Chapter Two, Part 2
If you haven't read all that comes before this, please don't start here; please read:
Prologue
Chapter One, part 1
Chapter One, part 2
Chapter Two, part 1
I woke up feeling fantastic, better than I’ve felt in a long, long, while. The darkness in the room hid any evidence of the time, but it felt like morning. Emerging from my cocoon of somehow still fresh-smelling sheets, I located the clock near my bed – 11:02! I’d slept 10 blissful hours!
I could reach one blind and I allowed it to slide up enough to softly light the room. So much more familiar than the night before, it finally seemed to be mine. I knew where things were and managed to get myself dressed and ready . . . for what? I looked wearily at the door to the hall. I couldn’t really judge this life by staying in my bedroom forever, but I still worried about the mysterious world beyond the safety of that wooden guardian.
But I had no choice. Hunger finally drove me to turn the knob again and quietly draw the door toward me. A glance out confirmed the hall remained empty of any living souls, so I tentatively stepped out onto the sleek hardwood floor and turned to my left. The other way had only two doors; my new memories told me that one led to the plumbing and such for my bathroom, the other – the maid’s supply closet.
I easily found my way to my deck, glorying in recalling what each door I passed hid – the guest room, the gym, my study, the theatre room, the maid’s quarters (for changing, only), the room Adrian used when he stayed the night, the one I called the “music writing room” which contained several guitars, some recording devices, paper, a computer – no sound mixers or anything fancy, just a place for me to write.
The stairs led me to the entry hall, and I’d strolled through the richly, tastefully appointed living room (which I was certain I never used) and through the sliding doors to my outside haven – a dark-stained wood paradise surrounded by luscious exotic plants. Cool light furniture dotted the porch, a table with chairs, a few chaises some regular chairs turned toward the view off the back, and my favorite – a large, welcoming hammock. At the table, I slid into the chair that “felt like” mine and within a few seconds, a woman appeared in a crisp, white smock. She had a tray with fruit, tea and a silver-capped dish. To my utter delight, she removed the cover to reveal a perfectly baked Belgium waffle, with a small dish of whipped butter and another of warmed syrup, Because Wednesday is waffle day my mind supplied. I could really get used to this!
After breakfast, I wandered about the house for a while. Watched some TV on my giant television, flipped through the magazines in my spacious living room, appreciating this life-path more and more. Sure, I may have compromised my musical vision, but at least I’m making money with my music and look at all this stuff! Every luxury I could ever want I found somewhere in the enormous, perfectly decorated house. I’d encountered the woman who brought me my breakfast, and remembered that she cooked and took care of the kitchen while another woman cleaned the rest of the house. I had a chauffer, and apparently a gardener (or else a good neighbor who’d been out tending to my yard for a couple hours). I couldn’t dredge any of their names out of my memory, which made me feel bad, briefly, before I decided they might prefer it that way.
Finally Adrian arrived, letting himself in with his own key. I recognized him instantly and felt a warm rush of comfort when I heard his voice. Adrian will take care of it, I thought, and the statement had a familiar ring. Apparently Adrian takes care of a lot of things.
Finding me on the sofa with a book, Adrian immediately settled into the closest chair and took a PDA, a notepad and pen, and his cell phone out of his briefcase. I could see the corner of a laptop peeking out of the open zipper and marveled at his mini-office. I knew that anything I needed, he’d use these tools to secure; it’s why I adored Adrian.
“Now, Nettie,” he started in a calm, almost placating tone, “I heard you missed the meeting last night. It was important.”
“I was sick, Adrian, I promise!” Oh, I sounded so whiny, like a petulant child caught cutting classes.
“I know, hon, I know, but you seem fine now.” He shuffled a few papers in a folder still in the briefcase, while I wondered how much to tell him. Without a word from me, he continued, “And it’s okay, Victor was able to reschedule and they weren’t too upset. These TV people really love you, Nettie and they really want this deal.” I felt so dense, having no idea what deal he referred to, but I desperately wanted to please Adrian. I also felt stupidly flattered to hear someone loved me and wanted me so much.
“They do?” I couldn’t stop a pleased blush from warming my cheeks and I wondered if Adrian noticed.
“Yes, they really think you’d be perfect for a part on this show. Like we talked about, it would mean you’d have to give up touring for awhile, but you could still write. Victor said he’d bet they’d even let you sing on the show, you know, write in some reasons for you to be performing. You’d get to make the soundtrack and all, and think of it – no more living out of busses and hotels. You could stay right here in town.” I could hear the relief in his voice and for a moment wondered if Adrian talked up this deal so much more for his own benefit than mine, but no, I couldn’t believe that about Adrian. He always takes such good care of me I remembered thinking it hundreds of times Adrian loves me.
