Ten Years Later

by Lisa Marie Latino

  Dear Friends,

  Thank you for your generous support. This year, The SportsArts Foundation raised five million dollars and helped keep sports and arts after-school programs in seventeen New York City area schools. SportsArts vows to continue our pledge to ensure that all of our children get the opportunity to express themselves positively and uniquely in a safe environment outside the classroom.

  We hope you have a happy, healthy and successful new year.

  Sincerely,

  The Martinez Family

  Beneath that soliloquy was a glossy studio portrait of the family in matching white t-shirts and jeans, barefoot.

  What a crock of shit. I tossed the book onto the table and sighed.

  “Still thinking about Ruby?” Kevin asked sympathetically.

  “Yeah, something like that,” I lied.

  Before Kevin could respond, he stood up to greet a pleasant-looking older couple.

  “Hello, Mr. Murillo!” Kevin exclaimed.

  “Hello, Kevin!” The plump, grey-haired man replied equally as enthusiastically. “Who is this pretty young lady with you?”

  “Mr. James Murillo, this is Carla D’Agostino, a good friend of mine from college. Carla produces the “Tommy Max and Ruby Smith Show” on W-S-P-S. Carla, Mr. Murillo is the program director of N-Y-S, and this is his wife, Justine.”

  I rose out of my seat and made sure to give them my most dazzling smile. I wanted to return the favor from before when Kevin handled my whack job co-workers with natural ease. “It’s great to meet you both! And I like your first name; my father and brother are also James.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Carla,” Mr. Murillo replied. “Your father and brother must be men of good character. Kevin, you’ve done very well for yourself.”

  “Thanks,” Kevin smiled. I bit my tongue. Normally, I would have jumped in to clear up our relationship status, but I just let the misunderstanding hang in the air. Kevin might not be a looker, but tonight showed me he was a definite keeper. I wondered how his relationship ended.

  To my delight, Mr. Murillo sat next to me. Although I had zero desire to get involved in television, I still viewed this as a golden networking opportunity. Mr. Murillo was a powerful figure in the media world, and might know other radio station managers to connect me with—radio station managers who would hire me based on my skills behind the microphone, and not in the bedroom (not that I had much to lend in that department anyway).

  “You must love working with Tommy Max,” Mr. Murillo said. “He is a walking sports encyclopedia.”

  “He is definitely amazing,” I agreed. “I’ve learned so much from him. Can you believe he does the entire five-hour show with not a single note in front of him? It’s all in his head!”

  “I can believe it!” Mr. Murillo chuckled. “I just don’t know why Durkin paired him with that Ruby Smith; the show was good enough as it was.”

  The answer is on display tonight for all the world to see, I thought. “Ruby adds another dimension to the program,” I answered diplomatically.

  “You are on the payroll; you have to say that,” Mr. Murillo laughed.

  “True,” I giggled, appreciating the older man’s candor.

  The rest of our table started arriving, and Kevin introduced me to the rest of the NYS hierarchy—the head director and his wife, the sales manager and his wife, and the general manager and his wife. Everyone was interesting, lovely and respectful, a far cry from my scum co-workers.

  Suddenly, Miguel Martinez’s voice boomed from the surround-sound speakers. My heart leaped out of my chest. “Can I have everybody’s attention please?” Miguel announced from the podium. Once everyone quieted down, he continued. “I want to make this short and sweet since the worst thing about these dinners is the dragged out speeches.” A few people in the room chuckled.

  “Anyway, this is the third year we are having the SportsArts New Year’s Eve gala. Some people still find it odd that I hold this event on the biggest party night of the year, but I like the idea of ringing in the next 365 days with the people who are most important to me—my loyal supporters, my teammates, family, friends, and of course, my beautiful wife.”

  That elicited some “awws” from the audience.

  Oh, yeah? I thought bitterly. Where was your beautiful wife six weeks ago?

