Greta

Justin

Alec

Michelle

Trace

Jess

Isabel

The only thing he wanted to say to her was shut the fuck up. Never mind that her voice suggested that she was attractive and around his age---it was three in the fucking morning… and she was a complete stranger. Even at the appropriate time, on a good day, he could care less about anything this chick had to say, especially if was about her cheating-son-of-a-bitch boyfriend and the super slut he had on the side. Guys cheat. If she was, indeed, his age that was a fact she should’ve been well aware of by now and her ignorance (which was really her stupidity) was God punishing her for not going out and buying a fucking clue. He had to be up in two hours, he didn’t have time for this shit.

“…I mean, a Tiff and Co diamond necklace? I can’t afford something like that and he’s such a cheapskate I know he’d never get me something that expensive---even though my birthday is coming up, maybe he got it to surprise me? We’ve been together for almost six years… if high school counts… that doesn’t count huh? He didn’t get me that necklace did he? It’s hers, it’s that disgusting whore’s necklace. And I touched it. I… touched… it.” And now she was crying. Sobbing. Loud, throaty sobs.

What to say? That he’d rather cut his dick off than hear a woman cry? He was feeling extra irritated at the moment, but he’d been brought up better than that. Cursing at a strange woman, hanging up on a woman who was obviously in need of someone to talk to went against his polite upbringing. Instead he sighed. Fumbled for the lamp beside him until the room glowed with yellow light. Sat up, switched the receiver to his right ear, and massaged his forehead.

“I’m sorry…” He could appreciate the apology. “…I’ve just been feeling for quite some time that something was wrong. I thought it was work, the stress of going for that promotion---I never would’ve thought it was another woman. A woman who wears Tiffany’s. Like I could ever compete with someone like that… pfft. Yeah, right.”

“Yeah. Right.” Wait. What? It was sleep deprivation, the interruption of much needed sleep… why else would he be saying, “I don’t know who this jerk off is---I don’t even know who you are---but you sound sweet and… pretty… and totally and completely devoted to this guy which is more than any creep could ask for. It’s not about competing with Tiffany’s, you’re worth more than that… it’s about finding someone who deserves you.”

A pause. A few sniffles. A moment of wondering: what the fuck just happened? Why did I say that? And then, “Thanks. I don’t know how I screwed up Izzy’s number, but I’m glad I did. Thank you.”

Another pause. One last sniffle. A glance at the clock that read 3:36.

He rolled his eyes. “No problem.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

A dial tone that leaves both of their identities unknown.

“Long night?”

It was Michelle. Reliable, hard-working, perceptive Michelle. His secretary for almost two years now. She must’ve seen the unusual slump in his shoulders as he trudged through the corridors on his way to his office. For a moment he’d truly believed it was the cup she held outstretched that was speaking to him, until his eyes caught sight of her perfectly manicured, burgundy polished nails. It was then that his mind stopped wondering about the anonymous late night caller from last night and instead focused on what was at hand.

He took in his surroundings. He was at work, behind his desk, Michelle was standing before him with a large cup of coffee and she looked exceptionally pretty today, her necklace was (for lack of a more manly word) beautiful, adding to the glow that seemed to radiate from her. She was smiling, happy. There were files upon files scattered across his desk, paperwork for this afternoon’s meeting. And already there was a message from Jess requesting that he call her. He assumed it was to talk about tonight’s dinner, the God awful pre-engagement dinner with their parents that he was not looking forward to.

He sighed. Long night? More like long week. It was barely Monday and already he was aching for Friday. He took the cup, removed the lid, and inhaled. “God bless you,” he breathed, and took a much needed sip.

Michelle laughed softly. “Am I holding calls this morning?” His exuberant nodding making her laugh again, louder.

He took a longer sip. “At least until noon. I need to get my head together.”

“Okay.” And then she was gone, and his mind was back on the woman from last night with the wrong number. How weird was that?

He had just laid down to sleep maybe an hour before she had called.

“Hello?” The ring had nearly given him a heartache. He was so tired he could barely open his eyes. He hadn’t checked the caller ID, it seemed extremely late, it must’ve been an emergency.

“Randy is Izzy awake?” A grief-stricken voice.

Who was Randy? Who was Izzy? No one he knew. “Wrong number.” His finger moved toward the ‘off’ button of his cordless.

“Oh!” But her exclamation startled him. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I just… I think…” She took a shaky breath. “Have you ever been cheated on?”

The question that started it all. Her tireless rant, practically her whole life story about how she’d been doing her boyfriend’s laundry---Alec, that was his name---when a diamond necklace fell out of one of his coat pockets.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around this woman’s openness. Was he supposed to care? Was she looking for pity? Because the only response he wanted to give was: HEY! LADY! I don’t know you. Hang up and save this conversation for Randy, or Izzy, or whoever the fuck.

He gathered the strength to look at the clock. Three in the goddamn morning?

Replaying it now made him scoff with mild amusement. Only in Los Angeles…

What disturbed him most was the disappointment he felt for not getting her name. Why didn’t he just Star 69 her and ask? He’d listened to her until it was almost four in the morning, the least she could do was tell him her name. But then, what would having her name have done besides make things complicated?

