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Authors: J.J. Murray

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“You sure there isn’t something else?” he asks.

“There’s nothing else, Bryan.” Just everything else. And
someone
else. “I’m just swamped.”

“There is something, Share. I can hear it in your voice.”

I take a deep breath. “There’s nothing wrong, Bryan. Really.”

“Girl, I know you. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

What I used to love about this man I now despise. He could always read me so easily. He was a living, breathing shoulder to cry on. “You really want to know?”

“Well, yeah.”

What can I say that will
guarantee
that he stays there? Hmm. A snowstorm might do it. I look at the sky. It’s only mid-November. Little chance of that. “I’m, um, I’m thinking of coming home for Thanksgiving.” This should jolt him. I haven’t been home for Thanksgiving since moving here. “And it scares me, Bryan, you know?”

“You coming home for good?” he asks.

Another thing I don’t like about Bryan. He can leap to the wildest conclusions based on little or no information. Okay, I sometimes do it, too, but not all the time like Bryan does.

“I’m coming home for a
visit
, Bryan. You know, turkey, stuffing, seeing my family who still don’t speak to me for leaving home in the first place. It’s already stressing me out just thinking about it.”

“So, what, I was going to come up there and we were gonna travel back together?”

Yet another wrong conclusion. “Um, no. I mean, you can’t come up this week, right? Right?”

“I don’t know, Share. It sounds like you need me.”

Like a hole in the head! “Bryan, I’ll need you
next
week more when I come home.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Share. Either you need somebody or you don’t, and it doesn’t matter when.”

I never said I needed you, Bryan! Hmm. That taxi looks safe enough. It even looks somewhat clean. “Look, Bryan, I’m about to get into a taxi.”

“You never take a taxi, Share.”

“I know. That’s how crazy it’s been. Promise me you won’t waste your time and just show up on Friday. I will have no time for you, no time at all.”

“But I already paid for the ticket. I might as well use it, right? I’ll see you when I can.”

I get in the backseat. “William Street, Lower Manhattan.”

The driver nods and pulls away from the curb.

“Bryan, you really
can’t
come up Friday. I won’t be able to see you.” Hey—I can escape to Tom’s house in Great Neck. Yeah. And if Bryan flies up anyway—no. He’ll have no place to stay, and Brooklyn is no place for a country boy to wander around in. “I mean that, Bryan. I can’t see you at all. I have told you before that when we work a project, we have
no
time for anyone. I may not even come back to the apartment all weekend or even Monday or Tuesday.” I’m really stretching it here. “We are on a serious deadline here.”

After a long pause, Bryan says, “You serious about coming home for Thanksgiving?”

No. “Yes.”

“You’ve said that before.”

Oh man, as part of an unimportant conversation, not as something I actually meant! “I mean it this time.” I really ought to. I need to rebuild a few bridges in my life. Just not next week!

“Well, I don’t believe you. You sound like you’re falling apart, Share.”

I am, but... “I’m fine, Bryan. Really. I’ve never been better.” “You can’t fool me, Share. I’m coming up Friday anyway. You need me.”

I bang my head against the seat. “Bryan, please don’t come up. I’m begging you.”

“Now I know I have to come up. You’ve never begged for nothing as long as I’ve known you. I told you that place would get to you one day.”

He is such a caring, sensitive man, but ... “Okay, Bryan, you got me.” The gloves have to come off. “I have been holding back on you.”

Silence on his end.

“I’m, um, I hate to break this to you, but ...” I hate myself. “I met somebody.”

“Somebody ... else?”

That’s what the phrase means, man! “Yes.”

“Since we last talked?”

Yes and no. “I’ve known him for five years.” Oh, man. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve just opened a can of worms for a man who likes to fish.

“You’ve been seeing him behind my back for
five years
?”

I can’t remember the last time Bryan yelled at me. “It’s not like that.” I look at the driver looking at me in the rearview mirror instead of at the road. “Watch where you’re going!”

The driver’s eyes return to the road.

“You talking to him
now?
” Bryan asks.

Twice
he yells at me. “No, I was talking to the taxi driver.” He’s looking at me again? “May I help you?”

The driver throws up his right hand and scowls.

