Chapter 28
Marco
I decide to spend the rest of the week and weekend in the Hamptons.
I stay up late with a glass of bourbon in hand and wake up late, starting my morning with a run down the beach.
My house has a home gym, so I keep up with my workouts that I’ve been doing at my gym in Manhattan.
Drinking and working out have been my escapes.
They completely juxtapose each other, but I don’t care. It’s what’s getting me by.
My phone is still on do not disturb , aside from my mother, who I’ve spoken to a few times.
I told Jessica to email me if there is any real emergency at work, and so far, she hasn’t.
I take my glass of bourbon on ice and walk out onto the upper deck.
There, I settle in a lounge chair and look out over the ocean under the setting sun.
I hear laughter trickling up from the beach below.
It’s probably the same family I’ve been seeing every day.
I frown slightly as their laughter meets my ears.
It’s like a cruel reminder of the life that was taken away from me.
The chance I had to get to meet my daughter.
It’s funny because being a family man was the furthest thing from who I wanted to be, but knowing it’s something I can’t have suddenly makes it the only thing I think about.
I grab my AirPods and nestle them in my ears, turning on some music to drown out the life Erica didn’t want with me.
I’ve tried my best to let it go and come to terms that I won’t be in either of their lives, but the more I think about it, the more it pisses me off.
Who is she to dictate whether I know my own daughter?
What gives her the right to keep that secret from me? It keeps eating away at me.
I sit up from my chair and grab my phone, having the urge to call her and tell her everything I think about her.
My thumb hovers over her name and the call button, but I decide against it.
It won’t do any good. It won’t change anything that happened between us.
It won’t give me the time back that I lost with a little girl without her father. She can blame her mother for that.
Since it’s my last night here in the Hamptons, I decide to go out.
I’ve been holed up in the house since I got here.
It might do me some good to get out, even though I don’t know anyone in town.
I should have called Jacob to come out for the weekend, but it’s too late now.
Plus, I don’t know if I’m ready to tell him about the mess that is my life.
I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. Maybe, like Erica, it will now be my secret to keep.
I throw on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, and put a black Yankees cap on.
I call up my driver to meet me at the house.
Twenty minutes later, he arrives and makes the short drive into town.
I have him drop me off at the beach club, where I find a seat at the corner of the bar.
It’s the perfect spot to people-watch and have the bartender at my beck and call all night.
The night air has cooled significantly since the sun has set and the ocean air is drifting in from the nearby beach.
Drifting in along with it is the Hamptons’ nightlife, full of men and women looking for a good time before the weekend comes to a close.
My eyes wander to a few women, but none really catch my eye.
If I’m being honest, the dark-haired ones all remind me of Erica.
I half expect one to turn around and it be her.
It’s stupid, really. I know she’s back in Manhattan, probably at home being a mother. The annoying thing about it all is that she’s probably a really good mother. It’s good for Josie, but it makes me resent her all the more.
I pick up the glass of bourbon the bartender just brought over and slam it back before ordering another.
He gives me a knowing nod, like he knows the kind of night I need.
The next thing I know, I’m on the beach, my toes in the sand with no idea where my shoes are.
There are two women in the water in their bra and underwear beckoning for me to join them.
One blonde. One redhead. Both have to be about twenty-five.
I wonder how many bourbons I had to have had to end up here.
I look around the beach and realize I’m not even at the beach club. I’m on the private beach at my house.
“Marco!” the blonde one calls out.
“Polo!” giggles the redhead.
They’re each taking off their bras now, tossing them to the shore.
“Marco!” she calls out again.
“Polo!” the other calls.
I make my way to the water, dark and glistening under the full moon. The water is cold and uninviting, but the half-naked women in front of me are invitation enough. Maybe they’re what I need to forget.
I wake up the next morning with a pounding headache, as if it has fists fighting to get out of my poor head.
I groan as I roll over onto my back. The sun trickling in through the white linen curtains seems to be laughing at me as it pounds against my eyelids.
I force them open and look around. I’m in my bedroom, the bed empty beside me.
For some reason, I feel relieved that I’m not waking up to one of those women, or both, when in the past I would feel pride for bagging two at a time.
I sit up and see that I’m down to my briefs and they’re still damp from the ocean.
I pull the sheets off me and throw on a shirt before padding out of the room toward the kitchen in search of water and something to help my headache.
I stop in my tracks when I see the two women from last night, lying half naked on the sectional couch in my living room. I clear my throat loudly and they stir slightly.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Good morning,” they groan in unison as they roll over lazily and look at me.