These were the facts:

She had meant to call Izzy---her best friend, he assumed---and screwed up the number, causing her to call him instead. For reasons unknown to the universe she ended up spilling her guts to him, and for reasons that will forever remain unknown to the universe he’d ended up giving her calming advice. And then they had hung up.

Fuck, the fact that the conversation had even occurred meant this chick had serious issues.

And anyway, he was engaged.

Still, he found himself thinking of names that suited her voice. Joanna, or maybe Victoria; a Francesca would most definitely be friends with someone named “Izzy.” Or maybe she was a Sophie.

He growled in annoyance with himself and took a full on gulp of coffee, hoping the burn that ensued would snap him back to reality.

Goddammit, son-of-a-bitch, damn it all to Hell… he couldn’t kid himself, things were totally fucking complicated.

***

“Damn dude, you look like shit. Have a fight with Jess or something?”

His first instinct was to punch Trace in the kidney, but instead he just glared.

“Have a fight with Lynn?”

He rolled his eyes.

“With… Michelle? She fuck up a message again? What?”

He could keep up the silent treatment until Trace got the hint and left him alone, but he was his best friend. He deserved an explanation for the pissy mood, and although he was being so goddamn annoying, he meant no harm.

Glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes until the meeting. They were set up and ready, fifteen minutes was more than enough time to get this off his chest.

“I didn’t fight with anyone.”

Trace scoffed. “We’re playing that game today.”

He rolled his eyes again and took a seat at the head of the conference table. “I didn’t.”

“Okay,” Trace took a seat to the left of him, tugging at his tie to loosen it, “what’s up your ass then?”

“A woman.”

Trace’s eyes bulged. “Oh, shit! Jay, come on dawg, Jess is amazing, you can’t be cheating on her…”

“I didn’t say I was cheating!”

“You didn’t say you weren’t cheating!”

He sighed. Loosened his tie as well. This was exactly why he didn’t want to say anything. “Just drop it. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Because there shouldn’t be something between you and this ‘woman’ that’s so complicated it’s going to be ‘hard’ for me to understand.”

Now it was his turn to scoff. “Complicated?”

“Well it sure as fuck ain’t easy, or we wouldn’t be having this roundabout bullshit of a conversation.”

Touché. But then why did he feel like he was confessing to Jess herself, rather than confiding in his best friend? Because you’re not “confiding,” you didn’t cheat, there’s nothing to “confide.” Oh, but weren’t guilty feelings a form of unfaithfulness? He massaged his forehead. “Look,” he started, “I didn’t cheat on Jess. This woman, she had the wrong number, we talked and she said some shit, but that’s it. I guess I’m just bugging because I didn’t get enough sleep and this deal could really make or break us.”

Trace smirked. “What did you guys talk about?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Stuff.”

“Kinky stuff?”

“Trace!”

Trace laughed. “If she was one of those sex talk operators it’s cool. That’s not cheating, it’s like looking at porn, so stop trippin’. And please don’t worry about this deal. We got this. I mean, fuck, for a second there you really had me worried. I thought something was seriously wrong.” He looked at the clock. Five more minutes until the meeting. He re-tightened his tie. “And for the record ‘she had the wrong number’ is the lamest excuse. I’ve been your boy for how long? I can read between the lines, dawg.”

Which in turn made him laugh. Leave it to fucking Trace.

***

“Trace?”

“Yeah, he was great. They loved him.”

“Wow. Congratulations.” Jessica smiled. They were having a quick drink at the bar before their parents arrived and she couldn’t be more happy. Excited was more like it. In a few months this man sitting beside her would be her husband and she couldn’t wait. And to be able to share this night with him, this casual conversation about work made her smile widen. How did she get so lucky? She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

He regarded her with a kind face. “I love you too.” But he felt awful that more and more, in the past two weeks especially, he was beginning to feel that he was lying. He loved her, but was he in love with her? Was all of it enough to really get married?

He used to be so sure… why wasn’t he anymore?

He took a drink of his scotch hoping he’d get things together before it was too late.

***

“Hello?”

“I figured it out. Instead of two I pressed three, and I totally messed up the area code. Guess that’s what I get for dialing with blurred vision.” She laughed humorlessly. “Get it? ‘Cause I was crying?” She cleared her throat. “Um, but anyway, um, I just wanted to call and thank you once again for listening to me. That’s the nicest thing a stranger’s ever done for me, and you told me exactly what Izzy did. She’s my best friend. Her real name is Isabel.”

3:17. Fuck, did this chick ever sleep at a normal time?

“She always hated Alec. They just have clashing personalities. I bet she’d like you, though.” She cleared her throat again. “But none of that is why I’m calling you. By the way, I’m sorry I’m calling so late, I just figured you’d be available to answer around this time since you did last night. And I was feeling restless ‘cause I really wanted to thank you again. I wanted to send you a bottle of champagne. As a thank you gift.”

A pause as he sat up to let all of this sink in. She was pulling him in with her rambling again.

She sighed. “Are you still there?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Um, it’s really no problem. Um, keep the champagne, it’s cool.”

“I’m not crazy.” She laughed again, for real. “I promise. I just talk a lot. And I’m easily moved by selfless acts of kindness. Please, let me send you something. A nice red wine maybe?”

