“JoAnn, I can’t believe you think I’m throwing Jacob away for a ‘fling.’ Is that really what you think of me?” I hear my voice rising, but I can’t help it. The more I think about it, the more horrified I am that she would even say that to me.
And the more terrified I am that she might be right.
My outburst gets the other girls’ attention. The table suddenly seems very quiet.
“Calm down. I just meant that you should really consider this before everything’s final.” JoAnn tries to take my hand, but her soothing voice sends me over the edge.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand. When was the last time—”
From behind, a hand slaps over my mouth, but I am still trying to have my say as I am pulled away from the table and nearly dragged to the front door. I trip over the uneven concrete driveway and fall to my knees. Immediately, Tina is at my side helping me up. As the valet runs off to get her car, she dusts me off.
“What was that all about? You’re officially worrying me.”
“I’m fine,” I mumble unconvincingly. All the fight has gone out of me and I am starting to feel a little nauseous. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
And I am—for everything. For the entire mess I’ve created. And all the alcohol I’ve consumed to forget.
“It’s all right, Sophie. Come on, let’s get you home.” Tina doesn’t press for any more explanation. Instead, she eases me into the front seat of her Toyota, buckles me in like I’m a child, which I guess I am tonight, and together we pull onto Sunset, heading west. I’m grateful for the silence, the sisterhood, and the cool feel of the passenger-side window against my cheek. Rocked by the car’s gentle vibrations, I finally close my tired eyes and for at least a few merciful minutes escape.
I genuinely didn’t consider that my car wouldn’t be there in the morning until I am standing in front of my empty parking space in the garage. I even look around for a split second, seeing the cars of my neighbors, before it all hits me. Like a ton of bricks. This is what I imagine it must feel like to have your life flash before your eyes. I picture drinks with Billy, kissing him on his doorstep and in the back hallway and yet again outside the bar, walking up the steps to my condo and collapsing on my bed, thankfully alone. And then my mind zooms in on the “kissing Billy” part. And I must replay it in my head a million times.
Suddenly and without warning, I find myself sinking to my knees in the middle of the underground parking lot and crying. At first I can’t imagine what’s hit me so hard that I would be weeping like this. But as I continue sobbing, hot tears mixing with antifreeze on the pavement, I begin to realize why I’m crying.
Amazingly, it’s not because of Billy, or my throbbing headache, or the major screwups at work, or being so stupid as to leave my car in West Hollywood. I’m crying because of Jacob. Pure and simple. And it took one insane night, and one too many drinks, to lead me to this epiphany. I don’t want him. Billy, I mean. What I want—what I’ve always wanted—is Jacob. Kind, loving, handsome, loyal Jacob, who would never intentionally hurt me. Who I know loves me and would be devastated if he ever knew what had happened. It’s not control but solidity that he offers. He’s not flawless, but then again, clearly neither am I.
I’ve made a huge mistake.
Like I’m having one of those breakthroughs they often talk about on Dr. Phil, I suddenly find myself thinking totally lucidly about the whole obsession with Billy Fox. And I see that it is a symptom of a problem with my relationship with Jacob. But without a doubt I know in my gut that I want to fix that problem. That I want to make it right with Jacob. That he’s the man I want to spend my life with, and I’m not going to just give that up because it’s tough, or because some hot cowboy makes me feel good. A real relationship is so much more than that, and here I’ve been secretly wishing that Jacob would fight harder to keep me. But how could he? I haven’t even told him that he’s losing me. He has no idea how I feel, or that I’m questioning him.
I’m the one who needs to fight for our relationship right now. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Just as suddenly as they started, the tears stop. Now I’m completely focused on my plan. I’ve got to find a way to make things right with Jacob. Out comes the BlackBerry, but as I’m about to dial his number, it occurs to me that I don’t really know what I’m going to say. I’ve got to figure out a strategy, so he knows how serious I am. And I can’t let him know I’m stuck in my garage with no way of getting to work.
And, yeah, how am I going to get to work?
