That Man 2

by Nelle L’Amour

  To: jmccoy@sin.tv

  From: charles­palmer­the­third@­gmail.­com

  Subject: Idea for a New TV Show

  I continued to type away at the on-screen keyboard with my thumbs. There was only one thing they worked faster and better. Hint: It rhymed with “hit.”

  Dear Ms. McCoy:

  Congratulations on your new job at SIN-TV. I am a producer of TV series, mostly reality-based. I thought the new show I’ve been developing would be a perfect fit for your network. I’ve attached a short video clip to give you a feeling for it. I’m tentatively calling it Dickwicks. I look forward to hearing back from you soon and to pitching you in the near future.

  Sincerely,

  Charles Palmer III

  Executive Producer

  I quickly proofed the letter—wanting badly to change “pitching you” to “fucking you”—and attached the footage to the e-mail. The internal laughter in my head was so loud it was deafening. They say seeing is believing. A fiendish smile spread across my face as I hit send. Success. It was now a waiting game until the conscientious Ms. McCoy opened her e-mail. I wished I could be there to see the expression on her face when she clicked on the attachment. Would her sweet mouth drop? Would she gasp? Would she shed tears? Would she respond to me? Of course, I wisely adjusted my setting to auto-reply: Mr. Palmer is out of the office . . .

  I put my car in reverse and peeled out of the parking spot with a screech. I turned my satellite radio on to my favorite oldies channel. “Bad Boys,” the theme song from that TV series Cops, blasted through the speakers as I sped up Barham Boulevard to the entrance of the 101.

  I was a very bad boy. I had to admit. But I meant well. I was just looking out for the well-being of my employees. Their futures. In less than twenty-four hours, Jennifer McCoy would be newly single and available. I was sure of it. As I cruised along the freeway, a limerick popped into my head.

  There once was a dentist named Bradley

  Who was caught cheating one night badly.

  His fiancée caught wind

  That the fuckface had sinned

  And that was the end of them sadly.

  Tomorrow was going to be a great day at work. I couldn’t wait.

  Chapter 12

  Jennifer

  Burdened with shopping bags, I trudged into the living room of our small but cozy house. I’d just gotten back from Christmas shopping at The Grove. With its giant lit-up tree and fake snow, the popular, decked-out mall made the typically stressful experience fun. With Blake still in Vegas, I was able to sneak out of my office a little early. It turned out to be the perfect night to do my last-minute shopping and wrap up presents—Libby was once again doing evening focus groups, and Bradley was working late at his office. Earlier in the day, he’d called me and told me he was besieged with patients all wanting to see him before they went away for the holidays. He apologized for not getting in touch with me over the weekend. He was simply swamped with work and exhausted when he got home. His practice was obviously flourishing. More and more, he needed to work weekends and late hours.

  I dumped the colorful bags on our coffee table and headed straight to the kitchen to make myself some hot chocolate. A mug full of the hot rich beverage along with some Christmas music was just what I needed to get into the mood for wrapping presents.

  With “Jingle Bell Rock” playing in the background and the hot chocolate on the coffee table by the bags, I started wrapping the presents with the festive paper I’d bought. I was very pleased with my purchases. With the money I’d won in Vegas, I could afford to be a little indulgent. I’d gotten Libby a new pair of fuzzy slippers plus a DVD box set of the entire last season of Bones; her brother Chaz, a beautifully illustrated book on mid-century fashion, and Bradley, an expensive Italian designer silk tie—one he’d never spring for. It was going to be our first Christmas together as an engaged couple. He was flying home with me to celebrate the holidays with my parents. My mom and dad had met Bradley only once before—at a homecoming weekend—and they seemed to like him. That he came from a good family and had a good future ahead of him sat well with my overprotective parents.

  I was also pleased with what I’d purchased for my parents—beautiful lambs wool scarves from Ireland and each a book—for Mom, a California cuisine cookbook, and for Dad, a limited annotated Shakespeare collection. The only present I was unsure about was the one I’d bought for Blake. I mean, I hardly knew the man, and I wasn’t even sure if it was appropriate to give your boss a gift. I doubted he was going to get anything for me, but I wanted to be on the safe side in case he did.

