Very wrong.
Bailey hadn’t said another word in the conversation but listened intently, nodding at various intervals as if the person on the other end of the phone line could see her. The normally pale skin I adored on her face had gone ghostly white.
Dropping to the sofa beside her, I waited to see what I could do to help or comfort her.
“I see. Where is he now?” She paused, presumably to let the person answer her question, and then continued. “Thank you. No. I know where that is. Yes. I’m leaving right now.” She stood and then immediately sat back down again, bewildered and trembling. “No, I was with my trainer. I’ll leave right now.” She rose to her feet once more, this time patting her pockets looking for something. “Yes. Yes, thank you.” She stopped again, turning away from me and swiping at her cheek like I had seen her do earlier when I teased her for crying while watching the movie. “Is he…is he…” Her voice, barely audible, cracked. “Is he alive?”
She pressed a button on her phone and tossed it into her purse after I handed it to her. I was smart enough to put the pieces together from what I heard of the conversation. Bailey looked at me, tears welling up in her eyes once more.
I held my arms open for her, and she quietly stepped into my embrace, sobbing against my chest while I stroked her hair. There wasn’t a lot I could say. Her husband was either dead or clinging to life, and whatever had happened, it occurred while she was with me.
Finally, when she pulled back, I offered, “Why don’t I drive you? I don’t think you’re in any shape to be behind the wheel. We don’t need a second tragedy tonight.”
“Okay. I think that’s a good idea. Can you drive me in my car, though? I don’t need reporters seeing me pull up in a strange car. They’re already going to have a field day with this mess.”
“Of course. We can even swap a few blocks away. You can drive the final stretch, and I can Uber back here.”
“You wouldn’t mind doing that?” Her green eyes had darkened with emotion.
“Not at all. I just want to be here for you. Can you tell me what’s going on?” I didn’t want to pry, but I wanted to know exactly what we were dealing with.
“I’ll explain on the way. I need to get to the hospital, and I’m guessing we’re about twenty minutes from Cedars?”
“That’s fair. Plus, traffic shouldn’t be bad at this hour.” I took a quick peek at my watch to confirm the time after making the promising remark. “Let me just grab my phone and wallet, and we can go.”
Bailey explained the situation while I drove us to Cedars. Her husband had been brought in after a 9-1-1 call was made from a hotel on the opposite side of the city from where she and her husband lived.
“Was he at an event this evening?” Maybe I sounded naïve, but I didn’t want to assume the worst about a guy I didn’t even know. After seeing the look she threw my way, I realized the only event he had been attending was a private party for two.
“Oooohhhh…I understand now… I’m sorry. I guess—”
“Why are you apologizing, Oliver? My husband hasn’t been faithful for years. Maybe ever. It’s not your sin to atone for.” Bailey’s tone was so matter-of-fact, it was disturbing. Out of place. I didn’t know how to react, so I concentrated on driving, even though traffic was unusually light and her little sports car handled like a dream. The silence in the car thickened like the June morning coastal fog. If I said something at that point, it would have been even more awkward than if I had said something immediately after her cold remark about her husband’s infidelity.
“Please don’t judge me,” she finally said. Although it was said quietly, it shattered the silence like a tiny tap to a windowpane that splintered the entire surface. I wanted to pull off the road and take her in my arms, comfort her not only for what she was enduring in the moment but for what she had tolerated for countless years.
“Judging you is the last thing on my mind, Bailey. I want to comfort you…I don’t know—exact justice on your behalf—somehow take all the pain away.”
“Pain? From him cheating?” She scoffed, and I immediately felt defensive. “Oliver. Be serious. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I married him. He always had his sights set on a career in politics. Even when we were at Berkeley. That’s all he could think about—dream about. And I was right there alongside him.” Her voice drifted off to wistful midway through the speech.
“I was part of his big plan. The good wife. The perfect politician’s wife. And unfortunately, I learned rather quickly, with power, came groupies.” I could see her look in my direction from my peripheral vision while I drove. “It’s not just for actors and musicians, you know. Young ladies—and young men—have no qualms about sleeping around to get what they want. And people in positions of influence, even in the local offices like my husband, are all too willing to oblige them. The thrill of their own importance goes to their head, and before you know it, they find themselves in a hotel room across town, having massive cardiac arrest while the flavor of the month keeps riding their Viagra-induced boner until they realize he’s actually unconscious from a medical emergency and not the designer drug they both did just minutes before.”
When Bailey finally finished talking, she sagged back into the contour of the seat and burst into tears, burying her face in her hands while her entire body trembled with emotion.
At the next street, I pulled over, put the car into park, and turned off the headlights but left the engine running. I unfastened my seat belt so I could turn fully toward Bailey in the passenger seat.
“Bailey.” I stroked her hair while she cried, but she wouldn’t look at me. I wanted to hold her in my arms, but the damn center console made it impossible. “I want to hold you so badly right now. Come here. Let me touch you at least… I feel so helpless sitting here watching you sob.”
