Love Sold Separately

by Ellen Meister

  On her way home, she texted Lorenzo to say she wouldn’t be coming over. By the time she got into bed, he still hadn’t responded, which she thought was odd. Odder still: he wasn’t at work the next day, and didn’t reach out.

  Early in the afternoon she texted, Hey, everything okay?

  Later in the afternoon she wrote, Worried about you. Just wanted to check in.

  In the evening, Are you sick? Is Sophia? Let me know if you need anything.

  Before she went to bed that night, she called and got his voice mail. By this point, Dana felt sure that if something was truly wrong he would have reached out. This was something else. Lorenzo was avoiding her. Still, she left a message saying she was concerned, and would he please just let her know if he was alive or dead. Nothing.

  25

  He wasn’t dead. But Dana wanted to make him wish he was, because he showed up at work on Thursday acting as if nothing was wrong.

  “What happened to you yesterday?” she whispered as he clipped on her microphone. “Why didn’t you answer my texts?” She took a furtive glance around to see if anyone was looking at them, and of course they were. Dana was onstage. The cameras were moving into place.

  “We’ll talk later,” he said, his voice low and his expression even.

  She snorted. Would it have killed him to shoot back a message? She felt like she had been ghosted and wanted to throttle him.

  “Is Sophia okay?” she asked, catching herself. Maybe there was an innocent explanation, after all, and she was being perverse. Part of her hoped there was something wrong. At least it would be a reasonable excuse.

  “She’s fine.”

  So much for that.

  “Can you come over later?” Dana asked. Better her place than his, she thought. She knew they were headed toward an argument and didn’t want to have to do it in furious whispers as Sophia slept. Once was enough for that kind of scene.

  “I’ll try,” he said.

  You’d better, she thought.

  * * *

  The show started out fine. But an hour into it, Dana’s microphone cut out. Within seconds, the tech director instructed the engineers to break to a promo, and Lorenzo rushed to replace the malfunctioning lavalier.

  “What happened?” Dana asked.

  “One of the cables got severed,” he said. “No big deal.”

  “Severed?” she said, horrified. She pictured guillotines and machetes.

  “Don’t get excited. It happens. Probably wasn’t taped down well and a jib ran over it.”

  She knew that the crane cameras they called jibs were operated robotically by guys in the control room, and she reasoned that it was entirely possible the heavy machinery could have clipped a cable.

  “So you don’t think—”

  “No, I don’t. It was just an accident.”

  The tech director called for places, Lorenzo stepped away and Dana was back on the air, selling her heart out. Accident or not, she wasn’t going to let an audio cable derail her success.

  The rest of the show was trouble free. Afterward, Dana returned to her dressing room to find Ollie facedown on the sofa, his body shaking in sobs, an odd, high-pitched siren-whine emanating from within. He didn’t just sound like a wounded animal. He sounded like a wounded animal from another planet. Something strange and alien, with the body of a giraffe and the head of a Kardashian.

  “Ollie!” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  He sat up quickly, looking terrible. His cheeks were drained of color, but his eyes were puffy and pink, his nose swollen and red. Even his lips—wet and engorged—seemed to protest the assault of his blubbering meltdown. Ollie wiped his nose with his sleeve, and held up a limp white silk scarf in both hands as if it were a dead child.

  “Oh, Dana. I am sorry for crying, but Miss Binky has sent this to me,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Miss Binky,” he repeated. “She is a good, loyal person who took care of Miss Kitty after she had a big depression. She is Miss Kitty’s aunt.”

  Of course she is, Dana thought. Those people always have names like Binky and Bitsy and Bunny. She could picture her. A golfer, ropey and tan. Like a sun-damaged Mary Tyler Moore with blond hair and an athletic neck.

  Ollie continued. “She has cleaned out her home and said maybe I would like a memento since I meaned so much to her niece. So she sent me this. It was Miss Kitty’s favorite scarf!”

  He set the precious object aside and collapsed in on himself in sobs. Dana retrieved a box of tissues from the counter and sat next to him, wondering what she would do if she couldn’t calm him down. The man seemed ready for hospitalization. She rubbed his back.

  “It’s a terrible loss,” she said gently, and wondered if he had a personal history that intensified the pain in moments like this. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “My heart is broken,” he said, and then mumbled something incoherent.

  “Was that Finnish?” she asked.

  “I guess I was thinking about Mummo—my grandmother. She cared for me after my mother died. But then Mummo passed when I was ten.”

  “So you lost your mother and your grandmother?”

  “But Mummo died of natural causes,” he said.

  “And your mother?”

  “She had the depression disease. I was six when she killed herself with a...a...hirttosilmukka. I forget the English word.” He mimed tying a knot around his neck and yanking it.

  “A noose?” she asked. “Your mother hanged herself?”

  “Yes, that is correct, Dana.”

  She was almost afraid to ask if he was the one who had found her, because the look on his face said it all. No wonder he had such pathological attachment issues.

  “That must have been hard,” she said gently.

  “Then my father remarried and I had the most lovely stepmother. But they got divorced so then it was only Isä and me. My father, I mean.”

