by Auden Dar
Although he’s not looking directly at the lens, it’s a photo of Julian and Shira in front of Tate Modern. He’s dressed in one of his favorite black suits, white crisp shirt, and his favorite shoes. Standing next to him is Shira who, I hate to admit, looks perfect. Damnit, she really does look like Wonder Woman. My eyes are about to pop out of their socket when I notice she’s dressed in the same Stella McCartney dress Julian bought me for my birthday. Although she looks a million times better in that dress than I did. What the fuck? Couldn’t Julian have been more creative when purchasing my birthday gift?
Relax, Lina. Take a deep breath.
Maybe this was taken several months ago. Months before he and I reunited.
My Julian wouldn’t do this. He said he didn’t leave me for someone else.
I notice the date. Two days after my birthday. Two. Fucking. Days. Two days after Julian and I first made love.
Liar.
While he was enjoying Shira’s company, I was home, bawling my eyes out day and night while Roger and Alex tried desperately to console my broken heart. I feel lightheaded and clutch onto the edge of my desk. I shudder with anguish. Pulling myself together, I finally get the courage to continue. My eyes become blurry once I finish reading the caption that accompanies the photo.
Venture Capitalist JC Rutherford attends Tate Modern with actress Shira Anders.
A gut-wrenching pain hits me, and then I know what I have known all along− Julian was never mine and will never be mine. I am just another woman to him. Rather than close my laptop, it remains open as my eyes rest on the photo of my lover with the bitch.
Fool, stupid, stupid, fool!
His words, “You’re the only person I’ve been intimate with since San Francisco,” were lies.
I glare at the photo, and I’m surprised I haven’t thrown up. I reach for the trash bin just in case …
Now it all comes together. He spent hours becoming intimately acquainted with my body, wringing orgasms out of me as a birthday gift, and then left me to be with another woman. Suddenly, I remember he had promised to see Shira in London after fucking her in a bedroom next to mine.
You’re a fool, Lina.
My mind wanders back to our first night. The way he made love to me, the way his voice whispered sweet sentiments, the way he owned me completely on my birthday and then abandoned me the next day. There were no texts and no calls until Marcel’s heart attack.
What if Marcel had been healthy; would Julian have called me? What about the past few weeks? They certainly must have meant something to him. What about his declarations of him being mine?
His words haunt me. “Everything I do, I do for you.”
Did he fuck her for me, too?
I shake uncontrollably and can’t remember my heart ever feeling this way. Not only does my body shake, but it also aches to the point where I can’t move. I am paralyzed. My fingers go numb. My mouth remains partially open. Even though my eyes are tearful, I refuse to let them fall. My chest constricts and the beating of my heart has lost its steady rhythm. This is what happens when confronted with the truth. This is what happens when your heart breaks. This is what I should have been preparing myself for over the past few weeks.
Inevitable heartbreak.
He’s mine. Damnit, he told me that he was mine. I tell myself over and over again for the next few hours, remaining planted in the same seated position, destroying my vision as I stare at the photo. Julian’s heart has been unattainable all along.
Hurt, anger, and betrayal are all that connect me to the man I love. Who was I trying to fool? My interlude was a figment of my imagination; a fairytale. It was all a lie.
A lie I told myself.
My phone vibrates. My house phone rings. My instant messenger pings. My body refuses to move. I am immobilized.
To drown out the world, I listen to Sam Smith’s “Not the Only One,” blasting in the comfort of my home studio. I let it play over and over again while my heart shatters into tiny pieces.
Thirty-One
Two arms have become a pillow for my head on the desk. From the dim light shining directly into my music studio, it is most likely early evening. Crying through most of the day, I fell asleep after listening to “Not the Only One” for the hundredth time. Courage comes over me, and I finally pull myself together. Barely. The aching pain resonates through my body.
