Second Chance




You don’t even know why you bothered to go to the Grammys this year. You hate to seem petty and jealous, but maybe you are petty and jealous. Maybe you’ve earned the right to be petty and jealous. All you know for sure is that you got all dressed up to sit in a hot, crowded amphitheater, cramped into an uncomfortable seat watching people not half as talented as you, win awards that you don’t feel like they deserve. The performances ranged the spectrum from bizarre to uninspired. The presenters did a predictably rotten job reading the predictably cheesy banter from the teleprompter.

You wonder exactly when it was that you became this bitter. But the truth is that you’ve always been bitter. The only thing that’s different now is that you no longer feel the need to put a sugarcoating on your thoughts.

The only bright spot during the entire show was when you saw her walk across the stage to present an award. But the less you think about that, the better. You blew whatever chance you had with her out of the water months ago and you’re old enough to know that there’s no such thing as a second chance.

So far as you can see the only good thing about the Grammys anymore is the parties. At least you can still get into the good parties. Some of them anyway. Of course you didn’t get an invite to Kanye’s private after party, but you didn’t expect that anyway. But luckily for you there are plenty of other parties to choose from. You stop by the EMI party being held at the Whiskey Bar, but the amount of posing and phoniness surrounding you is more than you can take.

After about a half hour you make your escape to the BMG party. You’re downing your second glass of truly awful champagne when you run into Britney. You stand with her and Kevin and make small talk. You always liked Brit and you hate to see the way that she’s let herself go. She has the distinctive look of someone that knows that they’re in way over their head, but they don’t have any idea of how to get themselves out. Her mouth is stretched out into a smile that no longer knows how to reach her eyes.

As soon as Kevin wanders off, Britney leads you to a corner and starts asking you questions about Justin. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are. People always want to ask you questions about Justin.

“Is Cameron really pregnant? Are they really engaged? Do they really seem happy together? I heard that Christina Ricci is all over him on the set of that movie he’s doing. Do you think he might break up with Cameron for Christina?”

She rattles the questions off one after the other, not giving you a chance to respond even if you wanted to.

You and Justin have started hanging out a little bit again. He even worked on a couple of the tracks for your new cd. But the two of you aren’t as close as you used to be; you’re working on it, but you’re not there yet. Right now, you don’t know any more about his personal life than someone with a subscription to US Weekly. And even if you did have some answers, what good would it do Britney? That ship has sailed and sunk and the wreckage is stuck on the ocean floor.

The last time that you saw Cameron and Justin together was at Justin’s birthday party. They were boozy and happy and making out like there was no tomorrow. You don’t want to tell Britney about that, she’s depressed enough as it is.

As gently as you can, you suggest to her that she lets go of the idea of ever being with Justin again. She immediately goes on the defensive. She tells you that she was only making conversation and that she is perfectly happy with her husband. The way that she flinches when Kevin comes back and puts his arm around her waist makes you question all her so called happiness. After making a few vague promises to come by the studio and listen to a couple of tracks that Kevin is working on, you ease away from them and keep on easing on until you are out of there completely.

You finally hit pay dirt at the In Style Party. There’s no one there that you want to talk to and no one there wants to talk to you. And unlike the swill that was being served at that other party, the liquor here is top notch. You’ve got a driver at your disposal, so there’s nothing stopping you from getting completely loaded. You find a nice comfortable couch, in a nice quiet corner. You unbutton your jacket, loosen your tie and settle in with a glass of bourbon.

You find yourself fascinated by the way the amber colored liquid in your glass catches the light. For the first time it occurs to you that you may have a serious problem. You start to think that the best thing you could do at this point would be to go home before the alcohol starts to loosen your tongue.

You’re halfway out the door when you spot her. She’s no longer wearing the long, beaded gown that she had on at the ceremony. She’s changed into a short white Versace. The dress is cut low in the front and showcases her legs perfectly. She’s pulled her hair up into a high ponytail and you feel slightly mesmerized by the long, lean column of her neck.

Considering the way that you left things the last time that you saw her, you’re not sure of what you should do. You want to say hello, but you don’t want to seem too eager. But you also don’t want it to seem like you are blatantly ignoring her, because that would just be rude. You wonder if it might be better to just go ahead and leave.

