The Do-Over(29)

Wes smiled, his eyes never leaving mine, as he continued to hold my hand in his. “It’s been a long time, but Tara and I tend to travel the same path one degree of separation apart, and at times, our paths converge. This is one of those times.”

I was the one to break eye contact with Wes as Julien stepped close behind him, assuming a protective stance. My eyes met his and this time I didn’t bring anger, I merely tried to convey a message of peace. This was a messy situation to say the least and I just prayed that I could come out of it unscathed, with Wes and I in a good place with one another.

Squeezing my hand, Wes leaned forward and whispered, “See you Tuesday.” With his face next to my ear, I could hear him inhale and knew the beachy scent of my perfume had just filled his mind’s eye with memories of taut white sails against a star-filled black sky, fruit-laden rum concoctions and our laughter sailing off on the night’s breeze.





Chapter 11


I had been looking forward to the Advertising Club of New York’s ANDY Awards, partly because O’Donnell & Associates was up for an award, and it was always great to attend as a nominee, and partly because it was one of the few times a year where the whole New York City advertising community came together and I got to see people I hadn’t seen in way too long.

Now there was the added pleasure of seeing Wes and the C-Kicker team, minus Julien, so I was certain a good time would be had by all. And even if we didn’t take home an ANDY, since the competition was very stiff in the video category, I was secretly thrilled that Wes was going to hear my name being called as a nominee.

Held in the gothic High Line Hotel, the banquet hall, known as The Refectory within Hoffman Hall was just that, a hall. Long and fairly narrow for a banquet facility, the room, lined with panels of wainscoted wood, soaring clerestory windows and a beamed concave ceiling, included a wood burning fireplace and was truly like no other space in New York City. Historic and romantic, The High Line Hotel was the former estate and mid-17th century apple orchard of Clement Clarke Moore, and it is said that Moore penned ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas on the property.

The room was set with small round tables for six, a raised stage at one end and bars set up on the far end. I first noticed Wes standing in line at one of the bars. He had his left hand on the lower back of a young woman, with waist-length near black wavy hair, an almost embarrassingly short skirt and heels that would have landed me in the emergency room having one or both ankles casted when I tripped over my own feet.

“Tara.” I turned to see who was calling my name as Renata and Kelly approached.

“So good to see you,” I gave each woman a hug. Renata was again dressed in an eye-turning outfit, this time in fuchsia. I loved that her style matched her outgoing personality.

“Where are you originally from?” I asked her.

“Puerto Rico,” she rolled her R’s.

I laughed, “You are one hot mama!”

Rolling her eyes, Kelly agreed, “That, she is. Don’t let her have too much to drink or she will have this entire room doing a conga line before they serve us dessert.”

Wes and the woman turned from the bar, drinks in hand. Her look was exotic and she was quite beautiful. It was her body that surprised me. Small in stature, with a tiny bone structure, she was less developed than Scarlett and my first thought was, oh how sweet, he brought his daughter.

“Wes’ daughter is beautiful,” I commented to Kelly and Renata. The reaction that I got was certainly not what I expected as Renata rolled her eyes and Kelly pursed her lips. “What?” I asked.

“That’s his girlfriend,” Kelly’s tone was hushed.

“Is that legal?” It was my kneejerk reaction and it was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Both women laughed. “I like this one,” Renata declared.

Sneaking another look at them, my stomach suddenly felt sour. Wes was no different than my ex, hooking up with twenty-something year old arm candy. And for what? To make themselves feel young and virile? What the hell could he talk to this woman about? Would she get his references when he threw in a song lyric circa 1990 or how he felt during an historical event? What the hell was wrong with these men?

Just buy a freaking convertible, I wanted to scream across the room at him.

The overhead lights flashed signaling the meal and program were just about to begin. Finding our table with the number 18 sticking out of the centerpiece took some doing.

“Who the heck arranged this,” Jonathan bitched, as we sat down. Chris and Jamie were at the next table with Wes and his staff, while Jonathan and I sat with our clients from the Literacy League. It was the commercial we created for them that had earned us today’s nomination.

Looking through the program and at all the nominations, I said to Jonathan, “What an honor it is to be nominated with these people. Look at this group!”

“I think either JWT is going to win it for the Macy’s Believe Campaign or M. Silver & Associates for 9/11 First Responders’ Foundation.”

“I think you’re right. I’m just really honored and humbled to be nominated with them.”

The waiters served our salad course and I tried my hardest not to look over at the next table, but I couldn’t stop checking out Wes’ girlfriend. I felt like I needed to take her on a playdate with CB or something.