We sat in the living room sipping delicious herbal tea brought in by the kitchen lady while Adrian laid out the rest of my day for me. Trainer coming at 11am, photo shoot for some magazine at 2, dinner with someone I couldn’t recall at 9. One of the guys from my band wanted to use the music room next week to work on some stuff for his solo album, if I wanted to do a radio interview next week Adrian would set it up. Adrian would get the date and time of the rescheduled dinner from Victor.
Since the day I started school, I had never felt so safe, protected and cared for. Kindergarten had been the first time my father hadn’t been by my side and the world had gotten scary and cold. I’d adjusted, but always longed for those days before school, when running out of cookies seemed like a tragedy and my dad was never out of arm’s reach. I basked in Adrian’s care, and let the warm waves of his voice outlining my life wash away the hurt and the worry and the care. Adrian will take care of it.
The trainer arrived as scheduled. Adrian greeted him, fortunately, calling him by name, so I knew what to call the man. Robert seemed intent on making me suffer, yelling at me (he called it “encouraging”), belittling my efforts (“you call that a push up??”) and insisting I could go on when I knew I’d drop dead if I so much as twitched a single muscle. I didn’t mind seeing the back of him as he left, though I had to admit, exhausted as I was, and stinky, too, I did feel strangely good. A shower took care of the stink and took the edge off of the exhaustion, and I even squeezed in a brief nap before getting ready for my shoot.
The shoot turned out to be less fun than I’d hoped. They undid all the “getting ready” I’d done and re-did my hair and make-up, giving me a selection of outfits to wear. Then I’d spent what seemed like forever being posed and moved like a life-size doll, until I wondered if maybe I wasn’t a human after all. Oh, it wasn’t hard work, but it didn’t compare to the glamorous image in my mind of “photo shoot”. And what does “make love the camera” mean, anyway?
I went home, changed again, went to dinner in the car waiting patiently in front of my house. My dinner companions turned out to be some people from the studio, mostly there, it seemed, to be sure they were seen having dinner with me. We talked about inanities I’d forgotten by the time the check came and one of them swooped it up with a laugh – “expense account!” The others planned to hit a dance club, and it seemed they expected me to join them, so I did.
At first I felt ridiculously special, getting in ahead of the long line of revelers, being shown to a special alcove reserved for those who like their privacy and having my picture taken each time I emerged to dance or hit the ladies’ room. But all too soon it became just tiring. I love to dance, but the only people who danced around me made it clear they wanted to get “in a shot”. No man asked me to dance and meant it, once we started to dance, they mugged or posed, never saying another word to me. Sooner than I would have expected, I wanted to head home.
Back in my wonderful bedroom, in my lavish, perfect home with every toy I could ever have wanted, I curled up in my huge, fluffy bed, and molded pillows under me until I had the exact position I wanted. I’d asked the lady in the kitchen to bring me a snack, something salty, I’d told her, a cup of ice cold milk, and a carafe of hot tea. She arrived just as I’d figured out which button on the remote made the doors on my entertainment center slide open and the TV, positioned perfectly for my location, glided into place. She’d brought me a variety of chips, crackers, apples and pretzels, on a tray with two small crockery vats of melted cheese, one smelled spicy, the other more mild. “Perfect!” I’d exclaimed, eliciting the smallest of satisfied smiles from her, and I dug in with great enthusiasm, before she’d even managed to settle the tray on the side of my bed. “Thanks, uh . .” I hated not know her name. “Thanks a lot”. She drifted out of my room, shutting the heavy door behind her.
Eating my snack in my bed, I couldn’t imagine a single thing I’d ask for. Total contentment, I thought, dunking a pretzel into the spicy cheese, this life is everything I’ve ever wanted. Livin’ the dream, girlfriend, livin’ the dream.
Karen and I would jokingly say that when everything was going to hell around us, but now it really applied. Karen would so love this, and I realized I had been missing something. To make this picture complete, I needed to get her over here for some melted cheese and maybe a few beers. Careful not to bump the tray, I got myself out of bed and dug out my phone. Scrolling through the numbers, I couldn’t find Karen’s. There weren’t any K’s at all. And then I remembered.