While you’re standing there like a deer in headlights, she turns around and sees you. She excuses herself from the person that she’s talking to and starts to make her way toward you.

You stand there, trying to get your brain back in working order. You’ve never been one for thinking on your feet and you have no idea what you’re going to say to her. You are too old to be this befuddled around a woman, but that doesn’t change the fact that your palms are sweating. You are so intent on silently berating yourself, that you fail to notice that she is standing right in front of you.

“How you doing, JC?”

“Um. . .I’m good.” Well that was brilliant and witty. “You look amazing.” That’s a little bit better.

She shyly smiles at you before responding. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

“So I’ve been told. Are you here alone?”

“Yeah. I was with B and Sean, but the only thing worse than being second banana is being a third wheel. I left them at Kanye’s party and decided to do my own thing.” She looks around the room. “This is the least obnoxious party that I’ve been to tonight.”

“Me too.” Your gaze alternates from her face to the floor. There’s awkward and then there’s this. One of you needs to say something and you get the feeling that it should probably be you.

“I meant to call you after what happened, but . . .”

She cuts you off abruptly. “Don’t. That’s really not necessary.”

“I know that probably sounds like some bullshit thing that guys say, but I’m not saying it just because. I mean it. I wanted to call you, I just didn’t know if I should.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s not like I was sitting by the phone waiting to hear from you.” She steps closer to you and lowers her voice to a whisper. “The night we spent together was wonderful, but I understood that it was just a one time thing.”

“Of course. A one time thing. I- I knew that. I just. . .um. Never mind.” You are so fucking smooth sometimes that you scare yourself. “Well, it was good seeing you again, but I was just about to leave anyway, so I’m going to go ahead and do that.”

She puts her hand on your arm to stop you from turning away. “You don’t have to leave on my account. We’re adults, JC. Supposedly sophisticated adults. I think we’re making things a lot harder than they have to be.”

“I’ve just had a long night and all I want to do is go home and go to bed. I’m not leaving because of you.”

“Well, okay.” She gives you a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the back. “See you around.” She smiles at you again, but some of the brightness that was there before is gone.

You can’t help but feel like maybe you missed something. Some unspoken clue. Maybe you should stay and talk to her, but you’ve already said that you were leaving. You don’t want to backpedal and hang around just to find out that once again you were reading signals that weren’t actually there.

Twenty minutes later, you’re still standing outside waiting for your ride. Apparently the driver that you thought you had at your disposal has decided to go awol. You turn around to head back inside to get someone on the staff to call you a cab. You’re not looking where you’re going and you collide with her as she’s coming out the door. You nearly knock her down.

“I’m so sorry.”

She puts her hand against your chest to regain her balance. “That’s okay.”

“No it’s not. I wasn’t paying attention. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She laughs a little bit. Maybe she finds your clumsiness to be sort of charming. Or maybe she’s laughing because she thinks you’re an idiot. It’s a toss up.

“What are you still doing here, anyway? I thought you were leaving.”

“I paged my ride, but he hasn’t shown up yet. I was just going inside to see if someone could call me a cab.”

“I can give you a ride.”

“I don’t want you to go out of your way.”

“It’s not like I’m in a big hurry to get anywhere. I really don’t mind.”

“Okay. Thanks.” You stand there side by side, not saying a word while you wait for her limo to be brought around to the front.

The weather was pleasant earlier in the day, but the temperature dropped when the sun went down and there’s a slight chill in the air. You’re close enough to see the goose bumps forming on her bare arms. You shrug out of your suit jacket and drape it over her shoulders.

The car pulls up to the curb and the chauffeur hops out to open the door. You stand out of the way while she gets in. Her dress inches up a little bit as she swings her legs into the car and you would be a liar if you said that you didn’t stare at the smooth expanse of thigh that has been exposed. She catches you looking and for a moment you feel guilty. But why should you? It’s not like you’re seeing anything that you haven’t seen before. But thinking that just makes you feel smug. So you stop thinking altogether and just climb into the car.

It’s not a particularly long ride from downtown Los Angeles to your home in the Hollywood Hills. Before you know it the limo is climbing the long steep incline that leads to your house. The car pulls into your circular driveway and idles in front of your door.

She takes your jacket off and hands it back to you. You accept it with a smile and open the car door. You get one foot out of the car before you turn back to her. You know that you should leave well enough alone, but you just can’t.

