by Maria Monroe
I’m horrified, but also really honored, that both Darren and Michelle would take time out of their schedules to help me deal with my own ridiculous personal drama.
"Two words," answers Darren. "Julian. Barnes."
"What about him?" Michelle raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, looking sharply at me. "Do you know him?"
I nod. "I do. I did. Yes." Or I thought I did, but the Julian I saw today, with the ice in his eyes, isn't the Julian I knew back in college.
"Seriously?" Michelle pulls her chair in closer to the table, takes a long draw from Darren's beer, then puts her elbows on the table and looks intently at me.
"We've been salivating over him since that story ran," says Darren.
"Really?" I ask. "Both of you? And what story?"
"Yes, really. Both of us. Darren's bi," says Michelle. "And the story on the Chicago Gossip Mag blog?"
I shake my head. I haven't heard of it.
"Seriously?" Michelle rolls her eyes in annoyance. "Look." She pulls her laptop out of her bag, snaps it open, and types for a few seconds. Then she slides it across the table for me to take a look.
I read the blog page she's brought up on her screen. Julian Barnes, new hotshot reporter, makes his way from New York City to Chicago in a gi-freaking-gantic promotion practically unprecedented for someone his age. It makes us think there's a corporate move in the works, but that rumor can't be confirmed or denied. We swear he's also a GQ model, or at least should be. What do you think? Reply in the comments below.
There's a photo of Julian that looks like it's from an ad in a men's magazine: He's in a fashionably tight suit, standing on a corner downtown looking back over his shoulder. His eyes look darker than normal, and the planes of his jaw are utter perfection. Slightly parted, his lips are undeniably sexy. This isn't the Julian I remember, in his faded jeans and hoodie, and I feel a finality settling over my soul. He's a different person. We're different people. He's right. We didn't know each other well at all, and we certainly don't now.
"What does it mean, a corporate move in the works?" I ask, forcing myself to speak despite the darkness I feel in my soul.
Michelle shrugs. "Who knows? Probably nothing. There's always talk of promotions and mergers and stuff that usually never happen. The real question, though, is how you know Julian. So dish. Now."
Maybe talking about it will help me exorcise it from my heart. I sigh. "We dated."
"Shit," Michelle says, more than a touch of admiration in her voice.
"Recently?" asks Darren.
"In college. I was a freshman and he was senior. He was my first real boyfriend."
"Shit," Michelle repeats. "What happened?"
"The usual. I mean, everyone told me it would. That nobody stays together forever with their first real boyfriend."
"He dumped you." Michelle nods in understanding.
"Not exactly," I say.
"You dumped him?" Her eyes open wide with incredulity. "Seriously?"
“You don’t have to make it sound that improbable!” I object.
"Guys like Julian Barnes don't get broken up with, Lia. They always do the breaking up. What were you thinking?" Michelle takes Darren's beer again and drains it, then wipes her mouth daintily with a small square bar napkin.
"It's a long story. He had a job offer in New York. With World News Media, where he works now? And he was going to pass it up for some rinky dink job an hour from campus so we could stay together."
"So you broke up with him?" Darren asks.
"I did. I know," I say, putting my hand up to stop any objections they might have. "I just couldn't take the chance that he'd regret that choice. That someday he'd look back and think about how much better his career would have been if he'd never met me."
"That's pretty altruistic of you," says Darren.
"I wasn't being altruistic. I was being safe."
"Life's too short to be safe," says Michelle.
"Just this morning you said life's too short to be nice." Darren picks up his beer and notices it's empty. "Thanks, Michelle," he says sarcastically.
"I'll order you another one. And life's too short for a lot of things." She turns back to me. "So today you ran into Julian? When you were on an interview?" she presses me.
"Yeah. He acted like he barely knew me. And stole my story from me too."
"Fuck." She shakes her head, her diamond earrings glinting.
I nod. "Yes. Exactly."
"You know what you have to do, right?" Michelle asks.
"What?"
