Mel sat with Katie in the sterile visitor center at the facility. The brick walls were covered in posters with cheery sayings, like:
WE CANNOT CHANGE YESTERDAY.
WE CAN ONLY MAKE THE MOST OF TODAY, AND LOOK WITH HOPE TOWARD TOMORROW.
Katie fingered the pages of a book she was reading; flipping the pages back and forth.
Remarkably Katie’s eyes were brighter, her hair shone with more luster. Her face was fuller, she had put on a few pounds that sat on her hips and helped fill out her skeletal frame. Mel watched her carefully, taking in every movement, every breath Katie took in and let out. Mel was happy to see her looking more like the child she remembered but hadn’t seen in a long while, but didn’t quite trust that she could maintain the changes in her appearance.
A comfortable silence settled between them as if they were friends, peers. Katie had never thought of Melanie as her mother’s friend, probably because Mel had never treated her like her friend’s daughter. Katie sat in a wide wicker chair in the corner with her legs pulled up under her butt. She played with the ends of her long, bone-straight hair. Mel wore tight jeans and a crisp white blouse, great shoes and a long sterling silver chain. She didn’t mind visiting Katie so much; people everywhere were smoking, lighting up one cigarette after the other as if they had exchanged one addiction for another. Mel could smoke freely here without any repercussions. No one here, not even Katie, chastised her for her nicotine habit.
“Do you think you’ll drink again? You know, when you get out of here?” Mel asked her, blowing the smoke from a newly lit cigarette away from their conversation. Mel kept one eye on Katie, eager to see if she could read her face. Mel could nearly always tell when Kate was lying.
“Yes,” she answered, staring Mel straight in the eye. “I can’t imagine I’ll make it the rest of my life without ever drinking again. I mean it seems sort of far-fetched. Don’cha think?”
Mel nodded her head. Katie’s words didn’t frighten her; she was glad Kate was in touch with reality and hadn’t been brainwashed into believing it was so easy to quit. Mel told her as much.
“It’s a long, long time. You’ve got a lot of life left,” Mel answered her.
“We’re supposed to take things one day at a time.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that. But I think it’s good that you know what you’re up against.”
The hum of the ancient air conditioner filled the room, a faint, dull drone that proved all too ineffective.
“Do you think you’ll want a drink the minute you walk into your house?” Mel was testing her, pushing her. She wanted to know how honest Katie could be with herself; she wanted to know if Katie had had time to think it all through.
Katie paused for a minute, thinking. “Maybe. Don’t know yet.”
“You can call me, you know that. You can call me anytime you want to; anytime you think you might need to take a drink.”
“I know.” She paused and looked down, studying something in her lap. “I have a whole list of people I can call. I have a sponsor.”
“I know.”
“I should probably call her first. She’d know what to tell me. She’d probably talk me down off the ledge.”
“I suppose. But if she doesn’t answer, you can call me.”
“Okay.”
Mel studied the outline of Katie’s face, the lines that had appeared much too early on such a young girl. The alcohol had taken its toll on her body, already. Katie had missed her awkward phase and gone straight from cute to hard. At seventeen, she looked hard. It reminded Mel of her stepfather, how the alcohol had aged him so much in such a short period of time, how Dermott’s skin had ceased to glow and his eyes had stopped shining. She remembered how alcohol had become so much a part of his life, as if he was swimming in it, taking the rest of the family down with him. She didn’t want Katie to get to that extreme, to wither away from her right before her eyes. Mel longed to pull Katie back; to save her from what would certainly kill her if Katie wasn’t careful.
Cara interrupted their visit, just as Mel was gathering her things and readying to leave. She came into the room in a sweep of emotion and concern, her bag flying open and various items scattering about.
“Oh, sweetie, they told me you were in here.” Cara’s voice echoed through the hollow room. “They told me someone was here to see you, but I couldn’t imagine who you’d . . .”
Mel didn’t have to turn around to know that Cara had stopped when she saw her. Mel knew Cara’s mouth had fallen open and then pressed into a hard, thin line of discontentment as if she had stumbled upon Jack cheating on her.