  My first thought had been a cock warmer. I’d seen a goofy one with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer at a gift shop in the Farmer’s Market adjacent to The Grove. I was tempted to buy it to send him a message. The jerk had e-mailed me that he was spending time with that bogus affiliate manager, but I suspected he’d stayed longer in Vegas to play with those blond bimbos. I was still smarting from his actions. In the end, my rationality triumphed over my emotions, and I decided the gag gift was inappropriate. And it was probably way too small for his big dick anyway. Instead, I settled on a snow globe that had a hammered gold Christmas ball—reminiscent of a matzo ball—inside it. I’d noticed he had a collection of these magical spheres on his office credenza and was sure I couldn’t go wrong with it.

  It took me an hour to wrap up all the gifts, label them, and finish them off with glittering bows. I placed all of them under the small Christmas tree Libby and I had purchased and decorated. The fresh pine scent filled the air and made Christmas feel alive.

  I thought about calling Bradley—I felt bad that he had to work such late hours—but decided to check my e-mails first. Blake had a habit of sending me odd requests all night long—including at some at ungodly hours. I wondered between fucking and working if the man ever slept. Instead of heading to my computer, I conveniently pulled out my cell phone from my nearby purse and went to my SIN-TV inbox. No emails from Blake. I was partly relieved and partly disappointed. There was only one new e-mail. Sent earlier in the evening, it was from some producer named Charles Palmer III. Since being mentioned in The Hollywood Reporter, I’d received a lot of e-mails from producers and writers wanting to pitch me ideas for SIN-TV. I’d made it a policy to check and answer all of them. As Blake’s father had said in my class at USC, “You never know where the next great idea will come from.”

  Sure enough, Mr. Palmer wanted to pitch me. His letter was to the point and included a short video presentation of the reality show he was developing. Dickwicks. I rolled my eyes. The name of his show was right up there with some of the other ideas that had come my way—Balling for Dollars, Make Me Come, and Suck at It, among them. With skepticism, I clicked open the attachment and hit play. All air left my lungs and my jaw dropped to the floor.

  Oh. My. God. It was Bradley—all over his hygienist, Candace. My free hand flew to my mouth while the other one shook with the phone. My heart beat so hard I thought it would leap out of my chest. Tears poured down my face as sobs gathered at the base of my throat. How could he do this to me? How could I be so, so stupid? All those cancelled dates. All those late nights at work. Waves of nausea swept through me. About to puke, I leapt up, grabbed my bag, and stormed out the front door.

  *

  I swear, I don’t know how accident-prone me managed not getting into a major accident. Tears blinded my vision as I drove down busy Ventura Boulevard to Bradley’s condo in Sherman Oaks. He’d been able to buy it with the money his affluent parents had given him upon earning his dental degree.

  Bradley’s unit was located in a guard-gated community. I wiped my teary eyes with the sleeve of my sweater just before pulling up. The guard at the gate recognized me and smiled. “Good to see you, Miss McCoy. Happy Holidays.”

  Happy holidays were not in my foreseeable future. Holding it together as best I could, I wished him a Merry Christmas before another torrent of tears poured down my face. My voice quivered. “I
have something to give to Bradley.”

  Oh yeah . . . I had something to give him all right. More precisely, to give back to him.

  “Dr. Wick just got home. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  A little panic button went off inside me. “Please don’t let him know I’m here. I want to surprise him.”

  “Got it.” The guard winked at me and clicked open the massive steel gate to let me into the complex.

  The lights in Bradley’s condo were on. The colorful, bright lights on the Christmas tree we’d decorated blinked in the front window. My heavy heart thudded as I jumped out of the car, and tears pooled in the back of my eyes. Though we’d decided not to live together before we got married, this is where we were going to spend the next years of our life once we did. Until we had kids.

