Your Big Break (14 page)

Silence. Then, “Who's asking?”

“This is Danielle and Amanda from Your Big Break,” I supply.

“And?”

“We'd like to come up and talk to you.”

“No,” she says sharply.

Great, we're playing it this way
. I lean closer to the buzzer. “Sophie, it's really important that we see you.”

“I'm busy.”

“It will only take ten minutes,” I try.

She pauses. “My apartment's a mess. I don't want any company.”

“Why don't we go out for coffee?” I suggest. “Our treat.” Technically, it's Evan's treat, since it'll be coming out of his retainer.

“I hate coffee.”

“Soda?” I suggest.

“Not thirsty.”

“You want to grab lunch?”

Amanda nods enthusiastically, but Sophie replies, “Not hungry.”

“Picky, picky!” Amanda whispers in my ear, and I hope Sophie doesn't hear her.

“Is there anything you
are
in the mood for?” I ask, trying to hide my exasperation.

“Ice cream,” she tells me. “I could go for some ice cream.”

“Ice cream it is!” I say brightly.

“Let me throw on some clothes. I'll be down in five minutes.” She clicks off.

Amanda nudges me. “I bet she's a porker. Who eats ice cream before noon?”

“Shhh! You shouldn't talk about people like that. Sophie is beautiful.”

Amanda says coyly, “Beautiful as in big, beautiful woman?”

“Not even close. She probably weighs a hundred and five pounds soaking wet.”

“Oh.” Amanda seems genuinely disappointed. “Then why the ice cream?”

“Ice cream and chocolate are
the
biggest breakup comfort foods.”

She smiles knowingly. “So, we're here to wallow?”

“Console. And convince.”

“Convince?”

“We're going to convince her she's better off without Evan Hirschbaum.”

“Exactly how do you plan to pull that off?” Amanda asks skeptically.

“Wait and see,” I promise, winking slyly. Deep down, though, I'm starting to feel scared. Ever since the Gretchen fiasco, I've been feeling scared all the time. After Garrett dumped me last year, I was devastated. It took me so long to get to a place where I felt confident again. And now Gretchen has come along and crushed all of that.

When Sophie comes out a few minutes later, I'm taken aback by how gaunt she appears. Her skin is ghostly pale; her hair is limp; her eyes are framed by dark circles. Despite her promise to put on clothes, she appears to be wearing pajamas. She bears no resemblance to the stunning, vivacious sex kitten I broke up with two weeks ago. Back then, she looked like a model: strikingly tall, with huge, gray eyes, flawless flaxen skin, and white-blond hair. She looked exotic, Nordic. Today, she looks like a corpse. Or a college student in the middle of finals week, running on no sleep and propped up by coffee and junk food.

“There's a Ben and Jerry's around the corner,” she says dully.

“Lead the way!”

We fall into step behind Sophie. “Did you have a nice vacation?”

“I was wondering about that. How did you know I went to Connecticut?” She stops dead in her tracks. “Did
he
tell you?”

Uh-oh
. “No, your landlord did,” I improvise.

“Nice try, but I don't have a landlord.”

“Strike one,” Amanda quips under her breath.

Sophie starts walking again. “It was Evan, wasn't it?” she asks.

“Yes, it was Evan,” I admit.

“Well, I'm so
thrilled
Evan has time to talk to
you
!” She stops and puts her hands on her hips. “Because he's certainly made it a point of avoiding me,” she shouts.

“Sophie, Evan's feelings have changed,” I say gently. “He still cares about you, but he's got to focus on his career.” This is Evan's standard excuse. He insists that we use it. I don't know why. It never goes over well.

“Focus on his career,” she scoffs. “Focus on some exotic dancer is more like it. Isn't that who he's dating this week?”

That sounds about right
. “Evan's law practice is extremely important to him. He doesn't have time for a relationship.”

She starts walking again. “But he has time for casual sex,” she says.

We reach the Ben & Jerry's ice cream parlor and head inside.

