Love's Second Chance

by Patty H Scott

  Patrice looks shocked. Then she gets that resolute look like she’s trying to solve all my problems. “I’m trying to think of what to say. This is a new form of Kat-tastrophe. That seriously stinks. I’m so sorry. Do you have any idea what you are going to do?”

  I shrug. “I know! All three times I’ve been with him have been pretty incredible. I thought about him a lot in Europe.” Then I have an idea. “I think I’m going to call my cousin Sandy and get Jack’s contact info from her. Do you think that’s too forward?”

  Patrice’s eyes brighten. “You know me and forward. I say go for it. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? He kissed you first, right? And he kissed you again on your porch. Seems like he showed his interest as well as a man can. And that day … any guy takes me on a day like that and I’d be down on one knee asking for his hand in marriage!” We both bust up laughing at that image.

  “Patrice! We do need to find you a good man, don’t we?”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears. He’s out there. I’m not in a hurry. Anyway, you need to call Sandy. Don’t back off this. You know how you second-guess yourself. Don’t do that this time. You like him. He’s a catch. Go for it.”

  “I know you’re right. Sandy should at least have his address from the guest list to her wedding. It’s the 21st century, after all. A woman can reach out to a man friend and get a cup of coffee, right? Like Michael said, if I can’t shake the thoughts of him it must mean something. I think I’m ready to find out what that could be. That kiss alone is something to keep coming back for.”

  “You’re telling me. I didn’t even have that kiss and I relive it.” She giggles.

  “Gross. That’s wrong on so many levels.” We laugh again. It’s good to be back with Patrice.

  Patrice and I decide I ought to actually trade my pjs for a pair of jeans and we take a walk down to a bistro and grab a bite to eat. After lunch I call Sandy and explain the situation. I don’t tell her about the kisses or how I spent the day at the beach with a relative stranger. That makes me wonder what in the world I’m doing looking him up. But then I remember – it’s Jack. I just tell her I met him at the wedding.

  She texts Mark and within a matter of minutes I’m looking at my phone screen with Jack’s address staring right back at me as if it were daring me to do something about it. Sandy said they’d send the number later if they could find it. At least they had his address.

  I don’t have plans for this afternoon, so I decide to grab an iced tea and drive over to Westchester to see Jack. It’s Saturday. I’m taking my chances on him being home. I walk in the modern building and take an elevator to his floor. I double-check the apartment number Sandy sent me. My hands are actually sweaty. Here I was worried he was a stalker and I’m coming to his apartment uninvited. Oh well, life is meant to be lived. I walk to #C and knock. There’s some rustling inside and a bark. Jack has a dog? That’s weird. He didn’t mention a dog.

  The door opens and a cute woman in yoga pants and a loose T-shirt answers the door. My mouth drops. Okay, Kat. We don’t know if this is a girlfriend, or a roommate. But a female roommate. That should have been disclosed. Big time. I don’t believe in co-ed roomies. Agh. What am I doing here?

  “Can I help you?” I realize I’ve been staring at her with my mouth open. I’m sure this girl is ready to call the superintendent or psychiatric emergency team.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m here to see Jack. Jack Anders. Is he home?”

  “Oh. No. He doesn’t live here anymore. I think he was the previous tenant. I just moved in a few weeks ago and I still get junk mail with his name on it sometimes in my box.”

  Okay. Not a female roomie. Whew. “Wow. I’m so glad you aren’t his roommate. So, yeah … Um. Thank you. Thanks. Okay. I’m going now. Bye. And thanks.” I back away like the complete freakish buffoon that I am, giving her a look that assures her whatever I have isn’t contagious. It would be merciful if this were something you could catch, as it would mean I could recover. No such luck. I’m stuck stumbling over words every time life throws me a curveball. It’s amazing I’m a professional anything sometimes.