I think about the words my nana and Franklin have both expressed. “Follow your heart.” I followed my heart, and it broke along the way. Although sadness sweeps over me, I’m the only one to blame. I laid down my heart, knowing all along that what I have with Julian is temporary. My lover never promised me anything more than pleasure. He offered me time with him in the city. Nothing more. Even with his utterances of love, he didn’t promise me forever. And now, our fling is almost coming to an end. Do I continue until it’s time for us to say goodbye, or do I try to save what’s left of my broken heart? I know I can’t make him into something he’s not. I can’t make him completely mine.
But how can I stop wanting him? How can I stop my heart from loving him? How can I stop my body from desiring him? It’s his crystalline eyes that I get lost in. It’s his tender full lips I imagine tracing kisses all over my body, slowly from head to toe. It’s his large hands I feel on me, always claiming me. It’s his presence that makes me feel alive. It’s his first kiss in the morning I long to greet me. It’s the end of the day conversations I crave.
I walk through my loft, dragging my feet on my way to the master bathroom.
I take off my smeared eye makeup and face my mirror. My affair has lasted longer than I anticipated.
I had it all, if only for a brief period.
In front of me is a transformed woman. Subtle changes have taken place since I left a few months ago. Although I am devastated, at the same time, I am liberated.
I walk back to the bedroom and lie on the bed. My annoying gadget sits on the nightstand in constant vibration. There are several missed calls from Roger, Patti, and Julian. Hearing this particular heartbreaker’s voice would be detrimental to my well-being, so I ignore his voicemail. I immediately listen to Patti’s message. “Chiquita bonita, don’t wear nun clothes tonight. I’ll see you at Spice Market at eight thirty p.m. and don’t be late.”
Shit.
In my misery, I completely forgot that tonight is her coming out party with Louie. It will be their first time to entertain as a couple, and more importantly, they’re announcing their engagement. Shit, shit, shit. My watch reveals I have less than an hour and a half to get to the restaurant. I can’t bail on my best girlfriend who has finally found love.
With everything in me, I jump out of bed. Even with purpose, I am still unsure of what to do.
Patti.
I make my way to the shower. Fuuuuuck. Freezing water hits me, and because I need to wake myself up, I don’t change the setting. Get your shit together, Lina. Cake’s “I Will Survive” is in the background, keeping me company and motivated. How can I survive tonight knowing this would also have been my first outing with Julian as a couple? I shake my head. We are not a couple. We have been fucking for a few weeks. Intensely fucking, as if I need to remind myself. I am going to get through this. As the trumpet solo continues to roar, with everything in me, I belt out, “I will survive.” And then I let out a wail. I fall to my knees and let it all out. I was stupid. I was careless. I fell in love with a man incapable of committing to me.
A man incapable of truly loving me.
Breathe, Lina. Breathe.
I can do this. I can do this. I. Can. Do. This. After my cold shower, I rummage through my closet and grab the leather boned bustier dress I purchased from Net-a-Porter a few weeks ago. When I bought the item, Julian was the only one I had in mind. Tonight, I’ll wear this only for myself.
Only one word could describe the dress: risqué. At least for my conservative self, it is a bit edgy. I am definitely not going to look like a nun tonight. The leather is soft and the
bustier lifts my breasts as if I just had breast implants. I blow dry my hair and wear more makeup than usual. The last time I made myself up was my birthday. Smoky eyes, a bit of blush, and nude lip-gloss. For the piece de resistance, I wear my Jimmy Choo shoes that were a gift from Julian. With the heel repaired not too long ago, I can’t let them go to waste just because he broke my heart, right? They say that fixing one’s self can be a temporary answer to depression. I need all the help I can get.
While rushing outside to hail a cab at the corner of Bleecker Street, I see Julian making his way to my building. I jump into the cab, trying to escape his eyes. Hiding myself in the passenger seat of the yellow cab, a text arrives.
JULIAN: Where are you?
I look back and watch him alone in front of my building. Even though he just broke my heart, my body still longs for him. Julian turns my way, and I duck. How long can I ignore his calls and his texts? Before I decide to flee the cab, I beg the driver to go quickly. The cabbie is fast and furious along the evening traffic. Finally getting the courage, I text him back.
