I wince. “Erin, can I ask you a personal question?”
“You can ask. I don’t know if I’ll answer.”
“Is there anything I could do to convince you to give Brady another chance? He seems like a nice guy. I mean, he only started this whole teaching thing a few weeks ago. Maybe he’ll find out he doesn’t like it.”
Erin smirks. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested.”
“Even if Brady went back to being an attorney?” I ask.
“Even then. Look, Danielle, I’ll be honest with you—it’s over between me and Brady. There’s someone else. There has been for a while.”
“Someone else?”
“A TV producer for PBS. I met him a few weeks ago. In fact, I’m going back to his place as soon as we finish up here.” She eyes her watch.
Back to his place. “You just came from there?” Now I know why she was in Back Bay tonight, instead of Beacon Hill.
“Not that it’s your business, but I stay over at his place most nights.”
So that’s what’s going on. She’s cheating on Brady. During our consultation this afternoon, I’d asked her, point-blank, if there was another man. “Why did you lie when I questioned you earlier if there was someone else?”
“My God, you’re nosy!” she snaps. “What other details do you want to know? If I’m sleeping with him? Because I am. And I haven’t had sex with Brady in three months. Happy now?”
Looks like getting Erin and Brady back together is out of the question. There’s nothing I can do to help him, no way to make things right, and I feel horrible. Lower than pond scum. I’m about to get up and leave when something occurs to me.
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” I begin. “Brady’s going through an extraordinarily bad time right now—maybe you could hold off on breaking up with him.”
“Hold off?”
“Yeah, wait until things settle down.” I hang my head. “He’s going to be crushed if you do this to him right now.”
“And he won’t be crushed tomorrow? Next week? Next month?” she demands.
“Obviously, he’s going to be crushed no matter when you do it. But dumping him right now is like kicking him when he’s down.”
She yawns. “Honesty’s the best policy.”
“No, it’s not. Not always. There are times when you have to do things—dishonest things—to spare someone’s feelings.”
I can tell by her facial expression that she doesn’t agree. “Look, I’m going to end things with Brady. I’ve already decided that. What difference does it make if I do it sooner or later?”
“You’ve got to wait this out, give him some time to heal. He’s just gone through a major loss. The last thing he needs is to face losing you.”
“I don’t know.”
I swallow hard, gathering up my courage. “Please, Erin. You mean so much to Brady. It would destroy him—literally destroy him—if you left right now.” I’m pleading, begging even. But I can’t let her go through with this. For once in my life, I want to do something nice for somebody. “Can’t you stick it out one month?”
“One week. I’ll give this one week.”
I make a counteroffer. “Two weeks.”
She shakes her head. “Nothing doing. One is already pushing it.”
I square my shoulders. “You give two weeks’ notice when you leave a job. Why not give two weeks’ notice to leave a boyfriend?”
“I’ve never had a job,” she informs me, looking bored.
“Then think of it as giving him one week for every year you’ve been together,” I say. “It’s the least you could do.”
“No, the least I could do would be to give him no notice.” She chuckles. “But I’m not a monster.” She thinks it over. “What the hell. I can wait two weeks. I can’t promise I’ll be a faithful and devoted girlfriend, but I’ll hold off on shoving him out the door, so to speak.”
That’s not great, but it’s better than nothing. I feel better. One less broken heart on my conscience. “Thanks, Erin.”
“I’ve got two conditions.”
“Okay.” This should be good.
“I want you to handle everything—all the details. After I dump him, I don’t ever want to see or speak to Brady again.”
“Of course. I can’t guarantee that he won’t try to contact you at some point down the road, but I’ll do my best to stop him.”
“Good.” She sounds pleased. “Now, for my other condition. And this is non-negotiable.”
Uh-oh. I get the feeling she’s about to play hardball.
“You have to knock seventy-five bucks off the price.”
“Seventy-five bucks!” I exclaim. “That’s like a sixty percent discount!”