“Oh. Mel,” Cara said, looking from Mel to Katie and then back again, as if they were hiding a bursting secret from her. “What are you doing here?” Cara’s voice was strained and clipped, displeased. She sensed that they had been deep in conversation, something she couldn’t manage with her own daughter. Jealousy blanketed her, shielding her from hurt.
“Just on my way out, actually. I came to check on our girl,” Mel answered her. “She looks so wonderful.” Mel winked at Katie, grabbing her hand and holding it tight before embracing her quickly and giving her a peck on the cheek. “I know she can’t wait to get home. Soon enough,” Mel said.
Katie was all of a sudden awkward and stilted in her mother’s presence. The air in the room felt thicker than it had, choking. She longed for Mel to stay, longed for her mother to disappear so that she could sulk back to her room and think on her conversation with Mel.
Cara stood pigeon-toed, untying a silk scarf from her neck. She draped the scarf on the table before asking Mel, “How long have you been here? Don’t let me run you off.”
“Not long,” Mel lied, checking her watch, “but no worries. I know you and Katie have things to catch up on. I’ll call you later.” Mel leaned in and kissed her friend, hugging her tight at the waist to allay her sudden fears, the jealous mistrust Mel was all too familiar with.
Cara fidgeted, wanting to feel as if she was on equal footing with Melanie. Instead, all she felt was inadequate, not worthy of the same intense discussion, the same secrets, and with her own daughter. “I’m meeting with Stewart,” Cara said quickly, abruptly changing the subject, and hoping to cut through the tension before Mel left. “Tomorrow morning. He didn’t waste any time calling me back just like you said he would be.”
Mel smiled broadly, two straight lines of white teeth gleaming back at Cara. “Fabulous, Cara. That’s great. He’d be lucky to have you. And don’t think he doesn’t know it, either.” Mel hugged her friend again, tightly and warm.
8
Stewart Weaver was a bona fide hugger. Not just your run-of-the-mill squeeze; we’re talking all-out, take no prisoners, warm bear hug that cut across your rib cage and left you feeling good all over. Cara was standing in the open foyer of his agency when he tore down the wide, newly refinished staircase and wrapped his arms around her. Instantly she disappeared against his broad chest. Then he held her at arm’s length before he kissed her on each cheek, exuberantly. His cheeks were ruddy, his face beamed. Stewart’s teeth were crooked, but his smile was infectious. He was thrilled to see her.
In his small, crowded office, he offered her coffee and a job at the same time.
“Do you need some coffee, Cara? A late-morning pick-me-up?”
“No, Stewart, I’m fine.”
“Then come and work for me, Cara. Come and work with me. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to work for years. Clearly I’m entitled to first right of refusal. I don’t see how you can deny me that.”
Cara laughed, warmed by his eagerness. “Geez, Stewart, how about a little foreplay?” she joked with him. “A girl can’t be expected to be ready right out of the shoot, you know.” Cara settled against the modern angled chair and crossed her ankles. She’d bought a new outfit for the meeting, a caramel-colored suede suit that fit her perfectly.
“Right out of the shoot, my ass. How long have I been begging you to come to your senses a
nd come back to work? As long as I can remember. Wasted talent sitting at home with those four adorable children of yours. Honestly, what more do I need to do to seduce you?” His English accent was charming, sweet and alluring.
“Don’t remind me. I haven’t had a day among the creatively gifted in years.” Cara cringed, reached for the stress ball on his desk and squeezed it tightly. Stewart’s office was cramped. Stacks of creative boards—rejected ads, layouts, and sketch boards with ideas flowing across them—were piled haphazardly in the corners. His bookshelves were dense: back issues of design magazines, small awards, framed pictures of his daughter, a collection of Marvel Comics plastic superheroes. Cara scanned the decorated walls, the framed artwork that hung proudly in his office.
