Your Big Break

by Johanna Edwards

  DaniM: flodging?

  Bossman: It means lying.

  DaniM: oh. well, i’m not flodging. i’m telling the truth.

  Bossman: That blows, Big D. My heart goes out to your family unit.

  DaniM: thanks

  Bossman: If you don’t object, I’m gonna give the case to my main man, Trey.

  Object? I guess I don’t object. . . .

  Bossman: Hate to lose the business.

  DaniM: i understand.

  Bossman: Thanks, Big D. You’re Kool with a capital K.

  He signs offline.

  I didn’t think it was possible, but Craig comes across even dorkier online than in person. I thought the Internet was supposed to have the opposite effect, making nerds into studs, losers into winners.

  I don’t dwell on this point too long. The real issue at hand is this: Your Big Break Inc. will be taking Gretchen’s case after all. That means Father’s about to get a Dear Paul letter, which might not be such a bad thing. At least their relationship will be over. But it’s only a matter of time until he finds someone new. It’s like that old saying: Cheaters never change. Or is it Cheaters never win?

  Either way, the bottom line’s the same.

  My father’s an adulterer. Always was, always will be.

  Before I leave work, I place a quick follow-up call to Erin Foster-Ellis.

  “Erin? It’s Dani from Your Big Break,” I say. “I was calling to see if you were satisfied with our job performance.”

  “Yes,” she says simply, “I’m very satisfied.”

  “And you haven’t had any troubles? Brady hasn’t been contacting you?”

  “No. It’s a bit surprising.” She’s quiet for a minute. “I anticipated he wouldn’t be able to stop calling me. But he’s been oddly silent.”

  What if he never got the letter? “Did you receive your personal items?” I ask nervously.

  “I did, thanks,” Erin says. “They arrived this morning via FedEx.”

  “Great!” Whew! That means Brady did receive his Dear John letter. And since he sent Erin’s stuff back without a fuss, and hasn’t bothered calling her, I’d say he got the message loud and clear. I can forget about this case and move on. “Well, let me know if you have any problems.”

  “Oh, I will,” Erin says. “First sign of trouble, I’ll call you. Believe me.”

  18

  YBB INC. EMPLOYEE RULE #5

  Do not get personally involved. This is the cardinal rule and must be followed above all others!

  “Sit! Stay!” I lurch forward. “No! Bad boy!”

  It’s Wednesday morning, and I’m being dragged down Boylston Street by an enormous Old English sheepdog named, quite appropriately, Magnus.

  “Heel, Magnus! Heel! Stay!” I’m shouting out every dog command I can think of in an attempt to slow him down. Nothing’s working. “Roll over!” I shriek helplessly. “Play dead!” He stops briefly, then takes off running again at top speed. “Down, boy!” I cling furiously to his leash, cursing myself for wearing my Coach pumps with two-inch heels. Why didn’t I put on flats this morning or, better yet, tennis shoes?

  He comes to an abrupt stop next to a red mailbox, squats, and . . . “Magnuuuus, no!”

  I pull a plastic Baggie out of my tote and scoop up dog poop.

  It’s been a crazy day. I drove out to Norwood at the crack of dawn to pick up Magnus at his owner’s ex-girlfriend’s house. “Take the filthy beast,” the ex had said, showing me to the back-yard. “I never wanted him living here in the first place.” Then she broke into sobs. I find “pet retrieval” one of our most difficult services. Magnus spent the twenty-five-minute drive back to Boston with his runny nose pressed up against the window in the backseat of my car. I wonder if he was watching for the ex-girlfriend.

  I’m scheduled to meet Magnus’s owner in front of Au Bon Pain at eight o’clock. I drop the soiled Baggie in a garbage bin and continue down Boylston. I tug on Magnus’s leash, trying to get him to turn the corner. It’s no use. We head across the street and go sailing past the turnoff for Au Bon Pain at a dead run. “Dani?” I hear someone yell. “Hey, wait up!”

  I look over to see Brady Simms jogging along beside me.