“Do you want to come in for a minute?” She doesn’t answer right away and you immediately regret asking the question.

“Sure. But only for a minute.” She gives her driver instructions to keep himself occupied until she calls him to come back. You offer her your hand and help her out of the car. You continue holding her hand as you walk up to your door. You step inside and flip the switch on your left. The room before you comes alive with light. You throw your keys down on the table by the door and only then do you let go of her hand.

She walks into the room ahead of you and starts to look around. An unshakable feeling of nervousness starts to come over you. Now that you’ve gotten her here, you’re not quite sure what to do. You don’t know what she’s expecting to happen and you don’t have any idea of what you want to happen. Well, that’s not completely true. You’ve got some idea of what you would like to happen. Some really vivid ideas of what you would like to happen. But you get the feeling that if you share those ideas with her you will only earn yourself a well deserved slap in the face.

“Can I get you something to drink?” She stops her leisurely perusal of your cd collection.

“Some water would be fine. I’ve already had enough alcohol for one night. I’d like to keep a clear head.”

You step into the kitchen and try to decipher what she just said. Was there some hidden meaning? You take a bottle of water from the refrigerator and stand there for a minute letting the cool air bathe your face. You need to calm down and you know it. You’ve never been what anyone would refer to as a ladies man or a smooth operator. But you’ve also never let a woman get you so out of whack.

Before you even make it out of the kitchen the smooth strains of Knocks Me Off My Feet reaches your ears. It’s a good sign that she’s put on some music. But you wish that she had made a more straightforward selection. You love Stevie Wonder, but it’s not a choice that really tells you anything. Now if she had put on some Marvin Gaye, you’d know exactly what was on her mind. Stevie is no help at all.

You go back to the living room and hand her the bottle of water. Your hands touch and the simple brush of her skin makes you jump. She uncaps the water and takes a long sip. You stand there slack-jawed, watching the muscles in her throat work as she swallows.

Water may be all that she needs, but you my friend, you need a drink. A strong one.

You go to the bar and pour yourself a shot of whiskey. You make a mental note to yourself to do a google search for the warning signs of alcoholism. You’ll get right on that first thing in the morning. But right now you need to feel the burning sensation of the liquor sliding down your throat. You toss back your drink and let your eyes drift shut.

When you open your eyes, she’s standing a lot closer than she was before. You never even heard her move. You look down and you can see that she has removed her heels. That’s a good sign. Or at least you think so. When a woman takes off her shoes, it’s usually a signal that she’s getting comfortable. Preparing to stay for a while. On the other hand, she’s been stomping around in strappy stiletto heels all day. Maybe her feet hurt.

“You’ve got a lovely home.”

“Thank you.” And that’s it. You have officially run out of things to say. You are one awkward pause away from talking about the weather. Or blurting out that your night together didn’t have to be a one time thing if she didn’t want it to be. It’s on the tip of your tongue to tell her that you’re sorry for the way that you left. You’re seconds away from saying all of this, but she speaks first.

“Would you like to dance?”

You have to stop yourself from looking around to see who she’s really talking to. You’re the only two people in the entire house; she must be talking to you. She offers her hand and you accept it. You walk to the center of the room and it takes you a minute to figure out the best way to hold her. She rests her head against your shoulder and you put your arms around each others waists.

The first thought that comes into your mind is how right this feels. Having her in your arms like this, feels right in a way that nothing has felt right for you in a long time. She seems like a perfect fit. Even when the up tempo songs come on, you continue to hold each other and slowly sway from side to side.

Before you know it, you’ve danced your way through the entire cd. Silence fills the room and she pulls away from your embrace. Letting her go is a lot harder than you are willing to admit.

“Do you mind if I make a phone call? I need to call my driver.”

“Of course not. Go ahead.” You guess that she has decided to leave and you try to hide your disappointment. You want to ask her to stay, but you don’t want to put your self out there like that. You don’t want to leave yourself open to the possibility of rejection.

She turns to you with the phone in her hand and she looks you straight in the eye. “Should I ask him to pick me up? Or should I tell him that I won’t be needing him again tonight?”

You don’t even need a second to answer the question. “I think you should tell him to go on home.”