"Date someone else. Especially since it's a small world. Chicago's not as big a city as everyone thinks. It won't hurt Julian to see you with someone new. Or maybe it will, but that's not a bad thing."
"I don't know."
"Look, I meet a lot of athletes through my job. And a lot of them are single. Earmuffs, Darren," she says, glancing at him, and he obliges by pretending to cover his ears. "I've hooked up with someone from every major Chicago sports team. Well, not the WNBA. But the men's teams. I can totally set you up."
"With your sloppy seconds?" asks Darren.
"I thought you had your earmuffs on," she replies. "And no, I'll hook Lia up with someone fresh, untouched by yours truly."
"I don't know," I repeat.
"Look, it's the only way to get over him. And anyway, you'll need a date for the industry gala."
"Industry gala?"
Michelle rolls her eyes again, most likely at my ignorance; she seems to do that a lot. "That's what it's called. Basically it's a big formal event for the local reporting industry. Fancy dinner, dancing, etcetera. Everyone goes, and Julian will undoubtedly be there."
"That's the perfect reason for me not to go." I know I sound whiny, but I don't care. In fact, if I could cry right now without looking like a total dork, I would.
"Look, Lia," says Michelle, leaning closer, her voice fierce. "You have a great job. You're gorgeous. And single. And smart. You can't just sit around feeling bad about things that happened a few years ago. It is time to move on. And I'm going to help by getting you the hottest date around. OK?"
"Fine," I say on a sigh. "When is the gala? And will you go shopping with me first?"
Michelle's shiny red lips break into a big smile. "You don't even have to ask."
CHAPTER TWO
I'm exhausted, emotionally mostly but physically too, at the end of the day. Those lunchtime drinks have left me sluggish and tired, and nothing sounds as good as getting home and curling up on my couch to watch something stupid on TV. But apparently Michelle and Darren have another idea.
"It's your first day. We have to take you out to Joot," says Darren.
Michelle nods. "We'd be the crappiest coworkers ever if we didn't."
"Joot?" I ask.
"It's sort of the official-unofficial bar for the reporting industry," explains Darren. "Everyone goes."
"I don't know. I feel sort of crappy still from drinking at lunch."
"Hair of the dog." Darren winks at me. When he grins, he looks like a teenager trying to use his good looks to his advantage. It kind of works.
I sigh in resignation. One drink won't hurt, and maybe it will help me relax after this completely draining day. I'm still reeling over everything that's happened. As far as first days go, this has got to rank up there as one of the worst. "Fine," I mutter, a smile making its way through my uncertainty.
"I'm going to run to the powder room," says Michelle, donning a fake European accent as she grabs her purse. "Come with," she demands, looking at me.
"I'll see you in, what, an hour?" says Darren.
"When you're dealing with an almost-perfect face like this, it only takes a few minutes to pretty up," says Michelle in a haughty tone.
"Don't sell yourself short," says Darren. "You know you're perfect."
"You're learning." Michelle shoots a triumphant smile at him.
I follow Michelle to the bathroom where she touches up her makeup. By "touches up" I mean that
she washes her face and pulls out a makeup bag so she can start from scratch, fresh on a clean canvas. Even without a trace of makeup, she’s gorgeous, and I wonder if she realizes it or if her confidence is, at least partly, an act.
I wipe some pressed powder over my forehead and nose to get rid of any shine and apply a thin layer of pink lip gloss.
"You need anything?" she asks, pushing her makeup bag towards me.
"No. I'm good."
"It's not like you need it. Bitch," she says in a teasing voice.
"You don't need it either, Michelle." I want to say more, but I’ve really only just met her, even though I shared a lot about my personal life with her and Darren today.
"Yeah, but once people get used to you a certain way, it's hard to change. It'd be like taking off all my clothes and walking out of this bathroom into the office."
"Connor would appreciate that," I add with a giggle.
"He'd have a heart attack," says Michelle. "No, actually? He'd shoot a load in his pants."
"In like two seconds."
