Chapter 33
33
One week later
This could turn out to be a complete disaster. But at least if things go south, I’ve put on a pretty convincing disguise—auburn, curly, about chin length. Fortune favored me this time around, and Sheryl was able to help with the wig. She’s still on her sabbatical. But given the circumstances, she jumped at the chance to walk me through each step over Zoom. God knows I can’t afford a slipup that gets me spotted by another ridiculous man with a phone. The stakes are too high.
My Uber driver drops me off at the corner of Melrose and Robertson, right in front of the entrance to Sempre, Mia. Crawling vines cover its aged, rustic exterior, and warm candlelight sets the spot aglow through its many leaded-glass windows. It isn’t hard to picture Miles and me coming here for a dinner date—our first out in the open. I imagine our feet tangled beneath the table with our fingers interlaced on top. With our free hands, we’d nurse twin glasses of wine while talking about throwback movies like Boomerang and Who Framed Roger Rabbit .
Realizing I have fallen head over feet in love with a man I have yet to share a public meal with is enough to make my stomach do a few flips. But with any luck tonight, a solution will present itself. And soon enough, the tides will turn in our favor, and we’ll be out from under the cloud of doom and suspicion cast by the nefarious exploits of Elliot Majors.
The past seven days have been a dueling swirl of frenetic activity and monotonous waiting. Waiting for Miles to get out of surgery—his first rotator cuff repair and his second Tommy John operation on the ligament that stabilizes his elbow, both on his pitching arm. Waiting to hear from Coach Carlin and the Dodgers front office about their plans for disciplinary action—they’re biding time, likely waiting to base their decision on Miles’s recovery and any criminal charges against him. Then there’s waiting to see if Elliot would actually follow through on his threat to press those charges—spoiler alert, as of this morning, he has. And finally, waiting on a miracle to put this runaway train back on its rightful tracks.
But waiting gets old. And truth is, I’m tired. So tonight, I’m a woman on a rescue mission. Tonight’s wouldn’t be the first I’ve considered either—after all, the Glam Squad group chat has been known to concoct some elaborate schemes. It was Rodney who started planting seeds in the chat about mid-week:
Rodney: If only there was a way to find out what really went down in that alley…
Rodney: Where the hell is TMZ when you need’em?
Rodney: How you gon’ catch a family brawl in an elevator but when it comes to a back alley in WeHo you got nothing?
Jamie: Mhmm. Starting to smell like tilapia
Angelo: I’m sorry, I’m lost. We’re cooking now?
Jamie: Who let the prude in the chat?
Rodney: AYE. Not too much on my man.
Rodney: Also, prude? WHERE?
Me: She’s saying something’s fishy, Lo. And she’s right! How has there been no security footage leaked of Miles and Elliot’s “brawl”?
Rodney: Can’t Miles’s lawyer contact the restaurant management to get them involved?
Rodney came swinging with the million-dollar idea. But he wouldn’t know, couldn’t possibly understand, that Miles would never be willing to involve his mother and risk potentially compromising her privacy—not even if it meant keeping him away from jail, more heavy fines, or saving his sports contract. That the altercation even happened at her place of work has already spooked him to the point of decision paralysis.
Even when I suggested he go on the offensive and consider filing charges against Elliot, given the fact he’s the one who lunged at him, causing a potentially career-ending injury, he flat-out rejected the idea without offering an explanation as to why. Being the “new girlfriend” and all, and unsure of my place in all this, I called Gabe in hopes he’d talk some sense into his best friend and top client.
Instead, he hit me with a doozy. “Ella, I adore you. I do. But I’m going to speak plainly here. There is no way in hell Miles is filing charges. To him, that’s equal to fanning the flames of another public scandal involving a fight over a woman…which nearly wrecked him last time. He’d sooner watch his career go down the drain for it all to blow over on the path of least resistance.”
And if that wasn’t enough to make my head spin, he sealed it off with a gut punch. “But you want to know what makes it even worse this time? I’ve never seen him so in love, but this broken.”
If my need to fix this was raging before, those words made it grow tenfold. Hearing this level of resignation from Miles’s best friend cut deeply, sure. But watching the fight dwindle from Miles more and more each day has made it a gaping wound. Because I know what it’s like to watch the person I love give up on me . But it causes a special kind of anguish to see Miles give up on himself.
I guess it’s a good thing, for him, that the love I confessed last week isn’t the fair-weather kind. Because if he’s lost the will to fight for now, I can muster enough for the both of us. Maybe this is what happens to a heart after it breaks—with time and healing, it becomes reinforced along the cracks. And when it’s right to love again, that heart’s a stronger muscle for having learned what it should take. What it can give.
