by Thea Devine
“No. But you make those rockets go off. Don’t discount the power of phytochemicals.”
“I think it’s so funny you’re giving me advice about Jed. You’re more qualified to navigate his world than I am.”
Paula gave me a long look as she served the spaghetti and sauce. “Something spooked you.”
“It’s all too much. Knowing he has that kind of money, connections and the on-call car and driver? Isn’t that enough?”
“That’s for your conscience to decide.”
“My conscience wants to know if we’re friends again,” I said.
“If you eat my spaghetti.”
I sighed. “Okay, but that’s a stiff price to pay.”
DOESN’T THE GUY DIET seem like it was forever ago? I was on it for about five, nearly six weeks.
I was out biking that next very, very hot afternoon. Jed had gone out of town for a couple days on business, and I felt at loose ends and as if nothing had been resolved except my epiphany.
I’d gotten what I wanted. The guy who had my back, with whom I had supersonic sex, whom I couldn’t tell I wanted to be with him forever.
You can’t have everything. I kept trying to convince myself that was enough. Exercise helped. You could look around at all the other potential guys who might be available eventually. You could hope and dream. Still, the thing I discovered was you can’t help wanting the one you love to want to love you forever.
You just can’t turn off that Niagara Falls of yearning.
Let me update you.
I’m almost finished with my proposal for my grab-and-go cookbook.
The management now running the WestEnder is happy with the column and a nice chunky regular paycheck now comes in the mail.
Jed turned his profit on the paper into another venture, with Brian as his partner. That was why he was out of town this week.
And Brian is dating (read sleeping with) Paula. So Jed is a genius matchmaker, as well.
As I was riding my bike, I saw swarms of guys looking for someone to love them for a night, maybe two, depending on how hot your friends think your partner is.
I headed toward the boat basin where at least I could get a bottle of water at the end of the ride. I was looking really trim and thin with all the exercise I’ve been getting, and all the sex has just enhanced my natural glow. Not that I’ve had any this week, but—I’m just saying.
Everything actually was wonderful.
Except—I was in love with Jed. The worst kind of love—the forever kind, with no reservations, no nitpicking, no warrantees—the still-be-with-him-when-I’m-old kind of love, and I can never tell him.
It was really awful. And wonderful.
So I needed this strenuous exercise, otherwise I’d be mooning around the apartment devising all kinds of sad strategies to finally let go. Like, after he came back from this trip.
Exercise was definitely good for clarity, so you can come to those important life-changing decisions that will make you miserable for the rest of your life.
There was a café at the boat basin with a great view of the Hudson River. It is also a hive of predatory singles. But for me, it was just a place to take a breath and grab a drink.
And not think about tomorrows.
So I hopped off the bike and wheeled it over to the café.
And there was Jed, in jeans and T-shirt, a bike at his side, sipping lemonade, right in my line of sight.
I stopped breathing.
He looked up and saw me and I started slowly toward him. This was not one of my best hair days. I had pulled it back into a shaggy ponytail, I wore no makeup, my oldest rattiest jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers. Not my best look. And not the girl-of-his-dreams look. Or the dream I wanted to be for him.
“Hey.” That was about all I could think of to say.
“Nice views.” He motioned to the chair next to him. That he had just gotten back home and was here, of all places, didn’t even surprise me for some reason.
“How’re you doing?”
“Getting exercise. Where did you come up with a bike?”
“Lo—I own a bike,” he said reprovingly, handing me the cup so I could quench my thirst.
Of course. He wasn’t above or beyond mortal pursuits. I didn’t want to ask how he’d known I’d be here—maybe he was on his own bike ride for his own purposes.
I felt myself flushing. Or maybe that was the aftermath of the exercise. I needed that water. I didn’t think I could swallow.
“Paula told me you probably came down this way.”
He’d read my mind. “Now she’s your ally?”
“Our ally. So, since I’m here, and you’re here, and it’s damned hot, and I wouldn’t mind getting out of Manhattan, let’s go for a ride.”
At which point, Stecker magically appeared in the off-ramp roundabout, and in minutes we’d loaded the bikes into the trunk and were heading north in air-conditioned comfort.
“And how was the trip?” I asked, rooting around for something to say so I wouldn’t say that one big forbidden thing.
“It was good,” Jed said, as if that explained everything.
“And so…?”
“It was very good.”
Maddening. Or maybe it was just too hot to talk business. Already we were passing the George Washington Bridge, toward the Cross County Parkway.
Jed kept looking at me. I kept looking at the road. I finally got that we were heading toward Rye Playland, an amusement park with its own beach and boardwalk, about forty-five minutes outside of Manhattan.
It wasn’t all that crowded, since it was Friday. Stecker went off to park, and Jed paid the admission while I looked at a map of all the rides, and then we went on through the front gate.
Before us was the ice rink and miniature golf course. Beyond that, the boardwalk and beach. To our left, arcade games and concession stands, and against the sky, the towers of the water rides, and roller coasters.
Jed took my hand and we strolled toward the boardwalk, the view of the beach and the glimmering water of the Long Island Sound.