“Sixty-five percent,” she corrects. “And that’s my offer, take it or leave it.”
“How about twenty-five dollars?” I suggest.
“Nope.”
I’m going to have a tough enough time convincing Craig to discount this at all, and I know there’s no way he’ll go for seventy-five dollars off. But, frankly, I’m too tired to put up a fight.
“All right.” I sigh. “Seventy-five it is. That brings the price down to thirty-five bucks.”
“Pleasure doing business with you.”
We shake, and I’m about to respond when Erin throws her head back and laughs. “You’re not much of a negotiator, Danielle.”
I shrug it off. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“Yes, I do.” She smiles. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret.” She lowers her voice to a mock whisper. “I’d have done it for fifty.”
10
Gretchen Guy-Getter
“You wanna tell me what this is about?” Sean asks as we sit down in a booth at Chili’s the following day.
I pick up my menu and thumb through it. “After we order.”
My brother rolls his eyes but agrees. A few minutes later, after a waiter has brought us soft drinks and taken our food orders, I begin. “Okay, the reason I’ve asked you here today is, well, it’s complicated.”
“Dani, you’re going to have to speed this up,” he says, tapping his watch. “I can’t afford to listen to some two-hour story. I’ve got a lot of stuff to do today, you know.”
I lean back against the booth, settling in. “I thought this was your day off.”
“It is,” he says, slurping his Coke.
“Then what’s so pressing? Is your favorite TV show on right now or something?”
“No, General Hospital doesn’t start until three.”
“You’re joking, right?”
He blushes. Oh my God, he’s not joking.
“You watch General Hospital?”
“I might,” Sean huffs, averting his gaze.
I can’t help giggling. “Since when?”
“Since I discovered how many fine chicks are on the show.”
“Fine chicks?” I repeat, leaning back in the booth.
“Hell, yeah.” He rubs his hands together in anticipation. “The girls on GH are so freaking hot. And they’re always running around half-naked.”
“Isn’t it set in a hospital? Shouldn’t they be wearing scrubs?”
“You’d be amazed how often they end up in bikinis and lingerie. You should check it out, Dani. You’d love it.”
Oh, yes. Fine chicks in bikinis. That sounds right up my alley. “Are the men cute?” I ask, being conversational.
Sean slurps his drink. “How should I know?”
“You watch it.”
Sean runs his hands through his shaggy, light brown hair. “Yeah, but I don’t watch it for the men. Besides, I can’t tell if a dude looks good or not.”
“Oh, come on.” I give him a look. “You honestly can’t tell if another man is attractive?”
He shakes his head.
“So you couldn’t say who was hotter: Tom Cruise or Tom Arnold?” I insist.
He drinks his Coke. “Nope. All men look the same to me.”
Why do guys alw
ays claim this? “Then, how do you know whether or not you’re attractive?”
He ponders this. “I guess I don’t.”
“But you spend time primping in front of the mirror,” I point out. “Why bother, if you can’t tell the difference between when you start and when you finish?”
“Dani, what the hell does this have to do with anything?” he says, setting down his soft drink. I’ve irritated him.
It doesn’t. But it was a fun distraction. Now it’s time to get down to business. “Okay, okay . . . back to the story.”
“Finally.”
I clear my throat. “You know how I work for a breakup service?”
“No!” Sean clasps his hand over his mouth in mock-horror. “And all this time I thought you were a Web mistress.”
Here’s my opening. “Funny you should mention the word mistress,” I say, taking a quick sip of my Sprite. “That’s sort of why we’re here.”
“What, does Dad have some little number on the side?” he cracks.
“Yes,” I say flatly.
“Puh-lease.” Sean laughs. “Look who’s into soap operas now.”
“It’s no soap opera.” My voice drops. “I met her a few days ago. She’s thirty-five. Her name’s Gretchen Monaghan.”
“Yeah, right. You’re off in la-la land, Dani.” He sits upright and peers around the restaurant. “Where’s that waiter? I’m starving.”
