24. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
B ack at the shop, paper orders were taking me twice as long to get through since only half of the machine cut like it was supposed to. If I had access to The Mighty Pen bank accounts, I would’ve scheduled a sharpener yesterday. Tina had stepped off to lunch. And a familiar-looking woman bearing a mountain of card stock flyers came bounding into the store.
“Did you do this?” The woman practically threw the pile of flyers at me. They skidded across the counter. Despite having the voice of a witch, she had the best looks money could buy. White-blonde hair with her roots meticulously blended. Skin toned, stretched, Botoxed, and filled to its ideal suppleness. A spray tan that said she loved vacations. And a shape that not only had she bought her ass and hips, but she also had excellent personal training. Too bad the personality didn’t match the drapes.
“Hi. What seems to be the problem?” Someone had to be an adult in the room.
“My flyers.” She popped a hand on her hip and exasperatedly spread the glossy card stock across the counter with the other. “They’re uneven .”
Tina must’ve filled this order in a hurry and absent-mindedly let the machine cut with the blunt blades. A keen eye would have caught that the flyers sloped. All the more obvious when they were stacked together. They were flyers for an essential oil business, Leanne’s. I was assuming this was Leanne.
“I’m really sorry about that. I can reprint the order.”
“I had to take time out of my day—”
Just then, Perry popped into the store. He had a long, narrow box for a giant stack of business cards under his arm. Don’t tell me those were cut awfully too, I internally pleaded. He waved sheepishly at me, distracting me from Leanne’s tirade.
“I can refund you ten percent on the order.” And hurt Tina’s bleeding books even more.
“Ten percent? That’s what you think my time is worth? Just ten percent?”
“Best I can do is knock off twenty percent.” I winced a little, peering into the future where Tina took the hit out of my paycheck. “I’ll even have these reprinted and cut in half an hour. You’re welcome to wait so you don’t have to drive here again.”
“Well—” I could tell Leanne wanted to be more pissed. My appeasement immediately disarmed her. The hand on her hip dropped, and she plopped on the seat next to our fake plant, which was added for ambience. “I’ll wait.”
I held my finger up to Perry to give me a second. I raced to the printer in the back, searched the old order, and clicked print . While the order printed, I ran back to the front.
Perry opened the box. Same problem. The cards gradually moved up in height. “I’m really sorry, Sir.”
“You didn’t print those business cards. We did.”
“Tina made this place seem like it ran as smooth as peanut butter. ”
“It does!” I leaned across the counter, mindful of angry Leanne at the fake plant tapping through her phone. I whispered, “It did. Tina’s been cutting corners recently instead of reducing my pay. The paper cutter hasn’t been sharpened in a while. Hence, shitty cards and flyers.”
“So that’s why she’s looking for a buyout.”
“Yup.”
Perry leaned back and cleared his throat. He said so loudly as if it was an announcement, “Mistakes happen. You don’t have to refund anything. Oh hi, Leanne. Nice seeing you.” They were on a first name basis because of course, we lived in the smallest suburban enclave in the East Bay.
“Perry, nice to see you.” Leanne forced a smile for enough microseconds until Perry looked away. She rolled her eyes and returned to the far more interesting task on her phone. It was lovely what one can see from the perspective of the work counter.
“I thought we’d see each other more after that wild cycle ride.”
Right, I had been busy getting the Beau Bishop special seven days a week. “I’ve been trying to keep this place afloat,” I said quietly, not to give Leanne any ideas. But I’d been busy with double duties: setting an order on print and fucking my personal trainer in the alley on a stack of boxes .
“If I buy this place, are you part of the deal?” Perry asked. There was a shimmer to his gaze that was far more flirtatious than I had ever remembered in our encounters. From the mansplaining in the gym, the giddiness after the cycle session, and now—if I didn’t know any better—Perry Pietraszewski was trying to date me.
I deflected in my charming Midwest way. Playing gullible and stupid so not to sour a relationship with a would-be check signer. “Oh, Tina’s mentioned some changes. I don’t know. Maybe it’s time I pack up and head to the city.” Maybe even try to be a real artist again . “I’ve had more Chris and Claire sightings in the last couple of months than I had in almost eighteen. I think Gorda Vista is getting a little small.”
“You wouldn’t pack up and go into the city, Sir. At our age?”
Shit, Perry, I wanted to say. Given the average lifespan of privileged Americans such as ourselves, I’m not even at a halfway point when it comes to life. I’m supposed to stay in one place? “You know what they say, Per, age is just a number.”