  So, Jack moved. He didn’t mention anything about a move on our date in Santa Monica. Or our not-date … that definitely became a date. Why would he just move and not say anything? Well, it’s not like he knows all the feelings I’ve been experiencing for him. He may have a girlfriend now, or maybe he just moved to another part of L.A. That thought makes me sad. I feel like I lost something precious. How can I feel this much when we’ve only met two times and spent one whole day together? But Jack seemed different, and I know I felt a natural connection between us – at least I thought I did.

  I feel like I’m searching for a flea on an Afghan hound. Only Jack’s not a flea … whatever. The point is it’s going to be impossible to find him again. The two times we met were serendipitous to say the least. The chance of our running into each other again now, well that’s completely never going to happen.

  * * *

  I spend the next week in a funk. Yep. It’s a full-blown funk. I thought it was bad when I lost Thomas to that woman in North Hollywood, but really, that was more a blow to my pride than a feeling that I’d lost my other half. How can I feel like this over Jack Anders? He is amazing, sexy, kind beyond words, and he can kiss, and dance. Good night, can that man kiss. It should be illegal the way he makes me feel when his lips meet mine. Downright sinful enough for the pope to open an extra 24/7 confessional booth. Yep. He’s that good.

  Ah well. I don’t have room in my life for a man. Man-fast. Right. So I need to pull myself up from this funk and get back to living the incredible life I’ve been given. I could use some laughter and a night with Patrice.

  Katrina: Hey Patrice, want to catch dinner at the Pho place on Arroyo at 7:00 and then go see a local comedian at the comedy club?

  Patrice: Sounds great! What happened with Jack?

  Katrina: He moved :(

  Patrice: Seriously? How did you find out?

  Katrina: Well, I showed up to the address Sandy gave me. It was his place, but a woman lives there now. So, no trace of him.

  Patrice: Knowing your track record, you’re probably about to mysteriously bump into him again! I hope. Sorry, though, I know this is hard.

  Katrina: I was ready to break the man-fast for him, Patrice. I think I was, anyway.

  Patrice: I know, Kat. Sorry, sweet friend. I am looking forward to good food and laughs with you. We might not have men, but we have one another.

  Katrina: You’ve got that right. See you around 7:00.

  Well, that’s settled. Jack Anders is part of my past. I open my laptop to go through email. There’s one from Michael this morning. Subject line looks interesting … Guess what? You got the contract! I click it open. I was selected as the photog to travel around Montana to compile pictures of scenery, wildlife, and lifestyle into what will ultimately be a coffee table book.

  This kind of job is one of my favorites: travel, new people, amazing scenery, and I’m in charge of what I do with my lens. My creativity will be the director of this project. I get to call the shots – literally. I type out a quick response to Michael:

  Hey, Michael,

  The Montana job is a huge “yes” from me! Send me the dates and details. Go ahead and do what it takes to make this trip happen. You’re coming on this one to organize and keep me on track. This will be an awesome job. I’ll touch base after I finish up the shoot at Summer Jam.

  Thanks, K.

  Honestly, sometimes I wonder at a single man in his early 20s wanting to schlep around the globe with a photographer like me. Whatever. I won’t question it. I know he loves his job as much as I love mine. I’m so glad he does. I don’t know what I’d do without him.

  My weeklong funk is lifting. Life is moving forward. Jack Anders will just be a pleasant distraction in my thoughts when I need to daydream. I do love daydreaming and he is fodder for some pretty sweet roaming in my imagination. In my mind I can do all
sorts of things with that man that I wouldn’t dare do in real life. Well, I can’t do, actually, since he’s disappeared off the face of the earth as far as I’m concerned.

  Snap out of it, Kat. You need to leave Jack where he belongs – in your fantasies and sweet memories. Nothing more. This is one more reason man-fasts are needed and recommended. Speed dating. Unfaithful boyfriends. And too-good-to-be-true men who go AWOL right when you think you might pursue them. Yep. Girls’ Night is on.

  * * *

  Summer Jam is one of my regular shoots. The City of Hermosa Beach sets up a stage on the sand and people gather on their towels and lawn chairs to enjoy the tunes. It doesn’t get better than this. I have a press pass, so I can go to the backstage area and take pictures of the band members and interview them a bit for the piece I’m doing for the Times entertainment section.