My first album had just gone platinum and to celebrate, we all went out to the most expensive restaurant in town, me, Michael, Karen, even Dad and his wife. I’d been walking on air, having people recognize me and ask for autographs, it was still flattering and exciting then, not a bother at all. I toasted my friends and family, crediting them with my success and proclaiming it to be the beginning of big things for us, only the best for us, from now on! Alcohol had flowed freely and by the end of the evening, we all had left our sobriety well behind. In a dashing and romantic gesture, Michael stood up from the table, almost knocking it over, and announced “I’m gonna marry this girl! I’m gonna marry her!” We’d all laughed at his proclamation and I’d said something like “I might have to see the ring first.” Everyone laughed again, and then the subject had changed or another round of drinks arrived, or something else caught our drunken attention and the topic never came up again.
The next morning, waking up with a head that felt like construction was going on inside of it, I’d not realized for several minutes the bed was empty on Michael’s side. I stumbled into the bathroom of our shared apartment, not tiny, but just enough to make us feel successful at the time, took several aspirin and splashed water on my face.
I found Michael in the kitchen, eating cold cereal and drinking his coffee as usual. He looked different, though, unsettled or uncomfortable. “Morning” I said, reaching for the mugs. I usually hate coffee, but for some reason, when I’m hungover, it’s the only thing I can stand.
“I meant it, you know.” He didn’t even look up from his cereal.
“Meant what?” The pounding in my brain wouldn’t even allow me to try and figure out what we were talking about. I barely registered that it seemed like a fight, and I’d somehow walked into the middle.
“About marrying you. I meant it. I wanted to get married and you blew it off like a joke.” I’d never seen him too mad to look at me, but what other explanation could there be for him still staring coldly into his almost-empty bowl.
“I was drunk – YOU were drunk. I didn’t know you were proposing, you didn’t even ask.”
“Why would I when you shut me down like that?” He stood, poured the remaining milk down the sink and walked out. I sat at the table, sipping my horridly wonderful coffee and wondering what I’d missed. I told myself he’d get over it, and I called Karen, who I knew would reassure me. But she wasn’t up yet.
Later, when we’d both recovered and felt better, Michael and I sat down and talked. He’d been feeling left behind lately, it seemed, and in his drunken memories of the night before, he’d actually proposed. Once I started telling what I remembered, he turned red and apologized. He’d proposed for real, right there on the spot, and apologized that he didn’t have a ring to give me. He’d wanted me to pick out what I wanted. We left for the jeweler’s right then, and I’d called Karen on the way. She’d been as happy for me as I’d have been for her, and promised to be my maid of honor. Everything had been perfect.
But a year later, everything had fallen apart. Still unable to set a wedding date because of the touring and recording schedule I’d been on, Michael had been getting annoyed. He kept pressing me to tell Victor no about various things, to tell him I wanted to take some time off, so we could plan our wedding, enjoy it and have a honeymoon. I couldn’t do it. Victor’d been right about every decision, every call. If he said we couldn’t stop now, then we couldn’t. After a particularly nasty fight, I’d handed him back the ring and Michael had left. Really left and not come back.
Karen listened to me cry for awhile and then started sounding less sympathetic. Why couldn’t I tell Victor I needed some time? I was the talent, right? I’d gotten so mad – “You’re supposed to be on my side! You’re my friend!” I’d wailed, but she wouldn’t see reason. She told me I’d treated Michael wrong. That I’d become self-absorbed and different. And then she told me “I was Lynn’s friend. I never liked Nettie much.”
It had been more than I could take. I’d hung up on her without another word, and we’d never spoken again.
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t talked to Karen in 5 years. Usually one of us would finally admit she was wrong and call the other, but now, I didn’t even know where she was. I didn’t know her last name, if she’d married, or where to start looking for her. Or, if she’d even talk to me if I did call her.
I looked sadly at my phone and scrolled through the numbers again. There must be someone I can call just to chat. But each name in the list belonged to an acquaintance, an associate, or an employee. My chiropractor’s office, the trainer, the studio, the music supplies store that delivers, and then – Dad. Relieved, I almost called him but stopped myself. I didn’t know what to say. And what if she answered? No, I couldn’t bear the idea of talking to her now. I put down the phone and got back into bed. The food still waited for me, and my old friend, TV. Soon I’d put the whole ugly moment behind me, lost in my own world of melty cheese on salty snacks and a movie I’d forgotten how much I loved.