“Let’s not go that far, Cara. It’s only advertising. But, say you’ll do it. Haven’t you had enough of this mommy stuff? Say you’ll come back.” Stewart’s eyes pleaded with her from across the desk. “I need you. I need someone who won’t get caught up in her panties over this crazy business. You know how it can be. It will eat you alive. I need someone who can roll with it. I need you.”
Stewart wasn’t exaggerating; he had been begging Cara for years to come back to work with him. It had always been flattering but not particularly enticing. And completely unnecessary. Jack, for all his faults, kept a healthy bank account and there was no financial reason for Cara to work. And after she became pregnant with Luke, she petered out, telling herself she could take on consulting jobs as they came, work from her home office. That had been over eight years ago.
This time it was different. Cara needed a job. Money aside, and even with the alimony Jack would surely be paying her, she’d still need more. She longed to feel like she was important again, as if she had the ability to make a decision about something and have people listen to her. Since Jack had moved out, she’d begun to wish for more adult contact, for people who praised her for something other than the suggestions she made at the PTA meetings. More than that, she desired a new identity, to share her new life with people who didn’t connect her with her old life. Going back to work just might provide her the anonymity she was looking for.
Mel had arranged for the meeting. She and Stewart had a history together. They’d been lovers briefly but friends for what seemed like an eternity. Stewart’s agency was Melanie’s first repeat client. They’d brought her in when she first started shooting, giving her a shot at the jobs she’d never have gotten anywhere else. Stewart allowed her to trip and stumble but never let her fall, and for that she was eternally grateful. Word spread and Mel’s work was immediately in demand, but when Stewart or someone from his agency called, she’d practically drop everything, work double-time, rearrange her schedule to make something work for them. If nothing else, Mel was loyal.
Stewart ran Weaver Sinclair Advertising solo. He and his former partner, Madeline Sinclair, parted company the year after they’d opened, leaving him with a client roster too long to handle on his own, though somehow he had managed to do so. Madeline had been homesick for London and left him like a bad divorce. He retained her name in the agency, promising her that if she had ever wanted to come back to the States, he’d have her back in a minute. Rather, she married, had three kids and moved to the country. Christmases, Stewart would receive her smiling family photo, hang his head, pour himself a scotch, cover his eyes and have a good cry. He’d worked with some of the best talent since Madeline left, but no one gave him the same groove, he said. No one struck the same vibe with him.
“Do you have a job for me, Stewart? I mean a real job. Because I don’t want your pity, just for the hell of it, you know. I won’t be your pro bono charity case.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Cara, we’ll figure out the details later. Just say you’ll do it.”
For no reason in particular, Cara stalled, eyeing him over an arched brow. “It’s been a long time, Stewart. A really, really long time. I’m not sure I’m any good anymore.”
“Trust me on this, Cara, you’ll be fine.”
“That sounds like something Mel would say,” Cara answered him.
“Brilliant. She’s the smartest woman I know. And you can tell her I said so. C’mon, there’s someone I want you to meet. New suit I hired. Best in the business. Maybe he can convince you to come to your senses and come do this with us.”
“He’s good?”
“Good? He’s fucking fabulous,” he said sincerely, jumping up from his leather chair and pulling Cara by the hand. “I stole him from New York but he was born and bred here in San Francisco. Maybe you know him? David Michel?”
Cara shook her head. “I’ve been out of the game too long, Stewart. I don’t know anybody anymore.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised, luv. There are plenty of us still left in this crazy business. It’s a young person’s game, no doubt, but there’s a bunch of old loonies that can’t seem to hang it up. But David? He’s . . . Well, he is a bit, shall we say, younger.”
“A kid? You hired a kid?”
“He’s good, Cara. Smart. Bold. Unaffected. Charismatic and charming. He is exactly what we needed. Inspiring and enthusiastic. Just an infectious attitude. You’ll see.”
Stewart steered her through the agency, practically pushing her along. Glass offices—some with two or three desks to a room—bordered the row of windows, but large, open workspaces with whiteboards and kitchen table–sized conference tables filled the middle of the spacious building. The ceilings were high and unfinished. The place actually buzzed, humming with energy. Cara felt a surge of energy run through her body, a bolt like nothing she’d felt in a long while. She felt her body come alive; she craved everything about the intensity of the place.
