Chapter 27 From Hot Mess to High Voltage
From Hot Mess to High Voltage
On the day of the book club, Bianca woke determined to reach out to Corrado, but an email from New York derailed her morning. The gist was that her agent was letting Bianca go.
After all the work it had taken to land an agent, the countless query letters, the rejection.
The celebration when something like the eightieth letter had drawn interest from a hard hitter at the Mark Russell Agency in Manhattan, who’d been impressed with both the concept of From Meh to Megawatt and Bianca’s established platform.
Pop!
Bianca could still hear the cork bursting from the champagne bottle that night, when her friends had taken her out to Hestia in Austin to celebrate.
She’d never been fired for anything in her life, and the swell of rejection was enough to drown her.
What a wonderful day to have her book be the focus of today’s book club.
All she wanted to do was lie in bed and cry, but instead, she had to wax poetic about her piece of literary dung to a few disinterested expats whom Moira had likely convinced by force to attend.
The only good that came out of her agent throwing her to the sharks was that she was running out of fucks to give, rejection being her new currency, so after a few necessary tears, she fired off a text to Corrado, the man who kept ambushing her thoughts.
I know you’re busy, but could I see you for a few minutes?
Mess or not, she had to explore whatever feelings there were between them. And yes, George’s stance against the relationship made her want it even more.
She knew she was acting five years old. George was acting four, though.
How could they have such a great time and make such headway but end up right back where they started?
You’re goddamned right she’d crossed a line by saying what she’d said, but he’d backed her into a corner.
There was no question she wished that conversation hadn’t happened, that she’d kept her composure and not ruined any positive momentum they’d built together, but she wasn’t the only one to blame.
George had crossed lines too. Her love life was exactly none of his business.
She breathed a sigh of relief when Corrado texted right back. Sono a casa mia. Vieni. I’m at my house. Come over.
Corrado lived near Piazza Santo Stefano on the third floor of a building that faced the square. She’d caught him with bedhead. He wore athletic shorts and a sleeveless white shirt, showing off the butcher knife tattoo.
“Ciao,” he said, kissing her cheeks and letting her in. His breath smelled of mint. “I thought I might never see you again.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I know I’m sending mixed signals.”
He laughed. “That’s a good way to put it. Can I offer you coffee? I’m just waking. Late night at the restaurant.”
An L-shaped couch and a chair faced a large television. A stocked wet bar rested against a wall. The kitchen was chef worthy, an oversize island with various gadgets crammed in the shelves underneath. A single candle burned on the counter, giving off a citrusy scent.
He invited her to take a seat at the kitchen table while he ground beans and made two cappuccinos. “Kenyan beans,” he said, sliding a short mug her way. “An organic farm. Very intense flavors. So what’s going on?”
She took a sip. “That’s . . . incredible.”
He smiled into his own mug as he took a sip. “It is nice, isn’t it?”
Bianca tried not to think about what it would be like to wake up to a cup of his coffee every morning, but that’s exactly what she thought about. Waking up to him, to his coffee, to his . . .
She better get on with it. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m not good at this kind of thing, relationships.”
The air grew thin.
He slipped into the chair opposite her at the table, moved a potted plant out of the way, and waited for more.
“Are you going to make me say it?”
He grinned. “Say what? I’ve no idea what’s on your mind.”
Her pulse pounded in her wrists.
“Can we try again? That’s what I’m trying to say.
” His silence forced more words to tumble out.
“A real try, where I don’t run out on you.
” She set all five finger pads onto the table.
“But I do feel like I need to come with a disclaimer. I can’t promise that I’ll be perfect.
There’s so much going on in my head right now.
I mean, I’m getting better. Being here has been so good for me, but I have a long way to go.
Still, you seem to want something, so let’s go. Let’s give it a shot.”
Silence.
“Fucking say something, I can’t handle this . . . this whatever it is you’re doing.”
Corrado cupped his mug with his hands. He stopped and started a few times, then finally let it out. “We all have a long way to go, Bianca, but you seem to be waiting till you get there to live. Your book taught me so much about you . . .”
“Oh, God, please don’t bring up the book.” The reminder of her agent dumping her cut fresh wounds into her psyche.
“Why can’t I bring up the book? It’s important to what I’m trying to say.
You said Peggy Meh was a placeholder, right?
It’s funny, because that’s sort of how she lives her life till the end.