“I’m serious, Sean! A woman named Gretchen Monaghan came in to Your Big Break Inc. on Tuesday and asked me to”—I pause, choking up at the memory—“to break up with our father for her.”
He stares hard at me, trying to decipher whether or not I’ve lost my mind.
“What the fuck,” he mumbles, raising an eyebrow.
I reach forward and put my hand on his arm. He jerks it away.
“Sean, I—”
In a classic case of bad timing, our lunch arrives at precisely this moment. Neither of us speaks while the waiter sets down our dishes. I stare at my plate, which is piled high with food. Why did I order chicken tacos with a side of fries? I’m not the least bit hungry.
Sean’s appetite doesn’t seem to be affected. He pours ketchup all over his fries and digs right into his burger with gusto. “You’re so dramatic, Dani,” he says between bites. “Always letting your imagination run wild.”
I stare him straight in the eyes. “I’m telling you the truth. Our father’s having an affair.”
“Dad couldn’t pull something like that off. He’s way too mild-mannered. Plus, he works all the time.”
I nod. “Exactly. Perfect cover.” I poke at my chicken tacos with a fork, scooting them around on my plate. “He pretends to be working long hours when he’s actually out running around on Mom.”
“Did you ever stop to think Dad just might be a workaholic?” Sean asks. He wipes some ketchup off his cheek.
“Well, then how do you explain Gretchen?” I take a tentative bite of a french fry.
Sean considers this. “You’re positive this woman was talking about Dad?”
I nod my head yes.
He pops some fries into his mouth and quickly downs them. “All right, tell me how this went down.”
I start at the beginning, and work my way through the entire story. I close by recounting the conversation I had with Father’s assistant, Lorne, yesterday. “So, as you can plainly see, there’s only one explanation,” I finish.
Sean, who has been munching quietly on his food the entire time, finally speaks. “There’s an explanation, all right.”
I take a small bite of my chicken taco. “Dad and this Gretchen woman are obviously . . .” I pause, searching for the right word. Dating? Too high-schoolish. Lovers? Too nauseating. I settle on involved.
“Oh, I don’t doubt they’re involved,” Sean says. “You wanna know what I think?”
“Fire away.”
“It’s payback.” He sets down his hamburger. “Dad’s paying you back. Hell, Mom’s probably in on it, too.”
“What are you talking about?”
“For the past year, you’ve been lying to them about where you work.”
I cringe and start to defend my actions, but he holds up a hand to silence me. “Somehow Mom and Dad found out the truth. So they decided to get even, to teach you a lesson you’d never forget,” he announces. “This whole thing’s staged. Gretchen’s probably an actress, hired for the occasion.”
“An actress?” I nearly choke on a fry.
“Sure. We played that same trick on my buddy M.J. a few years ago.”
I stare at Sean blankly. “You’ve lost me.”
“It was M.J.’s twenty-first birthday, and he had this big party at Callaghan’s downtown. A couple of us hired this singing-telegram chick named Pregnant Patty to embarrass him. Man, it was great!” He smiles at the memory. “She came storming into the restaurant, decked out like a knocked-up hooker—thigh-high leather boots, fishnets, a pillow stuffed under her lacy dress.” Sean chuckles. “Pregnant Patty totally berated M.J. for leaving her alone with their unborn child. M.J. got all flustered and claimed he’d ‘never seen this woman before’ in his life. Which, of course, he hadn’t. Then she threw a drink in his face, flipped on a karaoke tape, and launched into a rendition of These Boots Were Made for Walking. Don’t you see? That’s what Gretchen is—a hired singing telegram!”
My brother is insane. “You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack.” The waiter brings Sean a refill and he heartily gulps it.
“You think our parents hired some novelty act . . . named, I don’t know, Gretchen Guy-Getter . . .”
“Hey! That’s pretty good,” Sean says admiringly.