“I love amusement parks,” Jed said. “Look.”
I turned and looked. I could see the highest curve of the roller coaster, I could see the tower of a ride called the Double Shot and hear the shouts and screams of kids as they plunged down the tower after a breathtaking lift up. I could smell food, feel the hot sun, feel myself loosening up.
I felt really calm, suddenly. This could be the place and the way to end it.
“This is kind of how I picture my life,” Jed said. “Kind of like…life is a land of play. You get choices about which ride to take, and you know beforehand that each one comes with its own excitement, lulls, highs, lows, up, downs and the occasional crap shoot. That’s how I see it anyway…”
He took my hand and we stepped onto the beach. I looked at the water, which seemed to merge with the horizon—endless, limitless.
I knew he was looking at me with that familiar intensity. And then he said, “Do you remember when we briefly mentioned the whole when did you thing?”
I remembered.
“I have a confession to make.”
I swallowed hard. Maybe he’d make this easy for me. “Okay…”
“I didn’t quite tell you the whole when did you truth.”
Oh God. I braced myself.
“The part when I said what I saw when you entered the restaurant that night? Okay, this is the confession part. What I really saw.” He paused, one of those long torturous pauses where he gave me a deep, knowing look.
And he said, “I really saw SUVs and puppies.”
“What?”
“And just before, when you were rolling your bike into the café? Family summers in Maine. Do you sail?”
I thought I would faint. “I don’t…”
“Sure you do. Or you’ll learn.” He was so confident. “So this is what I want to say—come play with me, Lo. The ups and downs and highs and lows have to come with puppies and SUVs a
nd stuff like that…because that’s what I saw the first time I saw you, and that was what I wanted right there and then—with you. And that’s what you want, too.”
This time, for real, nothing more needed to be said.
And then he kissed me. Like, really kissed me, and who cared who was watching. It was a glorious orchestra-playing, movie-ending kind of kiss, on the beach, with the sun shining, a faint little breeze waffling off the sound, a catcall or two in the background, applause.
The kind of kiss where all questions were answered and everything was known, acknowledged and complete. It was perfect.
“There definitely has to be more kissing,” he whispered against my lips.
Definitely.
So I guess you could say The Guy Diet worked. I got my guy and I know he’s got my back. And my front. Forever.
If you want to know what I did for what was left of the summer—need you ask? I fell even more in love with Jed.
LIGHT MY FIRE
Debbi Rawlins
This is for Kathryn and Brenda.
Their patience, kindness and understanding
mean so much to me.
1
MOST PEOPLE looked forward to their vacation. Not Jordan Samms. The advertising business didn’t sit still just because she took a week off. But her boss insisted that she needed the break, and the truth was, maybe he was right, because her most precious commodity, her creativity, was on the wane. Which terrified her.
“Hey, Jordan, you have a call on line one,” Lisa said as she passed the break room.
“Got it.” Jordan finished doctoring her coffee and hurried with it back to her office. She’d been waiting all day for a call from one of her New York clients. With the three-hour time difference between the east coast and L.A., she’d begun to think they wouldn’t connect today.
Since her University of Southern California coaster was buried under an avalanche of paperwork, she set the mug down on a stack of discarded illustrations in the middle of her desk, and pushed the button for line one. “Jordan Samms.”
“Hey, Jordan. It’s just me.” It was Sonya.
Jordan’s gaze went to the oversize calendar on the far wall. Of course it was her soon-to-be-ex friend, two days before they were supposed to go on vacation. What a surprise. “Please do not say what I think you’re going to say.”
“Don’t be mad.”
“Damn it, Sonya.” Jordan yanked her chair away from the desk and sat down.
“It’s not like I planned on meeting anyone.”
“This is so unfair.”
“Come on, Jordan, at least we haven’t prepaid for anything.”
She shook her head. The woman really didn’t get it. This was the third year in a row that she’d backed out of their vacation plans at the last minute. Always because of a new guy. “The reason we haven’t prepaid for anything this year is because I knew you’d pull this stunt again.”
“Exactly. So you shouldn’t be upset.”
Jordan closed her eyes and shook her head. Her friend’s logic astounded. “Fine. Go. Do whatever.”
“You’re upset.”
“Damn right. I’ve got to go.”
“Wait, Jordan—”
“I’ll see you in a week.” Jordan hung up the phone before she said something she’d regret. This situation was as much her fault as it was Sonya’s. Every year she expected Sonya to grow up. Keep her word. Every year Jordan ended up disappointed. She knew better than to set herself up like that.
She looked at the popular Breezy detergent slogan sketched out on the board on the red wall opposite her desk. That stroke of genius had earned her this corner office and a hefty salary. Unfortunately, that was nearly two years ago and the pressure was on to perform another miracle.
She abruptly turned away. Thinking about that right now was professional suicide. Panic had already set in. The well was dry, but the deadline wouldn’t go away. Maybe Sonya’s call was fate. Just the excuse Jordan needed to postpone her vacation. Surely, Patrick would understand that in this particular instance it was more important for her to finish the ad campaign.
