Heartbreak for Hire

by Sonia Hartl

  I took advantage of the distraction to head toward her car. By the time she caught up to me, she’d cooled off some. The drive to the café was still tense and uncomfortable, but at least she’d stopped talking.

  Café Eight catered to the college crowd who wanted lighter fare than the on-campus selections offered. It specialized in vegan wraps and beet salads, but there was also a delicious white chicken chili for us meat-eaters, so I didn’t mind coming here. We’d arrived early enough that we were the only people in the restaurant. We ordered our food and sat down at one of the round tables next to the chalkboard wall.

  I took some chalk from a cup on the table and doodled two stick figures facing off with frowns and knives. “Look, it’s us.”

  She did not find me amusing. “One would think, as an artist, you would’ve moved beyond stick figures.” My mom excelled at the stiff upper lip. She must’ve been British in another life.

  “I can do much better.” I sketched a rushed replica of one of my favorite Georgia O’Keeffes. “See?”

  She sighed and wiped it away with her napkin. “Must you be so crude?”

  “It was a flower, you perv.”

  She didn’t rise to the bait though. Her face had gone pale, her eyes bugging out, as she stared past me. Curious, I turned around, but I only saw an older man I didn’t recognize. He didn’t look like a Northwestern professor. He was missing the requisite tweed jacket with leather elbow patches.

  I waved a hand in front of my mom’s face. “Are you having a stroke?”

  “Quiet.” She clamped down on my wrist. “We need to leave here now. I’ll go anywhere you want, even that atrocious hamburger place you like, if you move quickly.”

  “Really?” Unwilling to miss an opportunity to see my unflappable mom come unglued, I sat back with a grin. “Tell me about the guy. Here I thought you were married to behavioral science, like a psychology nun, but you surprise me.”

  I glanced around and examined the man who had successfully shut up my mom. Maybe I could learn a few tricks from him. He was tall, at least six foot four. His curly gray hair had a few sandy wisps hanging on for dear life, and he had a wide, friendly mouth and blue eyes. Paul Newman meets that old guy from the diabetes commercials.

  “Should we go say hi?” I asked.

  “Don’t you dare do this to me today,” Mom hissed. “We’re leaving.”

  I was prepared to linger there for another five minutes heckling my mom, since I rarely got the pleasure, but another woman entered the restaurant—and, oh shit, I knew that woman. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been in Margo’s office, complimenting me on what a good job I’d done breaking her jerk-off coworker. Mark.

  “You’re right, we should go.” I stood, practically dragging my mom, who still clutched my wrist, out of her chair. If Selena opened her mouth to even hint about what I did for Margo, I’d never hear the end of it. My mom would hound me into the grave, and then perform a séance to awaken my spirit so she could hound me in the afterlife.

  Mom’s eyes narrowed as she halted. “Why do you want to leave?”

  “Why do you?” Instead of making a quick escape, which we both clearly wanted to do, we got into another argument. Because this was how we functioned.

  A couple more people walked into the restaurant, and one of them tapped Selena on the shoulder. University professors, judging by the sea of tweed. Her eyes locked on mine and widened. I had a feeling she didn’t want to be approached by me any more than I wanted her to come over here. We had no reason to know each other, and we both wanted to keep it that way. She whispered to a guy with wire-rim glasses, and she and her party left.

  But while I’d wasted time on another pointless fight with my mom, the man she’d been trying to avoid joined us. “Carolyn, it’s been a long time.” The man was talking to my mom, but he looked at me with a flicker of recognition. Strange. I’d never seen him in my life.

  “Not long enough,” my mom snapped.

  I gaped at her. Usually she reserved that tone for me.

  “I’m sorry.” The man’s expression fell. “I thought it would be okay to say hello.”

  “Well, it’s not.” Mom turned up her nose, and it was, honest to God, the first time I’d ever seen myself in her. The shock of it all made me light-headed. The bite in her tone caused a million questions to explode in my head. “We’re leaving now. I’d say it was good to see you, Richard, but then we’d both know I was lying.”

