by Claire Adams
"I can't talk to Penn's mother anymore." My eyes blurred, but I swiped the tears away. "I should have just stuck to my plan. Maybe it's not too late. I should talk to Joshua."
"Oh, God, please don't-" Ginny was cut off by the sound of our doorbell. "No. It can't be him."
Penn? I shot to my feet as if I had been electrified. My hand was already on the door handle when Ginny called out. "I forgot to tell you I ran into Joshua today."
He was there, holding out a bunch of hothouse flowers as soon as I opened the door. My stomach sank so fast that I wanted to bend over double. Instead, I gripped the door and forced my face into a smile.
"Joshua. You shouldn't have." I knew he was waiting for an apology, but I couldn't clear my throat. My whole body cried out that he was the wrong man and I was afraid of what I would say.
"I heard you were back, and I thought you might be scrambling for job ideas. Want some help?" He stepped inside our tiny apartment, though I knew he loathed the place. "Do I smell, ah, what do I smell?"
"Oh, God, the tacos!" Ginny rushed back to the kitchen and left us standing there awkwardly.
"I'm… I'm… I just don't know what I'm going to do yet," I said.
Joshua smiled as if I were a nervous little kid. "Don't worry. I have a few ideas that can get you back on track. It might not be the Ritz-Carlton–you'll have to work and wait to get back there–but I have a few other contacts in the hospitality world."
I knew Joshua thought he was the white knight, but I felt like he was the one locking the dungeon door. I couldn't go back to my comfortable, practical rut. Just the thought of it made me want to bolt past him out the door and keep running.
"Thanks for the flowers," I said.
"Corsica, please, I don't care what silly detour you took this summer. I'm offering to help you get your life back."
"That's just it, Joshua." I opened the front door. "It's my life. This is something I need to figure out on my own."
Ginny appeared the second I shut the door behind a highly insulted Joshua. "That's it. We're going out to celebrate."
"You burned the tacos, didn't you?"
"Yes. But there's a great taco truck next to your favorite karaoke bar." Ginny grabbed our purses and looped her arm through mine.
The singing helped, and we stayed out much later than we intended. I think Ginny knew what would happen to me once we got back and our tiny apartment settled into silence. She went to bed with a worried look over her shoulder at me.
"I'm sure there's a ridiculously outdated movie on some channel," she offered.
"Goodnight. Thanks for the tacos." I shut my bedroom door and paced around before I forced myself to get ready for bed.
It was worse when the lights were off. I tried a hundred times to picture the karaoke club and the fun that we had. For every twenty attempts, memories of Penn popped in and ruined everything. How could I have been so stupid? How did I not realize that he was a well-known billionaire? The berating thought had me jumping out of bed. I turned the light back on with an angry flick.
More than that, one thought had haunted me since I left Penn's beach house still in my sodden ball gown: Why had he chased me down the beach?
Penn had been so quick to assume that I was going to run away after being exposed. I had to stay as much for my pride as for the wild hope that he would say he was sorry. In fact, I had worked my way up to believing he would and all I needed to do was give him the opportunity.
That's when I caught him with Alicia. Had he planned the whole thing just to land her? Was I supposed to be the grand joke that finally brought them together?
The way Alicia had looked at me, like I was some simple creature slithering all over the floor. How could I have not realized that Penn was the CEO of a company so explosive it had just broken onto the Forbes list?
Her haughty expression and the way her arm snaked around Penn burned away any last thoughts I had for a good night's sleep. I cracked open my laptop and typed Penn's name into the search engine.
I scrolled past the numerous website and articles about his meteoric rise to the top. Far down, the articles morphed into news of the uber-famous Xavier Templeton.
"So famous, even I knew who he was," I muttered.
Then, I was caught by one reporter's coverage of the Templeton estate. That Xavier was the benefactor of a mind-boggling family fortune was no joke. It was the stuff of legends.
So, naturally, it was big news when a journalist dug up his will and discovered that Penn was not named his heir. When pressed, Xavier had admitted to the press that his son wanted to get out from under his shadow and make his own way.
I felt a stir of pride in Penn that turned to a cringe. So, there was at least one thing he hadn't lied about.
The rest of the headlines extolled Penn as an amazing entrepreneur. He was called innovative and adventurous. He was the new breed of business and well on his way to making billions. And there were way too many hits that speculated at the extent of his worth.
No wonder Penn thought I was just a subtle gold-digger. How could I have missed all of that press?
"Because he's not my type," I admitted bitterly to my quiet room.
Penn looked nothing like the kind of billionaires I had wanted to meet. His hair was shaggy, his beard overgrown, and his tattoos almost as famous as his outdoor equipment company. I had judged him right away and on looks alone. After that, nothing swayed me until the truth was ripped open at the charity ball.
The charity ball. My stomach fizzled as I remembered all the photographers at the event. Was there a picture of me with Penn? I knew it was silly, the kind of sentimental thing that would torture me for days to come, but I wanted to see what we had looked like as a couple.
Ginny had said everyone could see how perfect we were for each other, and I wanted to see if that was true. No, I needed to see if it was true.
