Love at 11

Chapter Four



FROM: “Terrance Toller” <[email protected]>

TO: “Madeline Madison” <[email protected]>

SUBJECT: ME!!!!!



Dear Madeline,



I am writing to say how delighted I am that we will be working together on my new investigative feature, “Terrance Tells All.” I just wanted to go over a few teensy weensy things that I need, to make sure our time together is productive. After all, as the anchor most San Diegans trust to bring them all the day’s events, I have a certain image to project. I’m SURE you understand.



1) I require three hours advance notice before any shoot that will involve my participation. I need to put on my makeup and get my hair professionally set and dried and, as you know, beauty takes time! Also, I am not available for shoots on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday so please plan accordingly.



2) I would prefer not to go on location—I have better things to do than spend my day driving to some viewer’s dog hair–infested, beanie baby–decorated house and make idle chitchat while the photographer takes forever setting up the lights. Besides, I might get mobbed by the paparazzi on the way over and this could mess up my hair. Therefore, I’d like to be shot in the studio (give my lighting director approximately two hours to set up—after all, I must look good!) and ask the questions there. Then you can intercut my questions with the interview subject’s answers. Don’t worry if the background doesn’t look the same. Or if my questions don’t exactly match up with his answers. The ignorant Wal-Mart shoppers who watch our news will never know the difference.



3) I enjoy triple venti nonfat sugar-free vanilla dry soy lattes from Starbucks. Please insist the lazy employees HAND GRIND my espresso beans. (They may grumble a bit, but they will do it if you insist, take my word for it.) My last producer brought me lattes every morning and I found this quite a lovely gesture. Of course, if you are “too busy” you can feel free to let me succumb to caffeine depravation, but don’t expect a stellar performance. Personally, I wouldn’t want to be the one to let the whole show sink because I was “too busy” to run to the coffee shop, which happens to be only four blocks from the station, but that’s completely up to you.



Great to be working with you, Madeline! Terrance



Back from the parents’ fiasco, I showered, changed, and checked my e-mail. Deleted the lovely note Terrance had sent me, detailing exactly how he was going to make my life miserable. As if I needed any help in that department. It was definitely going to be a pleasure working for him, I could tell already.

But work problems were the last thing on my mind that night. My biggest challenge? How to get as drunk as humanly possible in the least amount of time.

After shutting down my computer, I called Jodi. She was always good for a night of sorrow drowning. Unfortunately, she wasn’t home. Probably off with her husband as people with husbands (who weren’t cheating on them with people half their age) tended to do. The thought made me even more depressed.

I called a few other friends, but for some reason, no one was around. Since when did everyone have important Thursday-night plans? I was evidently destined to spend my night alone.

Being alone, however, did not preclude me from wanting a drink. But I decided against the alcoholic wallowing-in-my-misery-home-alone route. I would go out. There was no shame in going to a bar alone. Who knew, maybe I’d meet some uber-sexy guy who wanted nothing more than to distract me from my hideous situation with wild and crazy sex. Not that I’d necessarily give it up on the first date, mind you. Well, unless he was uber, UBER sexy, that was.

Since I didn’t have to consult with others on bar choices that evening, I chose to hit my favorite: Moondoggies, a real chill bar just a block from the beach. It had great drinks, a large outdoor patio area with a fireplace and drew a fun, non-stuck-up crowd. Plus it was within walking distance of my apartment so I could crawl home without worrying about a DUI.

I arrived, showed my ID to the doorman, and took a seat by the sidewalk (to people-watch), and ordered one of Moondoggies’ special K9 Kosmos—a cosmopolitan made with Absolut Mandarin.

Unfortunately, after only a few sips, instead of feeling liberated, I got the damn alcohol blues. What was I doing, sitting at a bar all by myself? Why wasn’t I home comforting my sister? Looking for my mother? My family had fallen apart that evening and what did I choose to do? Go to a bar.

I was a loser. A total loser. Probably an alcoholic, too. I’d soon be hiding vodka in the bathroom. Not that I had anyone to hide it from. I could drink it with my morning Cocoa Puffs and no one would know. In fact, if I died in my apartment from a bad vodka/Cocoa Puffs overdose, no one would come looking for me for at least three days. Until the smell started getting really bad. After all, it was blatantly obvious my family was too busy messing up their own lives to care about mine.

