by Beth Merlin
I nodded and reached for the towel behind me. “For whatever it’s worth, I do think you’re entitled to at least that,” I said to Zosia.
She smiled and squeezed my arm. “See you later, Joanna.”
I rinsed off and sat down in the stylist’s chair, where he breathed new life into my dull, dry hair, while his assistant taught me how to achieve the most perfect no makeup-makeup look. When he was finished, the stylist reached around the chair and handed me a T-shirt that said, I am currently under construction, thank you for your patience. A large grin broke out across my face.
“There it is, the pièce de résistance,” the makeup artist said. “A smile. You’re a model, right?”
I laughed. “No, I’m only 5’2.”
“Actress, then?”
“I was. A long time ago.”
“I knew it, someone with your bone structure belongs on the stage.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
“Kind nothing. I call ’em like I see ’em. Okay, now for the big reveal. Ready?” The stylist swiveled my chair around, so I faced the floor-to-ceiling mirror. I tilted forward to study my face, hardly recognizing my reflection. Not because I looked different, but because for the first time in weeks, I resembled my former self again. The stylist leaned in so we were cheek to cheek. “See, you don’t need a dramatic haircut or overhaul. Nothing makes a woman more beautiful than the belief she is beautiful.”
Chapter Thirteen
I walked into the hotel’s massive dining room and scanned the space for an empty chair. This was the first time in as long as I could remember that I would be eating a meal completely alone. Usually, I had my phone or book for company, but tonight, I was wholly unarmed. I spotted a seat by the large bay window overlooking the ocean and started walking toward it when I heard my name being shouted from across the room.
Zosia waved her hands around in the air. “Joanna darling, come sit with us.”
I turned my head and immediately recognized the woman sitting across from Zosia at their small table as mega popstar Emmy J. Every week, Emmy J’s face graced the cover of one tabloid or another, her name linked to one famous actor or musician. Her life seemed to be a revolving door of men, never dating any one person for more than a couple of months. Each tragic relationship seemed to give rise to a hit song or album, her fans almost relishing in her heartbreak.
Most recently it was reported she was dating Matthew Ryder, a famous director known for big-budget superhero franchise movies and, according to Us Weekly, she was expecting a proposal from him any day. I had to assume things with their relationship went south, otherwise why would she be at a breakup retreat?
I slid into the seat next to Zosia.
“Joanna, this is Emmy,” she said, pointing to her friend. “Joanna and I met at the spa earlier today.”
I placed my napkin on my lap and tried not to look as intimidated as I felt. In what alternate universe would I be having dinner with Zosia Barry and Emmy J?
Emmy put down her fork and extended her hand. “Lovely to meet you, Joanna.”
I smiled politely. “You too.”
A server came over to our table and passed each of us a menu.
“Good evening, ladies. Can I get you started with a cocktail?”
“I’ll take a rosé,” Zosia said.
Emmy nodded her head. “Oh, that sounds good. I’ll take one too.”
The server turned to me. “How about you?”
I decided I’d take it easy on the drinking while I was at Boot Camp. I tapped on my glass. “I’m good with just water, thank you.”
“This place is soooo much better than rehab,” Emmy said after the server was out of earshot.
I blinked hard.
“She’s kidding,” Zosia said.
“I’m kidding,” Emmy repeated. “Fortunately, men are my only vice. I always seem to pick the wrong ones.”
“Maybe the wrong ones pick you?” I said.
“You know, I never really thought about it like that. Wow, only a few hours into the Boot Camp and already I’m making progress,” Emmy said, winking at me.
The server came back with the wine and set it on the table. “Ladies, may I take your dinner orders?”
I glanced down at the paper menu and read through the list of appetizers. Each one sounded better than the next—market radishes served with local seasoned butters, house-made ricotta with cranberry compote and grilled focaccia bread, roasted kabocha squash toast with fresh burrata and a honey drizzle.
