The Do-Over

by Julie A. Richman

  “You liked it?”

  “Tara, you could see the two of you had your heart in this. Pinch me or kick me under the table if I start to cry.”

  I laughed, “It’s a deal.” They’re going to love her as an account exec was my last thought before I heard voices heading our way.

  Wes and his staff were here.

  Standing, I smoothed down my jade dress and came around the table. Breathe, Tara. Chris entered first. He was partially turned around talking to a beautiful Hispanic woman. My guess was that must be Renata. She wore a coral suit that drew everyone’s eyes and then didn’t let go with its short skirt showcasing her toned, tan legs. Chris laughed at whatever she was saying.

  Wes entered next in a deep navy suit with a pale blue shirt open at the collar. Just as I had predicted on the night we met, this was a man who grew into his looks. He owned his charisma now, knowing exactly what to do with it. And he still had all his hair. It was a perfect mess of loose curls with the first hint of grey shyly peeking out at the temples.

  Behind him there was another woman, but I couldn’t have told you what she looked like. I could only watch Wes as Chris introduced our team to him. He was shaking hands with Jamie and then Jonathan.

  “And this is our Director of Graphics, Tara Collins.” Chris introduced me.

  Our eyes met and I smiled at him, my reaction totally visceral and out of my immediate control. I was looking at Wes. I could feel my cheeks rising as my smile continued on its uncontrollable path.

  “Tara,” he nodded, extending a hand. That voice…

  “Wes.” I didn’t break eye contact as I took his hand, a slight tremble in mine as our fingers touched, no longer separated by the infinite degrees of the universe. I tried to read what was in his eyes, but he wasn’t giving me an answer. And maybe he didn’t even have a question.

  Do you know who I am? Anything? Something. “It’s me, Wes,” I silently pleaded, begging for his remembrance. “It’s me, Tara.”

  Our hands broke contact and I could feel the space as we were back on our respective sides of the bridge again. But there was no longer one degree separating us or tying us together. It wasn’t Chris or crazy Fawn that was the one degree binding us in our separation. We had breached the gap. Again.

  As Wes introduced his staff, I was still smiling, just listening to that melodious voice. It didn’t feel like a million years since I had heard it last. No, it felt as if the sound had always been surrounding me, pulling me in tight.

  Shaking hands with Renata Oliveras, I complimented her on her lovely suit and told her how nice it was to meet her. Next to her was another woman, Kelly Dennis. I was speaking to these people, but I was listening to Wes, hyper-focused on his every word, as my wildly beating heart cut a hasty path toward the surface of my chest and the keyhole neckline of my jade dress. I was a bundle of emotion, trying to appear cool and engaged, but every cell in my body had discovered a new faster frequency on which to vibrate.

  Then Wes introduced the tall, good looking man on the end, the last of his employees. I had been so focused on Wes, I hadn’t even noticed the man entering the conference room.

  “And this guy here,” Wes began, “is my right hand and second in command, my VP of Operations, Julien Matthews.”

  The smile on my face immediately dissipated and I had to consciously tell myself to close my agape mouth and assume a fake grin. It took all the strength I had to prod myself just to breathe. I couldn’t freaking breathe, and I wasn’t sure that I even wanted to, because sustained breathing ensured the continuation of this moment.

  The man extended a hand, “Tara, is it?” his tone was mocking. As one brow rose, his smile rapidly morphed into his signature sneer.

  I forced my hand up to meet his and his sneer deepened as he greeted it with a hard squeeze, causing me to shudder. His pale blue eyes bore into me, transmitting ice cold energy.

  And in that very second, I felt my heart stall as I realized that this particular degree of separation would not serve as a connector for me and Wes, but rather threatened to disconnect us, as he was the self-appointed toll taker at the only bridge in sight, the one that crossed over a nearly impenetrable chasm.

  Chapter 10

  As the videos ran, I intently watched Wes’ face across the conference room table. Professional and composed, most people would miss the nearly imperceptible muscle tic in his jaw that told me of the storm the film clip had just unleashed in his heart. Jonathan and I had been right on the mark with our concept and execution and I was elated beyond belief, not just to do a good job and land an account, but to create something that was meaningful for Wes. What had happened to him? Who had he lost to this insidious disease?

  When Donna raised the lights, it took a minute for everyone’s eyes to acclimate, providing a moment for the room’s occupants to compose themselves.

  Renata was the first to speak, “That was really powerful.” She fanned her face with a piece of paper.

  Kelly nodded in agreement. “Just beautiful,” was her input as she dabbed the corner of her eyes.

  Only Julien sat there with his arms crossed over his chest, his body language suggesting that he was unmoved, or at least not willing to acknowledge the videos’ effect on him. Looking straight at me, he broke the emotional hold of the room with his assessment, delivering his opinion with a slight sneer. “I’m sorry but I found it to be derivative and not very original.”

  Under the table I sunk my fingernails into Jonathan’s thigh and just smiled at Julien, “I’m so sorry we were unable to touch your heart.” I hoped only he could see the venom in my eyes. What a douche!

  Wes cleared his throat and my attention went back to him. “I think you hit it on the mark, you captured our mission, our corporate ethos, the message we imperatively need to get out to women. I’m incredibly impressed. This feels like the work of an organization we’ve been teaming with for years.”

  My heart soared at his appraisal of our work and Jonathan and I thanked him for his kind words. I could see the smile in the crinkle of his eyes. Damn, the lines on his face were perfect, rugged and sexy. This man had turned into a head-turner, aging beautifully, in a way few men do. Although our eye contact was direct, I couldn’t read anything beyond the business conversation. I had no idea at all if he had any inkling that we’d ever met before. Unlike Julien, aka Matthew, who was looking at me like he was going to have revenge sex with me in the bathroom after the meeting.