"I bet he's tiny."
"Gross! I don't like to think about Connor’s cock," I say, laughing.
"Yeah, well, I bet he thinks about you thinking about it." Michelle applies a final layer of lipstick to her lips, puckers them in the mirror, and zips her bag closed. "Ready?" she asks.
"I guess," I say with some reticence, but the truth is I'm starting to get excited about going to the bar with Michelle and Darren. Michelle was right. I've got a great job with great people, and I need to have fun, not worry about the past.
Darren holds the door to the bar open for Michelle and me. As soon as I enter, I'm overwhelmed with the sound of people talking, glasses clinking, and the smell of fried food. Joot is big, with counter space at the bar itself as well as tables throughout. I wouldn't classify it as fancy, but it's upscale compared to the only other bar I've been, Forty Fours in Deerfield, the local bar when I was in college. And instead of students and locals, Joot is filled with people in business attire. I follow Darren and Michelle to an open table for four, and we sit down.
"I'll get first round," says Darren.
"Does that mean there will be more than one round?" I ask, not sure if I can handle much more alcohol after already having some at lunch today.
He gives me critical look. "We're going to have to help you raise your tolerance," he says. "Beer OK?" he asks us.
"No, but whatever," says Michelle. I just nod.
While Darren gets drinks, Michelle points people out to me. Some of the names are familiar; I recognize them as higher-ups at Triton Media. Some are from World News Media, and I wonder if Julian's going to show up. I don't know if I want him to or hope he doesn't. The thought of seeing him fills me both with dread and butterflies. I know nothing good would come from another encounter, but it's like picking a scab; you know it's going to hurt but you can't help yourself.
To get my thoughts off Julian, I concentrate on Michelle as she provides me with an astounding amount of information about everyone we see.
"This place? It's all about gossip," she says. "And people trying to figure out if someone else knows more than they do. It's a big fucking competition, this industry. Always."
"That's pretty intense," I say. "I guess I wasn't aware of this part of the business when I was in college."
"Every job's probably like that, though, I think. Seriously, colleges should introduce industry-specific courses on what it's like in the real world, including how to deal with gossip and back stabbing and all the other less-glamorous aspects of a career."
"They totally should!" I think about how it would have helped me today when Julian interrupted my interview. Though no class could help me deal with all the emotions surrounding my past with him. I sigh. I'm not going to think about Julian. Not now. I wish I could say not ever, but I know myself too well to make an empty promise like that.
Darren returns, setting three foamy beers on the table. "Sorry I took so long," he says with an impish grin. He winks one of his gorgeous eyes at us, and I notice how long his eyelashes are. "I was getting a phone number. You guys are lucky I came back with your drinks at all."
"I'm surprised you turned down a better offer for us." Michelle raises an eyebrow at him as she daintily sips her beer.
"Aw, you know there's no better offer than you." Darren smiles and shrugs.
"Fuck you," says Michelle sweetly.
"I think you meant thank you, not fuck you." Darren swigs his beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Their banter is a great distraction, and surprisingly, the alcohol makes me feel better, even though I thought I'd had enough at lunch time. When we're done, I volunteer to get the next round and head up to the bar. The bartender's busy, so I slide onto a high-backed wooden barstool to wait. There's a shiny drop of melted ice on the rich mahogany bar top, and I run my finger through it, drawing wet designs on the dark wood.
And then. Someone slides onto the barstool next to me. Without looking I know immediately who it is. It's like my very cells are so in tune with him, even after all these years, that I immediately recognize his essence, his presence, without actually looking at him. My stomach churns, and my palms are suddenly clammy. My head's swirling, an eddy of confusion.
I should have known he'd be here. I should have avoided this place like the plague Connor the Cock surely has. To ease my fear, I try to conjure up funny images, like laughing with Michelle and Darren about Connor, but it doesn't help.
"Lia." His voice. That same voice I remember so well, only deeper now and filled with a mixture of heat and remorse and anger.