“Our chef offers menus that let the ingredients speak for themselves. He utilizes our vegetable and herb garden in almost every dish and then works with other local farmers and farmers markets to source local produce, cheeses, seafood, and meats.”
Zosia leaned into the table and lowered her voice. “The chef here is supposed to be a huge deal. He trained under Thomas Keller and Dan Barber.”
I was far from a foodie, but I did recognize both of those names as two of the most celebrated farm-to-table chefs in the world. Over our engagement weekend in Napa, Sam managed to get us a reservation at The French Laundry, Thomas Keller’s world-renowned, three-Michelin-starred restaurant, where we had the most incredible meal of my life. I never considered food to be art until I experienced French Laundry’s nine-course tasting menu, famous for not using the same ingredient more than once in any dish.
“I’ll have the roasted squash toast to start and the Bay Scallops as my main,” I said.
“Wonderful,” the server said, collecting the menus.
A few minutes later, Louisa Brier came to the center of the dining hall and tapped her microphone to get the room’s attention.
“I’m so pleased to welcome all of you to the Retreat House Breakup Boot Camp.”
The smattering of applause quickly started dying down as the realization of why we were all gathered together sank in. While the spa was amazing, the food outstanding, and the accommodations top-notch, there wasn’t a single person in that room who wouldn’t have gladly given all of it up in exchange for their heart to be fully intact again.
“Everyone looks refreshed and rejuvenated from their Breakovers and ready to face the next two weeks head-on. I wanted to make a couple of introductions to some of the folks who will be instrumental in your healing. First, the head of our yoga and meditation program, Jillian Davies,” Louisa said, pointing to a table in the front of the room. A super toned redhead in a black body suit and skintight white jeans stood up and gave a quick wave.
“Next, our on-site relationship therapist. You may recognize him from his hit show on MTV, Love Rules, Dr. Corey Pritchard, or as he’s known around here, Dr. P.”
A good-looking older gentleman with a shaved head swiveled around in his chair and nodded to the audience.
“Finally, the Director of the Retreat House Surf School and Camp, Austin Tripp.”
What I guessed to be a twenty-something guy with bleached-out blond hair and very intense tan for this early into the summer hopped up from his seat and gave the room a quick salute.
Austin made me think of the mysterious surfer I spotted on the beach earlier that day. My eyes darted around the room to look for him, but he wasn’t there. He must’ve been a guest of the hotel and not the Boot Camp?
“I think Austin over there could help me forget all about Matt,” Emmy said.
Zosia set her glass down. “I’m pretty sure sex with a Boot Camp staff member is strictly verboten.”
“I didn’t see that listed in the rules, did you, Joanna?”
I turned back to face them. “Sorry? What?”
“Sex with a staffer, do you think it’s allowed?”
“I haven’t given it much thought.”
“You haven’t? I’ve been banging everything that moves since Matt left me. Sex may not be the only way to get over an ex, but it sure is the most fun.”
“I wouldn’t know. I have never been with anyone other than my ex.”
“You mean anyone
since him, right?”
I shook my head. “No, I mean I’ve never slept with anyone besides Sam.”
Zosia dropped the fork she was holding onto her plate with a loud clatter, causing a few heads in the room to turn and look at us. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m like, what, twenty-five years older than you, and even I’ve had my share of lovers.”
“Sam and I met in high school and had been together ever since.”
The server came by to deliver our food. Since breaking up with Sam, I’d almost completely lost my appetite, mostly sustaining myself on take-out Chinese food and coffee. But, everything on the table looked delicious, and my stomach let out a long, low growl. I picked up my fork and dug into the roasted squash. It tasted every bit as good as it smelled, and I devoured the toast in a matter of minutes.
Emmy glanced down at my left hand. “Were you two married?”
“No, not yet. Engaged. We were supposed to get married this August.”
“Trust me, you dodged a bullet there. Once kids, homes, and joint accounts are involved, it becomes a whole different story,” Zosia said.
Louisa suddenly appeared at our table and sat down in the empty chair.