I ignore him. “And sent her out to play a practical joke on me?”
“If the shoe fits.”
The shoe so does not fit. “I met her. Trust me, she wasn’t an actress!”
“Be logical!” Sean exclaims.
He’s telling me to be logical?
“Of all the breakup services in Boston, what are the odds of Gretchen picking yours?” Sean asks.
“Pretty high, considering Your Big Break is the only breakup service in the entire state of Massachusetts!”
“Whatever.” Sean rolls his eyes. “My point is, it’s too coincidental that Gretchen came to see you. It’s got to be a setup.”
Maybe he’s onto something. I hadn’t really considered that option. “I suppose it’s possible. . . .”
“It’s not just possible, it’s probable,” he insists. “I still live with the ’rents, remember? If Dad were having an affair, I’d know about it. There’d be signs.”
“But how do you explain his weird behavior? The breakfast meetings that last all day? The family dinner cancellations?”
“Dad’s a busy man. Remember all those boxes he brought home the other night? He’s right in the middle of some huge project, and he’s working long hours to catch up.”
I’d forgotten about the boxes. That’s a good point. No, make that a great point! “So you don’t think we should tell Mom?”
“No way,” Sean says, chowing down on the last of his burger. “Let me investigate it, get to the bottom of what, if anything, is going on. Then, if I come across any definitive proof, we’ll go to Mom.”
The more Sean talks, the better I feel. Maybe, just maybe, the situation isn’t as bad as I initially imagined? Maybe it was payback. Maybe my family is going to be okay after all. By the time our waiter deposits the bill, I’m feeling refreshed, relieved.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Sean promises, “figure out what’s going on.”
“You really think it’s one giant misunderstanding?”
“Definitely. But just to be on the safe side, I’ll check into it, do a little poking around,” he says, waving his fork at me. “If Dad’s up to anything—anything at all—I’ll find out.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I genuinely mean it. I vow to put it out of my mind until Sean finishes his invest
igation.
When I get back to the office after lunch, there’s a message from Sophie Kennison on my machine. I hit the playback button.
Hello, Dani. This is in response to your voicemail. While I’ll be happy to meet up with you when I get back to Boston, I will not—I repeat, I will not—leave Evan Hirschbaum alone. I just called his office and discovered he’s gone out of town for a few days. Since you’re Evan’s little go-between, please tell him that I’ll be phoning him as soon as he gets back. Good-bye, Dani.
“Great,” I mutter, sinking down in my desk chair. If I can’t figure out a way to get Sophie off Evan’s back, I’m going to be screwed. Evan will be furious, and he’ll undoubtedly call Craig to complain. Craig will come down hard on me for messing things up—again!—with our biggest client. He’s already pissed off enough about the Jason Dutwiler situation. And what if Craig discovers what a slipshod job I’ve been doing since discovering my father’s affair?
I’ve got to act swiftly, get all my ducks in a row.
It’s time to devote myself fully to Your Big Break Inc.
11
The Dearly Deserted
I spend the next few days figuring out how to break Brady Simms’s heart.
Poor guy. He has no idea what’s about to hit him. I need a well-fleshed-out plan. I’m going to cushion the blow as best I can. What will Brady need to help him pull through? I jot down a short list.1. Support
2. A fun night out with friends
3. A stellar Breakup Recovery Kit
4. A rebound girl
I look over my list. What concerns me most is that Brady may need some kind of professional counseling. I’ll put a list of local grief counselors in his Breakup Recovery Kit.
The second one’s pretty tricky. Right after the breakup happens, Brady will need a night out on the town to cut loose and forget his troubles. I jot down a few options: Sports. Beer. Junk food. Strip clubs. The tricky part is, I don’t know any of his friends, and I don’t think it would help him if he completed these on his own.
Number three’s also going to be tough. Making Breakup Recovery Kits for guys is always hard. If it’s a girl, you can give her chocolates, chocolates, and more chocolates. Guys . . . not so much.
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