That Man 3 (18 page)

Clutching my crutches, I pivoted around. My heart plunged to my stomach and every
muscle scrunched. It was Bradley.

“Hi,” I stuttered.
Get me out of here.

“What happened to your foot?” he asked, eying me from head to toe.

“Nothing. What are you doing here?” My voice quivered.

Before Bradley could answer, a familiar saccharine voice sounded in my ear. “Sweetie
pie, look what I found. Don’t you just love the pattern?”

In a pained breath, she was in my face. Candace, Bradley’s hygienist, wearing tight-ass
jeans, mile-high stilettos, and a tight V-neck sweater that all but exposed her melon-sized
boobs. In her hand was a large dinner plate with tiny pink hearts dotting the rim.

“Oh hi, Jennifer,” she snipped in her singsong voice before placing the plate on the
glass counter.

“Hi.” I wanted to rip out her larynx and step on it.

She flung her left hand through her mane of brassy blond hair and then I saw it. My
mouth dropped open.

My engagement ring! On her fourth finger.

Bradley flushed and then flashed his mega-sized pearly white teeth. “Jen—” Unable
to complete his thought, he anxiously turned to Candace. “This place is a rip-off.
Let’s go to K-Mart and—”

Candace brusquely cut him off. “Oh, did Braddie Waddie tell you we’re engaged?” Her
possessive, predatory eyes sent daggers my way. “We’re getting married in May. We
just started picking out our registry.”

I registered her words. An unexpected, sickening feeling filled me. My pulse quickened
and then I suc­cumbed to numb­ness. “Con­grat­ulat­ions to the both of you,” I spluttered
as they argued over the plate. I hobbled away as fast as my crutches would let me.

This was all too much for me. I was shaking all over. I had to get out of here.

*

When I returned to my office, my already jumbled emotions were in a tailspin. My run-ins
at lunch had totally frayed me. Yes, marrying Bradley
would have
been the biggest mistake of my life. But I was having second thoughts. Maybe I’d
already
made the biggest mistake—breaking up with Blake. Had I overreacted to the video?
Knowing now about Bradley and Candace’s insta-engagement, maybe I should have been
grateful. Thanked him for sparing me an inevitable fate. On my drive back to the office
with Libby, I didn’t share what had happened or what was going through my chaotic
mind. I needed time to think things out. Sort them through. Come to my own conclusions.

Back in my office, I did nothing but stare at the painting on the wall.
The Kiss
. All the emotions it elicited swelled up inside me, and tears yet again welled up
in my eyes. There was a reason I couldn’t bear to take it down.
Jen, face the truth
. It was loud and clear. As much as he’d deceived me, I was still madly in love with
Blake Burns.

Was it too late to make amends? I’d shunned him, pushed him away. Could I ask for
forgiveness? Uncertainty tore through me. A sudden ping on my computer catapulted
me out of my state of despair. Just before a rush of tears. It was an e-mail from
Blake marked “Urgent” in the subject line. My heart hammered. I hesitated before opening
it—half-hoping it would say something like:

Come to my office immediately. I want to fuck you over my desk.

Love~ Blake

Opening it, I shoved my glasses on top of my head. I read it quickly. My heart sunk.

Gloria Zander needs to move our meeting to this coming Friday as she will be out of
town on the originally scheduled date. She will be here at
4 p.m. and is eager to hear about your erotic romance daytime block. Please have your
PowerPoint presentation ready.

I shuddered. Blake’s coldness sent a shiver up my spine. Not even a “hi” or “thank
you.” I had only forty-eight hours to finish the presentation. And Blake was over
me. The waterworks sprang.

*

The next forty-eight hours were pure hell. An unbearable sadness ate away at me. Blake
Burns completely ignored me, except for stopping by a few times to find out how my
PowerPoint was progressing. His presence tugged at my heartstrings, and I fought back
tears each time I told him it was going well, my eyes never leaving my computer screen.
I couldn’t look at him because I knew I would fall apart.

The truth: the presentation was progressing slowly. While I’d gotten most of it done
before the holiday break, I still had some slides to prepare and needed to spruce
it up. I had an impossible time concentrating. Blake Burns consumed my mind every
waking minute—literally since I had to pull an all-nighter, something I hadn’t done
since college. I missed him terribly, but it was over. I unsuccessfully tried to convince
myself it was for the best.

I finalized the PowerPoint at midnight on Thursday. My accomplishment lifted me out
of my doom and gloom for a fleeting moment. I was pleased with it. Based on my instincts
and Libby’s focus group research, I had a convincing story to tell. Women 18-49 were
craving erotic romance, and in the landscape of television, this programming was sorely
missing. SIN-TV had a chance to create a breakout block of programming that would
attract a new demographic and advertisers alike. Gloria’s Secret was a perfect fit.

Bleary eyed, I got into my SpongeBob PJs and crawled into bed, taking with me the
latest
Hollywood Reporter
which I hadn’t had a chance to read. It was important to stay current on what was
going on in the entertainment industry. I quickly perused the trade magazine. When
I got to the last page, which was a gossip page filled with photos of Hollywood movers
and shakers, my body did its own moving and shaking. Staring me in the face was a
photo of Blake with one of his blond bimbos all over him. Kitty-Kat no less. It was
taken last night at a fundraiser gala at The Beverly Hills Hotel. While I was slaving
away on my PowerPoint, Blake was out partying. Blake was not only over me, he had
moved on. He was back to being a player. Tears bombarded me.

