by Marci Nault
Sarah Dragone’s lips pinched together when she saw Molly and Victoria. Her hair had been pulled back into a tight bun that accentuated the anger in her hazel eyes.
Please God, let this go well, Molly prayed again.
“Sarah, Carl, I didn’t expect you would be out today,” Molly said. “Victoria and I are doing a little shopping to get her place habitable.”
“Why bother? I’m certain she won’t be staying long,” Sarah said, extending her arms to Molly’s granddaughter while refusing to look at Victoria. “How’s my beautiful girl?” she asked as she enveloped the young woman in a hug.
“I’m good,” she said, “but I need to get back to work. Why don’t you take a seat together, and I’ll bring you something decadent.” Stacy ran behind the counter and began putting together the orders for customers.
“Hello, Sarah,” Victoria said. “Carl, it’s nice to see you.”
Carl went to give Victoria a hug, but his wife cleared her throat and instead he stepped back and nodded. “Nice to see you too. I bet the house is full of bugs and spiders after you’ve been gone so long. Maybe even some frogs.” He winked at her.
“No, it seems I’m pest free. You and your henchmen must have left me out of your usual pranks,” Victoria said with a smile. “I sincerely thank you for that.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Frog Face. I would never do any such thing,” he said with a mischievous grin.
Molly smiled and let out a long breath. Carl and Bill had always been known for their pranks as children. More than once houses became infested with garden snakes, ants, or frogs as a practical joke.
“Better watch out or I’ll sock you in the stomach the way I did when we were kids.” Victoria raised her fist in pretend fight. “Would the two of you like to join us? We could catch up.”
She’s trying, Molly thought. Another good sign.
“I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood to hear stories of your life in California or your travels.” Sarah looked to the counter and caught Stacy’s attention. “We’ll just get two decaf coffees to go, please.”
“Sarah, please,” Molly said. She wanted to grab both her friends and force them to hug. These were the women who spent every night of their school days braiding each other’s hair and reading books under the covers with flashlights after lights-out was called. They’d been like sisters and now they couldn’t look at one another.
Sarah turned to Carl. “I’m going to wait in the car. I’ll talk to you later, Molly.” She walked away and grabbed her coat.
Carl shrugged his shoulders. “Women. I swear, if you just fought it out in a boxing match it would be less painful than what you do to each other. And quicker too.” He kissed Molly on the cheek and patted Victoria on the arm. “Give it time.” Then he moved to the counter and paid for the two coffees.
Victoria wrapped her arms around her chest in a protective stance. “Let’s get some coffee and dessert. The aroma in here is making me crave something decadent.” Victoria walked to the end of the line and refused to look outside where Carl and Sarah were getting into their car.
Molly sighed. How was she going to bring them back together? A rushing noise came from behind her eardrums. Her eyes squeezed shut as blue lights swam behind her eyelids. She felt her knees go weak and she grabbed the back of a chair to steady her. As soon as the feeling came, it was gone. Molly looked to Victoria and saw that she was focused on the specials written on the chalkboard. She hadn’t noticed. It was nothing, Molly thought. Just a silly head rush. But a sense of panic fluttered through her.
CHAPTER 4
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Bay Towers’ penthouse restaurant, Heather could see the moonlight reflect off Boston Harbor. Large party boats, with lights strung across their railings, glided across the water. She leaned close to the windowpane to see the street thirty floors below, where a Clydesdale horse pulled a white carriage back to Quincy Market.
Crystal glasses clinking together brought Heather’s attention back to the party. The elegant room buzzed with the chatter of hundreds of people dressed in formal wear as businessmen networked over after-dinner drinks. A few couples waltzed in the center of the room.
No matter how many events Heather attended on Charlie’s arm, or how beautiful and expensive the clothing she wore, she never felt comfortable or that she belonged.
Heather had grown up fifty miles from Boston, but as a child she never saw the city. When her sixth-grade class went on field trips to the aquarium and the Museum of Science, she sat alone reading in the library. Ten dollars for a field trip had been too much for her mother’s budget.
Boston became her Emerald City. Saturday afternoons she scanned magazines for pictures: cobblestone streets, brick ornate row houses, Harvard University. She cut perfect squares around the images and taped them, like wallpaper, to the smoke-stained wall behind her bed. Under her pillow she kept two pictures: Quincy Market’s illuminated tree-lined walkway and a harbor view of the Boston skyline.
The day after graduation, she left her mother’s dirty two-bedroom apartment with five hundred dollars in her savings account, a new credit card, and an envelope filled with the magazine clippings. In her backpack, she carried a toothbrush and five clothing changes. Her mother dropped Heather at the train station, hugged her good-bye and said, “Good luck.” Then she lit a cigarette, got in her car, and drove away without looking back.
As the train pulled away from the platform, Heather looked out the scratched window. The liquor store and pizza shop disappeared behind the abandoned factories. Streets lined with apartment houses, rented by slumlords, flew past. The trees thickened and then gave way to affluent towns with boutique shops and colonial architecture.