“Hello, I’m here for an eight o’clock reservation under the name Roberta Clementine,” I tell the host upon entering the restaurant. I keep my smile reserved, yet polite, so as not to draw too much attention to my face, which is only partially obscured by oversized sunglasses, indoors, at night.
When Maria Evelyn texted me her alias, I smiled inwardly at the not-so-subtle homage to Miles’s childhood hero, Roberto Clemente.
“She’s waiting for you at the table,” the host informs me, while motioning for me to follow. At a gliding pace, he takes us across the dining room floor toward the back corner of the restaurant, where a petite woman sits at a quiet booth. “Here you are, ma’am. Enjoy your meal,” he says before swiftly departing. For a moment, I wonder if Maria Evelyn has let him in on what we’re up to.
Before I can sit, she stands from the table and draws me into a tight embrace. It lasts only a few seconds before she seems to remember herself and pull back. “I’m so sorry,” she exclaims. “I forget that some people don’t like that. I hope that was okay?” She’s flustered, and instantly, I want to put her at ease.
“Oh, thank you for asking. But yes! That was more than okay,” I tell her. “With what Miles has told me about you, I’ve wanted to hug you for a long time.”
We’re both sitting now, and at my words, she brings a hand to her chest and her eyes melt with what looks like gratitude mixed with a bit of humility. It occurs to me that given her past struggles, it’s possible she still battles bouts of shame. I only hope she can feel how honored I am to meet the woman who, with the help of her parents, made the man of my dreams.
“Well, I can say the same about you, Ms. Simone,” she replies, and automatically I tell her to call me Ella. “So…Ella,” she says, her voice sinking to a more serious tone. “We have good news and bad and in this order. My son is in love.” She says these words with a warmth that almost makes me forget that bad news is coming next. “B-but he’s in a lot of trouble.”
“I know,” I tell her. “And I want to help him. But I also love him too much to disrespect his wishes. I came here tonight because you reached out to me. And I would never turn down the opportunity to meet you and tell you how much he means to me. But I just came out of a marriage that was built on lies. So, I can’t help you get the security footage to TMZ, or Glitter ’N Dirt, or any other tabloid. Because I know he’d never forgive me for participating in a plot that could end up exposing you.”
At this, Maria Evelyn grunts and smacks the table, which makes me jump. “That boy is so stubborn,” she says while smoothing a hand back and forth over her knuckles. “You know what started that locker-room fight?” she asks, and I shake my head. “That Morales kid called me a d-deadbeat and a j-junkie. Only way he could have known about my past would have been through pillow talk with Miles’s ex Monica.”
Hearing this makes my stomach turn. Miles had alluded to Morales saying something vile, which made him throw the first punch in that locker room. But learning that his own wife betrayed his confidence, and their vows, in such a callous way makes me ache for him—and stand even more firm in my decision not to go behind his back to get the tape out.
“The reason I’m saying this is because I know my son.” Her voice breaks, and tears well in her eyes. “When it comes to the people he loves, he’ll throw himself on the s-sword every single time. He’s always last to defend himself.” She’s actively crying now, and I am too. “I know him,” she says again, this time with more force. “He is the best kind of friend. The best teammate. The best partner. The best son—”
“Maria Evelyn, I see it too,” I cut in, if only to stem the flow of her tears. “But right or wrong, we need to find another way. Because I won’t betray him…”
At this she straightens, grabs a napkin, and dries her eyes. “I was prepared to be upset with you for refusing to help me,” she says, her voice calmer now. “But I see now you’d never hurt him the way she did. I see why he loves you…apart from the obvious,” she says with a smirk.
I start to laugh, but it’s cut short when a deep voice pierces the quiet surrounding us.
“What are you doing here?”
I look up to find Miles at the edge of our booth. Maria Evelyn and I were so engrossed in our conversation, neither of us clocked his approach. I meet his eyes and the look of confusion and hurt I find there makes my stomach drop. I open my mouth to speak, when Maria Evelyn beats me to it.
“I asked her to meet me here,” she says. “Practically begged. P-please…don’t be upset with her, son.”
At this, Miles’s eyes flutter closed, and he pushes air through his nostrils. “Ma, you know how risky this is.”
I sit, still as a statue—quietly contemplating the repercussions of my decision.
“Yes, and you standing there with that big cast on your arm is only going to cause a bigger scene,” she says with some sass. “Now come. Let’s move this to my office.”