Stuck-Up Suit

by Vi Keeland

  ***

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Delia and I were relaxing in the air-conditioned living room after an afternoon at the beach.

  I’d impulsively picked up my phone and opened up the text message chain between Graham and me, looking through all of the old texts from the beginning of our time together. The very last one from him was sent the morning before he caught me with Marco. It simply said, I love you.

  Delia didn’t know what I’d been doing for the past several minutes. She probably thought I was just surfing the Internet. When she noticed the tears start to fall from my eyes, she came around and suddenly snatched the phone from my hands.

  “Looking at old texts from Graham? That’s it! I’m taking this and shutting it off. I didn’t take you all the way to California for this shit.”

  “You can’t just take my phone!”

  “Watch me,” she said, holding down the power button. “You’ll get it back in New York.”

  CHAPTER 31

  GRAHAM

  MY PHONE VIBRATED just as I was leaving the office.

  “Hello, Genevieve.”

  “Why haven’t you answered my texts?”

  “Busy day.”

  “I was hoping you could come by after work. We need to talk about what happened between us.”

  “I’m already on my way there to see Chloe.”

  “Alright. We’ll see you when you get here.”

  The last thing I was in the mood for was to rehash the other night with Genevieve. Up to my ears in work from having been preoccupied over the past few weeks, the last two nights I’d skipped going to see my daughter again because it was way past her bedtime by the time I left work. That couldn’t happen again. I planned to have dinner with Chloe before heading back to the office after hours.

  Rain drops were pelting the windows of the town car. Almost every night on the way home, I’d instinctually go to text Soraya, forgetting for a split second that we were done. Then that awful acidic feeling of reality souring in the pit of my stomach would linger. It angered me that I’d trusted her so fully. After what happened with Genevieve and Liam, I was probably the least trusting person around. But I would have trusted Soraya with my life. How could I have not seen a change of heart coming? The whole thing just didn’t make any fucking sense.

  “Not sure how long I’ll be here, Louis. I’ll text you when I’m ready to head back to the office,” I said as we pulled up to Genevieve’s brownstone.

  Genevieve greeted me, taking my wet jacket and hanging it up.

  She stood there awkwardly, playing with her pearls. “About the other night…I—”

  “Can we please not discuss this until I’ve seen my daughter?”

  “Okay.” She looked down at the floor. “She’s in her room.”

  Chloe was playing with her dollhouse. “Graham Cracker! I missed you.”

  Bending down and pulling her into a hug, I said, “I missed you, too, smart cookie.”

  “Are you still sad?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “About Soraya?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Your smile isn’t as big as it usually is.”

  She was so perceptive. Apparently, she didn’t take after her clueless father. The last thing I wanted was for my daughter to think that something was seriously wrong with me or that it might have been her fault. Trying to wrack my brain for a way to explain, I ultimately decided that it was better to just be honest.

  “I am a little sad, Chloe, yes…about Soraya. But that’s not why I wasn’t here over the past two days. I got out of work very late, but I won’t let another two days go by without coming to see you again, okay?”

  “My daddy used to work late a lot.”

  I wondered how much of that was actually work or Liam just fucking around on Genevieve.

  “He did, did he?”

  “So, when will you stop being sad?”

  “Not sure, but you know what? I already feel better just being with you.”

  “That was how I felt when I met you. After my daddy died, you made me feel better even though I was still sad.”

  I AM your Daddy.

  And I love you so much.

  Pulling her into me, I kissed her forehead. “I’m glad I could do that for you.”

  Chloe and I played with her dollhouse for a bit until Genevieve entered and knelt down to join us. I could feel her staring at me, knowing she was eager to discuss things. After the other night, I was apprehensive about being alone with her again. Although with Chloe home, not much was going to be able to go down.

  “Dinner will be ready in five,” Genevieve said before exiting the room.

  Genevieve had baked a homemade prosciutto and fig flatbread pizza for us and a plain cheese one for Chloe. She kept filling my wine glass with Cabernet, and I let her, knowing it would help take the edge off of whatever discussion we were going to have later.

  After I tucked Chloe in and read her a bedtime story, Genevieve was waiting for me in the kitchen, polishing off the last of the wine.

  Before she could open her mouth, I said, “There’s really no need to get into it.”

  “I need to apologize again. I came on too strongly. I don’t know what came over me. Seeing you lying there so comfortably in my house, it just took me back. That, coupled with the fact that we’d had too much to drink—”

  “It wasn’t the alcohol, and you know it. You’ve made your intentions very clear for some time.”

  “You’re right. Inebriated or not, I want you back, Graham. I’ll do whatever it takes to have the opportunity to make you happy again.”

  “You thought that showing me your pussy was going to make me forget everything—what you did?”

  When Genevieve disrobed in front of me that night, I’d jumped up off the couch and demanded that she put her clothes back on. She’d actually seemed shocked at my rejection.