  “None of this would have been possible without you all, and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for being here tonight. So, if everyone could pick up their champagne glasses and join me in a toast…” He waited a few moments for everyone to rise out of their chairs.

  “May this be the year all of our dreams come true!”

  Well, it’s not getting off to a good start, I glumly thought as I lifted my flute.

  “Cheers!” The crowd erupted. I clicked my glass with the rest of the table.

  “Salute a cent’anno,” Mr. Murillo toasted to me.

  “Cin cin,” I laughed, thrown off by his Italian.

  “Tu parli italiano?” Mr. Murillo asked as we sat back down.

  “Only the necessary words,” I smiled.

  “That’s a shame; it’s really a beautiful language. Justine and I travel to Italy for three weeks every year.”

  After engrossing ourselves in a discussion about our Mother Land, he shifted the focus back to work. “So what’s a pretty girl like you doing in radio? You should be working on television,” Mr. Murillo complimented.

  “I appreciate your saying that,” I nervously giggled, “but I like the format of radio better.”

  “Why?”

  “Television is so stringent; you have to follow the rundown to the exact second. In radio, you have a little bit more leeway, and because of that, I feel that the hosts can relax and showcase their personalities better than on TV. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that you can get away wearing pajamas to work,” I jokingly added.

  “Fair enough,” Mr. Murillo nodded. “What is your ultimate goal in radio?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love producing, but my dream has always been to be on the air. I can chew anyone’s ear off about sports for hours, but as you know, it’s hard to break into the number one market.” I couldn’t believe how effortlessly the words floated out. In five years, I never talked to Dan with this ease.

  “Does your boss know this?”

  “Um, sort of?” I grimaced.

  As Mr. Murillo mulled over my answer, an overwhelming sense of determination seared through my body. Instead of waiting for Mr. Murillo to make or not make a move, why shouldn’t I take matters into my own hands, and take a chance with this perfect stranger? Then maybe something good can come out of this horrific night.

  “If you know of anybody hiring, by all means, please let me know,” I smiled broadly.

  Mr. Murrillo chuckled. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, opening his jacket pocket and taking out a business card. “We should talk sooner rather than later. Are you free to come by the station Monday morning at 8?”

  “I am!” I was in complete disbelief over this reversal of fortune. A bigwig wants to rush-meet with me?

  “Good. My address is on there. And be sure to bring your resume and demo tape.”

  I smiled and put the card in my silver clutch. Evidently, I couldn’t have picked a better time to decide to grow a pair of balls! As I silently patted myself on the back, I looked up and noticed Miguel approaching our table…with Trisha. My optimism vanished.

  Ohmygod…

  Moving counterclockwise, they individually greeted the people sitting across from me. As I watched them work the crowd, I started to panic. I don’t know if I can do this. There was still time for me to bolt to the bathroom. But how would that look to Kevin and Mr. Murillo?

  Miguel and Trisha greeted Mr. and Mrs. Murillo with huge hugs; obviously, this wasn’t the first time they had met. He still hadn’t noticed me, despite my sitting right there. I started to quietly hyperventilate.

  OHMYGOD…

  “Miguel and Trisha, I’d like you to meet
a couple of young, very talented producers,” Mr. Murillo said, motioning to Kevin and me. His introductions were drowned out by the screaming in my head.

  OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD…

  Miguel locked those beautiful, mossy green eyes with mine. I flashbacked to That Night—gyrating to the club music, touching him, kissing him…is that what he was thinking about too?

  “Nice to meet you, Carla,” Miguel smiled politely.

  Nice to meet you? The images in my mind quickly shattered. He wasn’t thinking about That Night. He doesn’t even remember who I am, or at least, he’s pretending to not remember who I am.

  “Nice to meet you too,” I replied, feigning enthusiasm.

  “Thanks for coming tonight!” Trisha said in a high-pitched squeaky voice, breaking our non-moment. She gave me a dead fish handshake.

