Authors: Angela Archer
The driver nodded to Lisa’s demand and stood at attention as she trotted back to the building. His silhouette blocked some of the sunlight from shining through the tinted windows.
My rump scooted across the seat and the crinkled noise from my dress rubbing against the leather echoed in the silence of the empty cab.
I slipped off my shoes and kicked them to the side, stubbing my toe on the ice bucket in the corner. The top of the Cristal champagne bottle that I had special ordered poked out of the cold cubes of frozen water. Its gold-foiled label glinted with one of the few rays of sunlight that peaked through the dark tint.
A token for celebration, and yet, I had nothing to celebrate.
I grabbed the neck of the bottle and yanked it out of the bucket. Water dripped from the thick green glass as my fingers traced over the lettering.
Just another expense I paid for that would go to waste.
Or would it?
I ripped at the gold foil, peeling it away from the bottle until I exposed the cork. I untwisted the tiny wires then wiggled the cork until finally . . .
POP!
The sound burst through my chest. Bubbles oozed out, spilling all over the carpet of the limo. I stuck the top of bottle in my mouth, tipping it until the crisp, sparkling, tangy champagne hit my lips. I chugged a couple of sips until my eyes burned and I fought a cough.
The door next to me flung open. Sunlight blinded me as I stuck my head out to glance around.
“Put your head back inside.” With her words muffled, Lisa pointed at me while she held her bouquet clenched in her teeth.
“Helen?” Mom screamed from across the parking lot as she exited the doors with all the other guests. Her shouted volume caught the attention of everyone around her and they all turned toward me.
Super.
“Helen, what’s going on? Where are you going?”
“I promise she’ll call you in just a bit, Susanne.” Lisa’s voice bellowed across the parking lot as she climbed in beside me and shut the door. “Well, that certainly couldn’t have gone worse. People kept trying to stop and ask me questions as I tried to pack up your bag. Thanks a lot for leaving everything strewn all over the room, by the way.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly plan on leaving the church like this.”
“I know, I’m sorry. Ben’s taken care of everything. Let’s just get you to our house and out of that dress.” She eyed the champagne bottle. “Care to pour me a glass?”
I lifted the bottle to my lips, chugged a few more gulps, and then shoved the bottle toward her, holding it in my outstretched hand.
“Why bother with a glass?”
TWO
CURSE YOU, LISA. How in the world did I ever let you talk me into this?
My napkin lay shredded into hundreds of little pieces on the café table. The anxiety that had clawed at my stomach all day had now manifested into the mass murder of the layers of cotton paper—an innocent victim harmed as I sat in the restaurant waiting for Travis, my blind date.
A blind date that has obviously stood me up.
“Here’s your check and I’ll be your cashier, when you’re ready.” The server smiled as she grasped the stem of the empty wine glass sitting next to the pile of fluff.
I laid down several bills on top of the thin slip of paper as I slid from the seat, nearly pulling the chair over in my haste.
“I don’t need any change.”
“Well, thank you. I hope you have a great rest of your night.”
“You’re welcome. And you, too.”
I shoved through the café doors. Anger pulsed through my veins with each click of my heels. Another disaster of a night I didn’t need. Another notch in my bad date belt. Another failure when it came to entertaining the thoughts of a possible relationship.
I pressed the unlock button on my keychain, but as I glanced up at my car, I halted.
Wait . . . that can’t be . . . is that his . . .no, no, no.
A deep groan rumbled through my chest as I stared upon the shiny black BMW with familiar license plate holder.
A holder I hadn’t seen since the morning of my wedding day as I drove away from our apartment on my way to have my hair done. A holder Tom and I had argued about for six months until he ordered it without consulting me. A holder that he bragged about to everyone he knew and even everyone he didn’t know.
The one that read:
‘Don’t lie, bitch, all women like it up the . . .’
Ugh. Seriously?
As I stared at Tom’s car, I tried to remember the other patrons in the cafe. Faceless stranger after faceless stranger, I had recognized no one. Although, I supposed I didn’t look at everyone.
Why is he in San Francisco? Please tell me he didn’t see that my date stood me up. Please, please, pretty please.
I collapsed into the driver seat, slammed my car door, and threw my purse in the passenger seat. It hit the leather with a thud. I hadn’t thought of Tom in months.
Hadn’t thought about how he’d taken a job in Sacramento, leaving San Francisco and all his friends behind without a second glance, as though he wanted a new life, and wanted to forget about the one he’d been living for the last thirty years.