  “Did you assume that because of my breakup with Soraya, that I was going to give in? What happened with Soraya won’t change the fact that I simply can’t ever trust you again, Gen. And while I think you’d be great for a quick revenge fuck, I’m sure as hell not going to screw my child’s mother if I have no intention of ever being with her.”

  “You’re not thinking straight, Graham. We have a small window of opportunity now to change our daughter’s life. I’m not going to be able to wait around for you forever.”

  “Let me save you some time.” I leaned in. “Stop waiting.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying. How can you just close the door on that possibility so easily?”

  “You closed the door, Genevieve. You closed it and threw away the key.”

  “I made a mistake!”

  “Shh. You’ll wake her,” I said. Closing my eyes for composure, I took a deep breath and said, “Chloe will always have my love. You, as her mother, will always have my respect. But you lost your chance at a future with me the day you decided to betray my trust. I want my daughter to have self-respect. I need to set a good example by holding onto my own.” Unable to tolerate any more of this conversation, I walked over to where my jacket was hanging and put it on. “ My driver is outside. I need to get back to the office. Thank you for dinner. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

  ***

  MY OFFICE WAS COMPLETELY DARK except for a small amount of light coming from the green banker’s lamp on my desk. Fidgeting with my watch, all I could think about was that fucking pile of newspapers taunting me from the across the room.

  Over the past week, I’d repeatedly nixed the idea of going through all of the Ask Ida responses for any potential clues into Soraya’s mindset. Between admitting my sadness to Chloe and the argument with Genevieve tonight, I was feeling weaker.

  Bringing the stack over to my desk, I sifted through each edition’s Ask Ida column like a lunatic. After thoroughly dissecting over a dozen responses, nothing stood out as unusual. That is, until I got to response number twenty.

  A woman
had written in with a dilemma about whether or not she should break up with her boyfriend whom she was deeply in love with—all so he could get back with the mother of his child. For the sake of the child. I looked at the date, which was shortly before we broke up. The other details outlined exactly what happened with Genevieve and me.

  My heart started to hammer against my chest.

  The name: Theresa, Brooklyn.

  Theresa was her stepmother’s name.

  If there was any doubt that Soraya had written in the question, the response only confirmed it. Ida’s advice was to break up with the boyfriend and suggested that “Theresa” make it appear as though she were cheating on him so that the poor fool would cut her off more easily.

  “Smart over heart,” Ida had advised.

  I threw the newspaper across the room. Everything was starting to make sense.

  Soraya lied.

  She wasn’t really dating that guido. She was pretending to. Anger over Ida’s response transformed into elation. I’d never been happier to learn that someone had lied to me in my entire life.

  I read the beginning of the question again. “I’ve been dating a man for almost two months who I’ve fallen deeply in love with.”

  She’d fallen in love with me.

  Deeply.

  I froze, paralyzed first by shock, then intense relief, then an overwhelming urge to just get to her.

  I fell deeply too, baby. So fucking deep.

  I immediately picked up my phone and dialed her number.

  It kept ringing and went to voicemail.

  I dialed it again.

  Same thing.

  I wrote out a text.

  Where are you?

  There was no answer for five minutes. I texted again.

  I need to see you. Are you home?

  Unable to wait any longer, I grabbed my coat and called for Louis to pick me up.

  When we arrived to Soraya’s apartment in Brooklyn, there was no answer. Looking up at the window, I could see that the lights were off.

  Where the fuck was she?

  “Where to next, sir?” Louis asked as I returned to the car.

  “Eighth Avenue. Tig’s Tattoo Shop.”

  When we arrived, I told Louis to wait outside; I was going to need that car ready to book it once I got Tig to tell me where she was.

  Tig blew out the last of his cigarette. “Suit! What the hell are you doing here? It’s late. We’re about to close.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “Where is she?” I repeated louder.

  “She’s in California with Del.”

  “California?”

  “Yeah. They went on a girls’ trip. Just the two of them.”

  “Where are they staying?”

  “I’m not telling you where they’re fucking staying. You’re her fucking crazy ex!”

  “I need to call the hotel. She’s not answering her phone. Actually, call Delia. Tell her I need to speak to Soraya.”

  “No.”

  I approached him, getting uncomfortably close to his face. “Give me the info, Tig. You have no idea what I’m capable of in this state of mind.”

  “Oh, I know what you’re capable of, pretty boy. You wrecked my cousin Marco’s jaw.”

  Tig seemed to realize that he’d slipped up. His cousin. He was in on the act.

  “He’s not her boyfriend at all, is he?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I read the fucking Ida column, Tig. I know she made the whole thing up. Whether you admit to it or not, I know the truth. You need to tell me where she is.”

  “What are you gonna charter your fancy jet to California? With your money, I’ll let you hire a private investigator. You’re not getting her whereabouts from me.”

  A light bulb went off in my brain as I walked over to a small box hidden in the corner of the shop. “What’s this over here? Your stash of weed? I bet the cops would love to know about this.”

  “You wouldn’t do that…”

  “I will do anything to get to Soraya right now. Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  “Jesus, your fucking eyes are demonic.”