Somewhere between the living room and your bedroom, you both lose all of your clothes. You take your time exploring each others bodies. Like you have all the time in the world.

You close your eyes as she traces your features with her fingertips. Her touch lingers on the curve of your bottom lip and you’ve never felt so wanted. She asks you to open your eyes and when you do, she tells you that you’re beautiful.

You can barely remember the last time that anyone said those words to you. This may be the first time that anyone has made you believe them.

******************************************************************************
You’ve been awake for hours just watching her sleep. The sun is streaming in through the curtains and she’s bathed by the early morning light. Her hair is wild and loose, fanned out across the pillow. You look at her and you can almost hear music in your head. You could write a song about the way that she looks lying there tangled up in your sheets.

You slip out of bed as quietly as you can and go downstairs. You rummage around in the refrigerator looking for something that you could make a decent breakfast out of. But you hardly ever eat at home and you don’t have anything in your fridge but baking soda and some really questionable strawberries.

You slam the refrigerator door and try to think of something else. You want to serve her breakfast in bed, but giving someone food poisoning is probably not the best way to start a relationship.

The best idea would be for you to get dressed and make a quick run to the Starbucks on the corner. You could get some coffee and some kind of pastries.

You’re heading back upstairs when you hear someone banging on your door. You don’t know who it is, nor do you care. You feel like you could be on your way to having the best day that you’ve ever had and you don’t want anything or anyone to ruin it. You hope that whoever it is will go away. You think that maybe they have, because the banging stops.

You turn for the stairs again, but the jangle of keys stops you. You mentally start to go through the list of people that have a key to your house. It’s a short list and they’re all people that you care about, but you don’t want to see any of them right now. You run to the door just in time to hold it closed while the person on the other side tries to force it open.

“What are you doing, man?”

Your heart sinks because you would recognize that voice anywhere. You instantly regret the day that you gave him a key to your house. You could count on one hand the amount of times in the past four years that he’s come to see you and you can’t believe that this would have to be one of those times. He pushes the door from the other side and creates a space wide enough to stick his head through. He’s wearing shades and a hooded sweatshirt, but still there is absolutely no doubt about who it is.

“It’s me, JC. Open the door.”

“I can see who it is. I just don’t want you here.”

“I know you’re not a morning person, but that’s no excuse for being rude.” Oh great, he’s in one of his playful, sarcastic moods.

“Please go away, Justin.” You try to keep him on the other side of the door but he’s been stronger than you since the day he turned eighteen. He just muscles his way in and starts making himself at home as though he were an invited guest and not an unwanted intruder. He saunters into your living room and flops down on the couch.

You count to ten in your head and try to maintain your composure. If you seem too anxious and aggravated he’ll want to know why and then you’ll never get rid of him. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to see what you were up to. I thought that maybe we could hang out today.” He gives you a bright, happy sunshiny smile and it takes all of your restraint not to lunge at him and wrap your hands around his throat.

“I haven’t seen or heard from you in almost two weeks. You just decided to show up at my house at nine o’clock in the morning, without calling, because you want to hang out. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yeah.” You glare at him, but of course he’s oblivious. Justin has a hard time relating to anyone’s irritation but his own. He seems to find it almost impossible to believe that anyone could not want to be bothered with him.

“Listen, I’m kind of busy right now. Why don’t you give me a call tomorrow? Maybe we could hang out then.”

He stands up and walks toward you and you hope that maybe just this once Justin can take your feelings into consideration and just leave. He gets up close to you, blatantly invading your personal space. He stares at you and a big, know it all smile slowly spreads across his lips.

“You got some last night, didn’t you?”

You don’t know how in the hell he’s figured that out, but your best strategy at this point is to deny, deny, deny. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Of course your denials mean nothing to him. “Don’t try to play it off, I know you. You went to the Grammys and you hooked up with somebody and you got some. Bout damn time.”

“I am not going to talk about this with you.”

“Why not?”

“Justin, can you please just leave?”

“What’s the big deal? So what if you had sex last night? I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry to get rid of me now. Unless . . .” You wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but his smile actually gets wider.

“Is she still here? Is that why you’re trying to hustle me out the door?”

“There’s nobody here. I want you to leave because I’m tired and I want to go back to bed.”