Finally, she came into my embrace the best she could and let me comfort her while she cried. I cooed and shushed her, not really knowing what else to do while she let her emotions free. We sat there for a few short minutes before she abruptly pulled back and sat squarely in the passenger seat again, apparently deciding crying time was over.
“I’m sorry you had to see all of that.” Her voice was hoarse with tears, but she cleared her throat a few times, banishing the nuisance evidence betraying her humanity.
“I’m not. I’m grateful you trusted me enough to share your emotions.” I tried to keep my voice level, while inside I was furious watching what she was putting herself through.
“Who are you?” she murmured, shaking her head.
“Sorry?” She continued to baffle me.
“I mean what person, what guy even says something like that?”
Although it wasn’t intended to be an insult, it was rubbing me as if it were. “I don’t know? A real one? I know that was probably a rare moment. Especially based on the little bit you just shared with me, so I felt like thanking you for trusting me enough to open up in front of me was in order. I won’t betray your confidence.”
“Well, I appreciate that, Oliver. I really do. We need to go to the hospital, though. Hopefully he’s still alive. They didn’t sound hopeful when they called before.” She pulled down the visor to check her makeup in the small light-up mirror on the back side.
“Okay. It’s just a few more miles. Do you want to take it from here? This is a pretty quiet street. I doubt there are any reporters this far away from the hospital.” As much as I hated to leave her, it was as good a time as any.
“You’re probably right. Are you sure you’ll be okay?” she asked, her voice concerned and strong once more.
I just gave her my best “be serious” look and got out of the driver’s side of the car.
When we met at the back of the vehicle, I quickly took her in my arms and held her close. She felt so small and vulnerable in my arms, and I wished I could be with her at the hospital but understood why she needed to keep up appearances. I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers, wanting to
part with the taste of her on my tongue. We meshed our mouths but then parted too quickly.
“Please let me know if I can do anything for you. Anything at all.” I said the words against her hair, breathing in her scent to memorize everything I could about her.
“I will. I’ll call you when I can. It may be a while, though. You understand?” She looked up to me, eyes so emerald in the light from the streetlamps.
“Yeah. Sure. I get it. I’ll be thinking about you.” Really, what more could I say?
“Okay. Thanks, Oliver.” She kissed me softly, one last time.
“Bye, Bailey. Take care of yourself.”
“You do the same.”
With that, she got back in her little car, the same one I remembered watching her drive away from the Kimpton on the second night we met, and sped off toward Cedars-Sinai. I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of a relationship could really be built with a woman who I routinely watched drive away. The bone-deep fear that it would be the last time I’d ever see her was probably answer enough.
Just when I thought I’d found a woman I could really enjoy spending time with, fate played its cruel symphony from an out-of-tune orchestra.
A show for which I would not stand and demand an encore.
Chapter Nine
The weekend went by slowly. I tried to stay busy with organizing my business plan for Book Boyfriend Inc. I did research online regarding business license requirements, fictitious business name filings, becoming a limited liability corporation versus incorporating fully, and other such exciting things.
While the smaller details made my eyes roll back in my head, I was really energized by the prospect of taking the idea to the next level and becoming a legitimate business. The growing popularity of “investment dating” was going to be where I would capitalize the most. While services commonly focused on men as the investors, women were being ignored. Until now, at least. There was a gap in the market, and I had every intention of filling it. I found a few company sites I really admired. Their business models looked like something I could emulate and their philosophies lined up with mine, so I bookmarked those to research more and possibly join to see how they ran from the inside out. However, researching dating services opened a whole other can of worms I didn’t expect. The gray area between dating service and prostitution wasn’t as wide as I had originally thought. No wonder Skye was so angry the first night I’d sprung the concept on her.
Speaking of my best friend, she still hadn’t wandered in from her night with her girlfriends, and by that point, nearly thirty-six hours had passed. I checked in with her twice, and both times she said she was fine, just nursing a dreadful hangover at her college dorm roommate Laura’s house. I resisted texting a jab about not being able to keep up with the kids anymore and moved down to Bailey’s name on the screen instead.
She had texted twice throughout the night with brief updates. Her husband was not well, unstable and likely not going to survive the massive heart attack he’d had. She didn’t want to go into any of the details of the actual incident that led up to the attack via text, and I respected that. I offered to bring her food or a change of clothes, but she said her assistant was already there with her and was handling everything, so at least I knew she was in good hands. I hadn’t heard any more from her for about twelve hours. I checked the local news feed online and had the television on the local station with the sound muted, but as of that morning, there was nothing being reported on the news. It made me realize I didn’t even know Bailey’s last name, nor did I know much about her husband, other than he held a local office.
Maybe Skye would know. I sent her a quick message and hopped into the shower. It was already past noon, and I couldn’t handle sitting inside any longer. Just as I was stepping out of the steamy glass stall, my cell phone rang from the vanity. When I saw Bailey’s number, my heart leaped like a high schooler seeing his big crush in the hall between classes.
“Hey, beautiful. How are things?”