  Dana had to cough to keep from choking on the tragedies of his life. She took a deep breath and centered herself. “You’ve suffered so much loss.”

  Ollie pulled a tissue from the box and wiped his wet face. “Kitty was the most wonderful person,” he said, taking a jagged breath.

  “Of course she was.”

  “I know that many people here think she was a hard woman. But they did not understand her, Dana. She had a very human heart. I know this.”

  “Tell me,” Dana said. “Tell me about her heart.”

  “She loved very deeply, you know. Very, very deeply.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  “Oh, Dana!” he cried. “They must catch the man who did this terrible thing to her. They must!”

  She paused. “Do you know for sure that it was a man who killed her?”

  “I think... I think a woman wouldn’t do this kind of thing, yes?”

  “I don’t know,” Dana said, deciding it was the wrong time for a lecture on feminism. “It’s hard to imagine any human who could do this kind of thing.”

  “This is true, Dana. It is a horrible thing. A horrible thing for any human to do. This is why they must find the person and punish him.”

  “I agree with you, Ollie.”

  “I am bereft,” he said. “Is this the right word, bereft?”

  “It’s the perfect word,” she said. “Do you want to talk about her? About her heart? It might make you feel better.”

  He nodded. “Her love for Mr. Honeycutt, it was very beautiful. She wanted only him.”

  Oh, sure, Dana thought. That was why she’d slept with Lorenzo and Adam and God knows who else.

  “Love is a powerful emotion,” she said, groping for something innocuous to say.

  “Yes, powerful! You are so wise, Dana. Miss Kitty’s love for Mr. Honeycutt had big power. And he had powerful love for her, to
o. But as a man, he was not so strong, you understand? He loved Miss Kitty with his full heart, but not with courage.”

  “Because he wouldn’t leave his wife, you mean?”

  “Yes. And Miss Kitty, she did everything to make him understand that they should be together always. She wants him to understand that love is all. Love is everything.”

  Dana shifted in her seat. It sounded like Ollie was saying Kitty had threatened Honeycutt. “What kind of things did Kitty do to...convince him?”

  “Some things not so nice, I am afraid. But this is how strong is Miss Kitty’s love.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “She had proof, you see, of their love. She tells Mr. Honeycutt she will make this public so the whole world will know. Then his wife will leave him. So even if Mr. Honeycutt is not strong enough, they can still be together.”

  “What kind of proof?” Dana asked.

  He looked down, embarrassed. “She keeps camera in her bedroom, Dana.”

  “A video camera?”

  Ollie nodded.

  “You mean, she secretly taped them...making love?”

  “It was for his good, you understand? For both of them. Miss Kitty’s love was strong. They must be together no matter what. This is what she knows. This is her heart, her wonderful heart.”

  A sex tape! And she was threatening him with it! This was huge. Possibly even huge enough for Charles Honeycutt to have hired a hit man.

  “Can I share with you a secret, Dana?”

  “Of course.”

  “Miss Kitty was so certain Mr. Honeycutt and she will get married that she bought a wedding dress. It was beautiful!”

  “A wedding dress? Are you serious?”

  “Oh, yes, Dana. Very serious. She took me with her to shop for it. It was my best day in America!”

  “That’s...lovely,” she said, and changed the subject. “I need to ask you—where is the...video? Is it on Kitty’s computer? On a flash drive?”

  “I do not know.”

  “But you said Miss Binky cleaned out her apartment. Do you know if she found anything?”

  “This kind of thing I do not ask.” He smoothed his shirt, as if getting ready to leave. His crying had ceased, but his face was still a mess.

  Dana laid a hand on his shoulder. “Do you have a friend I can call to take you home? You still seem a little shaky. You mentioned a roommate?”

  “Kimmo,” he said. “But he is not at home now.” Ollie blew his nose and stood. “I am fine, Dana. You are so kind to me.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Crying is good for me. It cleans my grief.” He straightened his shoulders, showing how much better he was. And he did look recovered.

  “Okay, then,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  After he left, Dana changed into her street clothes, replaying the conversation. When she got into the elevator, she pressed the button for the lobby and her head was so filled with revelations about the secret sex tape that she barely registered that Emily stood behind her.

  “Great show today,” Emily said.

  It was the reflexively polite response she often got from her coworkers. And while it was indeed a good show—despite the microphone problem—Dana took it as courteous small talk. “Thank you,” she said. “I heard you were a smash on Vanessa’s fashion segment.”

  Emily smiled warmly. “I think it went well.”

  “You know, a friend of mine saw you. He said he knows you.”

  Emily’s smile vanished. “Really?”

  “Tyrel Goodson. He said you took an acting class together.”

  “That wasn’t me.”

  “Are you sure?” Dana asked.

  Emily’s brow tightened. “Of course I’m sure.”

  Dana opened her mouth to respond, but the elevator reached the lobby and the doors parted. Before she could say a word, Emily scurried off.

  Weird, Dana thought, and wondered if Emily had a secret in her past she wanted to keep hidden. Maybe she had a sex tape of her own—some porn movie she foolishly did under her own name. Or maybe it was something as innocuous as an embarrassingly bad performance she wanted to distance herself from. In any case, Dana would be pressing Tyrel to remember that last name.

