His question pulls me back into the conversation. “It’s too late now, Lennon. I needed you to say this to me six months ago.”
He sighs and it’s as familiar as an old cardigan. It’s the same sigh he’s used on me numerous times throughout our marriage, the sigh that tells me how frustrated he is with whatever I am asking of him. “How can it be too late? We’ve been married for three years, that’s not something you just give up on. I want you back, and I’ll do anything to make that happen.”
The pain his words inflict tears another hole in my heart. “The reason it’s too late is because you should have been willing to do anything to make our marriage work while we were in it or when I told you there was a problem. But you didn’t. You were too busy with your work to care about me and telling me six months later is not enough. You need to accept this is over and move on.”
“That’s not gonna happen, baby. You’re mine and I’m coming home to show you how wrong I was.”
“You’re coming back to Australia?”
“That’s what I just said. I’ll be there next week. Once we finish up with the tour.”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. He just doesn’t get it. “And that’s why we’ll never work,” I say softly.
I know him so well I can almost hear his brain thinking and I can picture his brows pulled together in confusion as he asks, “Why?”
“Because if you truly loved me and wanted me back, you wouldn’t be waiting for the bloody tour to end.” I take a breath before adding, “Don’t come back, Lennon. I don’t want to see you.” I bite my lip as I prepare to end the call.
Darla, my assistant, is watching me closely, and she raises her brows, questioning if I’m okay. She knows the last thing I need on this shoot is for my concentration to be challenged. And she can probably tell from my body language and facial expressions that’s exactly what’s happening. She’s worked with me for a long time and been my friend for longer. She knows me well. I nod at her to indicate I’ll be okay, because I will be. This isn’t the first time my husband has screwed with my concentration. I’m well versed in dealing with it and getting through my work, in spite of it.
Lennon’s patience gives way. I’m surprised he’s lasted this long with that short fuse of his. “Presley, you don’t know what you want half the time,” he snaps. “We’re meant to be, and you’ll see that when I get there.”
“Goodbye, Lennon,” I say and hang up because otherwise we could be going back and forth all day. He just doesn’t listen. I knew it while we were together, but since we broke up, it’s become even clearer to me.
Darla approaches. “You okay, boss?”
“That was Lennon,” I say.
Her eyes widen. “What did he want?”
“Apparently, after all this time, he’s decided he wants me back. Says he’s coming home in a week or so to show me how much.”
“That bloody asshole!” She’s never been a huge fan, not after she saw the way he always put our marriage second to his career.
“I feel like this truly is the end now, you know?” I don’t know why I feel sad about this all of a sudden. I’ve spent the last six months trying to get over him, and I’ve started moving on, but after that conversation, it feels more final. I look at Darla with resignation. “I don’t know, maybe deep down I still hoped he’d come and fight for me, but what he’s doing doesn’t feel like enough. Does that sound stupid?”
She madly shakes her head. “No, it doesn’t, and you’re right . . . this is all too little, too late.”
I slowly nod. “Yeah, it is.”
We stand in silence for a moment, both lost in thought about the demise of my marriage. Eventually, Darla claps her hands together. “Okay, back to work. We’re going to get this shoot finished and then we’re gonna go out and get drunk.”
I shake my head and grin mischievously at her. “No, you might be going to get drunk… I’m going to get laid.”
Laughing, she agrees, “Yes, you are. And I might just do that, too.”
* * *
I finish applying lipstick to my lips, place it back in my purse, and then run my fingers through my long, blonde hair, messing it up as I go. The straight hair trend shits me to tears; give me messy, wild hair any day over that perfect, boring look. Stepping back from the mirror, I assess my outfit for tonight; skintight black leather pants, heels, and a slinky red sleeveless top. I’ve finished it off with an assortment of bracelets and my silver Tiffany heart tag necklace. Yeah, I grin, tonight I’m going to score.
“Presley, babe, you made it.”
I divert my attention from the mirror to the voice behind me. Shit, I’d forgotten she’d be here tonight. Jade Garcia. Supermodel. Shallow bitch from hell. God, give me strength.