I look at my phone, and somehow I have missed Ben replying to my messages. He sent them just fifteen minutes ago.
Ben: See? That's awesome news. When do I get to read it?
Ben: Thank you for the album. I will listen to it when I get back to my room. Going out for a business dinner. Can I call you later? I probably won't be back before 1am your time.
I reply right away.
Me: Sure. Call me. I will probably still be up writing.
Me: As for reading this manuscript, I want to wait till it’s finished, since it didn't work out too well last time.
My eyes are so tired that by the time 1:00 am rolls around, I save everything and lay flat on my bed in the dark. My phone starts buzzing on my stomach.
“Hello?” I say sleepily.
“Hey,” he replies.
“Hi.”
“You sound tired. Maybe I shouldn't have called.”
“Hmm, no. It's okay. I’m tired, but it's fine,” I say with a smile. “It's been an eventful day. I got a lot done. I’m pretty happy.”
“Good. You sound happy. I’m going to listen to the music that you sent me now. Is that okay?”
“Yes!” I say loudly, suddenly animated. “I can't wait for you to hear it.”
I can hear him chuckling. “Okay. This must be really good.”
“It is, Ben. He's got so many wonderful songs, and his story is a little heartbreaking. He is so talented. I feel it was like fate that I got to hear him play and talk to him.”
“Hold on, hold on. Who did you talk to, exactly?”
“Sorry, I got ahead of myself. I’m talking about the musician I met today. The music I sent you, it’s his. I went to Central Park and saw this guy playing. He sounded better than any other artist I have ever seen perform there. He had a CD; we chatted for a bit. He told me how he self-produced this album and never really went anywhere. And then I was hit all of a sudden with so many ideas, I had to literally run home.”
I hear him laughing.
“All the way from Manhattan?”
“No, silly. I did run all the way from the subway station though. I probably looked like I was possessed.”
“I find that hard to believe.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
I can’t remember the last time I stayed on the phone for so long with somebody. Probably high school. Ben listens to the whole album and asks questions about Matt and the songs. I’m sleepy, but I love being on the phone with him. I almost feel like he is here with me. I want him here with me, on this bed.
“I want to see you,” I blurt out.
“When I come back? Of course we’ll see each other.”
“Right now.”
God, I sound like a needy child.
“I’m sorry. That sounded silly,” I say apologetically.
“No, that sounded hot.”
Does he know how hot it is to hear him say the word hot? I’m fanning myself over here.
I grab my computer and we start Skyping, and it’s a lot of awkward smiles at first. The way he looks at me makes me believe it’s true. He does like me. I’m lying on my side on the bed, with the laptop on the other side of the mattress, as if he were here. He does the same in his hotel room. He starts talking to me about what he has been doing in the last few days, and the people he’s met, and about two new clients. He said he had to go over there to seal the deal, and he did, and he went out with one of the writers tonight. He’ll see the other one tomorrow before leaving for Oregon to visit a friend.
“I’ll be back by Friday afternoon,” he says in a low, seductive tone. “We should go to the Hamptons for the weekend. I’ll teach you how to surf this time, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
It makes me smile from ear to ear, and I think about that Saturday on the beach. How beautiful he looked and how exciting and nerve-wracking it felt to have his eyes roam my body. I’m supporting my head with my arm and he tells me I’m beautiful, and how much he’s been thinking about me. My brain is tired and now it’s swimming in a whole bunch of sweet nothings. I hide my face in the crook of my elbow.
“Thank you.” is all I can manage to say back to him, while I smile awkwardly.
I want to tell him so much more, but not like this. I need to have him in my arms. If I do take the leap, it has to be in person. He bids me goodnight, and after we turn off the conversation, I find a goodnight text on my phone.
I sleep like the dead until noon. My phone is buzzing. The screen says Mom.
“Hello?”
“Prudence? Were you sleeping?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t it noon?”
“Mom, please. You went a couple decibels too high. I was asleep just a few seconds ago. I have been up writing. I must have gone to bed at three.”
“Oh, honey. You know that’s not good for you. You need your rest. Can’t you limit yourself to writing during the day time?”
“It’s not something I can always plan ahead, Mom. When it comes to me, I just have to do it right then.”
“What comes to you?”
“Never mind.” I sit up. “How are you?”
“I’m very well, honey. I’m just calling to remind you of my visit.”
Visit? What day is it? Shit.
“Yeah, sure. What day are you arriving? Is Dad coming?”
“I will arrive at LaGuardia on Saturday. I believe it’s around noon, I can’t remember. I sent you an email with my flight information and everything. Your dad has a fishing thing he forgot to tell me about,” she says, and I can hear a slightly annoyed tone in her voice.
So typical of Dad.
“Okay, I’ll look it up. Do you want to go see a Broadway play while you’re here? I’ll try to get tickets.”
“Yes! Can we go see the play with Bryan Cranston?” My mother, a Bryan Cranston fan girl.