“This is not taxicab confessions, mister.” Okay, it is. “Sorry about that, Bryan.”

“I don’t understand, Share. You’ve known this guy for five years, and now all of a sudden ...”

“I’m sorry, Bryan, but I am who I am, and, as sad as this is for me to say, I ... I’m not interested in you anymore.” I am the worst person on Planet Earth right now. Sure enough, here come the tears.

“You sure seemed interested in me the last time I came up there.”

“And I was—then.” Sort of. I was just so lonely, and he was about to pop the question, and I didn’t want to answer. “This all happened so fast, Bryan.” I wipe away a tear.

“But you just said it was five years in the making.”

I am confusing everyone—me, Bryan, and the stupid driver who keeps looking back here! How can I explain this without hurting Bryan’s feelings? “You remember the junior prom, when you first asked me out?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with this?”

Walk with me a bit, Bryan. You’ll see my point. “Remember how long it took you ask me to go?” Forever. Okay, the word
forever
as defined by a junior girl in high school, which is really only a few weeks.

“Cuz we were friends, Share. Since seventh grade.”

Since I had braces. “Right. I waited
four
years for you to ask me out.” Not really. We went out all the time, just not as boyfriend and girlfriend.

“I didn’t know you were waiting,” he says.

What an opening! “And I’ve been waiting... .” I really shouldn’t go here, but I have to. “I’ve been waiting
twelve
years for you to ask me to marry you.” Man, I am the worst person who ever lived.

“But I tried to ask you the last time I was up there!”

I’m so glad I tackled him. “Did you? I didn’t hear you say the words.”

“I couldn’t. You were all up on me.”

Yeah, he remembers. “You were with me after that for two days, Bryan. Did you ask me then? No. Did you have the ring with you?”

“No. I thought we’d go pick one out together. Remember when we used to go look at all the bling at Henebry’s?”

I did a lot of dreaming at that jewelry store, and Bryan was right there beside me. “Yes, I remember, but that was when we were kids, Bryan. We aren’t kids anymore, and I’m past all that now. Besides, you told me you would never move up here. That sealed it for me.”

He’s silent for a few moments. “You never should have left home, Share.”

“As I’ve told you many times before, I
am
home.”

“You weren’t crazy when you were here.”

True, but I was bored out of my freaking skull. “Bryan, please understand, you’ll always be one of my best friends. Always.”

“Right. One of your best friends. I don’t get you anymore, Share.”

Because I changed and you didn’t.

“Well, do you love him?” he asks.

Oh ... man. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You know the guy five years and you don’t love him?”

No matter how I answer this, I am so screwed. If I say I
don’t
love Tom, Bryan will hightail it up here to “win” me back. And if I
do
say I love Tom, Bryan will probably do the same thing. “I do love him, Bryan. I didn’t want to say it because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” And I never used to lie at all. I hate myself so much.

“My feelings are already hurt, Share. There’s nothing more you can do to them now. Just be honest about it.”

This seems to be a recurrent theme here lately. “You want honesty?”

“I think I’ve earned it.”

And he has, but I doubt it’s the kind of honesty he wants to hear right now. “Okay. You stood by me for a long time, Bryan, but that’s all you did. You stood there. You only see your little slice of the world. I see the big picture. I want more out of life than Salem, Virginia, and you’ve never been able to see that. All you want to do is go play softball with your buddies, drink beer before going to Salem High School football games and reliving your glory days, and then disappear during hunting and fishing season. I have never wanted any part of that. I want something more, and I’ve found it.” Hey, I’m not crying anymore.

“Then why’d you let me believe you loved me?”

Not
this
again! “I don’t think I’ve ever really loved you, Bryan. I was drunk off my tail the only time I ever told you that, and what was that, ten years ago?”

“I thought you meant it. I thought we had something, Share.”

We did. It was so ordinary and dull, but the old Shari liked ordinary and dull then. “But that’s all in the past now. You have to go on. Find someone who loves you for who you are.” What is this foolishness coming out of my mouth? I am so sleep-deprived.

“But Share, I thought that person was you!”

I sigh. “Didn’t it occur to you that when I left Salem, that maybe I wasn’t satisfied with life? That maybe I wasn’t satisfied with you? I left you, too, Bryan.”