  Mercifully, Magnus stops right in front of the entrance to the Four Seasons. I struggle to catch my breath. Magnus sighs loudly and then hangs his head in gloom. “Poor baby,” I say, massaging his ears. Sometimes pets have just as hard a time dealing with a breakup as their owners do.

  Brady leans down to rub Magnus’s head. “It’s weird running into you like this. How’ve you been?”

  “Good,” I tell him, then want to smack myself. He’s in the middle of a trauma. The last thing he wants to hear is how great I feel. “What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

  “My school—Addington Academy—is right around the corner.”

  “I see.” We stand there awkwardly on the sidewalk, watching the guests move in and out of the Four Seasons Hotel. “I guess you heard about me and Erin. . . .” he says, his voice trailing off.

  “I heard.” I wrote the letter and sent the Breakup Recovery Kit. “I’m sorry.”

  He gives me a sad smile and I feel awful, as if it were me who broke his heart.

  “On some level, I saw it coming,” he admits.

  Magnus sneezes loudly. “His nose has been running all morning. You wouldn’t by chance have a Kleenex?”

  Brady shakes his head and laughs. “I take it he’s not your dog?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Lucky guess.” Brady continues to pet Magnus. “And it’s a pretty safe bet you’re not a professional dog walker, either.”

  “Is it that obvious?” I joke.

  “Kind of.” He stands up and looks at me. “Where’d you get the pooch?”

  “He belongs to a . . . friend.” I don’t mention that the “friend” is a client.

  “Do you need some help with him?”

  “The friend?” I ask, startled.

  Brady laughs. “No, the dog.”

  “I think I can manage, thanks.” As if on cue, Magnus plops down on the sidewalk and makes himself comfortable. “Come on, boy, let’s go.” I tug at his leash, but he doesn’t budge. The valet at the Four Seasons gives me an exasperated stare. “I’ve got to drop him off in front of Au Bon Pain”—I check my watch—“five minutes ago!”

  “I have a way with animals,” Brady says, winking. “I bet I can make him get up.”

  “That’s a bet you’d lose. Magnus is cute,” I tease, “but he’s got a mind of his own.”

  “Sounds like someone else I know,” Brady says. “The first part, anyway.”

  Did Brady just call me cute? I’m about to respond with something equally flirty, but Magnus chooses that exact moment to pass gas. Loudly.

  I groan, moving away from the smell. “I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” Brady says, smiling. “I grew up around dogs. Trust me, I’ve smelled worse. At least he didn’t do it in your car.”

  “Good point.” I laugh. “So, as you were saying before Magnus interrupted . . .”

  “Ah, yes. We were negotiating a bet.” Brady thinks it over. “How about the loser treats the winner to the Starbucks beverage of their choice? Might be a good chance to get to know each other.”

  “No!” I shriek. “I mean, no on the Starbucks, not the getting to know each other part.”

  “You hate coffee?”

  “Something like that.” I laugh. “Why don’t we go somewhere else?”

  “Okay. How about lunch, then?”

  “Deal,” I agree. He extends his hand and we shake on it.

  Brady crouches down next to Magnus. “All right, boy, I need your help here.” He scratches him behind the ears and takes hold of his leash. “Make me look good. Come on, Magnus!” The dog doesn’t budge.

  “Once he takes off, there’s no stopping him,” I caution.

  “I noticed he was pulling you alo
ng pretty fast.”

  I laugh. “You’d have to be an Olympic track-and-field medalist to keep up with this dog.”

  “So you’re not an Olympic runner and you’re not a dog walker. What do you do for a living?”

  When you have a lie already in place, it’s easy to reach for it. “I write promotional copy for websites.”

  He stands up. “I thought Web designers died out with the Internet bust?”

  I feel my face go red. “We’re an endangered species, that’s for sure.”

  “Speaking of species . . .” Brady reaches his arms around Magnus’s midsection and attempts to lift him up again. It doesn’t work.

  “Ready to admit defeat?” I ask.

  Brady nods. “Want to grab a quick breakfast?”

  I glance at my watch and see that now it’s ten past eight. “I’m really late. I was supposed to drop Magnus off ten minutes ago. I’d better call my friend and ask him to meet me here.” I fish in my purse for my cell phone.