He was tempted. He could have her send it to the office. The sender address would have her name. But that was too much wasn’t it? Making it even more complicated? He shook his head dismissing the idea. “You don’t owe me anything.”

A beat of silence as she considered. She was probably being too weird. Izzy always said there was such a thing as being too friendly. “Okay. Well… I’m Greta, and I just really wanted to thank you again.”

“You’re welcome. I’m… Justin.”

“Goodnight, Justin.”

“Goodnight.”

Shit. Now that he knew her name this couldn’t possibly be the end.

If he pressed Star 69 her number would be logged in his caller ID. But he couldn’t do that. Could he?

He didn’t do it. Why didn’t he do it? And why was he staring at the menu overhead, asking himself this question when he should’ve been ordering? He knew what he wanted. A large coffee with a double shot and a few pumps of vanilla. Cindy was working the register. She knew what he wanted too. It made him feel pathetic sometimes… always doing the same thing. He’d been with Jess for four years now, it sounded harsh but she was beginning to become just another one of his habits.

Predictable was not an attractive trait. But someone that was predictable was also reliable… reliability was an important element in marriage, wasn’t it? Why didn’t he know the answer to this question? And why couldn’t he just get it together long enough to fucking order already?

So he didn’t do it, big deal, it was probably for the best anyway. For all he knew she was in cahoots with some psychopath, Bonnie and Clyde-ing it up, working as a team to trick dumb asses like him: randomly call someone, pretend she had the wrong number, get the idiot who answers the phone interested so that next thing he knows she’s the only thing on his mind, gets him to ask for her name, log in her number, schedule a day and time to meet up, and then BAM! Found dead in the basement of some sick fuck’s house.

He shook his head, I watch way too much TV, and tried focusing on the menu again. Maybe a mocha this time?

“Large blended chai with whipped cream for Greta.”

He almost made himself dizzy looking around the room in a kind of excited, panicked frenzy. Greta was a slightly unique name, that must’ve been her. That had to be her! But where was she? The only people in sight were an old man, his equally old lady friend, and a guy with shaggy black hair.

“Small decaf latte for Isabel.”

Greta. Isabel.

That was most definitely her. Before his heart could stop from an overwhelming sense of anxiety two women brushed past him, the one on the right running into his left arm. She steadied herself, clutching his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry!” Is this Greta or Isabel? “Oh God, are you okay? I’m such a clutz, I have the hardest time paying attention to my surroundings, I just fall over everything and everyone, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She notices that she’s still clutching him, holding onto this complete stranger that is probably ready to freak out on her for touching him. She takes a step back and bumps into the woman behind her.

“Greta!” The woman rolls her eyes and heads to the counter for their drinks.

Of course, this one is Greta. The babbling. The excessive apologies. The sweet, innocent, sincerity in her voice.

He should introduce himself… shouldn’t he?

She blushed. “It’s a curse. Clumsy and uber talkative.” Glanced at the counter. “And now Izzy’s giving me the evil eye which essentially means shut the fuck up.” Laughed softly, embarrassed. “Again, I’m sorry; but I’m glad you’re okay.” Turned to walk away.

It was like word vomit the way he blurted his name. The old couple was startled. Cindy smiled, amused. For the year and a half that he’d been coming here she’d never seen him so animated. It was usually shuffle in, mumble order, tip two bucks, shuffle out. She leaned against the register for a better view, while Isabel stayed back sipping her latte intrigued.

Greta turned back to him. “777-6263 Justin?”

He nodded.

She grinned. “Wow.” Took him in slowly. “You’re hot. I mean---! You’re super attractive. You sound cute on the phone, but in person you’re, like, really good looking.” Should he thank her? “You sort of resemble Alec.” Her two-timing asshole boyfriend? Never mind on the thanks.

He scoffed. “I sound ‘cute?’”

Her eyes widened. Guys hated cute the way she hated being referred to as “sweet.” “No! No, not at all, you sound---”

Isabel handed her the chai, her eyes on him. “Hi. Isabel. Excuse Greta, she has no people skills.” She tugged on Greta’s arm. “Come on dork, we’re late.”

But being one that always knew what to say even in the most awkward situation, Greta didn’t budge. “Let me pay for your coffee. Please. It’s the least I can do.”

“Did you hear me? We’re late.”

Greta looked from him to Isabel. “But…”

He found himself saying once again, “It’s cool. You don’t owe me anything.”

And before she could talk her way out of it, Isabel was pulling her out the door, down the street. If he did say so himself, she was “super attractive” too. Extremely adorable in her multicolored scarf.

“It’s disarming.” Cindy caught his attention. He finally made his way to the register. “I’ve never met anyone as genuine as Greta.”

He pulled out his wallet. “She’s a regular?”

“Yep. Isabel, too.”

He knew this would sound weird, but he had to ask. “What does she usually order?”

But if Cindy was suspicious at all she didn’t show it; she just smiled. “Chai.”

“Does that have caffeine?”

“Uh-huh, but not nearly as much as a coffee with espresso.”

“I’ll try one.”

Her smiled widened. “Small, medium, or large?”

“Large. With whipped cream.”

