Can I See You Again? (22 page)

“Sounds like you're walking through a tunnel.”

“No,” I tell Andrew. “I'm holding the phone away from my face. I don't want to mess up my makeup.” I hop onto the curb after crossing the street. The tip of my pink-polished toenail catches my eye. “Damn. I should've stopped for a pedicure.”

“It's radio.”

“Exactly.”

“You aren't making sense. Good thing your astrology reading is clear. The stars are on your side today. You're plotted for success.”

His reasoning is fishy, but still, I'll take all the luck I can get. “Sounds good.”

“What's today's topic?” he asks.

“Must-haves.”

“I love that one.”

“Jo does, too.”

“She listening in?”

“Yeah, and you have to call in if no one else does.”

“I will, but you'll get lots of calls. Don't worry.”

“Thanks, Andrew. So much rides on my interview with Lucy. This could push me over the edge and into the pool of bestsellers.” I wipe a bit of sweat from behind my neck. “I just hope I don't screw up or say something stupid.”

“Relax. You'll be fine.”

“Okay, I'm here. I'll see you later.”

“Good luck.”

“Who needs luck? The stars are aligned.”

“Ha. Take care of you.”

“Take care of you.”

We hang up and I walk inside the glass-walled two-story foyer of the KMRQ radio station, clenching my stomach tightly, hoping to still the trembling in my thighs.

Randi stands between the coffee table and an L-shaped leather couch, wiggling her stiletto heel into the rug. Her cell phone is pressed against her ear.

I smile at the receptionist on the other side of the room and gesture that I'm waiting for Randi.

I'm glad my publicist is on the phone. It gives me a few more minutes to settle my nerves. Take in the moment. Remind myself of the importance of the interview, think of Jo's house and ignore the nagging thoughts rattling around in my brain about lying to Sara. And everyone in America, for that matter.

Thank God for Sean's quick thinking. He made up a story about it being his mother's ring and he had a loose diamond secured at the jeweler's nearby, then stopped in my office afterward to say hello.

Sara seemed disappointed, but honestly how could she think Sean bought her a ring so soon? Sean tucked the ring in his pocket before she could ask any more questions and, as luck would have it, his office called and he zipped off to San Francisco for a deposition with a client who had just arrived back in the country.

Once again, he's gone for a few days.

We canceled our rendezvous at La Valencia.

She clicks off her phone and walks toward me. “Nervous?”

“Yes.”

“You should be. We're walking.” She signals toward the doors at the far end of the hall. “I cannot stress enough the importance of this interview. Lucy Hanover is syndicated in all the major markets. You think Candace's reach is big, ha! Candace is the middle child in hand-me-down underwear compared to Lucy. We should have a good number of listener layovers, as you're slotted after the Gossip Guru.”

We reach the end of a long hallway and are greeted by the man standing at the threshold of a control room. “Hey, I'm Trevor. Come in,” He plops in a chair at the helm of a digital audio workstation with several monitors and a dizzying number of switches and buttons under his command. “They're just about done.”

Lucy swivels her chair back and forth inside a glass-walled studio behind several laptops decorating her desk along with a fax machine, a printer, a framed photo of her shaking hands with Barbara Walters, several half-filled Fiji water bottles, and a microphone, suspended from a robotic arm, resting a millimeter from her lips. The earphones covering her ears look like English muffins. An O
N
A
IR
sign is illuminated above the glass partition.

We watch for a few minutes until they remove their earphones and the O
N
A
IR
sign switches off.

“Good, you made it,” Lucy says, joining us in the control room.

“Sixty seconds,” Trevor says.

“That's our cue,” says Lucy. “Let's get started.”

“Mention the book,” Randi says. “A lot.”

Lucy settles in her chair.

I sit across from her in the still-warm seat.

“Ready?” She slides on her earphones.

“Yes.” I clamp mine on my head.

“Ten seconds.” Trevor's voice echoes through my earphones.

Lucy nods in his direction and casts her gaze at a matching O
N
A
IR
sign on our side of the glass wall.

It lights up.

So do my nerves.

“Welcome back, everyone. Hope you enjoyed that rousing hour with the Gossip Guru. This hour we're joined by Bree Caxton, a Love Guru, and author of the highly anticipated debut,
Can I See You Again?
Welcome, Bree. Thanks for joining us.”

“Thank you,” my voice squeaks. “Thank you.” I say again, with more confidence. “I'm happy to be here.”

“So, as I mentioned, you're the author of the soon-to-be-released self-help book
Can I See You Again?
Owner and operator of Bree Caxton and Associates, the successful matchmaking service in San Diego County. And more adorable than a baby chick on Easter morning.”

“Thank you.”

“And you're here to assist the single men and women listening with their love life. So, what's the deal? What are you going to enlighten us with today?”

“Well, lots of my colleagues and fellow authors have discussed what to look for in a mate, where to meet people, what to wear on a date, when and when not to have sex, how to break down a wall. But that stuff is boring.”