Nor had I thought about the rumor I’d heard that he was also living with another woman he’d met mere days after he’d walked out on me.
Could this night get any worse?
My phone vibrated as it received another text message. I ignored it, though, instead turning the key until the car’s engine roared to life underneath me. Before I could shift into reverse, the phone vibrated a third time, the lit screen slightly visible from the opened corner of the handbag.
Lisa had a lot to say tonight, didn’t she?
Headlights blinded me through the mess of San Francisco traffic. Taxis, bumper to bumper honked their horns, the drivers either resorting to waving inappropriate gestures to one another or shouting words that made me blush.
Turn by turn, street by street, my whole dating life replayed in my head. Failure after failure, they all ended with either a quick break-up, a first date that never grew into a second one, and, of course, my one broken engagement with a ruined wedding.
Memories I’d fought to push from my thoughts for so long suddenly seemed to creep back in as though they were trying to etch themselves back into my mind.
I drove down into the parking garage of the apartment high-rise and punched the security number into the keypad. My thumbs tapped on the steering wheel while I waited for the gate to roll open so I could finally drive inside.
As I rounded the corner, my headlights shined on my next-door neighbor Miss DeFrank and her two dachshund dogs that barked constantly. She ignored me as I passed, shouting at her two fur-babies who attempted to chase my tires.
I loved and hated my apartment at the same time. Loved the modern sleek lines, both inside and out, loved the floor plan, the amenities, and the security, but I hated living so close to other people and the noise.
Surely, I could afford to move. I had already been approved for a mortgage that well exceeded the price of my dream home. However, instead of diving into a house payment, I wanted to wait so I could build up my savings.
I didn’t want the debt of a large mortgage—especially when I could cut it in half with the commission from my client, the rich and famous, Hollywood starlet, Reece Jones. If, and when, I could find her, her perfect multimillion dollar condo in the city, that is.
As I continued through the underground tunnel, the taillights of a car reflected from my headlights and I slammed on my breaks.
That stupid car is parked in my parking space, again?
A scream formed on the tip of my tongue and I hit the steering wheel hard several times with the palm of my hand.
For the past two weeks, the unfamiliar royal blue Cadillac CTS-V coupe had sat in between the two white lines of my parking space. One or two nights, it would vanish like an annoying fluke and an inconvenience that I could shrug off without care or concern.
Unfortunately, it would return, and once again steal the space I paid good money to have. Parking proved hard enough in the city of San Francisco without having someone steal the only small piece of concrete I had the claim on.
After finding one of the guest spaces, I shut off my car and fetched the stack of sticky pads from my glove compartment.
Perhaps only someone stupid would leave yet another nasty note, especially when the owner of the vehicle had ignored all of the others, but I couldn’t stop my hand from flying across the pale yellow pad.
Dear Jackass, I’m growing rather tired of
repeating myself every other night. I supposed
it’s my own fault for believing one so incredibly
rude has the intelligence to comprehend their
sincere lack of decency. You are parking in
my parking space. Are you that big of a moron?
Can you not read? Let me spell it out for you
then, if I catch your car here again I will
call management and have it towed.
You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar,
Lisa’s snarky voice whispered in my ears.
Her repeated words after every single one of my complaints drew a groan to my lips. Tonight wasn’t the time to be nice. Tonight wasn’t the time I would give the fly honey.
Tonight was the time to be mean
.
Anger boiled in my blood as I stomped across the parking garage with my fists clenched. I lifted the windshield wiper of the jerk’s car and placed the note on the glass, wiping my hands and laughing at my own spiteful brilliance written in pen ink.
My phone vibrated with yet another message.
Ugh.
I trudged up the stairs and through the outdoor courtyard; my feet weighted by the day with each step. Not even the gentle breeze blowing through the tree leaves could drown out the sounds of a city busy with life. Horns honked, engines roared, and the occasional loud stereo system thumped with hard base.
I loved living in the city, and yet, right now, I longed for peace and quiet. Cities never sleep. They go and go and go, all the time, and the bigger they are, the louder they are, leaving you either running along with the chaos or falling behind, unable to catch up no matter how hard you try. While sometimes the fast-paced life I’d grown up in felt exciting, it also felt suffocating and exhausting.
And today it had worn me out.