I tore up the magazine and sobbed my way to sleep.

Blake

I
was a basket case. A fucking basket case. It sucked to be me.

Why couldn’t love be an open door? Jennifer McCoy was shutting me out of her life.
Emotionally and physically. She was avoiding me like the plague. The few times we
ran into each other, she gave me the cold shoulder and moved away as quickly as she
could. And she kept her office door closed. I had to knock to see her. Glued to her
computer screen, she never made eye contact with me. She looked on the verge of tears.
The amount of pain I’d caused her was immeasurable. The amount of hatred she felt
toward me unfathomable. I desperately wanted to tell her again how sorry I was and
ask for forgiveness. And tell her how much I loved her. And then hold her in my arms
and smother her with kisses. But her behavior made me feel like I was a persona non-gratis.
It was plain and simple. She was done with me.

On Monday and Tuesday, I left work early. My beautiful tiger had eaten me up. Gnawed
at my heart and torn it apart. Unable to focus, I drove home, drowned my sorrows with
a couple of beers, and then crawled under the covers. Usually a sound sleeper, I tossed
and turned. Trying to fall asleep, I even masturbated thinking about her. But wanking
off didn’t help. It made matters worse. Jaime’s words spun in my head:
Don’t give up on her.
But how was I supposed to do that when she’d given up on me?

Wednesday at work was no better. In fact, it was worse. More disheartening. I was
going to ask Jennifer out for lunch under the pretense of discussing business, but
when I popped into her office, she was gone. When she returned, she seemed even glummer
and more un­app­roach­able. She coldly told me she was working on her Gloria’s Secret
presentation and that it would be ready in time for our meeting on Friday. Before
I could say another word, she asked me to leave so she could keep working. As I slogged
toward the door to her office, I glanced at
The Kiss
. Surprised the painting was still hanging on the wall, I surmised it was just a matter
of time before it vanished. Until every memory of me was gone. The sight of it frazzled
me. Why the fuck didn’t I just ravish her? Take her in my arms and give her a kiss
that would make her fall apart? And fall again for me? She may have been a wounded
tiger, but she was brave. As for me, the former king of the jungle, I was reduced
to being a cowardly lion. My heart roared with pain.

I would have gone home early and crawled into bed again had I not had a fucking gala
to attend. It was a fundraiser for an autistic children’s charity my mother supported.
Still vacationing in Aruba, my parents had called me and asked me to represent them
at the ten thousand dollar table they’d purchased. As much as I wasn’t in the mood
to go, I couldn’t say no. At six o’clock, I headed over to The Beverly Hills Hotel
where the event was taking place. On my way out of the office, I passed by Jennifer’s
office. The door was closed.

I’d been to hundreds of these kinds of benefits. They were always the same. A cocktail
hour followed by a long, boring ballroom awards dinner with bad food, drawn out speeches,
and mediocre entertainment.

This was a very high profile event and paparazzi swarmed the cocktail lounge. I recognized
many of the faces—close friends of my parents. Most of them billionaires, many of
them celeb­rit­ies. Drink­ing cham­pagne, I politely made small talk with a few but
stayed aloof. I wanted to leave.

A boyishly good-looking man about my age sauntered up to me. There was a slight swish
to his walk. He was wearing one of those new fashionable men’s shorts suits I wouldn’t
be caught dead in and was munching on some hors d’oeuvres. He looked vaguely familiar
to me—in fact, I was positive I’d seen him at Jaime’s art gallery party as well as
the Conquest Broadcasting Christmas Ball. I zeroed in on his tie. It was a Burberry
plaid one—exactly like the one Jennifer had worn as a blindfold in that game of Truth
or Dare.

“Hi,” he said with a snap of his free hand. “You’re Blake Burns, right?” I could tell
from the pitch of his voice and manner of dress he was gay.

“Yeah. Who are you?”

“Chaz Clearfield. Libby’s brother.”

I twitched a smile. “Nice to meet you.” I was in no mood for conversation, especially
with the flamboyant brother of that annoying researcher.

“So, I hear you and my Jen—”

Before he could finish his sentence, we had company.

“Well, if it isn’t Blake Burns.”

It was Kitty-Kat, one of my former hook-ups, all decked out in a body-hugging cat-eye-green
mini-dress. Holding a flute of champagne, she sandwiched herself between Chaz and
me. She was right in my face.

“Aren’t we rude?” snickered Chaz.

She sneered.

“Hi, Kitty,” I stammered. “How have you been?” The last time I’d seen her was at Jaime
Zander’s art gallery opening. She had stalked me.

“Great,” she purred, pressing her big plastic tits against me. “I’ve missed you. Where
have you been?”

“I’ve been busy.” I wished she would leave.

“Blake Burns, can we take your photo?” another voice called out. It was one of the
many paparazzi floating amongst the crowd.

Before I could make a mad dash for it, Kitty-Kat yanked me to the side and wrapped
her arms around my neck. “Smile,” she said and then smacked her fat injected lips
against mine.

FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!
Shit. The photographer had gotten me kissing her before I was able to escape. As
his camera blinded me, a chill ran down my spine. Who knew where these photos would
appear?

I’d had enough of this event. Enough of Kitty. I pulled away from her. She was miffed.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Blake?” she hissed.

“Home.” I said good-bye to Chaz who’d witnessed the whole miserable scene.