Prologue
Chapter One, part 1
Chapter One, part 2
Chapter Two, part 1
I woke up feeling fantastic, better than I’ve felt in a long, long, while. The darkness in the room hid any evidence of the time, but it felt like morning. Emerging from my cocoon of somehow still fresh-smelling sheets, I located the clock near my bed – 11:02! I’d slept 10 blissful hours!
I could reach one blind and I allowed it to slide up enough to softly light the room. So much more familiar than the night before, it finally seemed to be mine. I knew where things were and managed to get myself dressed and ready . . . for what? I looked wearily at the door to the hall. I couldn’t really judge this life by staying in my bedroom forever, but I still worried about the mysterious world beyond the safety of that wooden guardian.
But I had no choice. Hunger finally drove me to turn the knob again and quietly draw the door toward me. A glance out confirmed the hall remained empty of any living souls, so I tentatively stepped out onto the sleek hardwood floor and turned to my left. The other way had only two doors; my new memories told me that one led to the plumbing and such for my bathroom, the other – the maid’s supply closet.
I easily found my way to my deck, glorying in recalling what each door I passed hid – the guest room, the gym, my study, the theatre room, the maid’s quarters (for changing, only), the room Adrian used when he stayed the night, the one I called the “music writing room” which contained several guitars, some recording devices, paper, a computer – no sound mixers or anything fancy, just a place for me to write.
The stairs led me to the entry hall, and I’d strolled through the richly, tastefully appointed living room (which I was certain I never used) and through the sliding doors to my outside haven – a dark-stained wood paradise surrounded by luscious exotic plants. Cool light furniture dotted the porch, a table with chairs, a few chaises some regular chairs turned toward the view off the back, and my favorite – a large, welcoming hammock. At the table, I slid into the chair that “felt like” mine and within a few seconds, a woman appeared in a crisp, white smock. She had a tray with fruit, tea and a silver-capped dish. To my utter delight, she removed the cover to reveal a perfectly baked Belgium waffle, with a small dish of whipped butter and another of warmed syrup, Because Wednesday is waffle day my mind supplied. I could really get used to this!
After breakfast, I wandered about the house for a while. Watched some TV on my giant television, flipped through the magazines in my spacious living room, appreciating this life-path more and more. Sure, I may have compromised my musical vision, but at least I’m making money with my music and look at all this stuff! Every luxury I could ever want I found somewhere in the enormous, perfectly decorated house. I’d encountered the woman who brought me my breakfast, and remembered that she cooked and took care of the kitchen while another woman cleaned the rest of the house. I had a chauffer, and apparently a gardener (or else a good neighbor who’d been out tending to my yard for a couple hours). I couldn’t dredge any of their names out of my memory, which made me feel bad, briefly, before I decided they might prefer it that way.
Finally Adrian arrived, letting himself in with his own key. I recognized him instantly and felt a warm rush of comfort when I heard his voice. Adrian will take care of it, I thought, and the statement had a familiar ring. Apparently Adrian takes care of a lot of things.
Finding me on the sofa with a book, Adrian immediately settled into the closest chair and took a PDA, a notepad and pen, and his cell phone out of his briefcase. I could see the corner of a laptop peeking out of the open zipper and marveled at his mini-office. I knew that anything I needed, he’d use these tools to secure; it’s why I adored Adrian.
“Now, Nettie,” he started in a calm, almost placating tone, “I heard you missed the meeting last night. It was important.”
“I was sick, Adrian, I promise!” Oh, I sounded so whiny, like a petulant child caught cutting classes.
“I know, hon, I know, but you seem fine now.” He shuffled a few papers in a folder still in the briefcase, while I wondered how much to tell him. Without a word from me, he continued, “And it’s okay, Victor was able to reschedule and they weren’t too upset. These TV people really love you, Nettie and they really want this deal.” I felt so dense, having no idea what deal he referred to, but I desperately wanted to please Adrian. I also felt stupidly flattered to hear someone loved me and wanted me so much.
“They do?” I couldn’t stop a pleased blush from warming my cheeks and I wondered if Adrian noticed.
“Yes, they really think you’d be perfect for a part on this show. Like we talked about, it would mean you’d have to give up touring for awhile, but you could still write. Victor said he’d bet they’d even let you sing on the show, you know, write in some reasons for you to be performing. You’d get to make the soundtrack and all, and think of it – no more living out of busses and hotels. You could stay right here in town.” I could hear the relief in his voice and for a moment wondered if Adrian talked up this deal so much more for his own benefit than mine, but no, I couldn’t believe that about Adrian. He always takes such good care of me I remembered thinking it hundreds of times Adrian loves me.