Why did my father decide to leave my mother? At what point did the marriage fall apart? Was it in any way my fault? Did I say or do something to convince him that my mother wasn’t worth staying with? I know there had been times when my mom had said something idiotic and I’d rolled my eyes to my dad. Did I diminish her worth in his eyes and make him go elsewhere? Find someone smarter? Cooler? Oh, this was probably all my fault. I’d broken up my entire family with my callous eye rolling.

Yup. Here came the tears. Perfect. I could feel several people staring at me as I swiped at my eyes. Of course. Why wouldn’t they stare? I was a loser sitting in a packed bar, by myself, drinking a Cosmo (sorry, Kosmo) and crying my eyes out.

Loser with a capital “L,” that was me. “Are you okay, Maddy?”

Oh no, I’d been spotted by someone who knew me! How embarrassing. I looked up to see who had discovered me in my less than desirable, probably raccoon-eyed state.

It was Jamie. What was he doing here?

“Oh. Hi,” I said, grabbing a napkin and blotting my eyes. “Yes, I’m fine. Bad allergies this time a year.”

Man, I was such a terrible liar. I wondered if it was something you could take classes for at the Learning Annex. They had everything else under the sun—why not Lying 101?

“Can I sit down?”

“Um, sure.” Man, he probably thought I was the biggest dork on the planet. First there was that whole price tag on the skirt thing earlier. I was pretty positive he didn’t buy the idea that it was cool to leave price tags on. Now he’d found me sitting at a bar by myself, crying into my drink. Great.

He took the chair across from me and propped his elbows on the table. He looked good. He’d added a well-worn leather jacket over the black T-shirt he had on earlier. It gave him a slightly rebellious look. Just bad boy enough to look cool, but not skanky.

“I was riding by on my motorcycle, on my way to check out the beach, and I saw you sitting here. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Why yes, I’m fine. Like I said, allergies …

Oh, what the hell.

“Not exactly,” I blurted, against my better judgment. I barely knew this guy, but suddenly I couldn’t help the flow of words spewing from my lips. Alcohol did that to me. Jodi even had a nickname for me in this state—Loose Lips Lola.

And so I spilled the whole sordid tale to a guy I barely knew. To his credit, Jamie listened to the whole 411 on my family situation without interrupting once.

“Wow,” he said as I finished the tale. “You’ve had a tough day, huh?” He reached over and squeezed my hand. In any other circumstance, the move might have seemed a bold come-on. But at that moment, it was simply a gesture of comfort. One I definitely appreciated.

“Yup. You could say that.”

Before he could respond, the waiter appeared to take his drink order.

“Do you have Mojitos?” he asked, picking up a drinks menu and paging through it.

The waiter looked at him as if he were from Mars. “Mo-what?”

“Guess not, huh?” Jamie said. “How about a Seven and soda? And get the lady another one of those pink drinks.”

“Thanks.” I smiled as the waiter left, sucking down my beverage so I’d be ready for round two. “What’s a Mojito?”

“It’s this Cuban drink. Rum and mint. I got addicted to them when I spent three months working on a documentary in Miami last year. Most bars in So-Cal have yet to catch on.” He grinned. “But hey, here we can choose from twenty varieties of Margaritas so I guess we should count our blessings.”

I laughed. The tequila snobbery in San Diego had always amused me. Napa had wine tasting; we had tequila. Some bottles cost over a hundred dollars. There was this one bar down the street that boasted a tequila club. If you could drink shots of their fifty different brands, (not all in the same sitting, mind you!) they’d buy you a plane ticket to Cabo San Lucas.

“I’d like to try a Mojito,” I said. “So if you find a San Diego bar that serves them, let me know.”

“You know, they were one of Hemingway’s drinks of choice,” Jamie informed me.

I was impressed. “Really? Now I definitely want to try them. Hemingway was kick-ass. I loved his books.”

“Me, too. Especially the Sun Also Rises.”

“Ooh, yes.” I nodded enthusiastically. “That’s my fave, too. I used to imagine how cool it’d be to be a writer like Jake in gay Paris, loafing around all day and hitting the bars all night. The unrequited love with him and Brett. It’s so romantic. Tragic and romantic.”

“It’s definitely given me inspiration.”

I cocked my head in curiosity. “Are you a writer or something?”

“Aspiring. Well, I did publish one small-press book. A sci-fi action-adventure. Not exactly Hemingway,” he clarified, his cheeks coloring a bit.

“Really?” I’d never met a real author before. “Can I read it?”

His blush deepened. “I guess. If you really wanted to. And you’re not just being polite.”