He’s silent for a few more moments. “Remember that poster you got me? The one that said if you truly love someone, set them free?”

Okay, the tears aren’t quite finished. “Yes. I remember.” The poster had seagulls on it.

“Well, I let you go, didn’t I?”

Now both eyes are leaking. “Yes, you did.”

“And I still love you.” Now
he’s
crying. What a mess! “I’ll probably love you for a good little while, Share. Just wanted you to know that. I gotta go.”

Click.

That was heartbreaking! It shouldn’t be, but it is. Tom is the one, not Bryan. Bryan was never the one. He was my fallback plan, that’s all. He was always just “almost as good.”

Why aren’t we moving? Oh. We’re here.

I wipe my eyes. “How much?”

“Forty-five,” he says. “I need no tip from you.”

Wow. I scrape up forty-eight bucks, leaving me three dollars for something to eat until I hit an ATM. I hand him the money.

He counts it and hands back three ones.

“I said, I need no tip from you.” He stares hard at me. “Four years, five years, twelve years? It is a long time not to love a man.”

Geez, everybody’s a critic. “Have a nice day.”

“He sounded like a nice boy,” he says.

I walk toward the entrance to my building. Yes, Bryan was a nice boy.

But at this time in my life, I need me a nice
man
.

Chapter 20

I
rush to Tia. “Any calls? Any messages? Did Corrine call?” I feel like an ad exec already. My pulse is racing, I don’t say “hello” to my only friend here, and all I do is ask questions without waiting for an answer.

“No.” She hands me a Post-it. “Your meeting is at two p.m. Tuesday.”

“Thanks.”

She squints. “Have you been crying, Shari?”

I nod. “It’s just some stress. I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure it is only stress?” she asks.

“There’s more to it, but I’ll manage.”

She points to her phone. “You want me to open up the floodgates?”

“Um, sure.”

I go to my desk, unloading and sorting through my notes. What an unholy mess! I can’t go in to see Mr. Dunn with these. This isn’t very professional at all. I just don’t have enough time to type them up. That’s how I’ll have to roll. I organize them as best as I can, putting the broadcast ads on top. I’m about to bolt for Mr. Dunn’s office, when my phone lights up.

Ted. “Hi, Ted.”

“Hi, Shari. Is Miss Ross back?”

“No, Ted.” Wait, I’m her. I have “her” receipts. “But I have all her receipts. She only has a few this time. Could you be a dear, Teddy, and do the report for me if I bring them to you?”

“Sure, Shari.”

So that’s how account executives roll. All they have to do is use some sweet talk and call people “Teddy.”

I go to Ted’s desk and hand him the receipts. “Here they are.”

Ted pores over them. “She flew to Atlanta and drove a rental the rest of the way? She never does that.”

I
knew
that. I should have flown the whole way to Macon.

“H and H?” he says. “This isn’t a fancy restaurant. Only twelve-fifty with tip.”

“Um, I hear Oprah visited there once,” I say. “I’m sure Miss Ross just wanted to see the place for herself, you know, soak up some of Oprah’s, um, presence.”

Ted doesn’t look up. “Hilton Hotel, okay. Room service? Is she sick?”

Do I mention the box jellyfish and Australia? I can’t. The less I have people talking about Corrine, the better, and a box jellyfish sting on a breast would zing around here in a heartbeat. “Not that I know of.”

“Is this all she gave you?” Ted asks.

Did I forget any? I don’t think so. “Yes.”

Ted squints. “How did she give these to you? I didn’t see her come in.”

Geez! This guy is MultiCorp’s neighborhood watch. “She met me outside, Ted.” Now be a good boy, and stop prying, Teddy.

“No waxing, manicures, spa treatments, client incentives.” He shrugs. “She’s normally over two grand on a trip. This one comes to a little less than a thousand.”

“She’s hard to figure, huh?”
What?
I could have spent a
thousand
more and no one would have blinked? “I’ll see you, Teddy.”

The light on my phone is blinking when I return. What does Piper in personnel want?

“Hello?”

“This is Piper in personnel.”

I’ll bet she spits when she says that. She’s a gruff old lady. “Yes?”