A large chai with whipped cream… that was so distinctly different from a red eye with vanilla… coming from the man that seemed to know nothing about variety. This excited Cindy. She didn’t really know him or Greta on a personal level, but as a barista she’d become perceptive enough to know that a person with Greta’s personality could be good for someone like him, someone who seemed so utterly bored with life. By ordering this drink he was already taking a step in a more stimulating direction.

“That’ll be 4.10.”

He gave her a five, told her to keep the change, and put a twenty in the tip jar. “Is Wednesday her usual day?”

“Wednesdays with Isabel. Friday mornings she comes alone.”

He and Jess were having breakfast on Friday. Fuck.

Still, in thirty seconds flat he’d written a note on his receipt and handed it to Cindy. “Cool, can you make sure she gets this then?”

Cindy's mouth dropped.  This was more than a step in a more stimulating direction, this was making history.

Come to think of it, he’d probably seen her before. It was only in the past couple of weeks that Michelle had started bringing him coffee; he used to get it himself every Wednesday and Thursday before life had started feeling so exhausting; they were the hardest two days in the business week, Wednesday being dead smack in the middle, Thursday taunting him with the taste of the weekend only to be bitterly reminded that first he had to get through Friday.

He checked his reflection, his eyes catching the phone in the mirror. It was now Saturday night; she hadn’t called. Maybe Cindy had neglected to give her the note? Maybe he should stop being so obsessive and focus on Jess for a change. Friday’s breakfast had been a nightmare.

He’d managed to fix things by suggesting Long Island with Trace and Delilah. Because he’d always hated double dates---even if they were with Trace and Del---but she loved them, and they still had yet to try this bar.

He let his eyes remain on the phone for one more second, then let it be done. That was the last moment of his life he’d spend fretting over this Greta chick.

***

“I’ve been thinking about how bad I want to fuck you all night.”

They were standing at the end of his bed and he was wasted, leering at her as if she were naked. She didn’t know if she should be worried---Justin hardly ever got shit-faced anymore---but before she could really contemplate what was going on he was beginning to topple over.

She tried steadying him. “You need to sleep.”

He smelled of tequila as he protested, swaying against her. “I don’t.” Grabbing the sides of her face. “I need you.” Kissing her hard, lustfully, a hand falling to his pants, unzipping hurriedly.

She was helpless to her desire to kiss back, equally lustful. It’d been almost two weeks since they last had sex, she could no longer deny how bad she was aching to feel him, casting her suspicions aside, lifting her dress, and bending over.

He didn’t hesitate, pushing into her suddenly, roughly. “I love you.” He pumped effortlessly considering his altered state, in and out, relishing in how tight she felt, her muscles clenching his dick. “I love you so much Jess.” His eyes were closed, guilt and intense pleasure building up. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry Jess. I’m so sorry.” Apologizing over and over as he continued to thrust wildly.

She was panting, moving against him. It felt good, yet she was unable to fully enjoy herself. His apologies were disquieting. Had he done something and that’s why he was so distant?

He grabbed her hair tugging lightly the way she liked it. “I’m sorry.” On the verge of climaxing. She opened her mouth to tell him it was okay, but his thrusts quickened, became harder causing her to moan instead. She lost her train of thought, engulfed in his intensity. And just as they were both about to come, the phone rang.

A moment of indecision. He was drunk, but not that drunk. Not even the cloudiness from the alcohol coursing rapidly through his veins could stop him from wondering if it was Greta.

But in the end he decided to finish, satisfied by the cry that meant Jess had finished too. He had to stick to his vow to end the obsession.

***

Two A.M.

He sat at the edge of the bed scrolling through his caller ID. Jess’ breath was softly audible, uneven as she slept, her arm lying on his side of the bed where it had once draped over his body.

He felt so conflicted, stuck between curiosity (the prospect of something new) and shameful guilt (all his apprehensions that came with everything old).

Because of one stupid phone call suddenly his heart and his mind had become rivals.

***

Perhaps in his still slightly inebriated state he’d read the numbers wrong.

He found himself scrolling through the caller ID list again the next morning while Jess was in the shower.

But no luck; all the numbers were numbers he knew.

His mind said: “Very well. As it should be. You were supposed to be over this before you even went out last night.”

His heart frowned, and said in reply: “Fuck you.”

He needed a new phone, one with a better caller ID. The damn thing was old as fuck, now it only stored a number if he logged it in himself and gave the number a name. Otherwise, everyone showed up as unknown.

But maybe that was the point, fate’s hint to just let it go. If it were meant to be he would’ve bought a new phone a long time ago so that this could have never occurred. And anyway it was Tuesday morning already. If his dysfunctional piece of shit of a phone wasn’t a clue, this most definitely was. Fuck the Three Day Rule, not only was that usually a guy thing… but this was going on the fourth day… she wasn’t going to call.

Being in a four year relationship had really thrown off his game. Before, there had never been a time when he couldn’t decipher a woman’s true intentions. If Greta’s naivety was just a front he would’ve easily seen through it. Easily.

He missed his old self. The Justin that was not predictable, that loved Jess so much it made him want to cry sometimes, that loved his job, loved looking in the mirror knowing that he was something special, the Justin that loved life. He was practically a fucking zombie now. Shuffling through, lucky to end each day without wanting to punch somebody in the face. The old Justin would’ve never had the initial reaction he had to Greta during that first phone call. He wouldn’t have been so annoyed the way everything annoyed him these days. And he wouldn’t be craving this complete stranger’s attention.