Her every nerve felt frayed as she stepped from the train at North Station. The boardinghouse address, folded in a pocket, was her only plan. Without a map, she followed the throng of people through Haymarket Square, where the smell of fish, meat, and produce assaulted her senses. Around the corner she came to Quincy Market, where bubbled lampposts lined the cobbled path between buildings. Heather pretended to tie her sneaker as her hand brushed the smooth stones. It was real. She was here.
That first summer, she spent her afternoons in the Boston Public Garden. She’d sit under the giant weeping willow, next to the pond, the Globe open to the “Arts and Leisure” section. Begonias and roses scented the breeze that swayed the tree’s umbrella of branches. Children played on the bronze ducks, their diaper-covered bums bouncing on the statues. Heather stretched across her blanket and watched the swan boats glide under the bridge.
Those first months were like Disney World to a five-year-old—innocent and exciting. She didn’t care that she lived in a basement studio apartment that smelled like wet concrete or that she worked as a waitress. She had a real life for the first time.
Now, ten years later, she was a successful columnist for the Globe who traveled the world. But at events like this, a part of her still couldn’t help feeling like an outsider looking in.
Heather glanced at her reflection in the window of the Bay Towers. Everyone saw glamour and sophistication. In her purple silk dress, the curve of Heather’s collarbone accentuated her graceful neck. Her stomach had a soft bump of femininity, and her hip bone curved into long legs, but years ago Heather had lost the ability to see her beauty. It seemed every other woman wore her body with ease. In her eyes, her breasts were too small, so she wore padded bras to hide the perceived flaw. She caught the reflection of her rear end as she turned away from the window. The muscles never perked, no matter how many squats she did. Though Charlie never specifically said her backside disappointed him, she saw how he tilted his head and widened his eyes to catch a better look whenever a woman with a great ass walked by.
Heather looked toward the bar, where Charlie had gone to get her a drink. Three perfect women sat on the stools, oozing confidence as they laughed together. They were younger, prettier, and thinner than Heather. One s
howcased her augmented chest and disdain for a bra in a low-cut, backless dress. For the last fifteen minutes, Charlie had laughed and joked with them, sometimes touching them on the arm or the back.
She’d confronted him about his flirting and the way he looked at other women. He responded that every guy looked and at least he didn’t hide it from her. As for the flirting, it was part of his business to network.
She looked at the woman with breast implants. More than once Charlie had suggested that Heather have augmentation to help her land a television show. Even her body was a product he could rearrange to better suit his marketing plan. For the past week he’d continued to ignore her insistence that they take a break. Time apart wasn’t part of his plan, so it didn’t exist.
Charlie turned and smiled. In the past, butterflies had danced in her belly when Charlie looked at her in that special way; his smile had made her feel she was the only woman in the room, and she couldn’t believe that this handsome man loved her. But that feeling had left long ago.
A blond man joined Charlie and they walked toward her. “This is Heather Bregman, the one and only Solo Female Traveler,” Charlie said. “Heather, this is Steven Radley. He works for the Travel Channel.”
Heather extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Steven.”
Steven kissed both her cheeks in greeting and held her chin in his hands. “You’re gorgeous. Why isn’t your face across billboards and magazine covers? You should be on television.”
“I think Solo Female Traveler is exactly what your network needs,” Charlie said.
Steven stepped back and let his eyes roam her body. Heather shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. He looked like a golden boy who’d done everything right in life. He had a way to him, like one who had never had to work for his achievements, a slickness covered with flirtation that she found sexually attractive and unnerving at the same time.
“So do you live in Los Angeles?” Heather asked.
“No, I’m here in Boston. Most of our shows are shot on location, so I get to live in my favorite city and travel the globe. I guess you and I have that in common.”
“Yes,” Heather said, “we’re very lucky people.”
“Why don’t we set up a meeting next week to discuss my idea for a Solo Female Traveler show?” Charlie suggested.
“Only if you let me dance with this beautiful woman first,” Steven said as he took Heather’s hand and moved her onto the dance floor.
He pulled her close and led her in a waltz, lifting her arm with fluid movements and twirling her in circles, then brought her back to his chest and pulled her tight around her waist.
“Impressive dancing skills,” she said as she leaned back to create distance between them.
“I took lessons for four years,” he said. “A man who can lead always gets the woman.”
Heather tilted her head back and laughed. “And I’m certain you’ve had terrible troubles in that department.”
“I think you’re reading me wrong, Ms. Bregman,” he said with a flirtatious smile. “I’m actually quite shy and reserved.”
She laughed again as he twirled her around the floor, making her feel as if her feet floated above the ground.
“Now, as for you,” he said, “I sense intense shyness.”
Heather blushed and let her hair fall over her face.
“Exactly,” he said. “It’s incredibly charming to men, but for the camera you would need to overcome it. Could you?”
The honest answer would be that she didn’t know. It terrified her to think of cameras picking up her every flaw and people across America watching her on television. As a writer, she could hide behind her computer screen and speak from her heart.