“No way.” I shook my head. “I’m never polite. Bring it in tomorrow.”

“It’s a deal.”

The waiter returned with our drinks. I was having so much fun talking to Jamie, I suddenly realized I hadn’t thought about my tragic life in ten minutes. Amazing. The alcohol helped, too, warming my insides and making my troubles seem inconsequential.

“Where’s your fiancée?” I asked, remembering for a moment that the attractive man charming me from across the table belonged to someone else. Not that it mattered. We weren’t on a date. We weren’t even flirting.

“In LA,” Jamie told me between sips. “She has about a month left at her job before she moves down here.”

“Ah, I see. So you’re down here all by your lonesome,” I couldn’t help but coo in mock sympathy.

“Not really. You’re here, aren’t you?” The corners of his mouth quirked up in a grin.

Now it was my turn to feel my face heat with embarrassed pleasure. Oh, how I wished he wasn’t half of a committed couple. How serious was the engagement anyway? The woman didn’t even move down with her man? She left him alone in a strange city? Didn’t seem very loving to me! Maybe he was looking for a way out of the relationship. That was why he moved down to San Diego. Hey, you never knew.

Before I could ask him more about this fiancée character, a scantily dressed waitress approached our table. She held out a tray full of florescent-colored shot glasses.

“Care for a shot?” she asked. “We have Scooby Snacks, Ding Dong Dogs, and Oatmeal Biscuits.”

I had no idea what any of those were, but they looked delicious. And this was supposed to be my night for getting trashed. I raised my eyebrows at Jamie, wondering what he thought of the idea.

“We’ll take two Scooby Snacks,” Jamie said, answering my question by handing the woman a twenty and a five. “Actually make that four.”

The woman placed four shots on our table and headed for her next round of victims.

“What do you think they are?” I asked.

“Only one way to find out!” He took a shot in his hand. I grabbed another. “To new beginnings,” he toasted.

“New beginnings!” I chorused before I downed the shot. It was delicious. Tasted like whipped cream and pineapple. I grabbed the other one and proceeded to suck that down as well.

“Hey, wait for me!” Jamie cried, grabbing his other shot. “I’m not having a pretty girl drink me under the table!”

I beamed, licking the whipped cream off my lips. He thought I was pretty. This sexy, cool, motorcycle-riding, ex-film photographer thought I was pretty.

We talked. We laughed. We drank a few more rounds. And by the time midnight rolled around and the DJ came on to start spinning some tunes, I was feeling pretty darn good.

“I love this song!” I cried, as The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” started playing. “I’m a total sucker for eighties new wave.”

“Yeah. Me, too. Especially the British stuff.”

“Really?” He was too good to be true. Way, way too good to be true. He was so cool and nice and he liked ‘80s Brit Pop? I sucked down the rest of my fourth (or was it my fifth?) K9 Kosmo. “We should go dancing.”

“You think?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Definitely. And there’s a club right down the street.” Suddenly I had a bundle of energy. “It’s way cheesy, but they do play eighties.”

“Cool. Sounds like a plan.”

We finished our drinks and left the bar. While trying to coordinate my feet for the walking thing one had to do when one bar-hopped, I realized I was drunker than I’d thought. Jamie propped me up a bit to make sure we traveled in a straight line. We laughed and giggled the whole way down the street.

When we got to the club, I tripped. Damn platform shoes. The bouncer took my lack of coordination as alcohol related and told Jamie I was too drunk to enter.

“But I want to hear eighties music!” I protested as Jamie led me away. I liked the feeling of his strong arms possessively wrapped around my waist. If he were my boyfriend I’d want him to always walk with me this way.

“We can come back another time,” he comforted. “Unless you know another club around here.”

“I know! I have eighties music at home. It’s only a block away. We could have a dance party in my living room.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Jamie said with a teasing look. “Do you have Depeche Mode?”

“I do!” I cried triumphantly. “I have lots of Depeche Mode. Even some of the early bootleg singles.”

“Then lead the way.”



*



Argh, my head.

My head really, really hurt. And I was dying of thirst.

I pulled the blankets over my head to block the rays of strong San Diego sun from blasting my sensitive morning eyes. What time was it? Why was I naked?

Uh-oh.

A flashback of memory—a snapshot of my body on autopilot—hit me like a rock dropped from ten stories up.

The last thing I remembered clearly was leaving Moondoggies. With Jamie. Getting refused at the next club. With Jamie. Going back to my apartment.

