Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ivy
Thankfully, the first available flight is out of John Wayne airport. It's only a ten-minute drive, a quick security line, a short wait at the gate. Then almost six agonizing hours in a middle seat.
I spend every single minute trying to think of some way to put the genie back in the bottle. How can I erase this knowledge from the world? Make it so my friends, family, and colleagues don't see me as a divorcee who travels the world to sleep with random men in sunlit cities?
How do I make it so Romeo's family doesn't know what he does?
The details from the episode haunt me. The ones I thought were mine to share. The ones I thought were mine and mine alone.
The lie combined with the truth to start—
I have to confess something, dear listener. My sex life has been in a slump. I know, it's hard to imagine Doctor O in a phase without bliss, but I'm here. And that's when I decided to take my own advice and go to a professional. A different sort of professional this time.
I liked him the second I saw him. Because he had beautiful dark eyes and dark hair. Because he had this accent I couldn't quite place, an accent that made me feel I was somewhere else.
The parts I didn't share.
How good it felt to be somewhere else, because my apartment was a representation of my sad, single life. Because it still says, “look at you, Ivy Vaughn, failure at marriage, no good at the job you trained to do, not even holding your podcast together.”
But I think that was him, mostly. His charm. That's a hard thing to talk about because it's hard to quantify. I don't have any advice on building charm. I only know he had it and it made me feel easy. At ease.
No, it made me feel easy, too.
I fell into him. The way he wanted me too. He was playing a game with me, and I knew the rules. And, for once, I let someone else lead. I let someone else play.
And the next.
I know, it's risky to go back to someone, to try to find real sex when I'm paying for it.
But maybe that's what makes it real. Knowing I get to demand things on my terms. How often can women say that?
How often do we walk into the bedroom expecting things to be what we want?
And if we do, how often do we find a willing partner?
But I found myself wanting to stay a little longer after.
To hear a little more about his life. I found myself wondering what he kept on his shelf.
If he had really read Eat, Pray, Love. If he'd read some memoir I wrote one day.
If I'd ever write a memoir one day. If I'd really let him into my head.
I found myself wanting to share all that pillow talk.
For the first time, since I fell out of love.
Was it because I got to do things my way? Or did we really connect?
Our series on sex with an escort went even more viral. We didn’t just double our listenership. We’ve reached a hundred times the people we normally do.
That’s everything I’ve wanted for the last few years.
I should be over the moon.
Instead, I’m tired and empty. Instead, my shoulders are heavy and my heart hurts.
I wanted to do this with Romeo. But not like this.How do I make this right?
I didn't tell Romeo the truth. I didn't outline the risks.
I need to do something.
But what?
Meredith meets me at baggage claim. She's in one of her usual cool girl cotton travel dresses, but she doesn't look carefree the way she typically does. She's wearing the stress of the situation all over her face.
Still, she smiles and holds up a sign that says Ivy Vaughn.
“Maybe you should write Doctor O on there,” I say. “We’re a few days out from that discovery.”
“The room would go too wild. Everyone loves Doctor O.”
“Not funny,” I say.
She points to my face as she lowers the sign. “Then why do I see a smile?”
I laugh. I can't help it. The situation is absurd. After years of lying, I finally go viral for telling the truth—about sex I actually had—in exchange for lying to someone's family.
It's almost like a message from the universe.
Honesty is the best policy.
I can still make that choice for myself, but I shouldn’t have made it for him. That was wrong.
"It was my fault, you know," she says. "I’m sorry. You know how I get when I’m tired and lonely. I just, I wanted to connect, and I kept running my mouth, and--"
"It's okay, Mer." I throw my arms around her. "It was a matter of time.”
"You're not mad?"
"You didn't spill on purpose."
"Of course not."
I squeeze her.
She squeezes back. "Okay, good. I was so worried.
And I know you're freaking out, but this has been great for us. Everyone is digging into your identity, and it’s giving us so much attention.
The internet loves a mystery. And we can throw them off if we want.
There are a few other women who are viable candidates.
We can point to them if you want. On the podcast or via a publicist." She motions for me to follow her.
"I got a car service. Air conditioning all the way to the city.
" She stops at baggage claim. "Did you check something or… "
I shake my head and hold up my purse. "Just this."
"I guess you can borrow a dress and a pair of underwear." She laughs. "That's a total Mer move. Well, an old Mer move. The new Mer is centered and Zen. And she only has sex when she intends to have sex, so she packs a pair of panties, or leaves enough time to shower at home."
"She sounds really fun."
She play-swats me."
"No, really. I like this for you." I follow her to the car waiting outside and climb into the air-conditioned backseat. "You seem calm. Considering."
"I am. I think." She looks to me as the car pulls onto the street. "It's been good for us, too. Well, for Sex and the OC. Our numbers are way up. Requests are booming. We have other advertiser offers, for twice as much money. A few publishers reached out with book requests."
"Non-fiction?"
"And memoir," she says. "You're Miss Thang right now. Or Doctor Thang, I guess. You can do whatever you want. Even if you stay anonymous."
Stay anonymous. That’s tempting. It would be nice, to hide behind my persona, to never have to marry the two sides of myself, to never admit the woman who knows everything about sex is the same woman who put up with bad sex, and a bad marriage, for a long time.
"I want to fix things for Romeo," I say.
"I didn't ask his permission to out him. "
She nods okay, that's fair. "We could find a sex worker who doesn’t mind being outed. Someone willing to come on the podcast and say, yes, I am the sexy mystery man. Someone who wants the attention.”"
Maybe that’s the smart move, but it feels wrong. Dishonest.
If it’s what he wants, I’ll do it. I’ll give him that option.