  “Tell me where she is, Tig.”

  He angrily scrolled his phone then wrote an address down on a scrap of paper before throwing it at me. “Here. It’s Del’s brother’s condo in Hermosa Beach.”

  I patted the paper to my chest and walked backward toward the door. “Thank you. No hard feelings. I wouldn’t have snitched on you. Soraya would never speak to me again. And I couldn’t risk that because I really fucking love that woman.”

  “Whatever, MBP.” For the first time, though, Tig looked like he actually believed me. He shook his head, his mouth curving into a slight smile. “You’d better not hurt her, Suit.”

  ***

  I’D HOPPED THE NEXT commercial flight to LAX.

  When I arrived at the condo, no one was there. Soraya’s phone continued to go to voicemail as did Delia’s. At least, I knew she’d be coming back here. According to Tig, they were scheduled to be here another few days.

  Taking a walk down to the beach, I decided I needed to let her know I was here. I started shooting off a series of texts to her, pouring out my heart, even though she hadn’t been responding to any of my messages.

  I hadn’t been paying attention and somehow knocked into a muscular man walking a little spotted goat.

  What the fuck?

  “Watch where you’re goin’, Mate,” he said with an Australian accent.

  “Sorry, man. My head is not together today.”

  “You alright?”

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  He nodded his head knowingly. “A woman.”

  “What gave it away?”

  “You remind me of myself a few years back, roaming this beach, lovesick over my Aubrey—oblivious to everyone around me. It all works out if it’s meant to be, you know.”

  “Why are you…walking a goat?”

  “It’s a long story. If you want to take a walk with us, I’ll give you the deets, get your mind off the woman for a bit…till you find her.”

  His name was Chance Bateman. He was a former Australian soccer star, now living in Hermosa Beach. He told me the story of how he’d met his wife, Aubrey, at a rest stop in Nebraska. They went on an adventurous road trip together but ended up getting separated for some time after. But things worked out in the end.

  I proceeded to share my own story with him. The one big similarity was that we’d each met our women in the unlikeliest of places.

  “Think about it, Mate. These are not coincidences. An Australian and an uptight princess from Chicago happen to connect in the middle of bumfuck Nebraska. Yet, she was my soulmate. And you…you said you didn’t normally take the train. For some reason, that morning you did. You have to trust in fate. It’s all written. Doesn’t matter if it’s today or in two years, if it’s meant to be, it will happen one way or the other.”

  Chance looked down at his phone. “Gotta run. You’re a good chap. If it all works out with your lady, you should bring her by our house for some brekky before you leave town.”

  This guy was probably one of the most charismatic people I’d ever met.

  I smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. “I just might take you up on that.”

  He patted me once on the shoulder. “Good luck, Mate.”

  As if to say goodbye, the goat let out a long, “Baa.”

  Watching him walk away with the animal, I shook my head in amazement. I shot out one additional text to Soraya, still unsure if she’d received any of my other texts from earlier.

  I just ran into a man walking a fucking goat.

  CHAPTER 32

  SORAYA

  DELIA WAS IN THE SHOWER. It was my one opportunity to see if I could locate my phone. She’d agreed to shut off hers, too. We’d been living without our phones for over twenty-four hours, and I was seriously getting the shakes.


  Ransacking her purse, I couldn’t believe it was that easy. She’d simply put it in the most obvious place. She must have trusted me when she obviously shouldn’t have.

  The apple appeared on the screen as the phone powered on.

  My heart sank.

  Several missed messages and texts.

  They were all from Graham.

  Did something happen?

  Scrolling up to the top of the text chain, I swallowed nervously as I read from the beginning.

  Where are you?

  I need to see you. Are you home?

  You lied. I figured it all out.

  You forgot one very important thing when you did what you thought was right. You can’t make me stop loving you.

  If I’m not happy, my daughter can sense it. She already has. I know you think your life would have been better if your parents were together, but did you ever consider that maybe it would have been worse? If your father were physically present but depressed and withdrawn as he longed for another woman?

  My daughter will understand that my love for you doesn’t have anything to do with my love for her. Your father sucked at communicating that. I will learn from his mistakes. You will help me. We will do it together.

  My heart started beating out of control when I read the next message.

  I just landed in Hermosa Beach. I’m coming to you.

  Fuck. You’re not home. Tell me where to find you.

  I’ll come back.

  I’m at the beach. All I can think about is holding you again, kissing you and smacking that ass so hard for ever believing that I could be better off without you.

  The last text made no sense but caused me to chuckle.

  I just ran into a man walking a fucking goat.

  ***

  POOR DELIA, HER HEAD WAS FULL of shampoo when I burst into the bathroom rambling on about Graham’s texts. I’d expected her to be angry that I had broken our pact to forego cell phones, but she wasn’t. After she rinsed off, she hopped out of the shower and found me rummaging through my suitcase for something other than the grungy, haven’t-been-washed-in-three-days, sweatpants I was wearing.