With Jamie.

The rest was blurry. But what I did remember was truly horrifying. Blasting ‘80s music from my stereo. Mixing up margaritas (like I needed more alcohol!) in my blender. Jumping on my bed, singing and dancing like a retard to Simple Minds.

Making out with Jamie like there was no tomorrow.

I slowly rolled over to face the other side of the bed. To confirm my worst fear. Was there another body in my bed?

There was.

Not just any body, either. But a sexy, rumpled, naked, sound asleep, Jamie body in my bed.

Again. Uh-oh.

I groaned. How could I have been such an idiot? Gotten so drunk I didn’t even remember having sex with the guy? That was so bad. So alcoholically bad. On about a million and three levels:



a) Having sex and not remembering it.

b) Having sex and not remembering it with a guy I barely knew.

c) Having sex and not remembering it with a guy I barely knew who happened to have a fiancée he was going to marry in three months.

d) Having sex and not remembering it with a guy I barely knew who happened to have a fiancée he was going to marry in three months and that I had to work with day in and day out for the foreseeable future.



Now what should I do? Did I snuggle up next to him and pretend I had planned the seduction? Get the hell out of bed and pretend I’d slept on the couch, hoping he didn’t remember, either? Make breakfast? Leave the country and open up shop as a WWJD bracelet maker in Tijuana?

Hmm. Speaking of, what would Jesus do in a case like this? No, bad question. He wouldn’t have gotten himself in this mess to begin with.

I noticed with some relief a ripped open condom package on my nightstand. One of the ones Jodi had stuffed in a drawer one time “just in case.” Thank god, even in my drunken blackout I’d still had the wherewithal to be safe.

I tried to crawl out of bed, but at that moment the sleeping Jamie rolled over, tossing a heavy arm over my body and pulling me closer so I was spooned against him. I was stuck. Extremely comfortable, but stuck.

I felt his hot breath warm my skin and tried to think back to the night before. Damn it, why couldn’t I remember the hot sex I’m sure we must have had? I bet it was incredible. He was incredible. Not that I should be thinking about that. After all, he was taken. And not just kind-of taken, but wedding-invitations-and-white-dress taken.

Oh my god, I was the other woman.

How ironic that I’d been out mourning the fact that my father had cheated on my mother and had inadvertently helped some other guy cheat on his fiancée. And not just any other guy, but my new coworker! How was I supposed to work with him now? Would I have to go into Richard’s office and beg for a new photographer to combat the awkward morning-after syndrome?

Jamie grunted contentedly and snuggled in a bit closer. Was he conscious? Could he possibly know whom he was holding in his arms? Maybe he had been completely aware of his actions this whole time. Had he been as drunk as I? I couldn’t remember. Was he a good guy who made a mistake or a jerk who liked to cheat on his fiancée by taking stupid, drunk girls home and screwing them?

I suddenly felt disgustingly dirty. Why had I been so easy? Slut girl: give her a drink and watch her spread her legs. Except, that wasn’t me at all. Hell, I could count the guys I’d slept with on one hand and still have a thumb left over. What in the world had possessed me to drunkenly hook up with a guy I barely knew who was getting married in a few months?

I thought of Jen, sound asleep in LA, trusting that her fiancé was alone in his bed too and not curled up, buck naked, in another woman’s arms. She trusted him, and I’d helped him betray that trust. My stomach rolled, and not just from the hangover. I needed to get up. Now.

I squirmed out from under Jamie and vacated the bed. Scanning the room, I found a pair of boxer shorts and an old t-shirt strewn on the floor. After donning the ensemble, I walked to the bathroom.

Staring in the mirror wasn’t pretty. I looked like hell on toast. Black circles under my puffy eyes. Makeup smeared. Bleh.

I brushed my teeth and washed my face and then hit the kitchen to make eggs. What the hell, right? Even the “other woman” needed to eat a balanced Atkins breakfast, and maybe it would get my mind off things at the very least. I tried to swallow down the guilt, but it determinedly rose like bile to my throat. The smell of the scrambled eggs only served to nauseate me further. “Maddy?” a sleepy voice behind me said a few minutes later. I whirled around. Jamie stood in the doorway, deliciously rumpled. He’d donned his blue jeans but no shirt. I scolded my eyes for straying a second too long on his perfectly sculpted chest. After all, I’d already done more than my share of sampling the forbidden goods already. Time to get my mind out of the gutter and behave like a responsible human being. I realized my heart was pounding in my chest as I waited for what he’d say next. Then I remembered my manners.

