wanted what they couldn’t have.
Melina baited her hook, choosing a deck chair without perfect sun but in perfect view of the indoor fitness facility’s treadmills. I’ll get the attention of someone who takes care of himself.
She laid the Financial Times out next to her, knowing the newspaper’s signature pink hue was a signal to men in the know, and would disabuse them of the assumption that she was simply cracking the latest chick lit novel.
She took a sip of a tall bottle of sparkling water, opened a file folder, and began memorizing details of Pursuit’s top client engagements.
Business or pleasure? Melina thought, imagining a conversation with a potential suitor. Why, a little of both. You?
***
Two hours, two nibbles, but no keepers. Melina headed back to her hotel room to change before the evening reception, the first official event of the conference. Although a couple of men approached her, Melina dismissed them.
They were not eligible bachelors.
Melina showered, washed off her sunblock and conditioned her hair. She began the meticulous process of polishing herself: hair, skin, nails, makeup, perfume, clothes, jewelry, bag.
As she worked, Melina also started to question her strategy. I have a boyfriend now, she thought, as strange as that sounded. Joshua was a good guy and a surprisingly good catch, but old habits died hard. Melina couldn’t help putt
ing her line in the water when there were so many fish in the sea.
Besides, there was Richard. Reenergized by her promotion, Melina was confident she could handle a run-in with her former lover.
Melina grabbed her name badge and glided down the elevator to the welcome reception. More than two hundred people mingled in the hotel ballroom, sipping wine and martinis and greeting each other with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Melina made a beeline to the bar, the easiest place to strike up a conversation and let someone else do the dirty work of fetching her drink. She spotted a San Francisco account exec who worked on a joint account with her last year.
“James,” she purred. “So nice to see you. How are things?” She inclined her head meaningfully, hoping he’d supply a morsel of gossip.
“Getting better,” he said, “now that the economy is back on track. It seems like more clients are shaking loose from their old firms or at least entertaining the possibility. What’s happening for you?”
“Good things on the Robbins-Steen account,” she said, grabbing a glass of wine from a waiter’s passing tray. “We premiered the print and TV spots last month for their premium detergent. They really hit a chord in women’s magazines—we inserted fragrance swatches the same way high-end perfumes do, to make a point that this laundry detergent is better quality than the category leader.”
“Nice call. Your idea?” James said, impressed.
“Of course,” she said, steering him away from the bar. “Why don’t we talk about how we can team up on one of your high tech accounts and see if I can add some sizzle to that silicon?”
***
Melina mingled gracefully, handing out compliments on others’ work to show she was in the know, and collecting compliments on her own work, some from associates she barely recognized. She loved that her name recognition was growing.
Melina owned three spaces on the trophy wall of top client campaigns in her Seattle office, and she hoped to add another, the detergent ad she’d worked on with Eric.
The Robbins-Steen executives were so impressed by the bold, art deco look and detergent-as-perfume concept that they redesigned the package label. Melina’s next step was to expand her account control, taking over their fragrance and cosmetics line marketing. It was a huge move that needed several other account managers in key markets to execute, so Melina focused her energy on spotting them in the crowd and making her pitch.
As Melina cozied up to a Boston account manager, a familiar hand reached her shoulder. Manicure. Wedding ring. Monogrammed cufflinks. Richard.
Melina’s eyes flitted from the hand on her shoulder to his face; a face she hadn’t seen or kissed in more than five years.
“Melina. You look well.” Richard’s signature greeting.
“Would you excuse me, Peter? I’d like to speak with Richard a moment, but there will be plenty of time for us to plan how to win the next Robbins-Steen project.”
Peter nodded and moved on as Melina turned to face Richard. His tan was deeper than she remembered, as were the creases at the corners of his eyes. His suit hung a bit looser, but his expression was a familiar mix of intensity and amusement.
“You look—different,” Melina faltered, then recovered. “You’ve lost weight?”
He shrugged. “Spending a bit more time at the club, actually. Working on my game.”
“Tennis or golf?”
“Racquetball at the moment. I’ve got a client who is addicted to racquetball, so we play all the time. I figure, kill two birds with one stone, work out and work on my business.”
Melina nodded and sipped her drink. There was an elephant in the room, but they were looking out the window.
“So, you? I’ve heard you’re on some new accounts,” Richard said, leading.
Melina opened her mouth to tell him more, but stopped. He doesn’t care about the accounts. He’s on some kind of fishing expedition. The question is what is he fishing for? What kind of answers does he want?
Melina was painfully aware of her racing pulse and the pricks of sweat forming on her back despite aggressive hotel air-conditioning. Keep your cool. Stay aloof. You can handle this.
“Yes, well, business is good.”
“And Seattle? How is that working out?”
“It was the best move for me,” Melina answered, suggesting both her career advancement and the geographic move that took her more than two thousand miles from him.
“Well, that’s good, good for you,” he said vaguely. “It’s good to see you. Take care, now.”