I guess I’m not the only one hungover. I try to keep my eyes up and not at their naked breasts. They’re not modest about it either.
“What happened last night?” I ask sheepishly.
“We had way too many shots of tequila,” says the redhead, rubbing at her temples.
“Body shots,” the blonde corrects her.
“And danced on the bar.”
“And then we somehow got back here.”
“And went for a night swim.”
They continue to ping-pong back and forth, filling in the gaps of last night. I wait for the part about why I woke up alone and they’re out here.
“Then you made us sleep on the couch,” says the blonde with a roll of her eyes.
“I did?” I ask, scratching my head. That’s not like me.
“You kept saying something about someone named Erica,” shrugs the redhead.
“Is she your girlfriend or something?” asks the blonde, a tone of jealousy in her voice.
“Something like that,” I lie. “Look, I have to get back to Manhattan. I can have my driver come and pick you up. But first, you should probably find your clothes.”
Once I help the two women find their clothes strewn on the back deck, and they disappear in my town car, I make myself a greasy breakfast, even though it’s noon.
I cook up some eggs and bacon and toast in hopes it will settle my stomach.
I chug a large glass of ice water and down two painkillers.
Afterward, I pack my suitcase, and once my driver gets back, we start the drive back to Manhattan.
The car ride is rough on my stomach. I feel like I might hurl at any time.
And I keep thinking about how, even when I’m practically incoherent, Erica still has a hold on me.
I could have had a threesome with two beautiful, young women last night, but I didn’t because of her.
We aren’t even together. We never really were.
I can’t wrap my head around how I’ve become this man now.
The one who pines after someone, especially when I’m so angry at them.
When I arrive back in Manhattan, it’s nearly 4 p.m., and all I want to do is crawl in bed and sleep off the hangover that I tried desperately to get rid of with no luck.
After I shower, I close my blackout shades in my room and fall into bed, not caring that I haven’t had dinner.
Sleep comes easily, and soon it’s the next morning.
As I roll out of bed after a solid fourteen hours of sleep, I brace myself for the day ahead.
I’ve never taken this much time off work, so I know there will be plenty to catch up on, but that’s not what’s pressing.
I’m more worried about running into Erica after everything that happened between us.
I haven’t seen her in over a week. I know she’s probably settled in her new department now, which is conveniently across the floor from me.
Maybe I won’t see her, I lie to myself, thinking I don’t want to.
I’ve only been at work an hour, and I’ve already vowed to never take time off again.
The emails I have piled up in my inbox are enough to push me over the edge, but there are a few meetings that I had Jessica reschedule last minute, not expecting the repercussions of doing so.
I have a couple pissed off partners demanding answers.
It takes me all morning to try and smooth things over with them, and I hate that I have to grovel with the few hastier ones, but it has to be done to keep them happy.
After lunch, I feel like I’m on a warpath and somehow the rest of the office can sense it.
Most everyone I pass avoids my gaze. Even Jessica is busying herself with who knows what to keep her distance.
Seeing Erica’s empty office just worsens my mood, even though I was the one behind it.
I want to come up with some excuse to head in her direction, but I can’t think of anything.
A knock sounds at my door and Jessica pops her head in warily.
“What is it?” I bark.
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Vallejo,” she says warily. “But one of our writers needs to speak with you.”
“I hardly have time for that.”
“She says it’s urgent.”
I roll my eyes and impatiently gesture for Jessica to send the writer in. The woman walks in hesitantly and I motion for her to take a seat in the chair in front of me.
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Vallejo.”
“What is it?” I ask impatiently.
“I-I…”
“I’m a busy man.”
“I was hoping to talk to you about a promotion.”
I let out a laugh through my nose.
“I’ve been here at The NY Daily News for a few years now. I’ve never asked for much. I work hard. The truth is, I really need the money to help pay for my son’s school. He got accepted to—”
“I don’t need your life story,” I snap.
“I-I just hope you can consider it.” Her eyes glaze over and I see she’s on the verge of crying.
Normally, I would say “no” outright. Normally, tears would have no effect on me. But now, all I feel like is an asshole who just made this innocent woman upset because of my own mess of a life. It isn’t fair to her.
I take a deep breath, releasing my pent-up emotions on the exhale.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
She looks up at me curiously.
“I’ll have HR bring me your file, and see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Mr. Vallejo.” She stands up suddenly and takes my hand in hers, shaking it gratefully. “Thank you.”
When she leaves, closing the door behind her, I put my head in my hands. I should have just stayed in the Hamptons. I’m in no state to play boss.