“Ladies, how was everything today?” she asked.
“Wonderful,” Zosia answered.
She turned to me. “Joanna?”
“The food’s amazing,” I answered.
“I’ll give your compliments to the chef,” she said.
“We’d love to meet him,” Emmy said.
“He’s a bit of a hermit. You can usually find him in our gardens, kitchen, or on a surfboard. He’s not much for mingling with the guests. Your best shot of meeting him is to sign up for a private cooking lesson although the slots fill up pretty quick.” Louisa stood up. “Well, I’ll let you ladies finish up your meals and get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow, the real work begins.”
Zosia reached into her tote and pulled out the next day’s schedule from inside her welcome folder.
I leaned over the table to read the sheet of paper. Discovering Your Inner Dominatrix with Mistress Monica; How to Tap into Your Power and Retake Control of Your Love Life.
Zosia raised her eyebrows. “Discovering your inner dominatrix, huh? She wasn’t kidding about getting a good night’s rest.”
Chapter Fourteen
I slept with the double French doors wide open all night, the ocean breeze bumping up against the white netting of the canopy bed like a soothing lullaby. The last few weeks of insomnia, not to mention the stress of traveling and being in a brand-new environment, finally caught up with me, and I was out cold before my head even hit the pillow.
In the morning, I was jolted awake by the loud voices of the surfers running sprints up and down the beach and the sound of my phone buzzing like crazy on the nightstand. I turned the phone over and saw four missed calls from Merritt and several texts, checking to see if I made it to Topsail okay. I glanced over at the clock. It was 5:00 am in LA, but I hit the call back button anyway.
“Oh good, you’re alive,” she deadpanned.
“What are you doing up so early?”
“Alec’s teething. Poor baby’s been up almost all night.”
“You must be completely exhausted.”
“Naomi’s having me try this new thing. She wants me to try replacing the word exhausted with the word grateful. So, to answer your question, yes, I’m very grateful right now.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. The Boot Camp has a strict no-phone policy, so I left it charging in the room during my Breakover.”
“Your what? Don’t tell me you got some ridiculous pixie cut like Katy Perry post Orlando Bloom.”
“I liked her pixie cut. But no, nothing as extreme me as that.”
“Thank God, you don’t have the ears to pull off a pixie cut. So, tell me, how is it?”
I stood up and pulled the sea blue curtains away from the French doors and looked out to the ocean. “It’s beautiful here. The type of place I’d have loved to go with Sam.”
“Are you sure this was such a good idea? I thought the Boot Camp was supposed to help you get over Sam.”
“Maybe I’m still detoxing? By the way, you’ll never guess who’s here.”
“At the Boot Camp? Who?”
“Zosia Barry and Emmy J.”
“Emmy J., like famous popstar Emmy J.? Wow, what’s she like?”
“Nice. They both are. But you know how it is, misery loves company.”
She sighed heavily into the phone. “Joey, please try to take advantage of the next two weeks. It’s not just about Sam. You’ve been in a funk ever since mom died. But you must forgive yourself, it’s high time.”
“What about Dad? He still hasn’t forgiven me.”
“The two of you just need to talk. Maybe when the camp’s over, you can come to LA for a few days.”
“I promised Stephen I’d be back in time for the Cats producer’s showcase.”
Voices carried into my room from the beach. The surfers, finished with their morning set, were walking back toward the hotel, their boards in tow.
“Hey, Jo, Alec’s crying again, I have to go,” Merritt said.
I shut the patio doors. “Yeah, me too, but I’ll try to call in couple of days, I promise.”
“Don’t worry about me. Remember what I said and try to take advantage of these next few weeks, and don’t hold back. This time is as much about you as it is about Sam.”
I hung up and hurried to breakfast on the seaside patio. Zosia and Emmy were already sipping coffees at a table with views out to the ocean. I got in line at the farm fresh omelet station, collected my veggie frittata, and joined them at their four-top.