  The temperature had dropped. The now crisp December air ripped through me as I furiously pounded on the door. Shivering, I didn’t have to wait long. Bradley came to the door quickly. He was still sporting the same blazer and trousers. The poisonous floral scent of Candace assaulted me and set my tangle of emotions into a tailspin. Wearing his preppy horn rim glasses in lieu of his contacts, my soon-to-be ex was surprised to see me.

  “Hi, Jen. What are you doing here?” His voice was on edge. “Is everything okay?”

  Fuck no. I whipped out my cell phone from my bag. I clicked onto the video and shoved the phone into his face.

  “What were you doing here?” My voice shook with rage.

  In tandem, his face blanched, his eyes rounded, and his mouth quivered. Then to my utter horror, he flashed his big toothy smile and chuckled. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little Christmas smoo—”

  I bitterly cut him off. “Don’t bullshit me, Bradley. You’re fucking Candace. And you’ve been doing it for months.” His eyes lowered. I’d called him on it. Victory fueled my rage. “When were you going to tell me? After we got married? Or maybe you expected me to drop in on one of your little late night work sessions?” Fillings, my ass!

  Bradley chewed down on his bottom lip and shifted nervously in place. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  A familiar voice sounded in the distance. “Braddie Waddie, what’s going on?”

  Candace. That’s all it took. I did something I thought I’d never do in my life. With all my force, my free hand whipped across his face. I slapped him. Hard. The sound of the sting echoed in my ears.

  Bradley winced with pain. Guess he could give it but couldn’t take it. His hand flew to his face and rubbed the large red welt I’d left behind on his cheekbone. I noticed for the first and last time how small his fingers were. Just like his roaming dick.

  “Why’d you do that?” he moaned.

  “For the same reason I’m going to do this,” I shouted. Without wasting a second, I tore his engagement ring off from my finger and flung it at him. It bounced off a lens of his glasses and then landed with a ping somewhere on the front step.

  “Bitch!” shrieked Bradley, his hand flying to his eyes. “You fucking broke my glasses!”

  “And you fucking broke my heart, Dickwick.”

  With that, I stormed back to the car. Scorching tears streamed down my ice-cold cheeks. My hands still shaking, I deleted the incriminating e-mail. And in my heart, I deleted Bradley. It was officially over for us.

  *

  When I got back to my house, Libby was home. Her Mini Cooper was parked in the driveway. I pulled up behind it and wearily made my way through the front door.

  Libby was curled up on the couch drinking some wine. “Hi,” she said brightly until she caught sight of my tear-stained face. “Sheesh. What the fuck is wrong? You look awful.”

  I’d cried so many tears I thought I had no more to shed. Wrong. A fresh batch sprung from my burning eyes. “I broke up with Bradley,” I wailed.

  “Oh my God.” Libby jumped up from the couch and curled her arms around me. I wept on her shoulder. “Sit down and tell me everything,” she said softly as she led me back to the couch.

  Facing her, sitting cross-legged, I launched into the story of how I discovered Bradley was cheating on me with Candace. I paused occasionally to catch my breath or swipe away my tears.

  Though never one to hold back, Libby listened intently and silently as I, blow by blow, told her what happened. Her hazel eyes blinked rapidly as she digested everything. Libby begged to see the footage, but I told her I’d deleted it. That I couldn’t bear to watch it again.

  When I got toward the end of my woeful tale, my bestie’s freckled face lit up with surprise. “You seriously slapped his face?”

  With a sniffle, I nodded. “And then I threw his ring at him and cracked his eyeglasses.”

  Libby burst into laughter and gave me hug. “Good for you. I never liked that dickwad. Trust me, it’s meant to be he’s out of your life. Just think if you’d married him.”

  “You’re right,” I conceded before taking a much needed sip of her red wine. The cheap Burgundy seeped through my veins and warmed me.

  “What am I going to tell my parents? He was supposed to come home with me over the holidays. My mother was so excited. She even wanted to start planning the wedding.”

  Libby pensively knitted her brows together. “The truth. That you broke up with him. It wasn’t working out. Less is best. They don’t need to know all the details.”