"Julian," I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. Slowly I turn my head. I still can't get over how different he looks from when we were in college together. Still can't reconcile this model-worthy man to the bad-boy who taught me so much at university. He's taken off the suit jacket he had on earlier at Perry's Deli, and his white fitted button down shirt is unbuttoned at the top, revealing just enough neck and chest to bring memories crashing over me. I've touched that chest. I've kissed that neck! But now, sitting next to him at this bar, he might as well be miles away. Or years apart. We're nothing to each other anymore.
The gorgeous planes of his face are sporting five-o-clock shadow, just enough scruff to remind me exactly of how he always looked back in Maine at school. His hair is shorter now, but the same dark brown color, almost black. And those eyes. They meet mine, his as impossibly dark green as always, fire behind them as he stares at me. It actually feels like he's looking inside me, delving into my mind to figure out what I'm thinking. But of course that's impossible. Right?
I don’t know how many minutes pass as we stare at each other silently. Blood rushes to my head, and the air feels too thick to breathe. Thoughts begin and end too quickly for me to formulate actual words, so instead, I stay quiet, staring into his eyes, so familiar even after all this time.
"Seeing you earlier today took me by surprise," he finally says, his voice gravelly and quiet.
"Me too."
Neither of us speaks again for a few moments, and I study his arm, the crisp white shirt rolled up a few times, revealing his strong forearm. It takes every single ounce of my strength not to run my finger up and down his skin, to feel his warmth, to hear that hitch in his breathing. I can't, though. He's not mine. He hasn't been for a long time, and it's nobody's fault but my own.
"I don't want things to be awkward between us," I finally say, desperate to end the uncomfortable quiet that's descended between us. "You know, because we're probably going to see each other a lot."
"Why would things be awkward?" His eyes meet mine, but they're distant and unreadable.
I shrug. How could he even ask that? Surely he hasn't actually forgotten the intensity between us at college?
"College was a long time ago," he says, his voice cold. "Let's let our mistakes stay in the past."
Mistakes. I can't breathe for a second, that horrible word in h
is cold tone almost too much to bear.
Then he sighs. “I’m sorry, Lia. That came out wrong. This is…” His voice trails off, like he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence.
“Messed up?” I offer.
He utters a wry laugh.“Fucked up, Lia. It’s fucked up.” He looks into my eyes, and for the first time I see a hint of compassion. “Look, I…”
"Lia, what's taking so long?" Darren's suddenly next to me, his arm around my shoulder, giving it a protective squeeze. "Hey," he says, nodding towards Julian, then sticking his hand out. "I'm Darren."
"Julian." Julian's voice is flat as he takes Darren's hand and shakes it. His eyes travel up and down Darren, assessing.
"Read about you on Chicago Gossip Mag," says Darren. "Impressive, man."
"I don't read gossip blogs." Julian's voice is dismissive and cold.
I'm about to say something in Darren's defense, when I hear a girl's voice, sweet and lovely, approaching from behind me. "Well I read it to you, silly! And it's all true, you know. Except for the bachelor part."
Julian smiles as a girl approaches. Except "girl" doesn't really do her justice. More like "angel" or "super model," because she's drop-dead gorgeous. She's probably my age, early twenties, but unlike me she's tall and leggy with honey colored hair cascading down past her shoulders.
Julian, still sitting, puts his arm around her, and she leans down to kiss him lightly on the lips. It slays me, the kiss, the way she touches him so casually, the familiarity between them like an icicle piercing my heart.
"This is Scarlet," says Julian. He looks me straight in the eyes are he speaks, his gaze frigid. I am too stunned to move, frozen in place like in a nightmare where terrible things are happening, but there's nothing I can do about it, not even run.
"So nice to meet you," says Scarlet. Her smile is warm, and she looks me in the eyes with nothing but friendliness. I instantly feel like she's the sort of person that I'd be friends with, if the circumstances were different. But I can't fight the spiral of hatred and jealousy that swirls up inside me knowing that she's Julian's. And he’s hers.