“What are you having?” I ask, pulling out my wallet.

“Who's paying?” Sophie wants to know.

“I am.”

“But
ultimately,
it's coming out of Evan's pocket, right?”

“Yup,” Amanda pipes up. “Every cent.”

“Maybe I'm hungrier than I thought.” Sophie studies the menu. “I'll have two scoops of Cherry Garcia, three scoops of Phish Food, one scoop of Chubby Hubby, and one scoop of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. For here.”

The acne-faced boy behind the counter bursts out laughing. “You serious, lady?”

“Lady? How old do I look to you?” she demands.

“Thirty-five?” he guesses.

She leans across the counter. “I am twenty-four! And I am not a lady, I'm a
girl
!”

I feel sorry for the clerk, and I understand his mistake. Ordinarily, Sophie looks her age, but today she's so run-down that even I would have pegged her for much older.

“You want the ice cream or not?” The counter boy isn't laughing anymore.

“Yes.” She repeats her order. “Two scoops of Cherry Garcia, three scoops of Phish Food, one scoop of Chubby Hubby, and one scoop of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough.” I can't believe she remembered it.

“That's seven scoops, you know.”

“I can add.”

He smirks at her. “I'm going to put it in more than one container.”

She stares him down. “I couldn't care less how it's prepared.”

Amanda and I have been silently observing this exchange. We watch as the clerk fixes Sophie's massive ice cream order. When it's ready, he shoves a tray with all the containers at her.

“I'll snag us some seats,” she says, trotting off with her enormous purchase. She stops in front of a small table in the corner and begins laying her cups of ice cream out in a circular formation. It looks ridiculous, as though she's ordered for a family of four.

Amanda settles on a vanilla shake, and I get a scoop of Cherry Garcia. Then I fish out my company Visa card and hand it over. I don't glance at the total. I'm not paying for it directly, but this feels extravagant, wrong.

We sit down across from Sophie, who is absentmindedly stirring a plastic spoon through her Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. “I used to hate ice cream,” she complains. “Evan was the one who turned me on to it. Of course, I wasn't the one doing the eating.”

“I don't get it,” Amanda says, slurping her shake.

I know where this is headed, but I'm powerless to stop it.

“Evan was an enthusiastic lover. He found very creative uses for ice cream.”

“You mean, like, in bed?” Amanda asks, widening her eyes.

Sophie smiles coyly. “Evan and I used all kinds of foods during lovemaking: whipped cream, cantaloupe, strawberries, chocolate sauce . . .”

I wonder if Father uses these things with his mistress.
Don't go there. Do not go there. . . .

Amanda is incredulous. “I didn't think people actually did that in real life.”

“You've never mixed food with sex?” Sophie asks, looking surprised. “Never poured honey all over a lover's body, then licked it off?”

People are starting to stare. A young mother shoots us an angry glance as she yanks her son away from our table.

“No!”

“I guess I'm more adventurous than you.”

“Speaking of being adventurous,” I cut in, eager to change the subject, “did you have any fun adventures while you were visiting your parents?”

“In Connecticut?” she deadpans. “The trip sucked. Thanks for reminding me.” Sophie gets up and tosses a half-eaten cup of ice cream into the trash.

“Strike two,” Amanda whispers,
tsk tsk
ing me under her breath.

“What was so bad about your vacation?” I ask soothingly, as Sophie sits back down.

“All I did was mope around and think about Evan.”

“That's the worst,” Amanda butts in. “I hate when I can't get somebody out of my head.”

“It's like I eat, breathe, and dream Evan.” Sophie begins working on her three scoops of Phish Food. “When I was with him, life was perfect. It's so important that I win him back.”

“Winning him back isn't an option,” I say. “I know it's hard, Sophie, but you're going to have to let Evan go. You're going to have to move on.”

“No can do,” she says. “Evan loves me. He may not fully realize it yet, but he will.”