I unlocked my apartment door and closed it behind me—shutting out the world behind the thick block of wood as I kicked off my shoes, flinging them across the room.
Charlie, my extremely fat orange tabby cat, trotted toward me, meowing his friendly greeting. He rubbed his body against my legs while he purred.
A bright red number flashed on the front of my answering machine. Obviously, messages from Lisa, no doubt asking why I hadn’t responded to her texts and ordering me to call her immediately.
My finger hovered over the machine for a second before I inhaled a deep breath and pressed the tiny black play button.
“Hey girl, it’s me. You’re probably on your way to the cafe, but I thought I’d try you at home, first. I’ll send you a text to see how things are going.” Her voice chirped in volume as though to hint she had knocked it out of the park with her matchmaking skills.
If she only knew.
BEEP.
“Hey, me again. Sent you a few texts, but you haven’t responded. Hope that’s a good sign.” Her giggle crawled up my skin. “Anyway, call me when you get the chance . . . or text me back. I want to see how it’s going.”
BEEP.
“Okay, so . . . I’ve sent like a thousand text messages and you haven’t responded. I’m starting to wonder what’s going on. Hopefully, you are having a blast.” Although, amusement tickled in between a few of her words, the once obvious excitement had faded from her tone.
BEEP.
“Uh, hello! Where are you? I’m getting worried here. Text me back or call me.” Completely void of happiness, her words had an odd growl to them, like a parent scolding a child.
BEEP.
“Helen, where are you? You haven’t responded to any of my texts. Ben and I are starting to get worried here. Call me back as soon as you get this.” Her lack of patience spurred the loud click as she slammed her phone into the headset.
Just what I need.
I stopped the machine and plucked the cordless headset from the base, dialing the same phone number that I’d dialed for the last decade. Charlie meowed again, anxious for his dinner.
“I will feed you in a second. Just have some patience.” I barked at him.
After two rings, Lisa answered. “Why haven’t you texted me back?” she screeched without a greeting. “Where are you? What happened?”
“Well, hello to you, too.”
“Enough of that. Where are you?”
“I’m at home.”
“Oh. I guess it didn’t go great then, huh?”
“Actually, I have no idea if it would have gone great or not since he didn’t even bother to show up.” By the time I finished my sentence, my voice sharpened with a crispness that popped through my lips on the letter ‘p’.
“Are you serious? He stood you up?”
“Yes, he did. It felt great, too, sitting in the cafe all by myself, waiting for him and wondering what happened. Worst of all, when I walked out to my car, Tom’s car was parked next to mine.”
“Did you just say you saw Tom’s car?”
“Yep. Just sitting next to mine. Disgusting license plate holders and all.”
“But I thought he moved to Sacramento.”
“So did I. I have no idea why he’d be back in San Francisco.” I closed my eyes and shook my head. “But I don’t want to talk about him. I’m home and I’m fine so you can stop worrying.”
“Aww, girl, I’m so sorry.”
“Nah, you didn’t know Travis wouldn’t show up.”
“Still, though, I feel bad. I never would have set you up if I knew he’d do that. He seemed so nice, and after I showed him your picture, he said he was interested. I wonder what happened. Do you want me to talk to him the next time I see him?”
“No, no, you don’t have to do that.”
“But what if he had an emergency? You don’t really want to write him off when it could have been beyond his control, do you?”
“Well, no, but I just don’t really know if I want to know what happened.”
“Why? I mean, I want to know and I wasn’t the one he stood up.”
Her words resonated in my chest. Surely, they made sense. Surely, I should want to know what happened to him. I should want to know why he left me waiting in the cafe all by myself, feeling less than worthy of any decency like a simple phone call.
I should want to know, and yet, I didn’t.
“If you want to talk to him, then talk to him. To be honest, I’m just not interested in dating right now. It just all seems so pointless, ya know?”
“Don’t say that.”
“But isn’t that when I’m supposed to find the one? Isn’t that what all the books and shrinks and all those love articles in magazines say?
You always find Mr. Right when you’re not even looking
.”
I laughed at my own joke. Lisa didn’t.
“Well, I’m sorry tonight didn’t go as planned,” she finally said.
“Again, it’s not your fault. But maybe next time, just let me find my own dates instead of pushing me toward another deliciously perfect for me man who is far from it?”
“Are you saying that I don’t have the gift of Cupid?”
“You don’t necessarily have the greatest track record.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh please, Travis was just another one of your many hits and misses.”