A Life More Complete(50)
Melinda: K, whore. See you at 7. XOXO
Me: You’re going to make some man totally miserable someday. XOXO
---Chapter 14---
Melinda is one of the best friends I have and no matter what she doesn’t judge me, which makes it so easy to talk to her. She’s my Gia of the west coast. Shit, I really should call Gia and fill her in. I know she won’t be as accepting of Tyler as Melinda. Gia knew him back in the day when things were a mess. Although her and Tyler always got along, I sometimes think she only tolerated him because of me. She never said so, but I felt it. I decide to put off calling her until at least tomorrow maybe longer. I’m not sure I’m up for a possible tongue-lashing.
“Do you want to have dinner with my friend Melinda tonight. You met her yesterday, sort of. She was the blonde at my office.”
“The bitch?” he asks.
“She’s not a bitch. Okay, she was to you, but that’s because she loves me. She’s a good friend.”
“Sure. I really need to get some clothes though. I think I’m starting to smell.” I laugh, but in my mind he smells perfect.
“We’re going to meet her at a restaurant near her house. We can go by your hotel before that and get you some clean clothes. Do you feel like going to the beach today? I just want to lay in the sand in a bikini and forget about everything but you and me.”
“Sounds wonderful, except I’m wearing jeans,” he says glancing down at his pants. “I don’t think the unsuspecting public would like to see my naked ass.”
“I would,” I say, winking at him. “There’s a surf store down the street from my house. You can pick up a pair of shorts there.”
A few minutes later I am lying in the sand shielding my eyes from the sun as I glance over at Tyler. In my haste I forgot to grab a hat and sunglasses just aren’t cutting it. The sun beating down on me causes goose bumps to rise up on my skin or maybe it’s the proximity to Tyler and his incredible body. He’s still Chicago winter pale, but it doesn’t make a difference, the sun will tan his skin in a few short days. He’s one of those people. The kind the sun loves, the kind that tans instantly and lasts. He’d take two-week vacations to Barbados or Jamaica or Hawaii with his family over winter break and come back as tan as an island native.
His phone rings and he looks at me with apologetic eyes. “Sorry, I gotta take this,” he says pressing the phone to his ear. He wanders away from me and paces the beach. He runs his hand through his hair a few times and the exasperation is written all over his face. This is the first time in the many years I have spent with Tyler that I am not worried about who he is talking to or what he is planning.
He walks back to the beach towel with a smile on his face. He looks at me and the smile grows. I lick my lips and smile back. He flops down next to me and rolls onto his side facing me.
“You’re the only girl on this beach who could make a mismatched bikini look so good,” he says as he leans over and kisses me. In addition to forgetting my hat I grabbed the first two parts of a bikini from my drawer and threw them on. Turns out it was a pair of purple string bottoms and a green and white stripe halter top. It didn’t matter to me. To be happy, I just needed the beach and Tyler.
As he pulls away from me he says, “I have to go back to Chicago on Monday to finalize my divorce. I’ll fly out on Sunday night and I’ll be back Monday night. I’ll only be gone one day. That is, unless you want to come with me?” He smiles and it’s almost enough to make me say yes without a second thought.
“I wish I could, but I have to work. I have an event one of my clients is sponsoring on Sunday night. Rich women getting together and donating their used designer clothing to help homeless kids or Africa or something. I’m sure the population of a third world country is just dying to get their hands on a pair of used Jimmy Choos or a Marchesa cocktail dress. Believe me, I’d much rather be with you even with its location dangerously close to my mother.”
“I don’t think they actually give the clothes to the people. I am pretty sure, if I recall from all those benefits my mother threw, that they sell the clothes and give the money.”
“Thanks for the insight. I know that, Ty. I was being facetious.”
I immediately think of Ben and smile. Sweet, generous, Ben. These women and their over-priced clothes have nothing on him. Anytime one of my clients donates money or attends a fundraiser or does something honorable, it’s my job to make it news worthy. Play it up for the media, talk about them and discuss the amount of money that was given. It needs to be acknowledged, published, and swooned over. Not Ben. He wants no recognition for his philanthropic ways. He employs around two hundred people and pays them far more than they’d make anywhere else, including the illegal immigrants who work for him. Everyone has health insurance and 401Ks. They have the use of work trucks for their families. Not one of his employees takes advantage of him. He trusts them, even when no else will. But that’s not what makes him wonderful. He pays himself only what he feels he should earn. He’s not a frivolous spender, no expensive cars, huge house or obscenely expensive vacations. What leftover he does have he shares with a small village outside of Arusha in Tanzania. He’s not like the wealthy with whom he can so easily compete. He travels with the money and he even helped build a school where people educate the locals about HIV and AIDS and how it can be prevented. He spends weeks there maintaining the facility, teaching and providing the financial support it needs to continue to thrive. He once told me that the money he uses to help this village gives him the feeling you got as a child on Christmas. Ben can see the good in anyone—even me.