“Do you want some eggs?”

“Maddy, I’ve got to ask you …” He raked a hand through his mussed hair in a way that made me pretty sure his question wasn’t whether the eggs came from cage-free chickens.

“Yes?” Cool, calm, collected. Whatever he wanted to ask me, I’d be okay with it.

“I had a lot to drink last night and I wasn’t sure … Well I woke up and …” He looked around the apartment. “Are we at your place?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. He didn’t even remember agreeing to come here. Guess that answered my question about his level of sobriety.

“Oh. Right. And I woke up in …” He pointed vaguely toward the bedroom. “… and I didn’t know …”

“You want to know if we had sex.” I spelled it out, shocked at how clear and cold my voice sounded.

“Y-yeah.” His face reddened at my bluntness. He hadn’t been so shy last night.

“I don’t know, Jamie. I don’t remember either. But I woke up in my bed naked. And you were naked next to me. So I’d say chances are pretty darn good.” I realized I sounded angry. Hurt. Don’t let him see that you care.

“Oh God,” he cried, sinking down onto the sofa, head in his hands. “Oh God.”

I stared down at him, not sure what to do or say. This was so outside of my expertise it wasn’t even funny. I’d never had a one-night stand before. And I certainly had never hooked up with someone who had a fiancée. What would Miss Manners suggest in a case like this?

“Don’t worry,” I said harshly. “It’s no big deal. Just forget it ever happened.” I actually had reservations about letting the jerk off the hook like that, but it took two to tango and so really, I was as guilty as he was, right? Best to just move on and forget it ever happened.

He looked up. “God, I’m so sorry, Maddy. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m such an idiot.” His face was white as a ghost and it appeared he couldn’t meet my eyes. “I swear to you, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m not that guy. I’m really not.”

“I said it’s fine,” I cried, my voice breaking on the word. Don’t cry, Maddy! Don’t you f*cking cry! But I couldn’t help it. It was all just too horrible. I felt sick and confused inside. What was wrong with me? I should be screaming at him and telling him to get the hell out of my house. Instead, I was feeling sorry for the jerk. Like, I hated him for what happened, but at the same time, his distraught face tugged at my heart.

Jamie rose from the couch and approached me. He took my trembling body in his arms and pulled me close. Unable to stop myself, I buried my face in his chest and started sobbing like a baby. He smoothed my hair and kissed the top of my head.

“Shh,” he whispered soothingly. “I’m sorry.”

“I said it was fine,” I repeated, bawling. He led me over to the couch and sat me down. “The eggs will burn,” I protested.

He nodded and walked back into the kitchen, switching off the stove. So much for breakfast, I guess. Then he returned to the couch, sitting down beside me. “I’m sorry, too,” I said, staring down at my lap. “I never should have—”

He pressed a finger to my lips, stopping my words. “No,” he said. “You did nothing wrong. It was completely my fault. Here I am trying to comfort you over your family situation, and I end up making it that much worse. I’m the only one here who needs to f*cking apologize.”

He pulled me into another hug, holding me close. I could feel his heart beating fast in his chest. He held me there for a moment, not saying anything. It should have been suffocating, but the closeness was strangely calming.

Finally, he pulled away, meeting my eyes with his own sad green ones. God, he was good-looking, I couldn’t help thinking. Jennifer was one lucky girl.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his expression earnest. “Is it going to be too hard to work together now? Do you want me to ask them to reassign me to news?”

I swallowed hard. What did I want? Was I going to be able to move on from this? Or would it be eternally awful and embarrassing and weird between us?

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I’ve never had to deal with anything like this before.”

He gave me a wry smile. “Yeah, me neither,” he said. “I guess if you think we can work through it … and be mature adults and all that,” I mused. “I guess then it’d be okay to try working together still.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m totally fine with that. But I don’t want to make things hard for you. I feel so awful as it is.”

I shook my head. “I’m a big girl,” I said, though I didn’t completely feel it at the moment. “I’ll be fine. We’ll just have to keep it professional from now on. Stay away from the Scooby Snacks.”

Jamie laughed. “If I never have another Scooby Snack it will be too soon.” He paused, then held out a tentative hand. “So, still friends?” he asked.

I shook it, hoping he didn’t notice my fingers were still trembling. “Friends,” I agreed.

But inside I wondered if it’d really be that easy.