  I head backstage to catch up with a few of the bands after the first set ends. The lead singer of Simplicity, Seth Greene, is sitting on the edge of the stage drinking a beer. I sit next to him and start asking a few questions. We’ve met before, but I’m not sure he remembers me or not. After all, these guys meet so many photographers in their line of work, I don’t expect them to pick me out of a crowd. My name is better known for my photojournalism – the kinds of things like my trips to Africa and England.

  “Seth, it’s nice seeing you again.”

  “You too, Katrina.” So, he does remember me.

  “Tell me about upcoming venues where Simplicity will be playing.”

  “We’ve got a show at the Whiskey, a night at the Greek, and then we have some shows down in San Diego. From there we are waiting to hear about whether we’re going to Canada and across the Midwest for a fall tour opening for some larger bands.”

  “That’s great, Seth. Sounds like things are picking up for you and Simplicity.”

  “Sure are. Talks are underway. We’re possibly garnering a record deal with a major label. I can’t say who right now, but it’s a possible huge change for us. You know, like they say, our big break.”

  “You’ve worked hard for this. I hope you get that break.”

  Seth turns to me and says, “So, Katrina, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Is a beautiful photographer available for brunch tomorrow, or do you have a steady man in your life that keeps the rest of us wishing we had asked you sooner?”

  Man-fast. No men. Nope. No. Men. But Seth Greene is handsome. He’s not a mindless womanizer like so many in his industry, at least if I can believe the word on the street about him.

  Why, all of a sudden, do I find myself thinking about the times I spent with Jack? Seth Greene is a hot commodity. Women would die to have him ask them to brunch – or to ask them to open a box of crackers for him, really. My mind travels to thoughts of dancing with Jack at the wedding, what it felt like to be in his arms. He was strong in a gentle way, supporting me and leading without being possessive or overbearing. I remember how his eyes locked with mine. Those eyes. I remember him listening to me intently as I shared the joys of traveling to Africa, and then him pouring out his heart about his dream of opening a coffee shop. Sorry, Seth Greene. I’m not only on a man-fast, I think my heart belongs to a man I’ll likely never see again.

  “Katrina?” Seth is staring at me.

  “Hmmm?”

  “I was waiting for your answer. Would you join me for brunch tomorrow? Or is your dance card taken?” He gives me a confident and charming smile.

  “Sorry, Seth. Yes. As a matter of fact, I’m committed. It was good catching up with you. Best wishes on that label deal.” I hop off the stage as I realize I need to put space between me and Seth.

  “Thanks. Tell that guy he’s one lucky man. I hope he has the sense not to let a woman like you slip through his fingers.”

  * * *

  Michael and I are sitting in my living room going over options for a few shoots. He’s on the floor with his laptop on his lap. I’m sprawled across my couch. I’m basically only picking up piecemeal work as Michael puts together the finishing touches on our trip to Montana.

  “So, Michael. Guess who asked me to brunch?”

  “Who? The prime minister of England?”

  “No, goofball. Seth Greene.”

  “And? …”

  “And I said no.” He stops what he’s doing and looks over his laptop at me.

  “You turned down brunch with Seth Greene? Are you psycho? He’s a great guy. I’m pretty sure every woman in the South Bay would line up to wash his car, let alone go to brunch with him. Tell me again why you did this?” He shakes his head like I’ve officially lost my mind.

  “It’s simple. He’s not my type.”

  “Oh, as in corporate MBA type.” He gives an eyeroll. Michael is the epitome of a baby brother right now – teasing his sister about boys.

  “No. That’s not it. Yes, Jack had his MBA, but that wasn’t what mattered. He was so much more.” So much more. Why didn’t I get his cell number or give him mine? For crying out loud. That’s pretty much what women and men do – they exchange numbers.

  All I have left feels like Cinderella’s one night with the prince. Now I’m back to wearing rags, sweeping chimneys, and talking to pet mice. Something like that. Either way, my prince came, and I missed my chance. If only I could go back and give myself a clue. I’d tell myself not to leave without having a surefire way to reconnect with him. I’d have been clearer about my feelings for him.