Riding in Tru’s VW bug, I’m entranced by the fake flower on the dash. I can’t stop staring at the plastic petals as she veers in and out of traffic on Wilshire. I still have no idea what I’m going to say to Jacob. But one thing is clear, I am going to have to tell him the truth. You’d think that would make it easier to figure out what to say… just tell him what happened and how you feel, right? That’s your advice? Well, that’s the stupidest thing I could do. Think about it! I have to figure out how to spin it, so that I tell him everything—because I do realize I have to tell him everything—but I’ve got to present it in just the right way or I really will lose him. Forever. And this is too important. I just wish I knew what way that “right way” is.
As soon as I arrive at the office, knowing Jacob won’t be at his desk yet, I leave a message for him to call me, then I distract myself from willing the phone to ring by working on the upcoming Nintendo launch party. I didn’t realize just how much my personal life had been preoccupying me, because now that it’s settled—in my head at least—I am 100 percent able to focus and be the publicist extraordinaire I once prided myself on being.
My simple but genius idea for Nintendo is to get the two stars of the summer’s breakout teen action movie to host a “tournament” of the new 3D game system at the launch party. The pretty cool setup will include a score-keeping tree following all the hip celebs competing. Obviously we’ll be giving away great gift bags to all the celebs for attending, but in addition the winner of the tournament gets to donate $5,000 to their favorite charity. A nice altruistic touch.
After getting that all wrapped up, I look at the clock. 12:30 P.M. Why hasn’t Jacob called me back? That’s not a good sign. But I hesitate to leave another message. I don’t want to seem like I’m stalking him. I settle on a short email, just so he knows why I’m trying to reach him. I didn’t tell his assistant all the particulars—I mean, I don’t want everyone in his office to know that we were fighting.
From: Sophie
To: Jacob
Subject: call me
Hey, I left a message with your assistant earlier. I just want you to know how sorry I am. You’re right. We need to talk. S
No point in getting into all the gritty details in writing. He knows what I mean. Staring at the sent emails list will get me nowhere, so to distract myself while I wait for Jacob to get my messages, I shoot a due “email of shame” to Tina and JoAnn, apologizing for my behavior, and then round up a couple girls from the office for a group sushi run. Afterward one is kind enough to escort me to Saddle Ranch so I can pick up my car.
Over the afternoon, tons of accounts require catch-up. I make several calls on Billy Fox’s account too. And surprisingly don’t feel all that weird talking him up to magazines and talk shows after what’s happened. Bottom line, he’s still a smart, sexy, successful actor, and it’s not difficult to promote him. No problem.
I keep myself so focused that it’s not until after six-fifteen that I notice how unusually quiet the office seems. When I poke my head out, the mostly empty desks and dark offices confirm my suspicion.
“Tru, where is everybody?”
“There’s an event downtown tonight and they rallied extra volunteers to set up,” she says, the unmistakable industrial beat of Nine Inch Nails emanating from the unplugged earphone in her hand.
Ten minutes later I sense Tru lurking in my doorway. I look up—only it’s not Tru.
“Bill
y!” Okay—I knew I was going to have to reach out and set the record straight. But I was hoping to do it outside the office. Possibly after the courage of a stiff drink. And certainly not until I have the chance to speak to Jacob. “Um… what are you doing here?”
“You said there was a bunch of stuff in your office for me. I thought I’d stop by and pick it up.”
I glance around my cluttered office. There are boxes of stuff on the floor, Xeroxes and press kits and photos strewn everywhere from days of inattention.
“Yeah. Your gift bag from the premiere the other night is here, and…” Billy looks at the obscenely overflowing canvas bag, but his next words reveal his real motivation.
“I expected to hear from you.” In its surprising vulnerability, I detect a stronger hint of his true Southern accent. Pretending not to hear, I begin sifting through the papers on my desk. Finally I uncover a FedEx package. “Ah, here are the tickets you requested to the Kid Rock concert. Do you want to take them now or should I have them sent to Wanda for safekeeping?”
Billy glances at the envelope in my hand and offers me a sheepish grin.