“You’re hilarious, Sir. That’s what I like about you. Do you want to discuss business over some drinks tomorrow? ”
Tomorrow Beau had his audition. After he’d return on the train at the tail-end of rush hour, we planned on debriefing the nightmare and reading smut to each other out loud. “Thanks, really. I just made plans with a friend is all.” The word friend caught in my throat. I wished in that moment I could say “boyfriend, my S.O., partner.” Due to dumbassery in the name of self-protection, I couldn’t.
“A later date then. My number is on those misshapen business cards. Call me when you’re free.”
“I’ll have these reprinted by this evening. I promise.”
“I’m not worried about those, Sir.”
Perry left.
Leanne rested her phone in her lap. “I recognize you from somewhere.”
“Probably here. Gorda Vista is small.” And seeming to get smaller by the minute.
“No, do you work out at that obnoxiously green gym?”
“EverGreen the way he asked about my divorce and wedged himself inside all my personal details. He never stopped taking my money, even when things became a bit dubious on the training front. He didn’t want me. He wanted my alimony. And where was he going to be in three years when that eventually dried up? I blinked. Blinked to acknowledge I heard Leanne.
“Are you separated? Divorced?”
“D-d-divorced,” I murmured.
“Well-off ex? Getting alimony?”
I nodded. “For a few more years, at least.” Quiet enveloped the shop. I lost myself in the repetitive whir of the printer in back. It suddenly stopped. “I need to go cut your flyers.”
“That can wait, honey. I think the fumes in here are getting to me. Would you like to join me for a coffee or something?”
“I can’t leave the shop while the manager is out.”
“Too bad. I could bring something back for you.” She must’ve seen me grab at my stomach. “Something herbal?”
“A mint tea would be nice.”
“I’ll be back in half an hour.” She paused in the doorway. “Even when things didn’t work out, he still was a blast in class. He’s one of the best trainers around here. It’s why I couldn’t leave the gym.”
Once she left, I cut her flyers, anger slicing and stacking. I boxed and taped them, added The Mighty Pen logo sticker, and gave the package one last spin on the counter before the new order was ready to go. I clicked the next order for printing. The murmur of the printer kicked in. I bent over the counter, propping myself up on my elbows.
I had made it my goal to wrap my heart in bubble wrap, to make sure my feelings were safe and protected like the order of “The Birthday Bitch” wine glasses I had next on the order queue. I blamed our physical intimacy for chipping away at my guard. Devastating orgasms pierced through any armor of common sense. Beyond that, other things played out in my brain. The sweet things he said. The way he tilted his head all the way back when he ate noodles. The way he danced and flipped pancakes to Carly Rae Jepsen songs. The way I laughed with him. All lies, a performance to suck me in.
When Chris had asked for a divorce, the first words out my mouth was, “That tracks.” When he and Claire premiered as a couple, I said, “Of course.” After the third miscarriage, Chris had to go for a long walk. I flatly asked, “What else did you expect?” I hadn’t cried. I had no tears left.
But today, I went for it. Snotty, messy tears that bled into my shirt sleeve. Sobs that echoed off the printing room walls and bounced off the machines. My therapist had said my under reactions were a sign I wasn’t giving my emotions any room. If I wasn’t going to make time for them in the present, they were going to come up later in something else. “Like divorce?” I had asked. Never got a response.
That evening, Beau was going to try his entire Dom Next Door program officially in a cycle class at the studio as a practice run for his audition. I had planned to be front and center, to woo my heart out for him. Instead, I texted.
Hey, big order came up at work :( Can’t come tonight
I’ll come over after class and tell you all about it :D
He arrived at my apartment, adorably still dressed in his audition outfit and eyes outlined in black. The zip-up hoodie he wore for warmth was draped open. His horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.
I let him in. I had spent the evening finishing what I had left of some amaretto and sobbing into my sleeve. Not exactly handling last-minute orders as I had led him to believe .
“The class was an absolute hit. I wish you’d been there. I think I need to work on my timing with this one pun, but I’ll smooth it out before the audition.”
I let him drone on as I filled my plastic juice cup with more amaretto.
“This might seem a little gross, but you have got to check out what I found on my mom’s bookshelf.” He fished a beat-up paperback from his hoodie pocket. Delightfully Pursued by the Duke and Prince . “I saw the passages the cracks in the binding automatically opened to. We’re in for an exciting night.” I squirmed out of his arms, which reached for my waist. “You smell like you’ve been through half a liquor cabinet. Work going that badly?”