And I think that’s how you’re living too.
You’ve put a placeholder in your life, while you go searching for yourself, while you’re trying to realize yourself.
You have to live now, you know, while you’re searching. ”
“I am living now. That’s the reason I’m here. In Bologna. To get back to who I used to be.”
“I appreciate that. And I’ve asked you this before. Do you realize that your book is truly autobiographical?”
“Um, it’s definitely not autobiographical. Peggy’s an insane conglomeration of all the clients I’ve worked with over the years.”
He nodded with a cocky air that said that he was right, that he didn’t need to keep arguing. Which pissed her off.
“Fine, please elaborate, Corrado.” These days everyone had a fucking psych degree. Rather dramatically, she held out both hands and motioned for him to bring it on.
“Back to the placeholder reference, you’re refusing to start living, start loving, until you’ve become your supercharged self. When will that be, Bianca?”
She shook her head, not ready to be psychoanalyzed today. “Look, Corrado, I didn’t come here for a fifty-minute session.”
He put his hands in prayer position. “I’m saying this, Bianca, because I care about you. But I can’t be with you. I don’t want to dwell in this waiting room where life is put on hold. To be honest, I like Bianca Meh more than I do Bianca Megawatt. At least she’s real.”
Wasn’t it funny that things that seemed so obvious could elude you if you were too deep into it? His placeholder point was well taken. The question hitting her now was: Did anyone on planet Earth want to become so fully charged? Wasn’t chasing such an idea exactly what had led to her breakdown?
Wait, was that what Donna Bologna meant by getting something wrong? How had she not seen it before? The problem wasn’t her writing; it was that she’d made turning into Bianca Megawatt her goal. No one needed supercharging!
Hold on.
The placeholder thing. Donna Bologna had said that if you let bread rise too long, it collapses. It was time to stick herself into the oven of life. Is this what she was talking about? That tricky little witch.
Bianca tried to swallow with a dry mouth.
Corrado brought her back. “I’ve wanted to say this since we were at the restaurant. I wondered why you ran out, and then it all made sense.”
She nodded slowly, taking it all in. So much for the follow-up that she’d been kicking around: From Hot Mess to High Voltage.
Ultimately, no matter what she realized in this moment, he was still dumping her.
Without finishing her cappuccino, she stood and said, “I’m going to go.”
“Okay, and I’m sorry. I’m not trying to push you out of my—”
“That’s pretty much what I’m hearing.”
“No, I still want to be your friend; I’m pulling for you.”
“Oh, thanks. That’s my pity prize. I appreciate that. Maybe we could have coffee on Tuesdays, talk about the fucking weather.”
“Don’t do that.”
She started to the door. “You’re right, okay. I’m a mess and trying to figure it out. Have a nice life.”
He raised his voice. “It’s not the mess that’s the problem.
It’s that you won’t give yourself a break.
Be happy where you are—with who you are.
Your book is brilliant, Queen Bee. So many thoughtful insights, but it didn’t need to be so long.
I liked Peggy in the middle more than I liked the robot she became. ”
It was all too much. “Take care, Corrado.”
He raised his hands and dropped them on his lap in frustration.
She wanted to congratulate him on the grand opening of his restaurant, but what was the point? Better to just get out of there.
Walking home, Bianca dialed her mother. “How are things going?” Faith asked. “It’s been a while.”
“How are things going?” Bianca repeated. “Let’s see. I’ve totally messed up with Dad, my agent broke up with me, and the only man I’ve ever loved tore me a new one and told me it was over. So that’s my life. No, wait, I get to go talk about the book I hate at this book club here in a little while.”
“Oh, my,” her mom replied. “Why don’t you come to Palm Springs after? Take a breather.”
“Um, no,” Bianca said, “I don’t want to come to Palm Springs. I need a break. From everyone. From me too. I want to go to sleep for a year and then wake up and see if it’s better.”
“What happened with George?”
Bianca was plowing through tourists on her march back home.
“We were having a great time, but then he caught me at the wrong moment and started going off about how I need to stay away from Corrado. He doesn’t even know him.
And then I lost it, said a bunch of things I regret.
” Bianca told Faith exactly what she’d said.
“Ouch, B.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You know why he meddles, right?” Faith asked.
“Oh, yeah. It’s why he screws up everything. Because he thinks he knows what’s best.”