“Okay, then what new information are you bringing to the table today?”

“You.”

“Me?” Lucy asks, pointing at herself.

“Well, no, not
you
exactly. Today I want to discuss what ‘you' must have in a relationship.”

“Must have?”

“Yes, traits that matter most to us, inherently. Habits or characteristics that a man or woman must possess for a mutually satisfying long-term relationship. These particular attributes, or lack thereof, are deal breakers.”

“All right, listeners, let's talk about you. Call in and rattle off a must-have. Well, look at this, the phone lines are on fire. We've got twelve calls already. You're quite popular, Miss Bree. Keep calling, people. Bree is here to help.” She presses the first blinking light on the workstation. “You're our first caller, give me something that in your heart and mind truly matters, a must-have.”

“Nonsmoker,” says a woman with a dog barking in the background. “I could never find myself close to someone who smells like an ashtray.”

“Oh please, no one smokes anymore. Next.” She pushes line two. “You're on the air.”

“Christian values,” says another woman.

“Gotta love cats and clowns,” says a soft-spoken man on line three.

“You're gonna be single awhile.” Lucy pushes line four.

“Wants kids,” says a young woman with a bitter tone.

“Doesn't want kids,” a young man hollers in the background.

“Uh-oh.” Lucy clicks off the line.

“Yes, good. Well, not so good for the last guy. But these are all great examples of what I mean. Dig deep and discover what truly matters in your life. What you must have.”

“Caller, you're on the air.”

“Must like to act out the
Star Wars
movies. Not just the prequels,” says a man with an unfortunate nasal tone.

“Ever had a girlfriend?” Lucy says, hanging up before the poor guy has a chance to respond. “Thanks for your calls, folks. Keep them coming. We'll be back in a few with more from Bree Caxton, the Love Guru.”

She slides her earphones onto her shoulders. “Good stuff, Bree.”

Trevor's voice echoes in the studio. “Randi wants Bree to mention the book.”

After a minute, Trevor points in her direction and counts down from five on his fingers.

“And, we're back,” Lucy says. “We're joined today by the lovely Bree Caxton, author of
Can I See You Again?
We've uploaded links to Amazon and Barnes and Noble on my website. Click it and buy it. This girl knows her beeswax. Okay, we're discussing what Bree calls the must-haves of a relationship. So, tell me, Miss Love Guru, from what I've gathered, without these must-haves, the relationship is doomed.”

“For the most part, yes. Even the most perfect relationship ebbs and flows. And these values will ease the strain of the more challenging times.”

“Let's pose a few scenarios. What if faithfulness is a must-have, it's important to me and my guy has cheated in the past, not on me, but in previous relationships.”

“Walk away. A cheater doesn't change his spots.”

“Okay, what if I don't drink, but my girlfriend does?”

“If no drinking is a must-have, then walk away because eventually the sheen wears off. If there's a deal breaker masked by newness and lust, it won't work once the relationship has dulled.”

“So you're saying we fall into a relationship with someone without taking into consideration these must-haves.”

“Exactly. And once the relationship grows to the point of T-shirts rather than lingerie, ‘Honey, the Thai food didn't agree with me,' and socks scattered on the floor—”

“Your naked man props one foot on the counter and clips his toenails before bed without rinsing the sink clean.”

“Personal experience?”

“Daily.” She laughs.

“Well, if your must-haves aren't in place, if those qualities that run deeper than the surface aren't established, then it won't last. Simple as that.”

“I'm curious, why do you think most clients seek you out?”

“They're tired of settling.”

“For?”

“For nothing special. My clients are tired of either a string of meaningless relationships or a long-term relationship with themselves. They're seeking something wonderful.” I glance at my scar. “I'm reminded every day that life is short. There's no reason to settle. That's what I hope to do. I hope to provide a bit of wonderful.”

I answer a few more questions, enjoying the interview and the callers. Time passes quickly and I'm surprised to hear Lucy say we're through.

“I've learned quite a bit in this last hour. I'm certain our readers have too. Stay away from the naked toenail clippers of the world, people. Let's take a look at your book sales from our hour together.”

I lean forward, trying to catch a glimpse of her screen.

“Damn, girl. Looks as if you've jammed the sites.”

“Seriously?”

She nods. “All right, listeners, grab a copy of Bree's book before they're all gone. Literally.
Can I See You Again?
is a definite must-have. Thanks for joining us, Bree.”

“My pleasure, thank you.”

“Weather and news are up next.” Lucy signals off and says to me, “Enjoy the spoils of a Lucy Hanover bump.”

Randi clicks off her phone. “Well, that does it.”

“Does what?”

“Congratulations, doll face. I just got word from my numbers guy. With these latest sales projections, and compared to those you're competing with on release day, no doubt about it, you'll make the list.”

“I will?” A rush of excitement seeps through my body.

“You will.”