“Don't you think that's a little—”

“I couldn't care less if you two think I'm pathetic! All that matters is that I win Evan back! I'll do it, too. Just watch me.” She switches to Chubby Hubby.

“Sophie,” I say in a very firm voice, “whatever you're thinking of won't work. Evan's made his decision. Trust me, I've known him a while. Once he makes up his mind, that's it.”

She doesn't seem concerned. “I'm not above throwing myself at someone.”

Amanda's jaw drops. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I love him.”

I blurt, “But what about your dignity?”

“Dignity!” She laughs. “What dignity? I sold that down the river the day I met Evan. He's a jerk, a liar, and a cheat! I thought our relationship was real, and he treated it like a joke.”

“If you think he's such a jerk, then why are you making a play to win him back?” Amanda points out, logically. I've gotta hand it to her—abrasive or not, she learns quickly.

“I'm in love with him, and you can't pick who you love.”

She's right there. “You need to focus on the bad stuff Evan made you put up with,” I say. “Then you won't want him.”

“I'll always want him,” Sophie says defiantly. “He's the biggest catch I've ever landed.”

I pat her hand reassuringly. “You're drop-dead gorgeous. You'll meet someone else in no time.”

“I don't want someone else; I want Evan!” she wails.

“Come on, he isn't
that
special,” Amanda argues.

“He is! He always knows the exact right thing to say at the right time.”

I think of Jason Dutwiler, who seems to have the opposite talent.

“Evan reels you in with compliments, then tosses you out when he gets bored.”

Sophie's pretty much summed Evan up. “And you should remember those compliments, but forget the man.” I eat a bite of Cherry Garcia. “You're a bright, energetic woman. You've got so much to offer.”

“And no one to offer it to,” she responds sadly.

We sit there in silence for a moment. “What can I do to make this easier on you?” I ask. “Is there anything you need? Someone to help clean your apartment, do your laundry?”

“I'm a big girl,” she says sarcastically.

“If you keep eating all that ice cream, you will be,” Amanda mutters under her breath. Fortunately, Sophie doesn't hear her.

“I can take care of myself,” Sophie continues. She discards the Phish Food and Chubby Hubby, and begins nibbling from her container of Cherry Garcia.

“Okay, then how about a girlfriend to talk to, someone to unload on?” I suggest.

“I don't have any girlfriends. Women never like me.”

“Well, Amanda and I both like you,” I vow. I'm afraid Amanda's going to say something to the contrary, but, mercifully, she doesn't. “Consider
us
your new girlfriends. We're here when you need us, day or night.”

Sophie reaches out and squeezes both of our hands. “I could use someone to help me move a few boxes to my place a week from Sunday. I got this apartment last month and haven't had time to transfer everything out of storage yet.”

“I'm happy to help,” I chime in. Amanda doesn't volunteer her services.

“Thanks, guys,” she says, dropping our hands. “Or should I say gals?”

“You're welcome. It's no problem. But I need you to do one thing for me.”

“Anything.”

“For one week, I want you to have no contact with Evan. That means no phone calls, e-mails, or texts.”

She shakes her head. “I can't do that.”

“I'm only asking for a week.” I look her straight in the eyes, showing that I mean business.

Sophie starts to tear up. “Why are you being so
mean
?”

“I'm not being mean. I'm asking you for a friendly favor. One week.” Ideally, I'd like to get her to agree to two, but I figure it's best to start small. Sometimes the only way to help people is to wean them off their former lover one day at a time.

“All right,” she says sadly. “You win. I'll try to leave Evan alone for a week. No promises, but I'll do my best.”

I smile. “That's all I ask.”

“Ice cream goes straight to my ass,” Sophie declares, throwing her spoon down on the table. “You know what Evan used to say? He told me my ass should be declared a national treasure.”

I suppress a laugh. Amanda's not so tactful. “I can't believe you bought a line like that!”

Sophie jumps up from the table. “Shut up!” she says. “It wasn't a line.”