I sat back and let my hands fall into my lap. I needed it because I really loved him. The admission reverberated in my chest like a heavy bell. I loved Penn, no matter who he was.
I scrambled for my phone and finally punched the number I had been itching to dial for weeks. It started rigging and my nerves jumped. As I waited and wondered if he would pick up, I sat back down and scrolled through the charity ball photographs.
There was Xavier and Alice arm-in-arm. I couldn't resist and took a detour to read about their reconciliation. There were great stories about Alice's brave fight against cancer and Xavier's loving support. Then there were speculations about their upcoming wedding. And every picture showed the two of them smiling.
"Hello?"
My breath fled my body, then I realized that Penn probably did not recognize the number I was calling from. I struggled to say anything, to tell him who I was, but he seemed to guess.
"Corsica?"
My hand fluttered over the cursor and suddenly a whole new crop of photographs appeared. Penn with his arm wrapped around Alicia, posing for the cameras. It must have been taken just minutes after I had left to mingle on my own. Those minutes had been excruciating for me, and here he was with a bright smile and a beautiful, rich woman on his arm.
His equal, I thought and hung up the phone. How could I ever be with someone who didn't view me as an equal?
The problem, I thought as I dragged myself to bed, was that I didn't even know where I belonged.
#
I had never used the word “smarmy” before, but it was the only way I could describe the bartender. His smile never quite reached both sides while his eyes swept far too low every time he looked at me. Still, I thought, if I was going to find out where I belonged, maybe I needed to start at the bottom.
I shifted my weight and heard the gummy suction sound of my shoe pulling off the black-painted concrete floor. The little basement jazz club was dark with sticky floors and questionable clientele. But the music was good.
The next set started up and brought a wave of relief. When the music was playing, the attention w
as off me and my particularly out-of-place dress. The simple dress was straight off the rack at some big box store, but it fit so perfectly it could have been couture. I regretted every clinging curve of it as the bartender's eyes swept back to me.
"Another drink for the lady?" he oozed over to stand in front of me.
"Make it two." Ginny popped up next to me, and I wrapped her in a long hug. "Well," she giggled, "either you've gone to the next extreme or you really want him to think you play for the other team."
"I don't care. I'm just glad you came." I snapped up our drinks and headed for a little, round table in the corner. "I needed someone else's take on this place."
Ginny eyed her chair, shrugged, and sat down. "A little out of the way, a little dark, and a little, ah, sticky," she shifted in her seat, "but the music sounds good."
"Right?" I sat down and concentrated on the jazz trio. They had a loose and funky interpretation of the classic songbook, but I liked their style. If my drink slid down my throat too fast, it was just because I was wrapped up in the music. It had nothing to do with erasing that photograph of Penn from my mind.
How could he have smiled like that minutes after our whole connection fell apart?
"Corsica?" Ginny's soft voice broke into my thoughts. "You realize you're singing along, right?"
"Am I off-key?" I asked, with a jaunty smile.
"No," she said, slipping my almost-drained glass away from me. "It's just I don't think this band intended to have a singer tonight."
"They should," I said. Why was my voice so loud? Maybe it was just in my own ears. "I could sing for them. Maybe I should sing for them."
"Maybe you should shut up," a woman two tables over snapped.
"And, maybe you should mind your own business." I felt my eyebrows clash together in a tight frown. Maybe that was why there was a faint throbbing pain starting in my head. "I'm just trying to follow my dream here. You got a problem with that?"
"Maybe you should get your friend under control," the woman told Ginny.
I snorted. "Can you believe her? Bet she's all straight-laced and nine-to-five. Can you believe I ever wanted to be like that? Yuck."
Ginny looked worried. "Let's talk about that," she said in a soft voice, "quietly while everyone else enjoys the music."
"Music without singing. I could totally sing this song," I announced. I tried to stand up, but my feet didn't get the idea. The floor's too sticky, I thought.
"Let the lady sing along, if she wants," the drummer called out with a wink. "She can right up here and sit on my lap, if she wants to."
Ginny locked a hand on my arm and didn't let go until the set was over. Then, she relaxed just a bit and I slipped free. Instead of heading for the stage, as she feared, I gestured to the bar and headed that way. Ginny joined me, and by some amazing silent stare, convinced the bartender not to serve me another drink.
"Come on, Gin," I giggled. "I thought you wanted me to let go. I thought you wanted me to work on being a singer in a place like this."
"Not exactly how I pictured it," she said.
"It ain't no good life, but it's my life," the drummer said as he sidled up to join us.
I poked a finger in his chest. "I know that song. Ella Fitzgerald sings my favorite arrangement."
"So you really are a singer?"
Ginny leaned over and gave him a fierce look. "She's just considering it. So we're exploring the places around here."
The drummer took off his bowler hat and scratched his shaggy hair. My heart flipped as the wild tangles reminded me of Penn. "Well, if this place ain't your style, I could give you a few suggestions."
Ginny politely wrote down the clubs and bars that the scruffy musician suggested. Then, she clamped a tight hand on my elbow and steered me to the door. "What has gotten into you?" she asked when we climbed outside into the fresh night air.
"What do you mean?"