  Libby was right—the truth was the only way to go. But I was going to wait till I got home to break the news to my overprotective parents. Why worry them sick now? I took another gulp of the comforting wine; it was beginning to dim the pain. My tears subsided.

  “Lib, do you think it’s weird that some strange producer sent me that footage?”

  “Yeah, it’s definitely a little random. But most likely, just a weird coincidence. You should take his pitch. Maybe he’s some cute single guy.”

  “Shut. Up.” Only Libby could make me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry.

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m going to go call it a night.”

  “Maybe you should take a day off from work tomorrow. Sleep late and treat yourself to a massage.”

  While Libby’s suggestion was so tempting, I didn’t want to miss a day of work, having so recently started my job. I only hoped I could hold it together in front of Blake. The last thing I wanted was to let him see me blubbering like a child. It was bad enough he’d seen me make a drunken fool of myself in Vegas.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was tucked in my bed. The footage of Bradley and Candace replayed in my head as if it were on a loop. Tears singed my eyes. We’d been together almost five years, and now in five minutes, it was over. Just like that.

  In the morning on my way to work, I was going to drop off his Christmas present at the Salvation Army. Yes, I could return or exchange it, but I didn’t want to touch or see anything that reminded me of Bradley Dickwick.

  My tears succumbed to sleep.

  Chapter 13

  Blake

  I got to my office super early; I couldn’t wait to get there to see if my little ruse had worked. When I walked past her office, she wasn’t at her desk yet. She was late. This could be a good sign or a bad one. Either she’d had a brutal breakup or major make-up sex with Dickwick. Shit. I’d never thought about the second possibility, and I didn’t like it one bit.

  Once settled in my office, I kicked up my legs on my desk and thumbed through the latest Hollywood Reporter to distract myself. On the last page dedicated to Hollywood happenings, there was a photo of me and Kitty-Kat or whatever the fuck her name was at Jaime Zander’s art gallery opening. We were standing in front of The Kiss, the painting Jennifer adored. My pouty hook-up in her low-cut halter gown was sucking up to the camera. I looked rather solemn. The photo was taken just after shithead Dickwick yanked Jennifer away from me. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be happening again any time soon. My heart pulsed with anticipation. If Operation Dickwick was a success, Jennifer could be mine. All mine.

  At the sound of a shuffle, I looked
up and saw her. Dressed head to toe in black, she was back to wearing her glasses. But beneath the lenses, I could see her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. And she looked paler than usual. I had to refrain from smiling. All good signs. My eyes traveled down to her hands. Damn. She was holding a stack of books I’d asked her to option, making it impossible to see if she was wearing her ring. The tower of books extended from her waist to her chin. Definitely an overload. As she slumped toward me (another good sign, but maybe she was just weighted down by the books). I bid her good morning. When she lifted her chin to acknowledge me, the top book slipped off the pile. In an effort to save it, she panicked, and in an instant, all the books went flying to the floor. I heard her mumble “shit” under her breath as she fell to her knees to retrieve them. Mr. Chivalrous—yours truly—jumped up to help her, and in a nano second, I was squatting beside her. My eyes zeroed in on her left hand. It was shaking. But the ring was GONE! Mission accomplished!

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a small, trembling voice as she re-stacked the books. “Thanks for helping.”

  I was so close to her I could smell the sweet cherry vanilla scent of her hair and hear her heart thudding. Ahh! Music to my ears. The sound of a broken heart.

  I added a couple of books to the heap. “You don’t seem your normal self today, Jennifer.”

  She sighed. I looked straight at her; she was so close I could taste her. Her eyes were watering.

  “I’m fine,” she replied as a tear spilled onto the cover of the top book. Tangled.

  I lifted her glasses onto her head. The tears were freely falling down her cheeks. With the pads of my thumb, I brushed them away. Truthfully, I longed to kiss them away.

  “You’re not fine. Did something bad happen?”

  “I broke up with my fiancé,” she blurted. The forlorn look on her face got to me. I almost felt sorry for her. Sympathy was edging out my sense of victory.