  26

  Later, Dana got a text from Lorenzo saying he couldn’t get a sitter. She texted back, Then I’ll come to you.

  She waited for a reply. Five minutes went by. Then ten. Then fifteen. She wondered if she should just get on the subway and head up there, but at last her phone pinged.

  Wait, found a sitter. Be there in a little while.

  This time, she wasn’t lighting romantic candles or setting out a bottle of wine. In fact, Dana wasn’t even going to take a hit off a joint. She didn’t want to do anything to mellow her anger. Unless Lorenzo had one hell of an excuse, he deserved it. And damn it, she resented the hell out of him for making her feel like a high-maintenance woman. She wasn’t high-maintenance. She just didn’t deserve to be ghosted by a guy she was sleeping with.

  An hour went by, and she wondered what he had meant by “a little while.” She texted, On your way?

  After a few minutes, he responded.

  Sitter canceled. Can we do tomorrow night?

  Dana gritted her teeth. This was starting to look like a terrible pattern. She wrote back, Busy tomorrow.

  She knew it seemed like a lie, because she probably would have said it even if it weren’t true. But it was. Jennifer Lafferty had extended a dinner invitation. Dana, Chelsea, Brandon and Wesley would be joining Dad and his girlfriend at her East Side apartment. And at this point, she certainly wasn’t going to invite Lorenzo to come along.

  When he didn’t respond right away, Dana decided to ignore her phone. She silenced it and went about her evening. By bedtime, she guessed he had texted her a few more times, suggesting when they could meet. Still, she would wait until the morning to respond. He could just stew in it.

  After she had gone through her nightly ritual of washing, exfoliating and moisturizing, Dana slipped under the covers of her bed and at last picked up the cell phone on her nightstand. Her mood was softening, and she decided that if he had texted at least three times, she would answer him tonight. Less than that and he could wait until the morning.

  She swiped her phoned to life and stared at the screen. Since her last text saying she was busy tomorrow night, the number of times he responded was exactly zero.

  Zero.

  That was three less than the number of times she pounded her pillow before eventually falling asleep.

  She awoke the next morning feeling even less generously toward him than she had when she’d drifted off. And despite herself, she checked her cell phone again before she even got out of bed. He had texted her a little after 1:00 a.m.

  Fell asleep reading to Sophia. You up?

  She exhaled, releasing about ten percent of her tension. All was not forgiven, but she could at least put her fury on hold until they made plans to talk.

  * * *

  Jennifer Lafferty’s apartment was a boxy two-bedroom on East Fifty-Seventh Street, with pale cream walls and lots of right angles. Dana was the last to arrive, or so she thought. Passing the dining room, which was really just a rectangular area off the sunken living room, she noticed one extra place setting. She had made it perfectly clear she was not bringing Lorenzo, and wondered who the extra guest might be.

  Chelsea and Brandon were side by side on a trim plaid sofa. Her father was in a shabby chic brown leather easy chair, reading a picture book to Wesley, who sat on his lap. Dana stopped and stared. Her father. Kenneth G. Barry, MD. Reading to a wriggly little boy. She had never imagined such a thing, and it was a surprisingly sweet sight. That was, until Wesley’s thumb went into his mouth as he burrowed deeper into his grandfather’s chest, and Kenn
eth pushed on his hand and said, “Stop that. You’re not a baby.”

  “Oh, goody,” Dana said. “It’s Mr. Rogers.”

  “Don’t be funny,” her father said.

  “Can’t help it.” She winked at Wesley as she flicked her pinky from the inside of her cheek and made an impressive pop. Wesley laughed.

  Dana greeted her sister and brother-in-law, who were nicely dressed in complementary blues and beiges. Dana wore the same snug V-neck T-shirt and tight jeans she had on the day they went to Café Rosemary for her sister’s birthday—a fact that didn’t escape Chelsea’s notice.

  “Seriously?” Chelsea said, looking Dana up and down.

  Dana shrugged, sheepish. “I’m behind on laundry.”

  “Liar.”

  There was nothing for Dana to say. Her sister knew her too well. If she hadn’t been in such a dark mood over Lorenzo, she might have dressed up. But she was brimming with resentment over the whole situation, and decided that if Jennifer and her father wanted to judge her for her clothing, they could go to hell.

  Besides, she had dressed up the outfit with sexy, over-the-knee boots and thought the effect was pretty rocking.

  “With that figure,” Jennifer offered with a smile, “Dana looks great no matter what she puts on.”

  “See?” Chelsea said. “You’re not pissing anybody off, so what’s the point?”

  “The night is young,” Dana said.

  Jennifer offered Dana a glass of wine and urged her to help herself to the appetizers. Dana settled herself into the other leather side chair as her father finished reading Dr. Seuss’s Oh, the Thinks You Can Think! to his grandson.

  He closed the book, and Wesley climbed off his lap. Dana insisted on a hug from the child, but made no move toward her father.

  “At least you didn’t bring your convict,” Kenneth said.