“Oh, Randi, this is amazing. Thank you so much.”
Wait until I tell Jo. We will celebrate with Champagne and dance around the house. Her house.

“A pleasure. I told you I was a sure thing. So, should I mail or hand-deliver your bonus check?” she says with a wink.

I'm dialing Jo seconds after Randi finishes her sentence.

“Hello, Bree. Martin and I heard you on the radio. You sounded wonderful.”

“We did it.”

“Did what?”

“Secured a spot on the list. I'll get the check, Jo. I can save your house.”

“I don't understand why you have to go.” Sean lies on the bed beside my half-filled suitcase, pillowing his head with folded arms, having just flown in from San Francisco a couple of hours ago.

“I already told you. I promised Nixon weeks ago.” I toss in an extra pair of jeans and an off-the-shoulder black sweatshirt for the ride home. “He posed as my guy for the paper and now I'm posing as his girl for the wedding. We made a deal.”

“But you're
my
girl.” He sits up, grabs my belt loop, and pulls me between his legs.

“I know.” I pat his shoulder before pulling away. Aside from the few minutes at my office last week I haven't worn the ring since he proposed. “Just a couple interviews left.”

“Then I can shout to the world we're engaged?”

“Once this whole thing has blown over, you can skywrite it above the city if you want.”

“I might just do that. What time are you coming back?”

“Not sure.”
Should I bring my bathing suit?
I wish Andrew were here to help me pack. He's great at this sort of thing,
planning and picking out outfits. But he's probably too busy picking out his desk, discussing vacation days and sick time. His chipper smile was plastered across his face after returning from “the doctor” the other day, as big as I've seen it in sometime. And I hate it. Sure, I should be happy for him, especially if he's found another opportunity that makes him happy. But I'm sad for me. Mostly sad that he hasn't shared his good fortune with me. I thought we were tight. Seems all my lying has rubbed off on him.

“Don't let him keep you too late. Tomorrow is
our
night. Finally. With your busy schedule and my trips to Denver and San Francisco, I tell you, I'm about to explode. I can't believe it's taken us this much time to reconnect.”

“You've been a patient boy. Don't worry, I'm certain the wait will be worth the pain.” I open the drawer and fish for my black bikini and see Sean's note.

L'Straut Jewelers . . . ask Bree.

My mind detours to the first time I learned of Sean's note habit, right after we met at the barbecue. He got my work address from our friend, and starting with the following Monday, Sean had a florist deliver me a white rose, every afternoon, for two weeks. Each flower had a note card with an individual letter written on it. No name. Just a single letter. Alone, they made no sense. An
E
one day, an
R
the next, a question mark and a comma. But when the final rose came, I pieced the puzzle together—
Dinner, Friday?

He called me minutes after the final rose arrived.

As I stare at the hundredth reminder I've seen since then, I'm thankful I didn't rip
this
Post-it into shreds. “I never told you, but I found your note.”

“What note?”

“This one.” I set it in his palm. “I found it behind the dresser.”

“Oh?” He crumples up the paper.

Did he—?

He pitches it into the trash can.

Oh, my, God.
I can hardly utter the words. “What . . . why . . . why did you do that?” I dig the Post-it out of the can and try to smooth out the wrinkles.

“What's the big deal? It's just a note.”

“
Just
a note?”

“Yeah. Why are you freaking out?”

“I can't believe you'd throw this away. Don't you want to save the memento? Show our grandkids?”

“No.”

Who is this monster?

“Why is a reminder about a battery so important?”

My eyes meet his. “A battery?”

“Yeah. My watch kept running slow. I meant to ask you to drop it off on your way to work but ended up taking care of it myself.” He rubs clear a smudge on the face of his TAG Heuer.

“This isn't a proposal reminder?”

“A proposal reminder? Hardly,” he says with a laugh, wrapping his arm around me.

“This isn't funny.” I step out of his grasp.

“I'm sorry. I'm not teasing you.” He pulls me close again and rubs his hands up along my arms. “It's sweet that you kept the note.”

“When did you decide to propose?”

“I don't know . . . I suppose it was that morning I read about you and Nick. You looked happy in the photo. It scared me. I knew I had to have you back. I'm sure you felt the same when you saw pictures of Sara and me. But you fooled me. I had no idea you were pretending with Nick . . . Nixon . . . whatever his name is.”

“So, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

No staying up all night, highlighting our times together, playing out proposal scenarios in his head. No being sick with worry I might say no. No heartfelt
she's the one
moment?

“And you only asked me because you thought someone else showed interest?”

“Yes. No. Don't make it sound like that. The situation brought me clarity, in a good way. I will never take you for granted again, soon-to-be Mrs. Bree Thomas. We have a lifetime of memories ahead, and I don't need a note to remind me how much I love you. Okay?”

“Okay.” I stare at the wrinkled paper in my hand. He makes a good point. He asked me because he loves me. What does it matter the catalyst? So what if this Post-it isn't a proposal? I never liked these notes anyway.