But she was like a breath of fresh air.

No one had ever made him feel like that. Because he used to be the one that others considered refreshing.

***

“Your drink was on the house, and the cashier said this belonged to you.” Michelle set down his coffee along with a folded piece of paper. A note? He couldn’t stop himself from looking so eager, opening it immediately.

He scoffed. His ears were beginning to turn red from embarrassment. He looked at Michelle who was peering at him curiously.

“That is for you right?”

But he didn’t see her. He was too busy trying to figure out the valid reaction he should be having, now that it had been confirmed that she was never going to call again.

***

Relief! Disappointment. Dejection. REjection. Intrigued.

He was intrigued.

“What up dawg!”

He’d decided to make it a long night; work was always good for diluting confusion, bringing him back to reality. So he’d been rejected… Why was he having such a hard time accepting this? The old Justin would’ve brushed it off.

The old Justin would’ve never gotten in so deep to begin with.

He regarded Trace off-handedly. “What up.”

“Gym tonight?”

He shook his head.

Trace sat on his desk. “Sex phone operator got you buggin’ again?” He looked up to see his best friend wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

He smirked. “Nah.”

Trace rolled his eyes. “You’re lying. You’re addicted and you’re ashamed, and now you’re lying to me.”

If he didn’t sound so serious Justin wouldn’t have laughed, but since when had this boy become so interested in sex phone operators? Was he doing a little late night calling these days himself, or what? Justin shoved his best friend lightly, “Trace, shut up,“ causing him to laugh too.

Trace leaned in. “What does her voice sound like?”

And without hesitation, he answered, “Sweet.” He noted the confused look on Trace’s face, but continued. “She talks a lot which would be annoying if she were any other woman, but she sounds so sweet that it’s actually endearing. It sucks you in, how genuine she is.” A pause as he sat back and really pondered Trace’s question. “She sounds… real.”

And it would’ve been a touching moment (this moment where he finally began to realize why he was having such a hard time accepting the note) had Trace not crinkled his nose and said, “Ew, that’s so not sexy. That’s borderline pedophile, dude. Little girls are supposed to sound sweet, not the chick causing blood to rush to your dick.”

Oh, what a spectacular way with words Trace had.

Now it was Justin’s turn to roll his eyes. “Dude, I’m working, fuck off. We can work out tomorrow.”

Trace scoffed before hopping off the desk. “Tomorrow is Michelle’s birthday remember?”

Fuck! No, he didn’t remember. “Shit!”

“You forgot Michelle’s birthday? After you made such a big deal about all of us going to the bar after work to celebrate?” Trace shook his head. “If it ain’t the sex talk broad… who’s got you buggin‘? Seriously, dawg, I want to know.”

Justin sighed heavily. He could give Trace a name, but in essence the question of who Greta was, was a mystery… even to him.

***

If he hurried he could make it before the flower boutique across from the coffee shop closed. They were known for their late hours since no florist in their right mind would really stay open until nine. Who bought flowers after six P.M.?

But what else could he get Michelle? It was too late, he wouldn’t have time before work tomorrow morning, and she liked tulips. She’d appreciate them.

He double parked, put on his hazards, and ran inside.

No one at the register. He checked his watch: 8:55. Hopefully this wasn’t one of those places that said nine and really started closing around 8:30. Although, everything seemed to be in place already, done with today and prepared for tomorrow. He rang the bell on the counter, his foot tapping impatiently.

“One second!” That voice sounded familiar. “I dropped some flowers back here, silly me, juggling too many things at once---” Way too familiar. “---I’ll be right with you. Ow! Rose thorn! I’m okay! In case, you were alarmed. I’d be alarmed. Come in to order flowers and next thinking you know your florist is pricking herself, screaming ‘ow.’ Ah, damn, I’m bleeding…” The voice began to come closer. “You wouldn’t happen to have a band-aid would you? We lost our first aid kit and the owner has yet to buy…” She emerged, taking him in. For once her voice almost caught in her throat rendering her speechless, but never one to not have anything to say, she did what she’d been trained to do. She greeted him. “Hi, welcome to Rose & Rose, are you looking for anything in particular?”

He smiled despite how awkward this was. “Hi.” Despite how awkward he was.

“Hi.” Despite how awkward she was.

And thanked God for blessing him.

He’d been trying to muster up the “right reaction” ever since he’d read the note, and standing here now feeling so happy to see her couldn’t possibly be right, but he had to be honest with himself… even if it was the wrong reaction. He was relieved.

Maybe he didn’t have to forget her after all, maybe the whole point was that he wasn’t supposed to. Running into each other at the coffee shop, and now here…?  That had to be proof of something. This was her place of work, only two blocks away from where he worked. Coincidence? Hell no.

This thing they had going was unbreakable.  This was meant to be.

If he thought he was obsessed before he didn’t know the true meaning of obsession.