“Those tickets are hard to find, but I’ll try to see what I can do!” I tell her.
She updates me with what’s new with my brother, and she tells me how fast Noah is growing, before asking her usual question: the dreaded dating question.
“Well? Anything new happen? Did you meet someone?”
“No, Mom, I haven’t met anyone.” Not anyone new.
“I haven’t gone on a date in more than a year, I don’t have a lover. For the millionth time, I’m not lesbian. So, please, if you have any love and respect for women, stop asking. Sorry, Mom. We’ve been through this enough, don’t you think?”
“You’re right honey. I guess I’m just too old school. I would like to know you are happy and found someone who appreciates you.”
“Well, I’m happy. I am happy with what I do. Maybe I will meet someone . . . eventually. Times are just different, Mom.”
“I guess you are right, Prudence. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t upset me. I’m just a little tired, okay? Listen, I’m going to work on this book as much as I can, so by the time you get here I don’t have to worry about it, okay? I love you Mom.”
“Love you too, honey. See you on Saturday.”
Chapter 10
I BARELY leave the house for an entire week. I cancel all sessions with Andrew, and I find some nasty texts from him on my cell phone. I wince when I read them, but I’m on a mission.
I often feel a story in progress is a delicate thread. Sometimes I forget to take notes, I forget the lines of a dialogue I thought about, and inevitably the story takes a different course. Sometimes for good, others for worse. Since the story I’m working on is something completely different from what I have written about before, I feel like I’m entering virgin territory. The characters I’m writing about are my age. This is not young adult, or new adult. I have no idea how it would even be classified. It doesn’t matter, really. At least I don’t think it does. A good story is a good story. Period.
I keep writing maniacally. The words are coming to me with the force of a flooding river. I have never been more consumed.
I’m almos
t done with the first draft by Wednesday. After last week’s Skyping session, I have cut almost all communication with Ben. I told him I really needed to focus on the story right now, because I was aiming at being done with it by the time he came back. I want nothing more than to spend the night hours talking on the phone and Skyping with him, and that is why I can’t do it, or I’m not going to get anything done, and most likely I will lose the fire that I have for this story right now.
I think he sounded a little disappointed at first, but he was excited by my commitment and the fact that I finally felt focused on something. I’m typing, typing, typing, when my home phone rings. I let it go to voicemail. It’s Cora.
“Prudence, it’s me, Cora. I got the impression at the party that you were not completely against the idea of talking to me. I thought you said you would call me back? Anyway, I know I fucked up with you, but I really need to talk to you. Call me. Please.”
Cora has called before, and I have finally listened to her previous voicemails. The tone in her voice is submissive, almost pleading. Something else has changed: me. I feel more secure now than I did two weeks ago, when her words completely wrecked my confidence and self-esteem. Getting away from her might be a blessing after all. I did love Cora, but I could never stand how she always seemed to patronize me. I unblock her contact on my phone and send her a text.
Me: Our usual place, 1:00 pm.
She replies after ten minutes or so.
Cora: I’ll be there. See you in a bit.
We’ve eaten at this little sushi place in Soho so many times, and we have never been this uncomfortable. We look at each other for a few seconds, and nothing happens. She just stares at me like she doesn’t know what to say.
“I came because I was under the impression you had something important to say,” I tell her, unable to hide the bitter tone in my voice.
She exhales and says, “I do, I do. I really fucked up with you, Prudence. I’m really sorry. There is a reason why I behaved like I did.”
I fold my arms in front of me and give her a look that says go ahead, I’m waiting. She finally starts talking.
“I am leaving Biblio. There doesn’t seem to be any room for me to grow, and weird things are happening in the administrative department. I have found another job, at Icarus.”
“Well, good for you. I don’t see what this has anything to do with me.”
She looks nervous and not at all like the poised, perfect girl I thought I knew.
“See, my idiotic plan was to get you to cut your ties with Biblio and come sign with Icarus. Believe it or not, it’s because I wanted to keep working with you!”
I can’t believe her. Is she for real? Is this why she hasn’t renewed my contract? Because she thought she could so easily manipulate me and get me to follow her like a puppy dog?
“I know you aren’t the type to jump ship. You have been with Biblio since you started, and you had no reason to really leave them. Unless I made you think that the bosses weren’t happy with your work. Obviously I didn’t think things through, and my plan completely backfired on me. I thought . . . I thought you would be upset about not getting your contract renewed, and in a few weeks I would just be able to approach you and offer you a contract with Icarus.”
My tone is cold when I ask, “You mean all the mess I’m in is because of you? I’m no longer with Biblio because of your scheming? And what about all the things you said about my writing?”
“I was just trying to find excuses. Some people did refer to your writing as prudish, but honestly, who cares? I love the way you write! I realize how stupid I sound . . . I know I have tried to change you in the past . . . and I shouldn't have . . . I’m so very sorry.”
What I really want to do is get up and walk away. I’ve had enough of this nonsense. But I want closure too.