  Mom spun on her heel and marched away. Damn, who knew she could mic-drop like that? If she wasn’t… her, I would’ve been impressed with the exit. Not wanting to hang around the awkward scene a second longer, I turned to go.

  I needed to get answers.

  * * *

  Trying to get answers from my mom proved to be futile. She refused to speak on the way back to campus. As soon as she parked, I tried one last time. “About that man in the café. Did he do something to you? If you want to drag him through the mud, I’m here for it.”

  “For God’s sake, Brinkley. Not every man did something.”

  Sometimes I didn’t know why I bothered. I closed my eyes and counted to ten before responding. My therapist would be proud. “Obviously that man did something terrible, since you tend to save your crotchety attitude for me.”

  “I didn’t give you this much grief when you made me hide in the bushes from that nice interview candidate, so why can’t you give me the same respect when I tell you I don’t want to talk about Richard Vaden?” She got out of the car and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Thank you for lunch. I’ll call you later.”

  Without another word, she left me standing in the parking lot alone. Which meant I had to do all my digging alone. Fortunately, being a professional Heartbreaker had its perks. Margo paid top dollar to subscribe to a website that allowed us to go through anyone’s personal history, things that wouldn’t normally pop up on a Google search. It was for our safety—but today, I’d use it for more nefarious purposes. I wandered over to a nearby bench and opened my browser.

  Richard Vaden didn’t have a criminal record. He’d previously been a professor at Northwestern, which explained how he knew my mom. He’d worked in the anthropology department under Dr. Faber, but had quit to take a position at the Field Museum, where he was now a curator. Nothing else of interest about him came up. Who even knew what my mom’s deal was with him? She’d once managed to make enemies with the ducks at Diversey Harbor because they wouldn’t strut for their bread crumbs.

  I sat back and closed my eyes. I got so little time off, and this was how I chose to spend it? Stalking old guys online? Fully disgusted with myself, I shut down my browser and put my head in my hands. I couldn’t believe I’d run into Selena. If she hadn’t been with her colleagues, she could’ve very well exposed me to my mom. I was so tired of sneaking around and hiding what I did for a living. One of these days a former client—or worse, a former target—would recognize me in public, and I’d have no disguise to hide behind.

  Maybe my mom was right, inadvertently, about how I was wasting my life. I didn’t want to be a Heartbreaker forever, and ever since Margo had hired the men, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to be a Heartbreaker for the rest of the year. Emma had finally made the break. She was putting all of her grand plans into action. What was stopping me from doing the same? How long would I keep holding back from making my dream a reality?

  It wouldn’t hurt to take one more look at the place I’d already begun to think of as my gallery. Just to see how it felt. Maybe it would finally be time for me to take a leap of my own.

  I took an Uber over to River North. As soon as the driver dropped me off, I spotted a woman in her midforties locking up the place. She turned to face me, smiling with more gums than teeth. Her glasses magnified her eyes so much, they appeared as large as her lenses.

  I sucked in a breath, and a prickling sensation blew through me on the Chicago wind, like fate intervening. I had enough money for a down payment. I had a colle
ction of my own work I could sell until I was able to invite in other artists. I didn’t have any excuses left.

  “Hi.” I approached the woman. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you own this building?”

  “I do.” She dusted off her hands. “Name is Bridget. I was just doing some last-minute cleanup before a showing tonight. Are you interested?”

  “I am.” I peeked into the windows, and the space took my breath away all over again. The honey oak floors. The exposed brick wall. The Other Chicago Bean coffee shop right next door. I loved everything about this place. “Is there any chance you could give me a quick tour?”

  “Sure thing. I’m ready to get this off my hands.” Bridget unlocked the door, and the scent of fresh paint and hope filled my senses. I could feel it. This was mine.

  “I’ll take it,” I said, then immediately clamped a hand over my mouth. I was so in love with the place, I’d forgotten to play it cool. But how cool could one play it when her dream stared her in the face? I’d already been haunting the outside of this building for weeks.