  “No problem,” Brady says. “I’m due at school soon myself. Why don’t you give me your e-mail and I’ll drop you a line this weekend?”

  I’m not allowed to date clients. That’s in definite violation of Your Big Break Inc.’s rule #5. Even if it weren’t, Brady Simms is off-limits. He’s Sophie Kennison’s rebound guy. At least, he will be after this Friday. “Sure,” I say, whipping out a pen and a piece of scrap paper. I can’t give him my work addy, since it’s registered to Your Big Break Inc.’s domain. I scrawl out my other e-mail address—DaniMyers@yahoo.com—and hand over the piece of paper. Now I’ve given him my last name, which breaks Your Big Break Inc.’s rule #2. Oops.

  “Great! I’ll e-mail you this week and we can get together.”

  “Bye, Brady.” I smile, and he heads off down the street.

  “We’ve gotta move quickly,” Sean says when I call him that evening. “There’s no telling what Dad will do when Gretchen dumps him. Whatever happens, we’ve got to be prepared. I don’t want Mom caving in and staying with that creep. She’s too good for him.”

  It’s a harsh statement, but I’ve got to say I agree. “Have you finished your so-called investigation?” I ask.

  “I’m close.” Sean lowers his voice conspiratorially. “There are a lot of encrypted files on Dad’s computer. Here’s what I’ve found out so far: Dad placed a personal ad on Match.com last November. Between November and January, he got six responses.”

  “A whopping six responses. I guess Father’s not too popular with the online ladies.”

  “This isn’t a time to joke, Dani,” Sean says, and for the first time I realize how hard all of this is hitting him. My brother has always been a goofball who cracks jokes and makes light of every situation. Now we seem to have switched places. I’m the one who’s acting like a child, and Sean’s the one being mature.

  “From what I can tell, Gretchen is the youngest person who answered his ad.”

  Typical. He went for the ripest piece he could find. “What about the chat rooms?” I prod. “Did he meet many women there?”

  “I don’t think so. Ever since January, his efforts have been focused solely on Gretchen.” Sean pauses. “I think he’s in love with her.”

  I freeze. “No, that can’t be right.”

  “Dani, I’ve read their e-mails. He calls her his soul mate.”

  This is much worse than I imagined. “You think he’s being serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ve got to tell Mom. We can’t wait any longer.”

  “I know.”

  It’s as if someone’s knocked the wind out of me, as though I’ve been run over by a truck. For a long moment, both of us are too depressed to speak. “How are we going to do it?” I finally ask.

  “I’ll confront Dad, and you come clean with Mom. That way, neither of them will feel like they’re being ganged up on.”

  Confronting Father is arguably the tougher of the two tasks. “When would we do it?”

  “The sooner the better,” Sean says. “When’s your coworker going to dump Dad?”

  “Friday,” I tell him. “Day after tomorrow.”

  “Then we do it tomorrow.”

  “But we’re supposed to have our Thursday family dinner!” I say. “The first one in a whole month!”

  “It’s now or never, Dani.”

  “When you put it that way, never!”

  Sean sighs. “I know you don’t want to do this, but it’s necessary.”

  “I know.” I feel my eyes well up. “But part of me wishes we could just ignore this and hope it goes away.”

  “Life doesn’t work that way. Besides, after Dad gets dumped, his whole demeanor may change. It’ll be easier to deny the affair once he and Gretchen have officially broken up. We’ve got to reach Mom before it happens. She needs to have all the facts so she can make an informed decision about whether she wants to work to save their marriage.”

  “How are we going to tell them we found out?” I ask. “We can’t mention Your Big Break Inc.!” I don’t want to come clean about my job now. No way.

  “We’ll tell them I was on Dad’s computer and I stumbled across the files.”

  That’s not bad. “What were you doing on his computer? You’ve got one of your own.”

  “His Internet connection’s faster. I’ll say I was downloading med-school applications. Mom gets so excited whenever I talk about becoming a doctor.”