But I need to do more. I need to do something else for myself. "I need to apologize. Make it right somehow. Or… I could stay in New York in hiding for the next ten years. I'm not recognizable yet, am I?"
"Give it a few days."
"I'll dye my hair."
"You'd look cute with a pixie cut," she says.
The car slides onto the freeway. It's already afternoon. The road is jammed.
It won't be a fast trip into the city.
More time to talk. More time for this to sink in, I guess.
"What did he say?" she asks. "When you talked to him about it?"
I clear my throat.
"Ivy."
"What?"
"You didn't talk to him."
"We talked, yes,," I say.
“What do you mean, ‘we talked, yes’? Did you explain everything or not?”
“You didn’t see his face, Mer. He was so disappointed. Like I broke his heart.”
“Maybe you did.”
My stomach sinks. Maybe I did. But if I broke his heart, that means I had his heart. And maybe that means I can have it again.
I look out the window and watch the cars stop and go. We're not close enough to see the city yet. When was I last in New York City? In any city other than Los Angeles?
Maybe Meredith is right. I need a vacation. To get far away from the place where everyone knows everything about me. To leave the place where I failed at all the things I wanted to do.
“Are you going to reach out?” she asks.
I should. I know I should. But it’s scary. "He knows how to get in touch. He hasn’t.” I hold up my cell phone as proof.
She looks at the screen. "It's still on airplane mode."
Damn, she's right. "But if he hasn't, then…"
"Then you can still be the one to reach out to him and say, hey, can we talk?"
Technically true. But it means something, doesn't it? If he hasn't tried to talk to me.
I unlock my phone. I stare at the airplane mode icon like it has the power to change my entire life.
Finally, I press the button.
A flurry of texts arrives.
My parents.
A few coworkers.
Cynthia.
Nothing from Rome.
I shake my head.
Meredith squeezes my hand. "I'm sorry, babe." She gives me a minute to take it in. "But that doesn't mean he hates you. It can mean a million things. You should talk to him."
"To his brother's fiancée," I say.
"It's a start," she says. "Are you sure you're a therapist?"
"We're the worst clients. Everyone knows that." I check my message from Cynthia.
Cynthia: Hey, I saw the article in the Register, and I noticed you ran off. Are you okay? Do you need to talk?
Ivy: I'm okay, thanks. Just a little overwhelmed.
She replies a minute later.
Cynthia: Thank goodness, I was getting worried. Danny said it's probably nothing. It's not like you're going to drive off the pier. But you never know.
Ivy: I went to see my friend. In New York.
Cynthia: Ah. How's that?
Ivy: Traffic full. How's Rome?
Cynthia: A little shell-shocked, I think. Danny put things together pretty fast, but he was really cool about it. Impressed actually.
Ivy: Impressed?
Cynthia: Yeah, he said Rome's numbers are fantastic, especially for a new business.
Rome has natural talent. Beyond his natural talents.
Honestly, I'm not sure I've ever seen him talking about Rome this way, like they're equals, like he's excited to start the business.
I think, Danny finding out Rome is an escort is the best thing that could have happened for them.
Ivy: Damn.
Cynthia: Yeah.
Ivy: Did Amara figure it out?
Cynthia: No, she doesn't follow the news or listen to podcasts. And I don't think anyone would know enough to tell her. You know? Her friends won't have the same details you would.
Ivy: She knows about his birthmarks, but her friends don't?
Cynthia: Basically, yeah.
Ivy: Is he mad at me?
Cynthia: I don't think I've ever seen him mad. Now is no exception. But he is…
Ivy: Disappointed?
Cynthia: Bingo.
Ivy: Do you think he'd forgive me?
Cynthia: I think he really likes you. And he knows the truth has a tendency of coming out. I don't know what you told him before. Only that he didn't realize you had a podcast. I think, if he is upset, it's not because people are starting to figure out who he is.. It's that you used him.
Ivy: But this was his idea.
Cynthia: Huh?
Right. I guess that detail isn't exactly in the story. She doesn’t know we were faking a relationship, so how would she know the fake relationship was his idea.
He begged me.
I tried to say no, really. I wanted to say no. Even though I wanted to have sex with him again.
Does that make it alright I said yes and didn’t tell him about my podcast?
It doesn’t feel quite right either. But I can’t ask Cynthia about this. She thinks we were together for real, that we went from client to girlfriend, or something like that.
Ivy: The sex-experimentation thing. That was his idea. That we’d spend time together, that way.
Cynthia: And I'm sure it was good for business. I'm sure he accepted his payment for a while?
Ivy: For a while, yeah.
Cynthia: And then he fell for you. And he thought you fell for him. But now, he's thinking you were using him for material. Something like that. I'm not sure. I'm not saying it's logical. But you know better than anyone. When is love logical?
And I started to like him. And he started to trust me.
And I kept using him for material, without telling him anyway.
That’s when it changed.
It was one thing to agree to these terms as long as we were client and customer. But once we started acting like lovers, I owed him more of the truth.
More of myself.
I knew I was only allowed to share on a technicality, and I did it anyway.
He deserved better than that.
I just… don’t know how to fix things. I never know how to fix my own problems.
Ivy: So he'll still be at the wedding? He’s not uninvited?
Cynthia: Of course. And you're still invited.
I put my cell phone in my lap. "I have an idea." There isn’t much time, with the wedding tomorrow, but there’s enough. Just enough.
"Does it involve talking to him?" Meredith asks.
"Yes, but it's way more dramatic." I tap the driver's seat. "Can we go straight to Nordstrom? I'll need a dress for a wedding."
Meredith smiles. "You better book that return flight."
"Already on it."