Abruptly, Richard turned on his heel and propelled himself to the far edge of the crowd. Melina gaped, shocked by the casualness of it all. She felt a bead of sweat run down her spine and her silk blouse felt sticky.
So is that how it is? Nice knowing you, we’re all adults here, no need to cause a scene?
Melina felt the knot in her stomach, built on years of anticipation of this meeting, twisted by all of the things left unsaid.
NINETEEN
“What are you doing here?”
Joshua’s mouth hung open as Crystal sashayed into his apartment without waiting to be invited in.
“Hello to you, too, lover,” Crystal pouted, dropping a heavy duffel bag and overstuffed backpack on his couch. “Didn’t you mean to say, ‘Nice to see you?’”
Joshua’s mouth shut with a snap. He took in her patched denim jacket and crumpled broomstick skirt as she glided from the living room to his kitchen, opened his refrigerator and inspected its contents.
“OK, then, nice to see you, but what the hell are you doing?”
“Getting a beer,” Crystal said brightly. “Want one?” She offered Joshua one of his own beers, but when he didn’t respond, she put it back and closed the fridge with a clank.
Aussie trotted over to sniff the intruder as she rummaged through Joshua’s kitchen drawers for a bottle opener. Satisfied with the inspection, he returned to Joshua’s bedroom to resume his nap.
Some guard dog you are. Joshua frowned. “Now’s really not a good time.”
“Why? You have a woman here?” Crystal glanced in the bedroom where Aussie made a tight circle and settled on his favorite place on the bed. “Or do you have a hot date tonight?”
Joshua’s scowl admitted he did not.
“So, great. Let’s hang out. You can make me dinner—I graduated, you know. We can celebrate.”
Joshua shook his head, trying to clear his mind of Crystal’s peculiar brand of witchcraft. His eyes landed on the duffel bag.
“What’s that?”
“Oh, just clothes and stuff. I had to move out of the duplex, so I thought maybe I could come crash with you for a while.”
Joshua’s eyes widened in alarm. “You moved out?”
“Well, if you want to get technical, I got kicked out. I kept forgetting to pay the rent on time and the landlord was really hard core about it. I mean, I paid. Eventually. That’s what counts.”
Joshua remembered how often Crystal forgot those details when they’d lived together. He’d taken over paying bills to ensure the electricity stayed on. In the seven months since he left, he imagined the landlord’s patience was shot.
“Crystal, you can’t stay here. Don’t you have, like, a million friends who owe you a favor? Who crashed on our couch? Can’t you stay with them?”
“I already stowed my furniture and stuff in Don’s garage, and Seth loaned me his truck to move. I’m pretty much out of favors, and nobody’s got extra room,” she confessed. “But look at this place! It’s enormous! You’ve got plenty of room on your couch … or your bed.”
Crystal took another long pull off her beer and shrugged out of her jean jacket, exposing shoulders and upper arms completely covered in tattoos. The outlines of her nipples were clearly visible under a thin, ribbed tank top. Joshua turned away and busied himself by grabbing a beer of his own.
“You seriously don’t have anywhere else? What about your parents’ house?”
Crystal f
lipped off her sandals and sat cross-legged on his couch. “Josh. I’m not a kid. I can’t move back there.” She patted the cushion next to her. “Tell me what you’ve been doing? I talked to Mark and he didn’t say much.”
So that’s how she found my place. Joshua resolved to give Mark serious grief for telling Crystal his address.
“Things are going OK. Work’s fine.”
Joshua pulled a chair out from his dining table and sat, unwilling to be too close to Crystal.
“But—” Crystal pressed.
“Yeah, there’s a but. Charlie’s still a mess. Everything I do to help him just seems to backfire. He went on a serious bender the last time he got off a boat and crashed his truck.”
“Par for the course, Joshua,” Crystal took it in stride. “It’s not your fault, you know. He was like this in high school. Maybe not so serious, but still. And you were always the one who got him out of trouble.”
“Not much I can do to help anymore. I sent him money for a new truck—it wasn’t much, but it’s enough to get him transportation so he can get to jobs between fishing trips.”
“You help everyone,” Crystal said, her cheerful tone pulling Joshua out of his funk. “I’ve known you forever, and you’re always the one people can count on. And that’s why I knew you’d help me. You’re not going to kick me out, are you? I’m practically homeless.”
Joshua thought of Melina, and how much she’d hate the idea of an ex-girlfriend staying at his place. She didn’t seem to be a jealous person, but their relationship was so new, he wondered if she could possibly understand.
He looked at Crystal, who pawed through her backpack and pulled on an oversized T-shirt. It made her look smaller, more child-like, and covered most of her extravagantly colored tattoos.
“You can sleep on the couch. For a couple of days. But don’t make me regret this.”
“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Crystal launched herself into his lap and put her arms around him. “I knew you would let me. You always do.”
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