ME: On my way to see Patti
Julian intended for us to attend the celebration together. I should just ask him not to go, and I’ll give him an explanation later, along with a piece of my mind. Maybe he won’t show up. Rather than wait for a response, I act like a child and turn off my phone, sit back for the next few minutes, and try to hold back the tears. I had psyched myself up for the past hour, but somehow, I am utterly, utterly devastated. My body feels deflated. Don’t cry, Lina. I remind myself over and over again. Get your shit together. Tonight is about Patti and Louie.
Right in front of Spice Market, I hand the driver a twenty. I feel helpless and can’t seem to get out of the cab. I just want to turn around and go home. Maybe listen to Sam Smith again. Add a little Wynona Judd to the mix. I bite my lip to hold back the onset of tears. Having Barbra Streisand’s “What Kind of Fool” on the radio doesn’t help.
“Hey, miss, you gonna get out?” The Long Island accent so thick, I can barely understand him.
“Uhh, yes. I’m sorry,” I apologize, and after counting to ten, I finally open the door.
My best girlfriend is actually outside the restaurant, and that’s when I know what I need to do. Compose myself. Smile. And although my heart broke a few hours ago, I will pretend that all is right in my world.
Take a deep breath.
“Chiquita bonita!” she squeals.
“Patti,” I whisper as her warm hug melts me. All I need now is Roger. Having caught the flu a few days ago, Roger is stuck in London. At least he has Alex nursing him.
Who will nurse me tonight?
Peering down with a frown, Patti asks, “What’s wrong? You look amazing but you seem−”
Before she can finish that sentence, I cut her off. “Nothing, I’m fine. Just a bit tired. I spent last night with Nana. You know time with her can be overwhelming.”
She laughs that loud laugh of hers. We enter Spice Market arm in arm and head to the private room she booked a few hours after accepting Louie’s marriage proposal. Got to hand it to Patti, she doesn’t waste time.
Surveying the rented room helps me forget the heartache for a moment. The room itself is cozy and seats only twelve. There is a huge table and a U-shaped seating that surrounds it. This is my first time at the restaurant, and I am quite surprised by the surroundings. Knowing Patti, she usually books larger venues for events. This is intimate and obviously too special of a moment to just share with anyone. Cutting into my thoughts, she offers, “We’re having another engagement party with the Weiss and Goldberg clan. Of course, you and Roger are invited.”
While drinking an old fashioned, Louie greets me with a bear hug, as if we’ve known each other for years. Studying the man who managed to capture my friend’s heart, Louie Goldberg is a much shorter version of Adam Sandler. A really cute Adam Sandler. And although I’ve just met him tonight, he takes it upon himself to introduce me to three of his closest friends who have flown in just for the occasion. I can’t help but smile a little as I realize his friends are very similar to him; short, adorable, funny, and very successful. They’re all warm and friendly. One guy named Carl, whose eyes are way too close together, had even suggested going out at one point. Patti had been quick enough to shut that down. “She’s taken.” As she leads me away from Louie and his friends, she inquires, “Where’s that hot Englishman of yours?” I don’t reply. Wrapping her arms around me, she says, “Lina, something is wrong. Did you and Julian have a lover’s quarrel? Your smile can’t disguise whatever you’re trying to hide.”
“No, not exactly. I received an email earlier today. It was a photo of Julian with one of his women friends. It was taken two days after he and I first hooked up.” I notice my hand trembling when I take a sip of my cocktail. “I … I feel like a fool. He left me to go fuck this girl he’s been seeing for a while. I stupidly believed that he and I had something special. He said he was mine.” I wipe the tears that I tried so hard to stop from falling.
Patti, who towers over me, instantly turns my petite frame to face her. “Lina, that was before the two of you became more. Have you confronted him?”
I shake my head.