He had to see her again, and he didn’t care how horrible that sounded considering the fact that Jess was sitting beside him at the moment; he had to see her. And he hoped deeply that she’d decided to take him up on his invitation and meet them at the bar tonight. “As a way of showing my appreciation,” he had said, when they both knew it was just an excuse… although telling her she could bring Isabel was his attempt at putting up a front.

She hadn’t given him a definite answer, throughout the whole encounter she’d seemed hesitant, but didn’t she feel it to? Fate bringing them together no matter what they did to distance themselves from each other?

Jess put her hand on his thigh, bringing him back to the situation at hand: waiting for Michelle to arrive. And Trace and Delilah. “You told them Long Island right?”

He took a drink of his rum on the rocks and scanned the bar inconspicuously before turning his attention back to her. “Yeah. She said she’d be late though. She had to pick up someone. And you know Trace is never on time.”

Jess nodded, and focused on the dance floor. All of his coworkers were out doing the electric slide. They’d been here for an hour already and after a long day of work she was beginning to feel exhausted. The martini she was babysitting, that just so happened to be her third, wasn’t helping. Maybe if she danced? She put down her drink and grabbed his hand.

He shook his head. “I can’t. What if they come? I want them to be able to find us.”

“That’s what cell phones are for.”

He motioned to his cup. “I want to finish my drink.”

She smiled, and tugged his arm playfully. “I’ll buy you another one.”

But he didn‘t budge. “No, I think I should stay.”

He felt bad about the disappointment that crossed her face, but it was Greta that he was worried he might lose. Maybe she’d walk in, miss him because he was on the dance floor, and leave. If she came that meant that the note was irrelevant; and he couldn’t blow his chance.

He took another sip of his drink and re-scanned the bar.

Not even ten minutes later, entering from the left, he saw Trace (finally), Delilah, Michelle (finally), and a tall light skinned dude. The person she had to pick up?

For as long as he could remember Michelle was single. Was this her date, a friend, or a cousin twice removed? He didn’t know why he felt so curious, so taken aback by this, but judging by this dude’s swag Justin knew he was not going to like this fucker.

“You guys made it!” he called, as Trace and Delilah settled around him.

Trace rolled his eyes. “So much fucking traffic.”

Delilah nodded equally irritated, “Yeah, getting here from downtown was insane,” and motioned for the bartender.

A cute little thing, with long wavy hair, big hazel eyes, and a butterfly tat on her left breast… the bartender was currently being hit on by another customer. She acknowledged Delilah with a slight wave as if to say, ‘I‘ll be right with you,’ but Delilah knew it would be awhile, and all the other bartenders were preoccupied too.

She turned back to the small group and followed in suit of Justin and Trace, focusing on Michelle’s eye candy. He was super hot! But seemed cocky. Definitely a heartbreaker.

Michelle knew they were waiting for her to introduce her man-friend, but she was never one for PA (or PDA for that matter)… there was something about having her business all out in the open that made her uncomfortable; hesitantly she pulled her companion forward. “Everyone…” However, in spite of her unease she couldn’t help but smile. “This is my boyfriend.”

He nodded at them, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Hey.”

Justin’s eyes narrowed. At least shake my hand, punk. But he didn’t say anything, just took a long drink of his rum.

Trace smirked, “Hey,” thinking the same thing as his best friend.

Delilah smiled politely. Ick, rude much?

Michelle squeezed her boyfriend’s hand in hopes of releasing her nervous energy. So much for a proper introduction. Everyone was so stiff, like they were so uninterested in each other that they couldn’t even be bothered to learn each other‘s names. Happy birthday to me.

This was going to be a long night.

***

Last call for alcohol. Everyone felt amazing, ecstatic beyond belief, drunk, drunk, and more drunk. Even Jess felt good, the dancing had gotten the vodka actively flowing through her veins so that she was far from feeling tired; and Justin felt relaxed, his mind on the events at hand, rather than on Greta (who by the way, hadn‘t come). Michelle felt comfortable being there with her boyfriend; the awkward stranger tension was gone. And Trace, who could sometimes be an aggressive drunk and had almost started a fight with a guy in the restroom, was calm, too busy getting down on the dance floor; Delilah was almost having a hard time keeping up. The formula for having a successful twenty-sixth birthday being: booze plus music plus friends equals good time. Michelle felt lucky to have all of these people in her life.

She usually had a hard time when it came to having true friends. Her extremely good looks made girls jealous and therefore backstabbers, whereas all her guy “friends” just wanted to be her fuck buddy.

She turned to the man that she now called her boyfriend and held him close, grinding into him Dirty Dancing style. How long had it been since she’d been in a serious relationship? Since a guy had made her feel special the way that he did?

It was like the premise of a romantic comedy, the way they came to be. He’d pursued her---despite all her of hard-to-get attempts---and seen right through her, winning her over with his cunning persistence. No guy had ever worked so hard to get her, or looked so fucking hot while doing so, he deserved a chance.

She opened her mouth to thank him for being so awesome, and to tell him how happy she was, when it all came to a screeching halt.

“Alec?”

The look on his face told Michelle that he knew the women that had just said his name.

His mouth fell open but he was speechless.

“Oh my God…” The woman turned to who Michelle presumed to be her friend, looking as though she was fighting back tears.