The alcohol in my system flicked off my doubts, telling me to back down. “So many times I’ve asked ‘Why me? Why did he pick me?’ This town is practically teeming with divorced first wives, and I’ve seen them. They can do that leg thing over their head and have weaves of lush hair to their asses. Divorces and young personal trainers look good on them.”
He squinted in confusion.
“I talked to Leanne.” I gestured with the cup, sloshing sweet liquor onto the floor. “Blonde gym-goer with the hottest ass money could buy? ”
“I know Leanne.” He clenched his jaw and stood with his hands in his hoodie pocket, waiting for the other shoe I was going to drop.
“The pattern she described to me was so fucking familiar. Hot trainer with a disarming personality cheers up an older divorced woman who buys lots of one-on-one sessions. They turn sexual. Over a cup of tea, she showed me the social media profiles of Beth and Liz. A familiar face popped up in all of them.” The mint tea and air-dirty-laundry session with Leanne had unearthed a sickening number of social media photos. It was just as infuriating realizing none of his exes hated him enough to delete or untag a photo. They were proud he was a notch on their post.
His normal sunny expression burnt out into a blank. “We’re grown-ups, Sir. I have a past.”
“Not just any past. You’re a fucking shark. A shark that bails when the money source dries up!”
“Interesting take. Did Leanne tell you that she dumped me when she found out I lived with my parents? Or that Beth went back to her marriage? And Liz is on her second marriage to a retired periodontist!”
“And those are the ones still going to the gym! Leanne said there was a huge turnover in cycle class not too long ago. No wonder they advertise free first classes. Their star instructor keeps shitting where he eats.” It was like the fake drawing all over again. I had a winner, but it turned out Beau was the human equivalent of the free coupon given to every new customer. Why didn’t I just take a free koozie?
“I’ve made mistakes, but I swear, Sir, with you—”
“With me it’s different, huh? Because I’m a lonely ol’ loser who doesn’t care you didn’t go to college or you live with your parents. Ply me with enough sex and conversation, and I’ll tolerate anything, right?”
His chin trembled, the unflappable finally flapping. “I’m in love with you, Sir. I wanted to make the moment I said it special this weekend. But you need to know it now. I love you.”
I had heard this before. Along with words like I do and for better or worse . I had enough lawyer-led meetings and signed documents to know that words themselves meant nothing. “Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit. I love you.”
My right knee buckled. The way he said it was what any woman wished to hear, a master class delivery. It’s almost like he had majored in acting in college. “You’ll say anything for the money.”
“It’s not like that. ”
“Then why am I still paying you? Seventy-five buckaroos, five times a week.” Admitted sex workers were cheaper and probably had better ethics.
His gaze drifted to the floor. “The optics are not ideal.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“I should’ve stopped taking your money. I know. But the increase in training sessions and class attendance caught corporate’s attention. I couldn’t have this audition without you, Sir, in more ways than one.”
“So, you used me.”
“I didn’t mean—I love you.”
“You convinced me you weren’t a dumb jock, Beau, but all this time you’ve been worried about auditioning for the app, you could’ve used your actual talent and just jerked it on the FanTasy app for five times that amount.”
His face turned to stone. “I’m not a prostitute.”
“Then why do I feel like a john?” My bottom of the liquor cabinet amaretto was finished. That left an embarrassingly old bottle of Baileys for the next drink of choice to drown my sorrows in. “I called Margie at the front desk to cancel my membership. She directed me to a stupid 1-800 number. I was on hold for over an hour, so I just called my bank and canceled my card. Your gym really is a piece of shit.” I poured myself the Baileys and shambled to the front door, opening it.
“So this is over.” He began his exit but paused in the doorway. “You’re a quitter, Sir. It’s true when you work out, and it’s true with us. You wanted to go with the flow and not label this?” He gestured a two-way street between us. “Because you’ll do anything to make quitting easier.”
“Another boy with another shitty opinion. I’d suggest you stop fucking divorced women, Beau. We’re like the Olympians of quitting because we know a rigged game isn’t worth playing.”
He nodded and closed the door behind him.
At first, the crying came out like a cough, a little something stuck in my throat. I stopped my mouth with the back of my hand. Waterworks poured from my eyes. Another held back cry and snot shot out of my nose. I ran to my bed and collapsed into it. All this time, I thought I had put my feelings in the equivalent of a black box on an airplane. These things were supposed to survive the inevitable crash. But no. My stupid feelings caused the crash, as if they were a taunting gremlin perched on the wing.