Zosia stretched her arms up and over her head. “I don’t know about you guys, but I slept great last night. I was up at six, went for a swim in the ocean, and then joined one of the morning meditation classes. What about you two?”
“Bikram Yoga,” Emmy said.
They both glanced over in my direction. I set my coffee down. “I slept in, but tomorrow, I’m definitely signing up for the surf school. I’ve always wanted to learn,” I said.
Louisa swept by our table. “Ladies, when you’re finished, you can start making your way to the Grand Oaks ballroom for your first seminar, Discovering Your Inner Dominatrix.”
Zosia leaned into the table after Louisa was out of earshot. “I googled Mistress Monica last night. She has quite the reputation in the porn industry.”
I felt my face flush. I wasn’t a prude, exactly, but I wouldn’t call myself sexually adventurous, either. Sam and I had what I thought was a healthy sex life, even if we’d been in a bit of a dry spell lately. But I figured, when you dated someone as long as I had dated Sam, it was only natural things would eventually start to cool down.
As we walked to the ballroom, my mind drifted back to a few months ago, when Sam surprised me with a romantic weekend at a small bed and breakfast in Mystic, Connecticut, just a block from the Mystic River. The trip was exactly what we needed, a chance to unplug and reconnect. The B & B he chose was picture perfect, complete with a wraparound porch, rocking chairs, and hanging swing.
The first night we walked hand in hand around the Olde Mystick Village with its quaint shops and Colonial period buildings. Having grown up in Southern California, we both loved the history and charm of New England towns. That night, we got back to the hotel and had drinks at the small mahogany bar adjacent to the dining room. We ordered our favorite Napa red, and Sam drank maybe half a glass, while I ended up polishing off the entire bottle, as had become a habit in the months after my mom died. After I was good and hammered, Sam helped me upstairs, where I proceeded to pick a huge fight with him, something that had also become a habit in the months after my mom died.
When I woke up in the morning, Sam was gone. I found a note on the nightstand saying he was taking a taxi back to the city and had left the keys to our car, so I could get myself hom
e. When I got back to our apartment, I showered and changed into Sam’s favorite piece of lingerie, a sexy yet demure La Perla black-and-nude nightie trimmed with tulle ruffles and Leaver lace. I assumed Sam had gone into his office for the day and would be back around dinnertime, but he never came home that night. The next morning, he called to tell me he crashed at Evan’s, but now, I could only wonder if my antics had driven him straight to Lena’s bed instead?
The first thing Louisa had us do when we entered the Grand Oaks ballroom was make our way to the large metal rack of clothing in the back of the room.
“Ladies,” she said, “we have a large selection of outfits you can choose from for this seminar. It’s not a requirement, but it does add to the overall experience.”
I thought back to what Merritt said about not holding back, and I walked over to the rack of hangers filled with black, red, and pink latex bodysuits, leather chaps, bustiers, lacy bras, garters, and hand-studded motorcycle jackets.
Zosia and Emmy were already giddily trying on different items from the collection. I ran my hand down the hangers and stopped at a pleated silver pleather mini skirt and matching bandeau top, snatching it off the rack. If I thought the black sequined dress I bought for dinner with Sam a few weeks ago was out of character, this outfit was a complete departure from anything I’d ever worn before.
I went behind the folding room divider and changed out of my jean shorts and T-shirt, into the silver getup. It fit like a second skin, hugging every square inch of my figure. Immediately, I understood why superheroes liked to run around in Spandex and Lycra. Your body felt freer, more athletic, and yes, even powerful.
There was a light knock on the divider. I peeked my head out from the side. Emmy was holding out a pair of silver knee-high lace-up boots.
“Here, these will complete the look. Size seven, right?”
I nodded, and she passed me the shoes. I strapped myself into them and came out from behind the partition to join the rest of the class already seated in rows facing the large bay window. After the last of the stragglers found chairs, Louisa walked over to the podium and tapped the microphone twice to make sure it was on.