  “True.” I lower my head, focusing on an invisible spot on the floor. “I can’t believe we’re going to do this. It would have been nice to have one last family dinner,” I say. “Before the world as we know it comes crashing to an end.”

  “Trust me,” Sean says, “it already has.”

  19

  Seeing Other People

  I feel like a cop who knocks on someone’s door and tells them their loved one has died.

  I barely slept last night. I’m bogged down with second thoughts, sick with anxiety. Why did I make this deal with Sean? Initially, I thought I had come out on top, agreeing to have The Conversation with Mom. But the more I mull it over, the more I realize I got the short end of the stick. True, Sean has to confront Father. He has to tell him point blank that he knows about the affair. Not an easy task, but if you break it down, it’s not so bad: Father will be shocked, angry, defensive. But he won’t get hurt. He won’t feel betrayed.

  Mom, on the other hand, will be devastated.

  She will totally break down. There’s a good chance she’ll become physically ill.

  I grab a bottle of Pepto-Bismol on my way out the door and shove it into my purse. I arrive at the office forty minutes late. Fortunately, no one’s around to notice. That’s good. I don’t really feel like seeing anyone. I sit down at my desk and listen to my voicemail messages. The first one’s from Evan Hirschbaum, informing me that he’s got a new job for us. He’s grown tired of his latest love, a nineteen-year-old salesgirl from Urban Outfitters. His taste is getting younger by the day. If his pattern holds, the next gal pal will be in junior high school, and he’ll be beyond our help.

  I have messages from other clients, and one from Krista. Normally, I’d take care of business first, personal calls second. But my mind’s so scattered that I just don’t care. I call Krista back.

  “Fintane Catering, Krista speaking.”

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Hi, Dani! Guess what?”

  I massage my forehead in an effort to ward off a budding headache. I’m at a total loss. My brain is fried. “Honestly, Krista, I’m drawing a blank.”

  “Jason Dutwiler called this morning and asked me on a date!” she squeals. “We’re going out this Saturday.”

  “That’s great!” I say, leaning back in my desk chair. “Where’s he taking you?”

  “To see an exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts. Afterwards, we’re going for dinner in North Boston.”

  “Not bad, not bad at all.” I’m impressed. Jason Dutwiler’s stock just went up.


  Her tone changes. “I’m almost afraid to ask you this.”

  “Ask away.” I twirl the phone cord around my fingers, tangling and untangling it.

  “I want you to give it to me straight: What’s wrong with him?”

  I’m exhausted. I need a giant cup of coffee. I look to see when my first breakup of the day is scheduled. Can I wait that long? Krista intrudes on my thoughts.

  “He seems too good to be true,” she says. “He’s sweet, funny, smart. What am I missing here? Why is a great guy like Jason still on the market?”

  “He’s only been on the market a few weeks,” I remind her.

  “He’s got a great job, he’s well traveled, and he recycles,” Krista argues.

  “I didn’t know you were so passionate about the environment,” I say and stifle a yawn. “Look, Jason’s a decent guy. There’s nothing wrong with him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “He’s clingy,” I admit. “That’s the extent of it, as far as I know.”

  “Dani,” Krista hesitates, “there’s something else. A favor I need to ask.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  She gulps. “I like Jason a lot, and I want things to go well. We’ve gotten along on the phone, but sometimes it’s different in person. What if we run out of stuff to talk about? What if we just sit there and stare at each other all night?”

  “That’s not going to happen,” I assure her, rubbing my head.

  “I just wish I knew a little bit more about him.”

  Here we go. I’ve got a pretty good feeling where this is headed. “Let me guess, you want me to give you an inside scoop?” I rub my temples harder. My head’s killing me.

  “Well, I know you’ve got a file on him—”

  “It’s confidential,” I jump in. I reach into my desk and grab my bottle of Advil out of the top drawer. I take out two pills and pop them into my mouth, downing them without water.

  “I know Jason’s file is confidential,” Krista says. “I don’t want you to read it to me or anything. But I thought maybe you could casually glance at it and, you know, if your eyes just so happen to land on anything interesting, you could share it with me.”