  It was now or never.

  Bridget eyed me with apprehension. “I’m asking for six hundred thousand, with ten percent down. Will you be able to secure funding?”

  I didn’t even have it in me to barter for a lower price. I’d have to shuffle my setup budget around, but the inside was nearly turnkey, perfect for what I needed. “I have the down payment now. Do you need me to forward you my bank statements?”

  I did so, and once she’d confirmed I had the necessary cash, Bridget and I shook hands. She told me she still had to show the building tonight as a courtesy, but since I’d come in at full price and had the 10 percent, it was pretty much a done deal. She took my number, and we arranged to meet the next day to sign the paperwork.

  I’d secured my gallery. By myself. Without help from anyone. I’d been living alone for the past two years, but for the first time, I felt like I was really standing on my own.

  As soon as Bridget left, I hugged the front door, rubbing my cheek against the hard metal and chipped paint. The outside needed a little love. It would all be a lot of work, months before I could open, but it was mine. Every penny I’d saved, every shitty meet-cute, every day I’d dreamed had all been worth it. Even my horrendous breakup with Aiden had been worth it. If I hadn’t crawled where I did then, I wouldn’t have walked where I was now.

  Ava poked her head out of her studio and came across the street with a bottle of champagne. “I’ve been saving this for when you finally got the guts to do the thing.” She popped the cork, and beautiful bubbles spilled onto the concrete. “Welcome to the neighborhood. It’s about fucking time.” I took a swig, and the fizz matched the feeling in my head.

  I felt bold and powerful in a way I hadn’t… maybe ever. If I could secure my gallery, I could do anything. Maybe I could even make the move I’d been wanting to since that afternoon in the elevator. Before I could talk myself out of it, I said good-bye to Ava and took an Uber over to Mark’s building. I rushed up the stairs without waiting for the elevator and knocked on his door. No one answered, but I could hear the low hum of the television.

  I knocked again. “I know you’re in there. Something really huge happened for me today.”

  Insecurity set in. Maybe he didn’t want me like I thought. Still, I gave it one last try. “I’m not wearing underwear and I hope you’ll do that thing you did in the elevator with your fingers.”

  The door flung open—nothing got a guy moving faster than the promise of sex—but it wasn’t Mark on the other side. A woman in her late thirties with big brown eyes stared at me with a shocked expression.

  I glanced down to where she worried the wedding band on her left hand.

  Beside her stood a girl who couldn’t be more than twelve. She had Mark’s storm-cloud eyes, which were currently aimed at me with curiosity. “Mom, what does she mean by that thing with his fingers in the elevator?”

  Oh. My. God.

  He had a wife. And a kid. They probably went to church and played board games and ate ice cream together straight out of the container, never knowing their adoring husband/father had a side piece just a few blocks away. I had to get out of there.

  I stumbled back. As Mark appeared in the doorway, I turned and ran.

  CHAPTER 21

  I’d been so stupid to think Mark might be different. I’d given him a chance. I didn’t give anyone a chance. His sparse apartment made sense now. He’d probably bought the place but hadn’t moved in all the way. Until his family could join him, it was just his sterile little fuck pad.

  “No, you don’t. Not again.” At the end of the hallway, Mark caught me around the waist and pulled me against him. “I don’t know why you’re running, but I think you owe me an explanation this time.”

  “Get off me, you bastard.” I flung my body around and beat my fists against his chest. “You have a wife and a kid, you lying sack of dicks.”

  “Hold on. Slow down. What wife?” He whipped his head back toward his apartment. “Do you think…?” He choked, then started laughing. “Holy shit. You do. Wow. That is some serious Oedipus shit right there.”

  I put my hands on my hips to keep from hitting him again. “I fail to see how this is so funny. You just got caught cheating, and your kid now knows you finger-banged me in an elevator, so good luck with the sex talk.”