  Before I could respond, Miguel took his wife by the arm. “Come on, honey,” he cooed, moving her to the next table of admirers.

  I was frozen into silence by what had just transpired. Kevin lightly nudging me a few moments later brought me back to the room. “That was pretty cool, huh? You must be freaking out!”

  “Yeah, I’m freaking out,” I deadpanned.

  I couldn’t take being in here anymore. I needed to leave.

  “Excuse me,” I announced, grabbing my purse.

  I briskly walked outside to the heated terrace that overlooked the Freedom Tower. A few patrons were outside smoking, but the filthy smell of the secondhand smoke didn’t even faze me.

  I leaned both hands on the iron rail and hung my head. What did I honestly expect out of tonight? I didn’t even WANT Miguel to leave his wife at this point, so why did I seek out this unnecessary drama?

  “Carla?” A concerned voice boomed.

  I turned around and saw Kevin. “Are you okay?”

  “Yea, I’m fine,” I sighed. “I just needed some air.”

  Kevin walked over to me and leaned his back against the railing. “This holiday sucks,” he stated. “I miss Heather so much.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, drawing him in for a quick hug. “Why did you guys break up?”

  “She said she needed her space,” Kevin shrugged.

  I badly wanted to call out her excuse as obvious code for “cheating,” but judging by the tears forming in his eyes, taking the tough love approach right now wouldn’t be appropriate.

  “She just got laid off from her pharmaceutical sales job, and was confused about what to do with the rest of her life,” he continued. “Me included, I guess.”

  It was time to throw tact out the window. “But Kevin, losing your job shouldn’t mean intentionally sabotage every other aspect of your life.” I drew a breath, gearing up for my role.

  “I know that, but she’s cut herself off from the world. Her friends haven’t heard from her. Her mother told me she stays locked in her room all day. She’s freaking out, I’m freaking out. She won’t take any of my calls. I don’t know what else to do.”

  It was sad that Mark had conditioned me to think “I need my space to figure out my life” translated to “I need my space so you’re not here to ask questions when a U-Haul pulls into my driveway and picks up me and my things to drive cross country to be with a girl that I have yet to meet in person,” but such was my life. Kevin clearly was in a different boat—unless her mother was in on the hoax (as Mark’s was), he was getting very promising first-hand information that the relationship wasn’t dead.

  “Have you gone to her house?”

  Kevin scrunched his nose. “No. That would just cause a scene. I’ve called her plenty of times; she knows how to get to me. I’m not chasing her.”

  “Kevin!” I exclaimed, lightly slapping him across the head. “That’s EXACTLY what you need to do.”

  “Why? So she could slam the door in my face?”

  I sighed. How could men be so dumb? “She’s not going to slam the door in your face,” I assured him. “She’s pulling this little “damsel in distress” game to light a fire under your ass, so you can go and save her.”

  “Why?”

  “Plenty of reasons. Maybe she didn’t feel that you were too comforting in her initial time of need, and wants you to step up your game. Maybe she wants you to show up at her door with an engagement ring. I wasn’t in your relationship, I don’t know the story. But she’s pushing you away, to try and get closer to you.”

  It made perfect sense to me, but Kevin looked as if I had just finished explaining the principals of quantum physics.

  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he finally replied.

  “No dumber than you saying that you aren’t going to chase the girl that you love,” I shot back.

  “I don’t…” Kevin started to look worried. “Do you think she really wants to get engaged? We’ve only been dating for eleven months; that’s way too soon.”

  “Why do guys have to take everything so literally?” I cried. “I was giving you an example!”

  Kevin blushed. “Oh.”

  “Look, you just have to throw your pride to the side and find this girl. Where is she tonight?”

  “Like, tonight-tonight?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, TONIGHT, right now. What is she doing?”

  “When I talked to her mother this afternoon, she said Heather had planned on sleeping through the ball dropping,” Kevin answered slowly. “Her parents had plans, but were nervous to leave her home alone.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Denwood, about 25 miles from here,” he replied, visibly growing more excited with each passing word.