“You take them.”
What? Major favors were pulled to get Billy these seats—with a backstage pass no less—two days before the concert, and now he doesn’t want them?
“Well,” he shifts his weight, and leans one slim hip against my desk, “remember you said how much you love Kid Rock? I asked if you could get tickets because I wanted to take you to the concert.” Oh my God. “So… want to go with me?” Okay, Billy Fox is an expert in the “bedroom eyes” department. Completely against my will I feel my knees weaken. Billy’s cologne drugs me a little as he leans in closer.
And then I remember Jacob.
I hadn’t planned on having to spell it out for Billy so suddenly.
“Listen, Billy… here’s the thing…” I sort of figured if I distanced myself from him over the next couple of weeks, he’d get the picture. I mean, he’s that kind of guy—he’s got women all over the place, he’s not going to be that upset losing me, right?
For a start, I take a determined step back… and walk right into my rolling desk chair. Off-balance, I fall back—only catching the seat’s edge—and feel the chair scooting away before the back of my head hits the ground. Billy instantly reaches out to catch my fall, only to end up sprawled with me behind the desk.
“Ow!” Okay—no subtle or graceful exit for me. I have to humiliate myself and then beat myself up on the way down.
“Sophie! Are you okay?” Billy, of course, still sounds cool and collected. Nothing throws this guy off his game. I whimper as he gently runs his hand through my hair to check for injuries. “Any excuse to play doctor.”
“What the hell is going on?”
All of a sudden time stands still. At the sound of Jacob’s angry voice, I literally feel the blood drain from my face. Think of the instant guilt and panic when a police car turns its siren on, regardless of how fast you’re going. Well, multiply that by a million and you will begin to understand how I feel in the long seconds that crawl by as I gently push Billy off me and pull myself to my feet.
“Sophie.” Jacob’s voice is utterly void of emotion now. He doesn’t sound angry, hurt, anything. But his jaw seems so clenched I can only imagine the horrible thoughts running through his head.
“Hey, man. It’s no big deal.” Billy’s suave tones are like nails on a chalkboard in the brutal silence. He’s clearly one of those types who have to fill uncomfortable silences with chatter. “She slipped, and I—”
“Sophie, what’s going on here?” Apparently Jacob is not interested in Billy’s version of events. And the horrible thing is I can’t summon the courage to tell Jacob the truth. The truth that Billy was hitting on me, and that I was tempted to respond. That I was attracted to him. I can’t plead innocent when I wasn’t.
“Jacob, right?” continues Billy. “Look, she’s a good girl. She told me all about you actually.”
And that’s when I finally see Jacob lose control.
“Get out.” Jacob’s harsh, low growl or his firm step forward finally succeeds in antagonizing Billy. And to my horror he steps in front of me—to protect me from Jacob. I am mortified to realize that I am frozen. And honestly, I don’t know if it’s fear of what Jacob might do or the entire embarrassing situation of this coming to a head at the office. But as this all is unfolding in front of me, I feel like a spectator, like those people who have near-death out-of-body experiences. Only, clearly, I am here, and my lack of response is only making things worse.
In the moment, I am unable to form words or move any part of my body. And Billy clearly misinterprets my fear and decides to play the hero. “Look, I don’t know what you think has happened, but you’re wrong. And I am not leaving until we clear things up.” Billy turns to me and touches my arm. “Sophie… you okay?” In frame-by-frame slow motion I look down at Billy’s hand on my skin. It takes me what seems like hours to notice how weird it is that I am so numb I can’t feel it. I am staring at his hand and I just can’t feel the pressure or the heat or anything. And then I lift my eyes to Jacob. He is standing in the doorway, his eyes glued to mine.
“Sophie.” All he says is my name. And all of a sudden I completely lose it. All the pressure, the guilt I’ve been feeling for weeks, and the embarrassment chokes me. I haven’t cried so hard in public since I was twelve. I feel the tears overflowing, pouring down my cheeks, again as though this is all happening to someone else. And believe me, if I were in a movie theater watching this scene I’d be scoffing to my companion because of how ridiculous it was that the girl would just flee the moment. “Please,” I’d say. “Why didn’t she just say that nothing happened? No one would just leave like that!”