“Hi, Oliver. I hope I’m not calling at a bad time. I realize it’s Sunday.”
“What does that have to do with anything? And I’m so glad you called. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. Tired, but okay. And a lot of people save Sunday for family. Or church. I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off.
“Nah, I’m all alone. Not much of a church guy either, so you’re good. And like I said, I’m glad you called. You’re all I can think about. I’ve been so worried. I wish I could be there with you. I hate that you’re having to go through this alone.” I wrapped a towel around my waist and went to sit on my bed while we talked.
“I’m not alone. My assistant has been here. She’s great. And William’s assistant came by earlier. She’s really nice too. He didn’t always get along with her, but she’s loyal and smart. She’ll make a good candidate to replace him now.”
Bailey sounded so detached it was unsettling. I was starting to recognize it was how she handled heavy emotion. She just shifted into autopilot and became very businesslike. Very robotic.
“Wait. What are you saying? Has your husband—?” I stopped mid-question, not quite able to bring myself to ask if he’d passed.
“No. Not yet. Not technically, at least. The doctors say there is no brain activity now. We…well, I will have to decide how long he will remain on life support. I know his wishes were to not live this way, so I need to respect that. I just need to prepare a statement, make sure some details are handled first.”
I wasn’t sure I was hearing her right. And I wasn’t sure I could wrap my head around it if I were. In one moment she was talking about taking her husband off life support, and in the next breath, she was worried about a press release and his successor at his job. What a fucked-up reality. Was she really that cold inside, or had life in politics warped her?
I flashed back to our dinner at the Kimpton. Bailey had made reference to hiding behind a mask, that when the light shone just right, you caught a glimpse of the real her. Was that actually a warning? Was the underbelly of the political world she lived in alongside her husband so dark and mutated that nothing, or rather no one, was who they appeared to be?
“Are you still there?” Bailey’s question brought my attention back to our phone conversation.
“Yeah. I’m here. Sorry,” I said. “I’m just…yeah. Sorry. I wish I had something better than that.” The good manners ingrained in me as a boy and the natural empathy that was just part of my elemental makeup overrode the alarm bells sounding in my head, and I went with what my heart told me was right. “What can I do for you now, though? I feel so impotent stuck here. Is there really no way I can be there with you? A friend of the family in the media’s eye?” I asked hopefully. There was just no denying it. I was head over heels for her. The thought of being able to see her again, in any capacity, energized me.
“Hmmm. That might work. And we can twist it into something if we think hard enough. Say you were working with William on some public outreach project or something since your face is so recognizable. I mean, I would really like to see you. It would be so good to be with you right now.”
Interesting, the differences in the woman I cared about. There was the one who let her guard down and said the last statement. Then there was the good politician’s wife who said she was fine and that her assistant was there and handling everything. It was hard to reconcile the two, and if she and I continued to explore a relationship with each other, we were going to have to set some ground rules about hiding behind that mask of hers.
Suddenly, something smacked me in the face like a glass of ice water.
“Your husband is William Hardin? The city manager?” I croaked.
“Yes. Why do you ask? Haven’t we talked about that before?”
“Shit.” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the tension grip me like fingers.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice grew tighter in response to mine.
“Skye Delaney is his assistant.” The w
ords came out like a robot, a statement rather than a question.
“Yes, she’s a lovely woman. Do you know her?” she spoke slowly, trying to find the meaning in what I was saying.
“She’s my best friend and roommate.” There was no sense being obtuse. And that also explained where Skye had been for the past almost two days. So much for the killer hangover.
“Oh.” There was a moment of silence while Bailey put some mental pieces together. “Have you told her about us? I mean, how we met and all?” I wasn’t shocked that’s what she homed in on as most worrisome. Image above all else, after all.
“No. I didn’t even know your last name. I mean, she knows what I’ve been doing to make ends meet. But no, I didn’t tell her that I met someone I cared for—that our first encounter was through Book Boyfriend. I haven’t really seen her a whole lot lately. To be honest, your husband kind of runs her ragged.”
The moment the words left my lips, I wished I could recall them. I had gotten in such a habit of bad-mouthing Hardin, I didn’t pay mind to whom I was speaking or the situation at hand. Just being a first-class—or classless—asshole, thank you very much.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. Such an idiot.” I silently banged my head against the wall of my bedroom a few times in self-flagellation.
“No, it’s true. William has always been a workaholic. It’s probably one of the things that led to his heart condition. I’d been bugging him to see a doctor recently. He’d put on weight, and the stress of campaign season is tough on everyone. If a mayor is elected who doesn’t have faith in him, he’ll be replaced. I’m sure you see it with Skye too.”
“She thrives on it, though. It scares me a little, actually. I think she seeks out stressful situations sometimes just for the thrill of it. Like an adrenaline junky. At least she takes care of herself otherwise. I try to feed her healthy food, but the girl loves bacon like a red-blooded American farm boy.” I laughed, thinking of the breakfast I’d made her to atone for my selfish behavior just a few days ago.
Misadventures with a Book Boyfriend Page 9