  I pulled out my cell phone to check the time. 11:02 p.m.

  “Perfect!” I clapped my hands. “Get in your car and go! There will be no traffic, but you have to leave now!”

  “Okay!” he shouted. He started bolting towards the door but stopped in his tracks. “Dammit! I didn’t take my car here, I took the train. I’m never going to make it.”

  I grabbed his hand and started pulling him inside. “C’mon, I’ll give you a ride. I have my car.”

  We hurriedly bid the NYS contingency farewell. As we galloped out of the party, I saw Miguel and Trisha slow dancing. I made sure to toss them a mental middle finger (and for good measure, threw another one up for Ruby and Dan, wherever they were).

  In a matter of minutes, we were in my car. We easily slid into the Holland Tunnel, and once we emerged, barreled down Interstate 78.

  “I’m so sorry that I made you leave the party,” Kevin said, punching his girlfriend’s address into my GPS.

  I waved him off. “Don’t be sorry. These rubber chicken dinners suck.”

  “Very true,” he laughed. “You seemed to have hit it off with my boss, though. Isn’t he awesome?”

  “Yeah, he is great!” I agreed. “He actually wants me to come in on Monday.”

  “Really?” Kevin said, surprised. “For what, an interview?”

  “He didn’t say,” I shrugged, playing it cool. “I asked him if he knew of anybody hiring, and he actually agreed to help. I need to desperately get out of W-S-P-S, and I think you saw why.”

  “I did,” Kevin laughed. “It seems like a lot of good came out of tonight.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You are on your way to getting a new job, AND I’m on my way to getting back with Heather.”

  “Not bad. I’ve had worse nights,” I mused.

  Kevin snapped his fingers. “Oh, and how could I forget about you meeting Miguel Martinez?”

  “That’s right,” I replied wryly. “How could I forget?

  As the GPS told us that we were getting closer to our destination, Kevin grew quiet and uncontrollably shook both his legs. For whatever reason, he was starting to make ME feel nervous. What if he got to the house and she wouldn’t see him or worse, wasn’t home? Maybe pushing him to come here was a bad idea…

  We pulled up to the split-level home. Kevin took a deep breath and put his hand on the car door handle. Befo
re he exited, he gasped.

  “There she is!” he exclaimed.

  “Where?!”

  “In the upstairs window,” Kevin whispered. “Be quiet and get down.”

  “Like she can hear us,” I hissed. I cautiously peered over Kevin’s hulking frame. Sitting on the ledge of a second story window was a very forlorn-looking girl, tilting her head against the glass, staring into the night sky.

  It was a scene all too familiar. How many nights had I spent doing the exact same thing, dreaming about the object of my desire coming to my house to profess his undying love? The very big difference here was her Prince Charming actually had come to be by her side; I usually just pass out after these exercises.

  I looked at the clock. 11:58 p.m.

  “Kevin, you need to get out of the car now!” I ordered. “It’s two minutes to midnight.”

  Kevin nodded, took a deep breath, and exited the car. I opened the passenger side window.

  Heather was still staring into space but noticed a hulking figure walking towards her front door. She suddenly sprang to life and threw open her window.

  “Kevin?” Her voice shrilled through the quiet, cold air. “Is that you?” She cupped both hands over her mouth in amazement.

  “Heather, I love you so much,” Kevin stated, choking up. “I can’t spend another night without you. I need you.”

  “I’m coming downstairs!” Heather announced, slamming the window shut.

  I glanced at my dashboard clock. 11:59.

  “Hurry up,” I quietly urged.

  The door swung open, and a heavy-set girl wearing a robe and slippers ran through the door and jumped into the open arms of her resurrected love. “I can’t believe you are here!” Heather happily cried out in the dense night sky.

  They leaned in for a kiss. I glanced at the clock…just as it stroked midnight.

  Just as it started snowing.