“I’ve been told that you’re here today, and yet you put in for a sick day.”

“Um, I felt a lot better, so I came in.”

“Your sick day is already in the system, so technically you’re not here today, Miss Nance, system-wise.”

That is so messed up. “I’ll, um, just take off tomorrow then, and you can mark me, um, present.” This is too much like school to be an ad agency.

“I can’t do that, Miss Nance. The system won’t allow it.”

But you run the system, right? But no. The “system” runs everything around here. “Why can’t you just hit a few buttons and make me here today?” This is the stupidest conversation.

“Like I said, your absence is already in the system, and if I tell the system you’re here, the system will reject the change. You can’t be here and not here at the same time.”

Corrine’s like that every day. In fact, she’s currently here and not here according to the receipts I just turned in. “So what can I do?”

“Nothing. You could take the rest of the day off. The system wouldn’t mind.”

The system can kiss my tail. “So in essence, I’m not here today even though I am.”

“That is correct.”

“But Miss Piper, I am obviously physically here. That makes no sense.”

“It makes sense to the system,” she says. “Have a nice day, Miss Nance.”

I hate this place.

I gather my notes again and stand just as the phone lights up again. Corrine!

“Miss Ross’s office, this is Shari—”

“Shari,” Corrine interrupts, “is your cell turned on?”

“I’m having terrible problems with it, Miss Ross. Didn’t you get my message?”

“I couldn’t understand it. It was all garbled.”

Uh-duh. That was the point. “I was afraid of that. Where are you, Miss Ross?”

“Hawaii. My flight from Brisbane was late getting to Honolulu, and I missed my connection to LA. I have a three-hour wait until the next available flight that has room in first class. Can you believe that?”

Tia’s candle is working. “That’s so terrible, Miss Ross.”

“If Tom were with me, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Don’t you say a single word, Shari Nance.

“Has he called the office?” she asks.

“No, Miss Ross. He hasn’t called you?” I am so mean.

“No. Oh, Shari, I need him now more than ever. He’s my rock.”

He’s
my
man of steel.

“Whenever I’ve had a setback, he’s always been there to pick me up, you know?”

The wench! I’ve picked her up more than he has! I’ve been picking up after her for five years!

“I can only assume that he’s gone to the mattresses in Detroit. He’s stuck hammering it out until he’s done.”

Gone to the mattresses? I didn’t know she knew Mafia slang. I smile. Yeah, Corrine, he went to my mattress and watched over me while I was hammered. I will never listen to “Red, Red Wine” again.

“Those automakers can be so brutal, Shari dear. When they go to the mattresses, they don’t allow cell phones or any contact with the outside world. And after all the handouts we’ve given them. They’re keeping me from my Tom! They have their claws in him and won’t let him go!”

Um, no. I check my nails. I have to file that one. It bent a little when I tried to gouge the skin off Tom’s back.

“What am I going to do, Shari? I miss him so much!”

At least we’re in agreement there. I miss him, too. What to do, what to do ... “Why don’t you ...” Stay away from here! “I know, why don’t you find yourself a nice hotel, Miss Ross. A nice hotel on the beach. I think you should continue your vacation and your recovery there in Hawaii.”

“Why?”

Why stay in Hawaii and away from New York in mid-November? Is she nuts? “You need to relax and unwind, Miss Ross.” So
I
can relax a little. Stay gone! “And it’s really cold and nasty here.” Not really. “I hear it might even snow this weekend.” It could snow
somewhere,
right? “The city is no place for you to recover, Miss Ross.”

“But what if Tom comes back to the city? I won’t be there! He’ll be all alone without me!”

Me, too. I won’t see him till next week. “Well, if you were Tom and you had been hammering it out on the mattresses in Detroit, wouldn’t you want to go somewhere warm to recover?” The light on my phone flashes. Shoot. Dunn on line two. The two people I cannot have speak to each other are one transferred call away.

“And once he’s done in Detroit,” Corrine says, “he’ll come to me, is that what you’re thinking?”

No. “Yes, Miss Ross.”

“That’s a really good idea, Shari. That’s why you’re on my team. Thank you for caring.”

I’m just caring about my own tail right now, Corrine. “Call me when you’re settled, Miss Ross.”

