Sweet Little Thing(10)

“You’re kidding?” She sat up in bed and turned toward me. “A dark-haired woman, kind of a mess? With two little boys?”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“Crazy coincidence.”

“Totally. She was probably on our flight but we didn’t notice because we were busy.” I smirked.

She laughed. “You make that sound naughty.”

“Well?”

“Well, anyway, after L.A., after you said I ruined you… I ran into her at Tompkins Square Park.”

The mere mention of Mia breaking my heart in L.A. sent a jolt of terror through my body. “And?”

“And she told me about falling in love with her husband. She said something like you can’t know the future for sure; love is having faith in the other person and yourself. It’s trusting yourself to know who is right for you. Something did click after that. I tried to get a hold of you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just needed to be sure that you weren’t…” I swallowed.

“What, Wilbur? That I wasn’t what?” she said with a playful smirk.

I began tickling her, pinching at her sides and behind her knees until she was flat on her back, writhing around. I hovered over her and held her arms braced above her head.

“I needed to make sure you weren’t f*cking with my heart again, you little tease.” I ducked my head and ran my tongue up her neck and continued the torture up her cheek and to her forehead.

She squirmed, screaming, “Yuck! Let me go!”

We were laughing hysterically until finally we were cuddled up again, dozing off with the morning light blasting us through the window.



TRACK 4: Bros before Hos

Mia was gone when I woke up again. She’d left me a note saying she was going to a dress fitting with Jenny. I looked at the clock. It was nine forty-five. I got dressed and bolted down to the studio where Frank was already waiting outside.

“I think you should have hired a lawyer, Will.”

“Look, I’m not talking today. We’ll let them say their piece. I’ve seen nothing yet to make me think I need to hire a lawyer. No charges, no court papers. This is a scare tactic.”

“I hope you’re right.” As I unlocked the door, I noticed someone walking toward us in the reflection.

“Charlene Fretas,” Frank said loudly. “I’m Frank Abedo.” He was reaching out to shake her hand as I turned to introduce myself. I immediately froze, as did she.

I had met Charlene months before Mia and I had gotten together. She’d come into the bar I used to work in and basically propositioned me. I’d initially turned her down, but then after a long, depressing night of putting up with obnoxious bimbos at a club and feeling utter rejection from Mia, I’d given in and met Charlene—Charlie—in her hotel room.

She was quite a bit older and she had told me that she was a lawyer in town for business. When I’d gone to her room that night, I’d fully expected to find a sex- crazed cougar. In fact, I was kind of hoping for it after learning about Mia and her then-boyfriend. Instead, Charlie and I had done nothing but basically spill our guts about recent heartbreaks. Past the rock-hard exterior, she was kind and compassionate. We’d cuddled. It sounds stupid, but we just slept in the same bed and held each other. It was exactly what I’d needed at the time.

She was not the person I expected to see that day outside my studio. I could tell right away that she was wearing her lawyer hat because she barely broke a smile when she saw my face. “Mr. Ryan,” she said to me as she shook my hand.

“Charlie,” I replied.

“It’s Charlene. Let’s keep this professional.”

The memory of our night together vanished. Showing up at my studio and threatening to sue on behalf of Chad annihilated any respect I’d had for her.

“Okay, fine. Charlene it is. So, Charlene, you’re Chad’s lawyer?”

“Yes, and I’m also his aunt. I wanted to get that on the record.”

“Duly noted. Although, I heard you’re his great aunt?” I said, smirking.

“Yes, great aunt. My sister had his mother when she was fifteen, so that made me a very young aunt.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Frank said, gesturing toward the door. “Shall we?”

We took seats in the meeting room, which had nothing but a coffee maker and a large oval conference table and chairs. Charlene immediately pulled out a digital recorder.

“No,” I said.

She shrugged and then took the battery out and set it next to the recorder on the table. It was a gesture to earn trust.

“I don’t even know what this is about, Charlene. Why don’t we start with a conversation? Why are you here?”

She leaned back in the chair, scanning me, looking for something, a tell or an angle, I wasn’t sure. I raised my eyebrows very slightly, just enough to look playful. She quickly sat upright and focused on the documents in front of her. “We’re here because Chad has a promising career in front of him.”

“That remains to be seen,” I countered quickly.

She pulled a paper from her binder. “He has an inner-ear infection and this is the doctor’s note.”

I took the note from across the table. There was a list of about twenty possible causes, including the most common at the top: bacteria or virus. Somewhere down the list, I found the word trauma. Someone had highlighted it as if to imply that was the cause.