  His eyes sparked with amusement, and I wanted to light him on fire. “I’m adding that one to the highlight reel. Though it’s my sister you traumatized with an early education, not my kid.”

  “Oh, please.” I clenched my fists. Did he really think I’d buy that bullshit? “I saw the wedding ring and the kid with your eyes. The woman who answered the door is thirty-eight at most, and you’re what? Thirty-two? Did she have you when she was six?”

  “Ouch.” He laid a hand over his heart. “I’m only thirty, but I’ll try not to take it personally since my mom will be pleased. She’s actually forty-six. And since you inquired so nicely, my sister and I both got our eyes from our grandfather.”

  “Your mom is forty-six?”

  He nodded.

  “And your sister is… twelve?”

  He nodded again.

  “And that makes me a giant asshole?”

  He grinned.

  Jesus. I’d been terrified of boys at sixteen. I was still having distant and safe crushes on boy bands. In secret, so my friends wouldn’t make fun of me. But still.

  “Let me put it this way,” he said. “If that was my wife in there, why isn’t she out here confronting both of us right now?”

  An excellent point. I sniffed and patted down his chest where I’d punched him. “I’m sorry I called you a lying sack of dicks.”

  “You’re apologizing? On purpose?” He put a hand on my forehead. “Are you feeling all right? Or is the ground going to be cold tomorrow since hell has frozen over?”

  “Stop it.” I batted his hand away, but I couldn’t prevent my smile. “I’m capable of admitting when I’m wrong, and in this case, I was really wrong.”

  “Grossly wrong.” He shuddered. “Don’t be surprised if I have nightmares worse than the one where I had papier-mâché balls.”

  I pulled at a loose thread on my sweater. I wanted to tell him about my gallery, but now that I’d made things sufficiently awkward, it would be a good time to leave. “I should let you get back to your family.”

  “Nah, they’re just here to feed me and annoy me about the depressing lack of color in my apartment. They love nothing more than judging my bachelor life.”

  “I like them already.”

  “You would.”

  His mom—not wife—stepped out of the apartment and approached me. She smelled like clean cotton and oregano. “You must be Brinkley.”

  She knew my name? This could not be any more uncomfortable. I’d just come by here for a quickie, not family hour. “I’m so sorry for that awful faux pas at the door. I didn’t know Mark had company.”

  �
��No worries.” She waved it away. “I’m a nurse. I’ve heard it all. I’m just glad we get to meet properly. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Really?” I raised my eyebrows at Mark.

  “She hasn’t heard that much about you,” he grumbled.

  “I’ll bet.” I smirked.

  “You should stay for dinner.” His mom glanced back at the door. “I have to check on the pasta, but please. I made too much food as it is.”

  She hurried back inside, and Mark turned to me with a devious grin on his face.

  No. No, thank you. While I seemed to lack the shame gene everyone else possessed, I’d dealt with mothers before. Not even my own seemed to care all that much for me. “I’m not staying.”

  “Hell yeah, you are.” He slung an arm over my shoulders and pulled me against his side. “It’s going to be hilarious for me and torture for you. Trust me, there is nothing I would love more than to watch you endure that—unless you’re scared?”

  “Excuse me?” I pushed off of him, meeting his challenging stare with one of my own. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I can handle dinner with your family.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Prove it.”

  Ugh. He could be so infuriating. If I walked away now, he’d have the upper hand. Again. I could not abide that. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

  I had difficult encounters all the time. It was what I did for a living. All I had to do was adjust my posture and change the cadence of my voice—I didn’t have to really be here at all when I could easily act the part of someone else. Mark eyed me as I straightened my back and tilted my head to get into character.

  “Knock it off.” He squeezed my arms. “This isn’t an assignment. If you think you can handle a meal with my family, you come as yourself.”

  “I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be.” God, that sounded so sad. It was the truth though. Most people my age had started careers and families and 401(k)s, while I was moonlighting as Jersey Shore castoffs, low-rent Dolly Partons, and a dozen other cheap personas.