  Blasted man-fast. Little good it’s doing me while I sit here pining away for a guy who has vanished into the mist. I think my ovaries must be exploding. There’s no other reason I should be this swept up in a guy I barely spent a total of twelve hours with.

  Michael is just staring at me. Yep. I’m that pathetic.

  “Give it up, Michael. I’m not meant to be in relationship and I’m for sure not going to brunch with an up and coming rock star right before I leave for Montana.” Michael mutters something about me being more fun than a hibernating bear in January and we both get back to work. Note to self: Don’t tell anyone the next time some guy asks me out no matter who it is.

  Later that night as I’m sitting watching reruns of Gilmore Girls in my flannel pjs, I get a text from Michael

  Michael: Hey, sorry I pushed about Seth. I just want to see you happy.

  Katrina: No problem. I understand. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just not into dating rn. K?

  Michael: No pressure. If you want to marry me, let me know.

  Katrina: Ha. Lol. You’re the best.

  Michael: You are too, so feel free to say yes. We get along fine. It would save rent.

  Katrina: slay me you romantic.

  Michael: so, that’s a no?

  Katrina: yep. A hard pass, but no. You need to keep your options open. One of us might be off the market, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find your happily ever after some day.

  Michael: I’ll keep that in mind. For now, I love traveling with you and keeping you out of trouble.

  Katrina: and for that I’m grateful. Good night, Michael.

  Michael: G’nite.

  I do love that guy. But, love like a BFF or brother. Besides, I don’t get even the slightest spark around him. Nope. Michael is strictly and happily a friend. I honestly wonder if a woman like me can ever marry. I’m pretty much in a committed, long term, passionate romance with being a freelance photographer. I never sit still for too long. I’m able to take job offers when they come.

  I know one thing. If I ever did marry, I’d want a man a little more head over heels with me than Michael. I don’t simply want to be someone’s convenient match. If I were ever going to settle down, it would have to be with someone more like Jack Anders. Good grief, I’m plagued by that man.

  * * *

  Our trip to Montana came up quickly. I’m not complaining at all. Montana midsummer is glorious. We’ve seen more waterfalls than I can count, rivers, buffalo herds, and moose. It’s ou
r third week here. We’ve spent most days out taking shots or meeting with people for interviews. Then we come home at night to the inn where we are staying in Bozeman.

  Today Michael and I have a fun side project. I’m teaching some kids at a local summer camp how to handle a camera. I want to inspire them to share their perspective with the world. Each person sees life through their own lens. A photo is a way of showing everyone else what we see. The kids are all holding cameras, walking around the property trying to figure out how to use a 50mm lens to get portrait-style shots of an object that catches their interest.

  “Miss Katrina, come see this flower!” I run over to where a little girl named Emma squats next to what might be a weed. It is beautiful in its own right. We play with the focus together and look at the viewfinder afterward to see the shots she took.

  “Emma, you got some really lovely shots.”

  She beams. “This one is my favorite because it’s fuzzy behind the flower.”

  Fuzzy. I love how kids describe things. “That’s called blur. The lens we are using helps that effect happen and you took control of the camera to make that picture just what it is – beautiful.”

  Being around these kids makes me definitely see the appeal of the American Dream. Obviously, you couldn’t actually have 2.5 kids. You’d definitely have to settle on two or three. I mean, who has a half a kid? … the kids, a picket fence, a man you love. Yes. It all sounds amazing and just right to me today. Of course, how that fits in with me traipsing around the globe to fulfill my passion and dream, well, it really doesn’t. Maybe I’ll wait until I’m in my late 30s and adopt a child from Uganda. I sure don’t want to go my whole life without the opportunity of being called Mom and of pouring out deep love into a child’s heart.

  After the class clears out, a volunteer named Mindy and I stand around talking.

  “Kat, I can’t thank you enough for coming out to teach the kids. They had such fun with you.”

  “I’m so grateful Michael and I were able to be here. The kids are precious.”