"You're nearly drunk. You're hanging out in a seedy little hole with musicians that look as if they might live on the street. Are you telling me that's what you envision the rest of your life is going to look like?" Ginny hauled me to the street corner.
I pulled back. "I might have to get used to it. If I refused to find a job that utilizes my college degree, then I'm starting at the bottom. I can work my way up."
"Fine," she huffed. "I can respect that. But will you finally tell me what is making you so crazy? I know he hasn't called–is that what's bothering you?"
I buried my face in my hands as the sidewalk started to spin. The two strong drinks I had before Ginny arrived to save me were swirling through my head to fast. "No. I don't want him to call. I don't want to talk to him ever again. You know I saw them together?"
"Who?" Ginny asked.
"Penn with that perfect heiress. All smiles and a perfect pose plastered all over the high society websites. He's with her. He probably always wanted to be with her."
The admission cleared my head long enough for me to grab Ginny's hand. "I'm sorry. Thank you for coming to pick me up."
"Let's get you home," she said. "We've got to see if we can fend off the hangover you have coming your way."
Whatever magic Ginny tried to work failed because I woke up with a throbbing headache. No, it didn't just stay in my head, but radiated up and down my back with each breath. I had never felt so sick in my life. I curled in a ball, stretched out, rolled over, and then sat up but there was no escaping it.
I was so hungover everything hurt. Especially the fact that I remembered everything. Even my dreams.
I had dreamt Penn and I were on a trail and he was walking too fast ahead of me. I tried to catch up, tried to climb as high as he did, but I kept stumbling, getting bruised and cut along the way.
I started to sniffle over the symbolism, but I smelled coffee. Ginny had placed a Thermos of coffee and two aspirin next to my bed with a note. "You'd do the same for me," was all it said.
I snuffled over the kindness of that and choked down the aspirin. After a few minutes of slow sipping, the caffeine hit my bloodstream and I started to believe I would live. I slipped my feet out of my tangle of bed sheets and placed them square on the floor.
I couldn't just lay in bed and ache all day. It was time to move on. Penn had moved on, as those photographs clearly showed, and it was time that I figured out how to do the same.
I heaved myself upright and slowly shuffled to the shower. With clean clothes on and my wet hair tied back in a messy bun, I was ready to figure out my life. So, I sat down in front of my laptop and started a job search.
It didn't matter that my heart clutched at every boring and methodical job description I read; I couldn't morph into a successful singer overnight and, Ginny was right, I was not cut out for the nightlife.
What I really needed was some miracle crossover, like a hotel with a nightclub attached. Or maybe I should just join a cruise line show. That would solve the problem of rent and ensure that I would never run into Penn Templeton again.
I reread the cruise line posting again and pulled up my resume. With the addition of my limited singing engagements, I could be a good fit for the job.
I started humming as my fingers flew over the keyboard. The tune was one of my favorites, one of the first songs I sang with Penn's father accompanying me on piano. I remembered seeing myself in the reflection of those stunning windows and thinking that that is how I wished everyone could see me. Free, smiling, and singing like it was the only thing in the world.
My hands slipped off the keyboard. At least one good thing had come out of my random foray into the seedy jazz clubs of San Francisco: I had a few real suggestions from a real musician.
Suddenly, it was all I could think about. I clung to it as the first clear thought that had not been pierced by sappy memories of Penn Templeton. I found the scribbled list that Ginny had given me and started to research the places online.
The last painful ebbs of my hangover disappeared and the weight that had settled on me as I conside
red the cruise line job suddenly lifted. I opened my mouth and sang along with the radio as my fingers typed along in happy rhythm.
Ginny found me a few hours later and her face was shocked when she pushed open the door. "I thought you might be curled up under the blankets watching old movies," she said. "That's what I'd be doing."
"Thank you for the coffee and aspirin–and for making sure I got home before I made a complete fool out of myself," I said. I slipped the gold earrings in place and twirled in front of the mirror. "How do I look?'
Ginny took in the wild, abstract on black print of the sheath dress and shook her head. "I like it. I like it a lot; I just can't believe you're in it."
"Why?" I asked. "Too flashy?"
"No. No," she said. "You look wonderful. It's just I saw that dress at the big store just off the highway. I thought you never bought clothes there."
"I'm on a budget, but I still wanted to make a good impression. This works, right?"
She started to smile. "It definitely works. You make that dress look like a million dollars."
"Thanks," I said.
"So…" She blocked the door as I tried to breeze past. "Where are you going?"
I laughed at the worried crease in her forehead. "Not back to where we were last night. This place has a great reputation."
Ginny peered over my shoulder to where I pointed to my computer. "I've heard of that club. There's a five star restaurant attached to it. Do you have a date?"
I snorted. "No. No thank you. I've got something better-an audition. Turns out the list that guy gave us last night lead me to a forum where different bands can post for new members.
“There's a little combo that needs a singer. When I called, it all went well. I sang over the phone! And then they told me to meet them there tonight. I'm going to sing with them and see how it goes."
"You've got an audition?" Ginny pressed two excited hands to her mouth to stop from squealing.
I nodded. "For a paying gig. I'm going to be a singer."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Penn - 20