We sat in the living room sipping delicious herbal tea brought in by the kitchen lady while Adrian laid out the rest of my day for me. Trainer coming at 11am, photo shoot for some magazine at 2, dinner with someone I couldn’t recall at 9. One of the guys from my band wanted to use the music room next week to work on some stuff for his solo album, if I wanted to do a radio interview next week Adrian would set it up. Adrian would get the date and time of the rescheduled dinner from Victor.
Since the day I started school, I had never felt so safe, protected and cared for. Kindergarten had been the first time my father hadn’t been by my side and the world had gotten scary and cold. I’d adjusted, but always longed for those days before school, when running out of cookies seemed like a tragedy and my dad was never out of arm’s reach. I basked in Adrian’s care, and let the warm waves of his voice outlining my life wash away the hurt and the worry and the care. Adrian will take care of it.
The trainer arrived as scheduled. Adrian greeted him, fortunately, calling him by name, so I knew what to call the man. Robert seemed intent on making me suffer, yelling at me (he called it “encouraging”), belittling my efforts (“you call that a push up??”) and insisting I could go on when I knew I’d drop dead if I so much as twitched a single muscle. I didn’t mind seeing the back of him as he left, though I had to admit, exhausted as I was, and stinky, too, I did feel strangely good. A shower took care of the stink and took the edge off of the exhaustion, and I even squeezed in a brief nap before getting ready for my shoot.
The shoot turned out to be less fun than I’d hoped. They undid all the “getting ready” I’d done and re-did my hair and make-up, giving me a selection of outfits to wear. Then I’d spent what seemed like forever being posed and moved like a life-size doll, until I wondered if maybe I wasn’t a human after all. Oh, it wasn’t hard work, but it didn’t compare to the glamorous image in my mind of “photo shoot”. And what does “make love the camera” mean, anyway?
I went home, changed again, went to dinner in the car waiting patiently in front of my house. My dinner companions turned out to be some people from the studio, mostly there, it seemed, to be sure they were seen having dinner with me. We talked about inanities I’d forgotten by the time the check came and one of them swooped it up with a laugh – “expense account!” The others planned to hit a dance club, and it seemed they expected me to join them, so I did.
At first I felt ridiculously special, getting in ahead of the long line of revelers, being shown to a special alcove reserved for those who like their privacy and having my picture taken each time I emerged to dance or hit the ladies’ room. But all too soon it became just tiring. I love to dance, but the only people who danced around me made it clear they wanted to get “in a shot”. No man asked me to dance and meant it, once we started to dance, they mugged or posed, never saying another word to me. Sooner than I would have expected, I wanted to head home.
Back in my wonderful bedroom, in my lavish, perfect home with every toy I could ever have wanted, I curled up in my huge, fluffy bed, and molded pillows under me until I had the exact position I wanted. I’d asked the lady in the kitchen to bring me a snack, something salty, I’d told her, a cup of ice cold milk, and a carafe of hot tea. She arrived just as I’d figured out which button on the remote made the doors on my entertainment center slide open and the TV, positioned perfectly for my location, glided into place. She’d brought me a variety of chips, crackers, apples and pretzels, on a tray with two small crockery vats of melted cheese, one smelled spicy, the other more mild. “Perfect!” I’d exclaimed, eliciting the smallest of satisfied smiles from her, and I dug in with great enthusiasm, before she’d even managed to settle the tray on the side of my bed. “Thanks, uh . .” I hated not know her name. “Thanks a lot”. She drifted out of my room, shutting the heavy door behind her.
Eating my snack in my bed, I couldn’t imagine a single thing I’d ask for. Total contentment, I thought, dunking a pretzel into the spicy cheese, this life is everything I’ve ever wanted. Livin’ the dream, girlfriend, livin’ the dream.
Karen and I would jokingly say that when everything was going to hell around us, but now it really applied. Karen would so love this, and I realized I had been missing something. To make this picture complete, I needed to get her over here for some melted cheese and maybe a few beers. Careful not to bump the tray, I got myself out of bed and dug out my phone. Scrolling through the numbers, I couldn’t find Karen’s. There weren’t any K’s at all. And then I remembered.