Well, as humiliating as it is to admit, that’s exactly what I do. I can’t meet Jacob’s eyes. My arm slips from Billy’s grasp—probably because me running is the last thing he expects. I leave them both standing in my office and I run. Straight to the ladies’ bathroom, always a reliable safe haven. After throwing up, I wash my face and try to avoid my reflection, resigned to staying in there for the rest of my life.
Not knowing what else to do, I slowly head back to my desk. I’ve no real sense of how long I spent hiding, but it was significant enough for any remaining witnesses to steer clear and depart. The empty cubicles and desks around me are a relief because I wouldn’t know what to say to Tru or any other concerned coworkers anyway. But when I arrive at my office, it too is empty. Both Jacob and Billy are gone. I don’t know what to make of their disappearance. I sit down at my desk and stare at the computer screen. Microsoft Outlook’s help icon blinks back at me. Does Bill Gates have a help menu for this? For completely fucking up your life? Could I search that under topics?
Before I can talk myself out of it, the phone is in my hand and I’m dialing Jacob’s number.
“Hey. You’ve reached Jacob’s cell. Leave a message.” The easygoing tone is like a time capsule of better, uncomplicated days. I listen to his familiar deep voice, trying to formulate what to say. Should I just apologize and beg forgiveness? Minimize what happened? Try to explain? Beeep.
“It’s me. Sophie.” Oh yeah, that’s good. Like he doesn’t recognize your voice. “Right, you know it’s me. Listen, we have to talk. I can explain. Please call me.” There is so much I want to say. My brain is literally stuffed with things to express, things I wish I had faced earlier, but none find their way out. “Please.” And I hang up.
There’s nothing else to do but wait—and frankly, I could use the extra time to collect my thoughts. I’m emotionally exhausted. Even workaholic me can see there’s no way I’m focusing on any other task this evening. Time to close up shop. Sophie Atwater’s Day of Destruction is officially closed for business. And not a moment too soon. A strong pour and then soaking in the world’s longest bath is all I can think about.
The tough thoughts can wait for the morning.
Habit takes over, and I gather
my things, log off my computer, grab my purse, and am about to switch off the overhead lights when the office phone rings.
Jacob. The pit of my stomach tightens. I’m not ready.
But the caller ID shows not Jacob, but Elle. And it’s her direct line. Apparently someone else is working later than usual.
I reach for the receiver before voicemail intercepts. “This is Sophie.”
“Would you kindly come up and see me before leaving tonight.” Elle’s formal tone is—as always—the Mona Lisa smile of aural interpretation. But it’s definitely a summons, not a casual request. After seven years, I know her well enough to realize this isn’t a social call. Great. Now what? Did word somehow get to her about the scene in my office? Doubtful. Tru’s not one to gossip. Or did Priscilla already mess up the Wrestling account? Of all days, I’m not in the mood to deal with her incompetence and any managerial blame.
Better to get it over with. “I’m on my way.”
Lucas is also gone for the day, so I announce myself at Elle’s open doorway. She’s standing with her back turned, gazing at a tableau of framed photos. The wall of grinning Bennett/Peters clients, their trainer-toned arms draped chummily over Elle’s shoulders, is a virtual who’s who of Hollywood. It’s an impressive testimony to her outreach and reputation.
“You wanted to see me?” I say.
Despite the assumed damage control to address, a visit to Elle’s office suite tonight is almost comforting. She’s of the tribe of hard-edged former New Yorkers who readily took to the abundant sunshine and casual chicness of Southern California. In sharp contrast to my cluttered and comparably chaotic workstation, hers always reminds me of a cozy boutique hotel, complete with its inviting sitting area of facing ultra-suede couches, with an assortment of trendy throw pillows, that sandwich a vintage coffee table. I swear the air even smells faintly of jasmine.
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