Binding Agreement

Chapter 16





AND THE DAYS continue to pass. I go into work, do my job. Mr. Costin keeps the whispers behind closed doors. Even Asha’s stares don’t shake me now. That’s what happens when you face the truth, when you choose to live with the pain for a while. It’s so hard to hurt someone who’s already in agony.

But I can’t get too lost in my depression. There are things to be done. I just quit my job and though I can get by for a while, I will need to get another one. I know that I can go to pretty much any consulting firm I want. Mr. Costin wouldn’t dare give me anything short of a glowing reference, and let’s face it, after my current position anything else would be a step down. As my father said, this is the best global consulting firm in the country. Unless I become an expatriate I’m going to have to settle for something less.

It’s all right though. I rather like the idea of being a big fish in a small pond.

But boy, how I miss him. That’s the loss that has me opening up a new bottle of wine every night. I’ve heard people say that when they lose someone they love, they keep thinking that they see him. Like when a stranger walks by, they’ll have to do a quick double take to make sure it’s not him. They’ll hear his voice in a café only to realize that what they heard was the sound of some baritone DJ on the radio.

But I don’t have these hallucinations. Robert’s voice, his look, his everything . . . it’s too unique. I would never mistake someone else for him. And since he was driving an Alfa Romeo it’s not like I can mistake other people’s cars for his.

He’s just gone.

The realization hits me when I’m at home, alone, halfway through a bottle of 1996 cab. Too good of a wine to get drunk on and yet I’m tempted. This breakup, it doesn’t feel temporary anymore and the emptiness of the room fills my heart with a similar feeling of vacancy.

Even when I’m not with you, I’m inside of you. I can touch you with a thought.

He had told me that once and I close my eyes, try to believe in it again. I lean back into the cushions of my sofa, put my hand against my breast, pretend that it’s him.

Are you thinking of me, Robert?

And suddenly I’m enveloped with such a strong sense of sadness, I literally cry out, crumple over under the heaviness of it. I don’t know if the sadness is wholly mine or if I’m sensing his wretchedness from afar, mingling it with my own and giving it new strength. Either way it’s more than I can handle alone. My hand reaches for the phone and I dial Simone.

It doesn’t take long for her to arrive. She’s become accustomed to these last-minute calls for help. She doesn’t show up with a bottle of sin this time. “You’re in the middle of a breakup,” she explains, taking the cabernet out of my hand and closing it with a stopper. “Alcohol’s great for anxiety but it sucks for depression.”

“I’m not depressed,” I say sullenly; she laughs, sits cross-legged on the couch, and beckons me to take a seat beside her. “What happened, Kas, did you get lost?”

I nod, my eyes welling up with tears.

“Has he called since it happened?”

To this I shake my head.

She sighs, closes her eyes as if in meditation. “He misses you,” she says sagely. “He’s just scared.”

“How do you know he’s scared?” I ask, surprised.

She smiles, her eyes still closed. “Because men always are. They’ll sing about bravery, tell you they’ll keep you safe, but at the first sign of emotional conflict, they run for the hills like a bunch of frightened rabbits.”

I sigh, lean my head against my knees. “Robert isn’t a rabbit.”

“All men are rabbits,” she retorts, her eyes flying open. “They sniff around, f*ck whatever’s available, and then they run off. F*cking rabbits. And we’re Elmer Fudd, inadvertently blowing up our own lives while obsessively trying to hunt one down.”

I giggle. It’s the first time I’ve even come close to laughing in a long time. It’s a small victory for Simone, one she acknowledges with a gentle sigh.

“Are you sure it’s over?” she asks.

I don’t answer. I’m not ready to say the words aloud but my tears answer for me as she wraps her arm around my shoulders.

“I think maybe I didn’t advise you well, that night with the vodka-laced milk shakes.”

“Oh?”

“I told you about my ménage à trois, I suggested that you could indulge in those kinds of things if you had a strong sense of self. But what I didn’t point out is that you don’t.”

I wince at the insult.

“Oh don’t get me wrong, you will and soon. But right now you’re in the self-discovery phase.” She pauses before asking in a slow, measured voice, “How’s work?”

“I quit.”

“Thank God.”

I roll my eyes. “You told me that I should stay! You said that I should see things through, accept power without respect! That was you!”

“No, what I said is that you could either see it through or you could leave and go somewhere else. I suggested you work for yourself.”

I shake my head, stare at my wineglass, now drained except for a few drops of red liquid at the bottom. “I’m not equipped for that,” I say. “And my firm has a habit of punishing those who try that route, particularly if they suspect you might be poaching their clients or posing new competition for them. They’ll bury me before I get off the ground.”

“Um, yeah, they’re not gonna do that,” Simone laughs.

“Simone, I’ve seen them do it to other . . .” but my voice trails off. Of course they’re not going to do that. Like his cologne that lingers on my skin after we make love, the scent of his protection is still there. People can smell it. They know what it means.

“How would that be different?” I venture. “If they’re afraid to attack me because of him—”

“Kasie, we all have our advantages and disadvantages in life. A kid living in the projects uses his athletic ability to get out of there. The woman with bad teeth uses her family’s money to go to an orthodontist. The politician with a weakness for redheads uses his influence to cover up the scandal.”

I give her a sideways look and she laughs again. “Okay, maybe the last is taking it too far. But you’ve had your fair share of disadvantages.”

“Like what?”

“Like wounds that will never heal,” she says quietly.

We both fall silent. Outside the wind makes the branches of the trees scrape against my window. For a second I imagine them scratching out the word Melody into the glass.

“He can’t build your business for you,” she says. “Considering the circumstances I doubt he would even try. But your past relationship with him can protect you from unfair attacks. Your firm doesn’t have the right to undermine your new endeavors. Don’t invite them to do so.”

I look down at the hard floor beneath us, only partially covered by the Persian rug. “We made love in my office.”

“You and offices.” Simone laughs, thinking back to the last time I told her about having sex with Robert on his desk.

“This was different.” I reach my foot forward, feel the softness of the rug. “This wasn’t brutal or playful or choreographed as it sometimes is with us. This was just me and him, touching something inside each other, those wounds, the ones that won’t heal. . . . It was so raw and tender and . . .”

I don’t finish my sentence. I feel the memory more than see it. I feel the warmth of his mouth against mine, his hands against my bare skin. I feel my face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, the salty taste of his tears still on my tongue. Wrapped up in his powerful arms I was the protected and the protector and for just a brief moment it felt like the whole world was falling into place. Things made sense, I knew who I was, what I needed to do, what my purpose was in life.

And I knew where I was meant to be. Right there, on the floor of my office, in his arms, making everything just . . . right.

Simone’s watching me. I don’t even have to look at her to sense the concern. “It’s another wound,” I say quietly. “And it hurts. It hurts so bad, I can barely stand up, barely breathe.”

“But you are breathing, Kasie,” Simone says. She rubs her hand up and down my arm in an act of comfort. “You’re breathing through the pain.”

I nod and then collapse again in tears. But this time I have Simone there to hold me.

Simone. My sister.