Patti bites her lower lip and sighs. “Are you sure about the photo? Do you have it on you?” I shake my head, allowing her to continue. “He never allows paparazzi to photograph him, let alone with a date. Nothing ever gets printed about JC Rutherford without approval. Nothing gets printed without my knowledge. Nothing.”
I whisper, “I’m sorry, Patti. This is your night. Let’s just enjoy it. Okay?”
In her usual authoritative voice, she says, “All right. Forward me the email, and I’ll look into it myself. Lina, I don’t know what else to say. It’s probably a fake article. With Photoshop, anything is possible. Don’t jump to any conclusions. And don’t fall apart. You’re stronger than you think you are.” My best friend believes in my strength more than I do. Rather than suggest that I go home, eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, and cry my heart out while listening to depressing sad songs, she does everything else. Patti’s large frame hovers over me, and she envelops me in her arms. “I love you, Lina. Just don’t go home with any of Louie’s friends,” she says teasingly as a way to get my mind off my heartache.
Patti’s fiancé joins us, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. Admiring the two of them together fills me with hope. I’ve never seen Patti in love before. I’ve known her for years, and at times, I doubted she would ever find someone to settle down with. And although sadness fills my heart, I am nevertheless happy for one of my best friends. She deserves happiness.
The evening is turning out to be better than expected. I’m not in the corner bawling my eyes out. I’m not on top of the table drunk and twerking. I’m not begging one of Louie’s friends to take me home. The company is friendly, the food is delicious, and several glasses of Basil Hayden have helped ease my broken heart… for now. Relief washes over me after realizing the party started forty-five minutes ago. Maybe Julian won’t be coming at all. I sigh, knowing love could not change him and his desire to remain non-committal.
The gentleman to my right has been talking the entire time we’ve been at the table. It takes everything in me to listen. I scan the room, and there is Patti, right across the table, staring directly at me. A small smile greets me along with “I love you.” In that instant, I know I’ll be fine. I may have a broken heart, but I have my friends and my nana.
As I delve into the wok-charred lobster with black bean sauce, even with Jennifer Lopez in the background singing, “If You Had My Love,” the room becomes silent. I raise my head and only a few feet away is the man who I have been trying to avoid. Our eyes lock and without any words, I know all my reasoning has left again.
I. Am. Seriously. Fucked.
Thirty-Two
I don’t know how I got here or what I’m doing. As soon as Julian walked into the rented room at Spice Market, I was a goner. Clad in a b
lack suit and white crisp shirt, even with a scowl on his gorgeous face, he looked like he had literally stepped out of an Esquire magazine shoot. The headline would have read “Heartbreaker.” Although I had been drowning myself with Basil Hayden, it was simply his breathtaking presence that intoxicated me.
I, along with everyone in the room, watched him in admiration. The rented room had been filled with rambunctious laughter and animated conversations until he walked in. Silence. I don’t think I have ever witnessed anything like that before.
As soon as “Darling” escaped his lips, all my defenses left.
Gone.
Left, without a trace.
What happened between eating my seafood entrée at Spice Market and the ride back to Julian’s place escapes my memory. I lie here panting from the exquisite orgasm I just had after riding him and realize that although it may not be a forever kind of relationship, I can’t seem to say no to him. I can’t control my need for him.
I’m the fool passion creates.
Julian’s presence disorients me. His smile, alone, sets my heart racing. Just the sound of his voice calling my name brings me to my knees. And as he murmurs my name like a prayer again, I surrender to him again and again and again.
It is what it is.
The moment of clarity from earlier today dissipates. The image that haunted me all day no longer exists. Rather than to think of how limited my time is with him, four days to be exact, I am going to enjoy every bit of it. Coward? Definitely. Why dwell on a photo when I only have four days left with Julian before he leaves for London?
No Andrew.
No Shira.
No photo.
Just Julian and I cocooned for the next four days without reverence for the rest of the world. We’ll make love for the next few days. We’ll continue to make memories that will last me a lifetime.