Justin, who was nearby dancing with Jess, stopped immediately. It was Greta, and Isabel, and this was Alec. Michelle’s “boyfriend.” Greta’s boyfriend. He couldn’t be happy to see her (though she’d come after all!), nor could he admire how amazing she looked in that low cut halter, the distress on her face was too gut-wrenching.

Michelle was pretty sure she knew what was going on, her eyes flittering between Alec and this woman. Was this the part where she slapped him? Where she refused to acknowledge the obvious truth and went Jerry Springer on the bitch, rather than dealt with him? Or should she apologize for being with him, although she had no idea that he was already seeing someone? She was hot with liquor, embarrassment, disbelief, and anger.

“You bastard!” The other woman, the friend, yelled at Alec.

Justin wanted to jump in and calm Isabel, punch this Alec prick in the face, and ultimately make sure that Greta was okay but he couldn’t acknowledge the fact that they knew each other. Not with Jess here. That would be too much to explain, it would only add more fuel to this already heavily conflicted fire. He watched on with everyone else.

Alec reached for Greta.

“Don’t touch me! If you touch me I’ll lose it, I swear to God… just don’t fucking touch me.” She looked at Michelle. “Nice necklace by the way. It’s… gorgeous. I always wished I could afford something as nice as Tiffany and Company.”

Michelle’s hand instantly went to her neck. She’d bought it with her first paycheck, her gift to herself for finally getting a job that would support her and keep her out of her father’s house. She felt so awful, she could hardly muster the thank you that escaped her lips. There was just so much she wanted to say right now.

Alec reached for Greta again successfully grabbing her by the shoulders. “Just listen to me…”

But Isabel shoved him away. “She told you not to touch her!” Then she pulled Greta away and into the crowd before any of them could see her cry.

Alec looked back to see all of Michelle’s friends staring at him. “I’m…” He shook his head, helplessly. She looked so heartbroken. “Michelle, I’m sorry.”

But his apology was no match for Trace, who bellowed in a drunken rage, “Fuck you and fuck your lame ass ‘sorry’ you pretty boy looking bitch! I knew your ass was scandalous you fucking dick!” He probably wouldn’t remember doing this in the morning but before anyone could stop him, he lunged at Alec and punched him in the face.

If you keep obsessing over Greta, this will be you. It was a fleeting thought before Justin rushed in to pull his best friend back.

Tragically beautiful, a paperback novel in her hands as she stared vaguely out the window. It was Friday morning and just as he knew she would be, she was sitting alone, an untouched chai with melted whipped cream before her.

Tragically beautiful was an understatement; there was something unearthly about this picture, something more than mere words could describe about the mixture of deep sadness and undeniable beauty that engulfed her. He was almost too nervous to approach her, but he’d come here purposefully to make sure that she was doing alright. After all, Michelle was his friend. Though neither of them were to blame---how was she to know that Alec was taken?---he somehow felt guilty by association that she’d been the “super slut” all along. And had he not felt so compelled by Greta despite being taken himself, which caused him to invite her to Long Island, she would have never found out the way she did in such a humiliating way. And if he were not two steps away from becoming just like Alec, he could have comforted her right then and there instead of feeling like he had something to hide.

He’d slept shitty that night. Immersed in a bad dream. Jess’ own face, contorted in painful teary-eyed disbelief, haunting him.

He cleared his throat and Greta turned, looking up. She looked at him as if she didn’t know him.

He was taken aback. “Um… hey.”

She looked down at her chai, a long moment passing between them where neither of them said anything. This was unlike her. But then, they hardly knew each other well enough for him to confidently be able to say what was like and unlike her. He’d simply become accustomed to her chattiness, and now that it wasn’t there to link them together, he missed it.

He thought hard about what the old Justin would do. “May I sit with you?” But he’d never known the old him to ask for anything. If he had wanted it, he would have taken it. Had the old J wanted to sit down he would have plopped into that seat and not have given a flying fuck whether it bothered or her not. If she had gotten mad and told him to go away, he would‘ve obeyed… whatever, no biggie… but he wouldn’t have beaten himself up the way he was beating himself up now, trying to figure out what was polite and what wasn’t. Spontaneity! That was the old Justin’s shtick. But now that he had asked he couldn’t possibly sit down without an answer.

He waited awkwardly, watched her close her book, place it gently beside her cup, then touch the condensation dripping down the plastic. How long had she been here? The ingredients of her blended chai were beginning to separate.

He was beginning to think she might never speak until finally her voice came, soft and slow, as if she were measuring the appropriateness of each word. “If the offer still stands… I’d like to meet you some time for lunch.”

If the offer still stood?! She must’ve been kidding! But then… Justin considered it. Did the offer still stand? He was more than delighted at the thought of sharing a meal with her, but this was one of those things where a person desperately wants something, and then once they have it they don’t know what to do with it.

She sensed his reluctance and added, “To make up for the other night. Not only was I late, I caused such a scene.”

“You didn’t,” he blurted as a way of reassurance.

“I did, and I’m so embarrassed.” She paused and took a deep breath. “She a friend of yours?”

“Michelle?”

“Is that her name?”

He nodded.

More silence as she let it sink in.

He spoke low, unsure if it was the right thing to say. “She honestly had no idea.”