“I will. You have so many good ideas, Shari dear.”

That you steal from me, you wench! “Rest, Miss Ross. Get some sun.”

“Thank you for everything, Shari. Oh, and cancel my appointment with Dr. Fine.”

Done before I even did it. “Take care, Miss Ross.”

“Oh, I will.”

I click over to line two. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Dunn. Corrine and I were just comparing notes over the phone.” Hey, that sounded almost honest.

“How’s she doing?” Mr. Dunn asks.

“I think she’s going to be doing a lot of resting. I’ll be in your office in a minute.”

I take three deep, cleansing breaths. This is it. This is the first time I get to pitch my ideas to the real boss around here. I hope he likes them all, but even if he likes half of them or only parts of them, I’ll be happy.

Mr. Dunn’s administrative assistant, Sheila, a taciturn black woman older than God, tells me to go right in. I’ve never been in his office, and although he has an outstanding view of Brooklyn, he hasn’t done a thing to his space. A few framed awards hang from the wall over a black leather couch. Two black leather chairs face his desk ... and that’s it.

Mr. Dunn doesn’t get up, merely reaching out his hand. I put my notes in that hand, and he lines up the pages before scanning the first ad.

“It’s kind of a hodgepodge of ideas there, Mr. Dunn,” I say, “but we’re confident Mr. Peterson will like them.”

He’s looking at the billboard/web banner! I must have mixed them up.

“Female rider?” he asks.

“Yes sir.”

He grumbles, or at least I think he’s grumbling. Maybe it was his stomach rumbling. “Might work. Do a male rider, too. We can parse them out to gender-specific periodicals and websites.”

“Yes sir.” Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but he didn’t say no. Who can I get? Tom? I can’t ask him to do that, though he’d look so virile on that bike.

Mr. Dunn is now looking at the T-shirt idea. “My grandkids would like those. Make some extras. I’ll need eight.”

Cool! “Yes sir.”

“Earth tones like green, rust, brown, tan. The whole environmental jazz.”

“Good idea.”

Oh no! Tom’s drawing of me! Oh, I am so glad he put clothes on me!

Mr. Dunn holds it up. “Did you do this, Miss Nance?”

“Um, no sir,” I say. “My, um, boyfriend did it.”

“This is some excellent work,” Mr. Dunn says. “If we ever have an opening in production, have him give us a call.”

Tom working here? Not a chance.

He sets my picture aside and squints while reading the radio spot. “This is weak. The sounds of the city ...”

Say something! “Um, whenever I hear static or nothing on the radio, I listen more closely. Same with TV commercials. If I don’t hear anything, I look at the screen.”

“It might work,” he says. “Ends well. No matter where you ride, you’re home. Good stuff. Tell Corrine to tell production to make sure the sounds are clear, no sirens, lots of birds.”

Whitman Park, here I come. “Yes sir.”

He looks at my print ad, a collage of famous American places. “All-American stuff here. National parks are played out, though. Let’s use landmarks from the city. Buildings, bridges, Radio City, Wall Street. The usual.”

“I like that idea.” Because I hate using Photoshop. There are too many buttons to play with on that program. Man, I’m going to be getting my exercise. Good thing I love to walk.

“I’m just working off Corrine’s ideas, Miss Nance,” Mr. Dunn says, blinking. “I’m sure she’ll agree with me.”

Oh man, I’ve forgotten my place again. Stupid, ignorant me. Good MultiCorp soldiers stay in their ranks. But Corrine has never had an idea of her own for you to work off of, Mr. Dunn.

Now I’m nervous. He’s looking over the commercials. “Still sticking with the silence. Consistent. Come home to America. Point-of-view camera. Brooklyn Bridge. She and I think a lot alike. Good.”

You
and I think alike, Mr. Dunn.

“What do these numbers mean?” he asks.

“At fifteen miles per hour,” I say, “a bike travels six hundred and sixty feet in thirty seconds.”

Mr. Dunn blinks. “You walk across the Brooklyn Bridge every day, don’t you?”

“Yes. I’m sure we’ll be able to get some great shots of lower Manhattan from either the helmet or handlebars.”

He nods slightly. “You might want to bring some tape of that to the meeting.”