But the key to long-term success was taking the next step. The Globe executives were pushing her to broaden her brand. They wanted a star, as Charlie had promised them six years ago, not just a local woman who traveled. She summoned her confidence and looked directly at Steven. “I’ve traveled the world solo. I’ve met people from every culture and experienced things most only dream about. I can show your viewers adventures that will make them salivate and inspire them to get off their couches and sign up for trips that your advertisers promote. Give me a chance, and I’ll make you money.”
The song ended and he led her off the dance floor. He handed her his card. “Maybe you do have what it takes. Give me a call, Heather Bregman, and we’ll talk.”
She took the card and slipped it into her clutch. “Thank you for the dance. I look forward to discussing the possibility of working together.”
Charlie was back at the bar, flirting. After tonight she might need to take her career into her own hands. Snapping her purse closed, she decided not to share with him that she had Steven’s information.
On the cab ride home, Heather gazed at Charlie and once again questioned her decision. Was asking him to take a break the right thing to do?
On their first date, Charlie had taken her to Café Bella Vita on Charles Street in Boston. They sat by the window at a small table with candles flickering in the centerpiece. They indulged in lobster ravioli, drank expensive red wine, lingered over soft layers of tiramisu while she stared into Charlie’s dark, Italian eyes.
He held her hand, caressed her thumb, and said, “Right now I’m at the bottom, an agent’s assistant. But my plan is to take the average Joe, like a personal trainer or a financial adviser, and make them into a household name. I would move that person into a column, a book, a self-help video, and his own television series. I just have to find the right client to develop.”
She didn’t care about his career. She’d never seen anyone so beautiful.
After dinner, they strolled along the sidewalk, peeking into Beacon Hill’s art galleries and antiques shops. At Pinckney Street, he grabbed her hand and hurried up the steep hill lined with brick colonial row houses. At the top, they reached a tiny park with two small trees. Before she could catch her breath, he kissed her, his tongue ravaging her mouth.
He pulled away. Stunned, she looked at him. This godlike man had kissed her. Desired her.
Charlie pointed to a row house. “This is where I’m going to live someday.”
Ornate white metal circles decorated the windows that surrounded a bright red door. Through the glass she could see a carpeted spiral staircase reminiscent of an old movie set.
“Do you want to live here someday?” he asked.
The ability to speak was locked up in her throat. She worked two shifts as a waitress and still couldn’t make ends meet. Bills were piled up on her kitchen table. When she’d moved to Boston, she’d maxed out her Visa with a cash advance to pay the two months’ security deposit and first month’s rent on her apartment. In the last three years, she’d opened a MasterCard, a Discover, and another Visa, which she maxed out paying rent and buying groceries when tips were low. She had student loans from the year she’d been able to attend college. But here was Prince Charming, and it almost felt like he was asking her to live with him in a mansion on Beacon Hill.
She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t have time for ambitions or dreams; she was too worried about becoming homeless. For one moment, she allowed her fantasy to emerge, though she felt like a four-year-old saying what she wanted to be when she grew up: “I want to be a travel writer for a magazine or newspaper.”
“I have a friend at the Globe. If you write an article, I’ll help you publish it,” he’d said.
Charlie had helped her to make her biggest dream come true. Meeting him had changed her life. And now she was going to end their relationship.
The closer the cab came to their apartment, the less Heather could feel her body. Her arms and legs felt invisible, or detached. Charlie paid the driver as the car came to a stop in front of their building. A spinning feeling began. A child’s racetrack whirred in her head as her heart beat faster.
Charlie’s cell phone rang and as he took the call he walked away, not even bothering to offer his arm while she stepped fr
om the cab onto the icy pavement in four-inch heels. Charlie had already unlocked the front door and had closed it by the time she arrived at their apartment. Heather opened the door, peeled off her shoes, and walked toward the bedroom.
Before she reached the room, Charlie grabbed her around the waist. “Where are you going, my hot little columnist? Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“I think you might have forgotten to mention it. You were a little too busy flirting with the women at the bar,” she said.
“Just working the room for business,” he said, unzipping her dress.
“Stop!” She moved his arms away and pulled the zipper back up. “How could you think that I want to sleep with you right now?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” The muscle in his cheek twitched and his brow furrowed, as he stared her down. “Whatever issues you’re having these days, I need you to get over them and fast. We’ve lost another syndicate this week and I’m trying to save your career. I have twenty other clients I need to keep happy.” He picked up his cell phone and began to make a call as he walked away.
She grabbed the phone. “Will you just listen for a minute?”
“Maybe I’m tired of listening.” He grabbed the phone from her hand.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She folded her arms across her chest.
“I can’t make you happy. I work my ass off to give you everything and all I hear about is what I haven’t done.”
“Well, maybe I feel invisible.” Her voice came out louder than she intended.
“Invisible? You’re kidding.” He forcefully threw his hands in the air as he continued to yell. “Everything I do is about you and your career. I’m trying to build a life for us, yet you don’t seem to care. Do you want to end up a waitress again, barely able to make ends meet?”