My first album had just gone platinum and to celebrate, we all went out to the most expensive restaurant in town, me, Michael, Karen, even Dad and his wife. I’d been walking on air, having people recognize me and ask for autographs, it was still flattering and exciting then, not a bother at all. I toasted my friends and family, crediting them with my success and proclaiming it to be the beginning of big things for us, only the best for us, from now on! Alcohol had flowed freely and by the end of the evening, we all had left our sobriety well behind. In a dashing and romantic gesture, Michael stood up from the table, almost knocking it over, and announced “I’m gonna marry this girl! I’m gonna marry her!” We’d all laughed at his proclamation and I’d said something like “I might have to see the ring first.” Everyone laughed again, and then the subject had changed or another round of drinks arrived, or something else caught our drunken attention and the topic never came up again.
The next morning, waking up with a head that felt like construction was going on inside of it, I’d not realized for several minutes the bed was empty on Michael’s side. I stumbled into the bathroom of our shared apartment, not tiny, but just enough to make us feel successful at the time, took several aspirin and splashed water on my face.
I found Michael in the kitchen, eating cold cereal and drinking his coffee as usual. He looked different, though, unsettled or uncomfortable. “Morning” I said, reaching for the mugs. I usually hate coffee, but for some reason, when I’m hungover, it’s the only thing I can stand.
“I meant it, you know.” He didn’t even look up from his cereal.
“Meant what?” The pounding in my brain wouldn’t even allow me to try and figure out what we were talking about. I barely registered that it seemed like a fight, and I’d somehow walked into the middle.
“About marrying you. I meant it. I wanted to get married and you blew it off like a joke.” I’d never seen him too mad to look at me, but what other explanation could there be for him still staring coldly into his almost-empty bowl.
“I was drunk – YOU were drunk. I didn’t know you were proposing, you didn’t even ask.”
“Why would I when you shut me down like that?” He stood, poured the remaining milk down the sink and walked out. I sat at the table, sipping my horridly wonderful coffee and wondering what I’d missed. I told myself he’d get over it, and I called Karen, who I knew would reassure me. But she wasn’t up yet.
Later, when we’d both recovered and felt better, Michael and I sat down and talked. He’d been feeling left behind lately, it seemed, and in his drunken memories of the night before, he’d actually proposed. Once I started telling what I remembered, he turned red and apologized. He’d proposed for real, right there on the spot, and apologized that he didn’t have a ring to give me. He’d wanted me to pick out what I wanted. We left for the jeweler’s right then, and I’d called Karen on the way. She’d been as happy for me as I’d have been for her, and promised to be my maid of honor. Everything had been perfect.
But a year later, everything had fallen apart. Still unable to set a wedding date because of the touring and recording schedule I’d been on, Michael had been getting annoyed. He kept pressing me to tell Victor no about various things, to tell him I wanted to take some time off, so we could plan our wedding, enjoy it and have a honeymoon. I couldn’t do it. Victor’d been right about every decision, every call. If he said we couldn’t stop now, then we couldn’t. After a particularly nasty fight, I’d handed him back the ring and Michael had left. Really left and not come back.
Karen listened to me cry for awhile and then started sounding less sympathetic. Why couldn’t I tell Victor I needed some time? I was the talent, right? I’d gotten so mad – “You’re supposed to be on my side! You’re my friend!” I’d wailed, but she wouldn’t see reason. She told me I’d treated Michael wrong. That I’d become self-absorbed and different. And then she told me “I was Lynn’s friend. I never liked Nettie much.”
It had been more than I could take. I’d hung up on her without another word, and we’d never spoken again.
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t talked to Karen in 5 years. Usually one of us would finally admit she was wrong and call the other, but now, I didn’t even know where she was. I didn’t know her last name, if she’d married, or where to start looking for her. Or, if she’d even talk to me if I did call her.
I looked sadly at my phone and scrolled through the numbers again. There must be someone I can call just to chat. But each name in the list belonged to an acquaintance, an associate, or an employee. My chiropractor’s office, the trainer, the studio, the music supplies store that delivers, and then – Dad. Relieved, I almost called him but stopped myself. I didn’t know what to say. And what if she answered? No, I couldn’t bear the idea of talking to her now. I put down the phone and got back into bed. The food still waited for me, and my old friend, TV. Soon I’d put the whole ugly moment behind me, lost in my own world of melty cheese on salty snacks and a movie I’d forgotten how much I loved.
posted by Jami | 9:53 AM
2 Comments:
Are you writing this as we read it? Or is it already written? Curious.
I stay one "chunk" ahead. Basically, I wrote the prologue a long time ago. The whole story is already in my head. I write a piece, then I write the next piece, then I go back and edit the first piece, then post it. So there's 1 unedited piece and when I write the next part, I'll edit and post that one. Make sense?
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