It was nearly two. Her boss would be back from lunch. She got to her feet, knowing a face-to-face with him was much better than a phone call. He’d give her a hard time at first. No matter how busy he was, the man always made time for lunch and vacations, and he expected his employees to do the same. But since these were extenuating circumstances…
“Got a minute?” she asked, poking her head into his office. His door was always open, giving everyone in the company total access any time. She liked that about him.
“Sure,” he said, looking up with a smile in his pale-blue eyes and laying down his pen. “What can I help you with, Jordan?”
She entered his massive office and plopped down on one of two chrome-and-leather guest chairs facing him. The guy had owned the company for nearly forty years and had made billions in advertising, and he had a reported personal net worth of over fifty million, but he’d never once acted as if he thought he was better than the pair of janitors that cleaned the suite of offices each evening. He’d even made the time to take Jordan under his wing and teach her the ropes. In the five years she’d worked for him, Patrick had been more like a father to her than her own had been.
“I have a problem,” she said, and then added brightly, “Or maybe it’s one of those blessings in disguise.”
The corners of his mouth quirked as if he knew what she was going to say. Which was impossible. But he did have this annoying way of reading her. “You know my vacation starts in two days…”
“Yes,” he said evenly, his gaze fixed on her in such a way that she knew right then he wasn’t going to give an inch.
She sighed. “My friend cancelled again.”
“That’s too bad. You need to find someone more reliable with whom to make plans.”
“Yeah. Think I would’ve figured that out by now, huh?” she said, and noted the slightly patronizing glint in his eyes. “The thing is, though, I could really use an extra week on this campaign, so—”
Patrick shook his gray head. “I’m surprised you’d even ask.”
“I don’t want to cancel my vacation. Just postpone it.”
“You know what my answer is, so why bother?” Patrick’s smile didn’t erase the concern in his eyes. “You’re tired, Jordan. You’ve been working too many hours.” He put up a hand when she opened her mouth to protest. “Apart from the obvious health ramifications, your work is bound to suffer.”
Jordan looked away so he couldn’t see the fear in her eyes. Was it too late? Had her creativity dried up to the point of no return? Even worse—her greatest fear of all—had the whole thing been a fluke? Coincidence? An odd stroke of sheer luck? No brilliance involved?
Uneasy, she cleared her throat and got to her feet. “I’ll figure out something.”
“Which, I trust, will not mean staying home and working from there.”
She hesitated, the thought having occurred to her. “I can always go to the beach.”
“What had you and your friend originally planned?”
“After having gone on two cruises by myself I kind of left it open.”
“Ever considered an action vacation?”
“You mean, like being outdoors with snakes and mosquitoes?”
He smiled. “Step outside of the box, Jordan. It might do you some good.”
Her heart lurched. Did he mean professionally? Did he know she was drowning? Spending half her nights panicked that she would never have another original idea again? “I’ll look into it.”
He picked up his pen again. “You should be able to find something on the Internet, if not, I’ll give you the name of my travel agent.”
Jordan forced an appreciative smile. Action vacation her foot.
SHE SIGHED at the computer screen. Skydiving was out of the question. She’d only accepted her forty-second-floor office with a view because it was a matter of prestige. The perfect trop
hy to show she ran with the big dogs. But she never got close to the window, and God forbid she actually look out unless she was at her spiffy blue-tinted glass-topped desk a solid fifteen feet away. She hated heights. Which definitely left out rock-climbing, too.
Moving the cursor to the next listing, she considered exploring the beginners’ white-water-rafting trip. At least that meant she’d be sitting, albeit in a canoe thingy. How strenuous could that be? Plus, the guide wouldn’t let her drown. Bad for business.
She checked the dates. No availability until the end of August, two months too late. She skimmed through a variety of other offerings, finding the barefoot windjammer cruise the most appealing. But that was totally booked, too.
Well, she could lie. Stay home and work on the campaign, and invent some fabulous vacation touring the Amazon or something like that. She could probably even lift pictures off the Internet to show around the office.
Nah, Patrick knew her too well. He’d get it right away that she was lying. Plus she was horribly bad at it. She leaned back in her chair and stared at the computer screen. Maybe she should try Patrick’s travel agent. With such short notice, if they were unable to find an excursion for her, maybe then Patrick would give in.
The thought lifted her spirits, and logging off, she started to get up. Patrick walked into her office.
“Ever been camping?” he asked.
Her gaze went to the piece of personal stationery in his hand. “Once. A zillion years ago, when I was a Girl Scout.”
“Good.” He handed her the paper. “This will be perfect for you.”
Two boldly printed words immediately got her attention, and made the hair on the back of her neck stand. “Extreme camping?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll have a personal guide. And, just so you know, you can go for one week. Which doesn’t mean you get to skip the second week, but if you do this, you can make up week two at another time.”
Jordan opened her mouth to jump on the deal, then thought about it. “Define extreme.”
Patrick smiled. “Sounds worse than it is.”