“Yeah, right.” He walks away from you and starts looking around the room. He doesn’t have to go far before he finds the clue that he was looking for. He reaches under the coffee table and picks up one of her shoes. “This is a little dainty to be yours.”

You snatch the shoe from his hand and start pushing him toward the door. “I want you to get out right now.”

“You mean to tell me that I can’t get any details?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Now, please just go.” You open the door and he lets you shove him outside. You try to close the door on him and he puts his arm out to stop you. He’s laughing so hard that you’re surprised that he can still talk. How nice it is that your personal life can provide so much entertainment for him.

“Will you at least tell me who the lucky lady is? Is it somebody I know?”

The two of you have grown too far apart for you to willingly give him any information. Not at this point anyway. “It’s not anyone that you know. It was nobody and it didn’t mean anything.”

You slam the door before he can deliver whatever smart assed thing it is that you know he’s going to say next. You take a deep breath and let your irritation float away. Not even Justin can ruin the good feeling that you have right now.

You practically run back upstairs to your bedroom. When you get there she’s no longer asleep. She’s up and she’s wearing your clothes. She’s got on a pink button down shirt and a pair of old faded Levis.

She’s sitting on the side of the bed, smoothing her hair back into a ponytail. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing this stuff. I just didn’t want to put that dress back on.”

The clothes fit her surprisingly well and you can’t believe how sexy she looks. “No, I don’t mind at all.” You approach the bed and sit down beside her. But as soon as your ass hits the bed, she stands up.

“I already called someone to come pick me up, so I should be out of your hair in a few minutes.”

That statement was so unexpected that it takes your brain a few extra seconds to comprehend what your ears just heard. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes.” She picks her earrings up from your night stand and leaves the room. Her legs are long and she’s moving fast. She’s downstairs putting on her shoes before you even make it out of the room.

“What’s going on here? Why are you leaving?”

She picks up her purse, throws the dress she was wearing the night before over her shoulder and heads for the door. You grab her arm and pull her around to face you.

“Can you just slow down for a minute? I was hoping that you and I could grab some breakfast and talk. Spend a little time together.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did I do something to upset you? I thought that everything was fine last night and now you won’t even look at me. What’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

She tries to snatch her arm away from you, but you don’t let her go. “You can’t just leave without talking to me.”

“What’s there to talk about? I’m nobody and it didn’t mean anything.” She doesn’t even sound angry. She just sounds sad and that’s ten times worse.

The words that you spoke to Justin have come back to bite you on the ass. “I didn’t know that you heard us talking.”

“Apparently. I woke up and I came downstairs to see where you were.”

“I only said that to make Justin go away. You know that I didn’t mean it.”

“No. I don’t know that you didn’t mean it.” She looks at the floor and shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have come here. This was a mistake.”

“Please don’t say that, Kelly. Would you at least let me explain?”

“There’s nothing to explain. The way that you cut and run after the first time we slept together should have told me everything that I needed to know about you.”

You hear a horn blowing outside. “That’s my ride. Gotta go.” This time when she tries to pull away, you let her go. “I’ll have your clothes cleaned and sent back to you.” She doesn’t slam the door when she leaves. She just lets it quietly close behind her.

You sit down on the sofa with your head in your hands and try to figure out how things went so wrong, so fast. Your first instinct is to blame Justin. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t shown up. You really want for this to be his fault. One more offense to add to the long list of things that he’s screwed up for you. But in your heart you know that you can’t pin this one on him. This mess is all yours.

Eventually you get tired of sitting there feeling sorry for yourself. Maybe it’s better that she left. Morning after postmortems are never fun, so maybe you just dodged a bullet. It’s not like anything was going to happen with the two of you anyway. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Believing that is the only thing that loosens the tight knot in your stomach.

You sit up and lean back, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. A sweet smell drifts your way. You look out the corner of your eye and spot the jacket that you were wearing last night. You pick it up and you can smell the scent of her perfume all over it.

You stand and head upstairs with the jacket in your hand. You intend to put the jacket with some other things that need to be taken to the cleaners, but you don’t. Instead you open up your closet and hang it up. You close the closet door and you know that her scent will weave itself into the fabric of your clothes.

You’re old enough to know that second chances do not exist. But every once in a while you’ll open up your closet and remember the brief moment when you let yourself believe that they did.