And what looked like sympathy in Greta’s eyes, turned quickly into deep sadness. Did that make it better or worse, whether Michelle had known that Alec was taken? Either way, he had known that he was in a relationship and that’s what really mattered. She empathized with Michelle which made her feel pathetic. Between the two of them she was the true victim. She’d given him six years of her life!

She blinked rapidly to clear her tears, then looked at him expectantly. “Tomorrow afternoon work for you?”

Hoops with Trace in the morning. Brunch, then shopping with Jess which was usually an all day thing. Dinner with his family.

“Um…” Despite the tight schedule ‘yes’ was at the tip of his tongue.

“If not, I’m free Tuesday.”

But Tuesday was wedding planner day. “Um…”

His hesitance made her feel desperate. Is that why Alec cheated? Because she was so desperate and clingy?

“Oh God…” She pushed her chai to the other side of the table where he would have been sitting, had she invited him to take a seat. Her embarrassment mixed with the sight of the melted drink made her nauseous.

She sounded as though she felt absolutely awful, which made him feel awful. “Tomorrow’s perfect.”

She perked up. “Really?”

“Yeah. Just give me a call around noon and we’ll meet up somewhere.”

She smiled, relieved. “Okay.”

***

***

He told Jess he was sick, which meant lying to Trace and his family with the same lame excuse. Food poisoning, he’d said.

He planned on upholding the lie for a few days. By Wednesday he hoped to have it all figured out: this thing between he and Greta.

She’d called at noon like he told her to, and it was now two o’clock. Sushi at Chopsticks. He’d never tried anything more than a California roll, but she’d assured him that this place was awesome, a favorite amongst her and Izzy.

He felt silly, sitting in his car in the cramped parking lot checking himself in his rearview mirror. This was a new thing: checking himself before he went out… the old Justin was always confident that he looked good no matter what. It had been five minutes since he’d seen her run in, this was ridiculous making her wait because he was feeling insecure. Hadn’t he changed his shirt three times, and his shoes twice? You look fine!

He hurried in before he could contradict that thought, and found her sitting at the bar. Nice. This was one of those conveyor belt joints. He’d heard of them before but never been to one. Jess wasn’t a sushi person either.

“Hi.”

She smiled at his greeting. “Hey!”

He motioned to the bar where different sushi dishes circulated on the rotating belt. “This is cool.”

“And inexpensive,” she beamed proudly.

He took a seat next to her. “You look nice.”

She looked down at herself. The dress was new. Alec had seen every piece of clothing she owned; she thought it’d be inappropriate to go on a date wearing something she’d worn when she was with him. “Thanks. You too.” His blue shirt enhanced the color of his eyes.

They were quiet, other customers’ conversations enveloping them.

There was so much she wanted to say, she just couldn’t decide which topic she should go with. She’d never been good at dates. And he was feeling so guilty and nervous and relieved and happy that he was afraid that his jumbled emotions would make him say something stupid.

They reached for their glasses of water at the same time, noticed what the other had done, and laughed shyly.

This was going to be a long afternoon. But whether it was long and painfully awkward, or long and painfully delightful would be up to them.

He thought of that old William Blake poem he’d read in high school, ‘Eternity.’ A poem that encourages one to take joy as it is in the moment that you feel it, rather than dwell on past joys, or even the future. A poem that begs one to take joy for what it is: a fleeting emotion.

He held onto his cup and watched her drink instead, watched her lips tenderly hold the glass prisoner as the water rushed into her mouth.

There would be a reckoning. As there had been for Alec, there would most definitely be a reckoning. But he had to stop thinking about that. He had to let himself be happy, no matter the past, no matter the future, he had to take the present and the joy exactly as it was in this moment that he was experiencing it.

She set her glass down and noticed him still holding his. Slowly she reached over and took it from him, setting it down too. She pursed her lips, thought for a moment, then said, “Lets forget everything. Wednesday never happened. There is no Alec, there is no Michelle, it’s just you and me getting to know each other.” She smiled mischievously. “Are you down for 21 Questions?”

He laughed at the sudden change of pace. “Sure, why not?”

“Ask first, or answer first?”

He laughed again. It was as if she had asked him truth or dare. “Ask, I guess.”

“Cool. Shoot!”

He couldn‘t help but laugh some more. When was the last time he‘d done something this juvenile and actually thought it was cute, rather than immature? He went for the most generic question he could think of. “What do you like to do in your spare time?”

She answered quickly, easily. “Paint!” Then said reflectively, “But who really does what they like to do in their spare time? Everyone’s more concerned with their needs, no one ever focuses on what they want, what they desire. I think the question is more of… what do you do in your spare time?”

“Okay,” he leaned into her playfully, “What do you do in your spare time?”

She smiled. “I’m a nude model for a figure drawing class at a community college.” And added teasingly, “Among other things.”

He couldn’t help glancing at her bare shoulders, exposed beneath her dress’ thin spaghetti straps, imagining how the rest of her would look ‘exposed.’ And when he looked up she caught his eyes.

There was nothing more sexy than watching him, watching her.

Izzy had warned her not to be rash; she was on the rebound, but dammit if sex on the first date did not sound like an exciting, refreshing idea. She took a long drink of water hoping to cool the heat between her legs, but man oh man, did it burn so good.