“You couldn’t just tell me you were changing job? You never know, I might have signed with you if you had been honest with me.”
“I know. I was afraid. I cannot technically do that. I didn’t want to be liable. I’m able to tell you all this now, because I just quit Biblio last week.”
What am I supposed to do now? Does she not realize this is all just too little, too late? There is no way I will ever trust her again. She obviously cares about no one else’s interests but her own.
“I forgive you,” I tell her flatly, and she looks suddenly so relieved. She smiles at me, and I can see from the look in her eyes she thinks everything will be okay, like nothing ever happened, bffs forever.
“However, I can’t forget what you did to me. You just admitted in so many words you used me like a pawn. What kind of friend are you, really?” She drops her head slightly, avoiding my eyes.
“I know,” she admits, her voice low.
“I’m sorry, I was hoping this would turn out different, but I don’t think there is any point in discussing it further. We’re done here.”
I grab my bag and I’m about to get up when she grabs my wrist.
“Prudence. One more thing. I know you might think I say this out of jealousy, but it’s really not like that. Be careful about Ben. I don’t know what’s going on between you guys, but I know he has something up his sleeve. I don’t know what, but the fact that he is so close with Mr. Hunter, now more than ever before, it’s really suspicious. I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”
I stand up, and I try to sound completely unaffected by her words when I tell her goodbye.
Seeing Cora was good, because at least now I know that the decision of the publishing company was all part of her scheming. I wonder what other lies she’s been telling. Probably more or less what Ben overheard and told me that night out in the Hamptons.
Getting out of the house was also good because it gave me a reason to shower properly and go back to the world of the glamorous humans of New York. It’s Thursday, and when I get back home, I focus on some writing. There are still many things to change, but I feel I have a good first draft. I’m at that point in the writing process where I’m so in love with the story and I feel such an emotional connection to it, more than anything else I have written before. I have written many stories, but nothing else felt so mine.
I’ve listened to Matt's music so much, I know all the songs by heart. I should go find him and tell him that. His music and his story had a major draw, and it was part of the inspiration that sparked this novel.
It dawns on me that I never asked him for a business card or a contact number. I think he said he did private parties; maybe I could pass his name around. Not that I’m so connected, but you never know. I look in the booklet and I find an email for the band, and a website. I check the website, but I soon realize it hasn't been updated in a while. Both the Facebook account and the Twitter for the band don't have any new posts or tweets. The last one was from five years ago.
I think he said his last name was Young? Matt Young? That sounds about right. Hmm, no Facebook account for Matt Young that matches the one I know. Nothing comes up when I search his name. Could be a fake name, too. I try Matthew Young, but I still cannot find anything. I'll just have to make the trek to Central Park and find him.
It' early in the evening when I get a text from Ben.
Ben: This has been the longest week ever. I don't care if you are finished with the book yet, we are going out tomorrow night.
Me: I thought you loved the West Coast so much you didn't want to come back.
Ben: Things change. So, dinner?
Me: Like on a date? ;-)
Ben: Yes, a real date. No casual “hanging out” bullshit.
Me: I was thinking about a different type of hanging out. One that doesn't involve leaving my apartment.
Ben: Prudence . . .
What? Had he changed his mind? He seemed so convincing the other night with his “we are going to happen.” Was he backtracking now?
Me: What?
Ben: Don't lead me on if you aren't sure of what you are saying.
Me: There's one thing y
ou need to know about me. I don't lead men on. Ever.
Ben: Good. So is it okay to say I’m even more excited about coming home?
Flames. My skin is burning. My throat is parched just at the thought of the two of us together. I have never taken a cold shower, but maybe that is just what I need right now.
The day after, Andrew gives me quite the good morning when I answer the phone.
“What up, bitch?” Oh, it’s that kind of greeting, huh? Okay.
“What do you want, asshole?” I say acidly.
“Why the fuck have you been blowing me off all week? There better be a good reason, and by that I mean one that involves a penis.”
“Sorry, no penis. Just work.” Not yet, I tell myself. Fingers crossed.
“Well, you better make it up to me. I got invited to go try out this new healthy vegan place in the neighborhood because of my awesome kick-ass trainer status, and I can’t find anyone else to go with, so you’re coming with me.”
“Gee, thanks. You aren’t even trying to hide that I’m your last resort?”
“I was going to go with this cute flight attendant, but he got called into work.”
“Bummer. I’ll go with you, but only if you come with me for a mani-pedi. I look like a cave woman.”
“I’ll never turn down a mani-pedi, honey. It’s a date!” He says cheerily.
I fill Andrew in on all that’s been happening in the last few weeks. He is always on such a tight schedule, I never have time to chat with him. I haven’t even told him about my Biblio divorce.
“I thought you were grumpier than usual, but I just assumed it was your time of the month,” he says, and I slap him on the arm. The bastard just smiles back with that cute face of his. And those dimples. I can’t ever be mad at him. I can’t even fake it.
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