David Michel’s office held the same glass desk, the same small, round conference table as Stewart’s. Sparse and minimal, there were few stacks of papers, fewer framed ads or art. He sat with his back to them, a wireless earplug in his ear. The ends of his impeccably trimmed hair brushed the top of his suit jacket. Cara heard him before she saw him. Softly but convincingly, he was working a client over on the phone, defending the work they’d shown at an earlier meeting, but carefully listening to what it was the client was looking for.
Stewart cleared his throat and David wheeled around in his leather chair, motioning for them to wait just a moment more.
Cara took him in. Olive skin with perfectly oval-shaped brown eyes. Long legs sprawled beneath the desk. Good shoes, an even better suit. Great hands, long nail beds. No wedding ring.
No wedding ring.
It was the first time Cara remembered noticing such a thing in a long, long time. She admonished herself for doing so, blushing furiously in his company.
God, Cara, pull it together.
Cara shifted, one Marc Jacobs heel to the other, clutching her leather bag. Stewart had lost interest in waiting and wandered outside David’s office, stopping to chat it up with a twentysomething who looked as if she was fresh from the art academy. The young woman studied him attentively, hanging on his every word as if he spoke the gospel. Stewart had a wonderful reputation and ran an incredible agency, but this looked as if it was more than that, as if she might jump into bed with him at any minute, if she hadn’t already. Working here at such a young age was a dream and this girl knew it.
“Hello, hi,” David Michel said to Cara as he removed his headset. “You must be Cara. Sit, please.” He extended his hand to her and she took it, firmly. She tried her best to concentrate on her purpose, smoothing her skirt and ignoring his charming good looks.
She took the chair on the other side of his desk, altogether self-conscious and jittery at once. What’s your problem, Cara? she thought to herself. A kid, my God, he’s a KID.
“Good to meet you, Cara. Finally. Stewart has been talking about you since I started,” he said to her and laced his long fingers together. He rested on his elbows, moving in close across the desk. He spoke quietly, forcing Cara to listen carefully.
“Ah, you’ve met.” S
tewart’s British boom filled the room from behind Cara. “And haven’t killed each other yet. Good, good. This woman has held out on me for years, David. She is the biggest tease I know.”
“So I’ve heard.” He tilted back in the leather chair so that just the tips of his shoes touched the floor. Calm and sexy as hell, he made Cara nervous the way he looked at her, right into her as if he could see into her soul.
Cara recovered quickly. “Oh, Stewart, get over it already.”
“Come to work with us and we’ll consider it,” David Michel jumped in, pulling Cara’s eyes back to him.
“Geez, you two. Foreplay, David, foreplay,” Cara teased back. “What is it with you men? Get out of here, Stewart, and let me talk to your boy. Let’s see what he’s got.”
With Stewart gone, David walked to the door and closed it firmly so that it echoed. He was wide at the shoulders and narrow at the waist; his pants hung nicely on him. He took the chair next to Cara’s, crossed his legs and balanced his chin on his fist. “Okay, Cara Clancy, let’s see what you’ve got.”
The room filled with electric energy. Cara could feel it radiate from David’s eyes, the way they danced and smiled and made her feel welcome all at once. She shrugged her shoulders playfully at him, and wondered if she was on an interview or a first date. “What do you want to know?”
“Why are you here?”
“Ah, the open-ended question of the year. Hmmm, okay.” She paused, trying to decide if she trusted him, what he made of her. Oh, hell, why not? “I need a job. I can’t stand to go another day without working.”
He smiled, shuffled his legs and shifted his weight from his right to his left side. “What? Nothing else to occupy your time?”
Cara laughed. “Four kids and all the assorted nonsense that goes with them, but, no, that’s not doing it for me these days. Not even close. I’m getting divorced, I’m afraid. I need something to get my mind off it, something else to pour my heart into.”
When I'm Not Myself Page 10