  “I really like this starting point,” Wes was speaking again and that melodious voice was like a salve instantly healing scabs Julien was trying to pick open. “Kelly, Renata and I will create a scope of work document, including dates we’ll need finished product by. I think we’ll be ready to sit down with you again in about two weeks.” Everyone pulled out their phones, opening their calendar app. “Two weeks from now on Thursday? Does 10 AM work for everyone?”

  Whether it did or not, we would all make it work.

  “Is there anything additional you’d like my team to prepare for the next meeting?” Chris asked.

  Shaking his head, Wes looked at his staff for concurrence. “No, I think you did so much prep work for this, we are well on our way. We need to look at numbers and decide how many films we want for both PSAs and the website.”

  Then Chris threw out a surprise, which was typical of Chris. “I know this is short notice, but I received a call this morning from the Ad Club of New York and they had a table open up at next week’s Annual Andy awards at the High Line Hotel. We are up for an award and would love to have you as our guests.”

  Nodding, Wes smiled. “When did you say this was?”

  “Late Tuesday afternoon.”

  Checking his calendar, “I can clear what I have.” He looked at his employees.

  The women nodded, but Julien declined, “I can’t reschedule my meeting.”

  “Are four tickets doable?” Wes asked Chris.

  “Not a problem at all. We’ll have them delivered to yo
ur office.”

  “Excellent and congratulations on the nomination. Though after seeing your work today, I must say that I’m not surprised.”

  Rising to leave, I came around to their side of the table, shaking hands with Kelly and Renata and sharing with them that I looked forward to working together.

  Turning to Wes, I smiled and extended my hand. What do I say? Nice to meet you. Or Nice to see you again. Or You might not remember…

  But I didn’t need to speak, because he did it for me.

  First was the smile that was like an electric shock to my heart, a jolt I felt in every cell of my being, vividly restoring the visual of the first time I saw it as he was spilling a drink all over his bare feet. Reaching out and touching the sleeve of my dress, Wes let the soft fabric slowly glide through his fingers. “This has always been a beautiful color for you, Tara.”

  He remembered. Oh my God, he remembered. Not only did he remember me, he remembered the details. He remembered the freaking jade outfit.

  I wanted to speak, but every emotion I possessed was lodged in my throat tying my vocal cords in knots.

  He remembered.

  Reaching for my outstretched hand and enrobing it in both of his, we looked at one another smiling. I had no consciousness of anything else in the room other than the smile in his eyes and the warm tingle of my hand lost in his.

  “One degree,” he said softly, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

  I laughed, “Our parallel universes converge yet again.”

  The energy between us had not dissipated over the decade and a half we had not seen one another. Whatever it was the two of us possessed, was still there. I was drawn to this man in a way I was at a loss to describe. Twin flames, maybe? There was something bigger and beyond us at work that was binding us together and I didn’t want this moment of rediscovery to end.

  “You two know each other?” Chris’ surprised voice broke the moment and I was instantaneously transported back to the conference room from the nether-dimension space Wes and I had just occupied.

  Wes smiled, his eyes never leaving mine, as he continued to hold my hand in his. “It’s been a long time, but Tara and I tend to travel the same path one degree of separation apart, and at times, our paths converge. This is one of those times.”

  I was the one to break eye contact with Wes as Julien stepped close behind him, assuming a protective stance. My eyes met his and this time I didn’t bring anger, I merely tried to convey a message of peace. This was a messy situation to say the least and I just prayed that I could come out of it unscathed, with Wes and I in a good place with one another.

  Squeezing my hand, Wes leaned forward and whispered, “See you Tuesday.” With his face next to my ear, I could hear him inhale and knew the beachy scent of my perfume had just filled his mind’s eye with memories of taut white sails against a star-filled black sky, fruit-laden rum concoctions and our laughter sailing off on the night’s breeze.

  Chapter 11

  I had been looking forward to the Advertising Club of New York’s ANDY Awards, partly because O’Donnell & Associates was up for an award, and it was always great to attend as a nominee, and partly because it was one of the few times a year where the whole New York City advertising community came together and I got to see people I hadn’t seen in way too long.

  Now there was the added pleasure of seeing Wes and the C-Kicker team, minus Julien, so I was certain a good time would be had by all. And even if we didn’t take home an ANDY, since the competition was very stiff in the video category, I was secretly thrilled that Wes was going to hear my name being called as a nominee.

  Held in the gothic High Line Hotel, the banquet hall, known as The Refectory within Hoffman Hall was just that, a hall. Long and fairly narrow for a banquet facility, the room, lined with panels of wainscoted wood, soaring clerestory windows and a beamed concave ceiling, included a wood burning fireplace and was truly like no other space in New York City. Historic and romantic, The High Line Hotel was the former estate and mid-17th century apple orchard of Clement Clarke Moore, and it is said that Moore penned ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas on the property.

  The room was set with small round tables for six, a raised stage at one end and bars set up on the far end. I first noticed Wes standing in line at one of the bars. He had his left hand on the lower back of a young woman, with waist-length near black wavy hair, an almost embarrassingly short skirt and heels that would have landed me in the emergency room having one or both ankles casted when I tripped over my own feet.

  “Tara.” I turned to see who was calling my name as Renata and Kelly approached.

  “So good to see you,” I gave each woman a hug. Renata was again dressed in an eye-turning outfit, this time in fuchsia. I loved that her style matched her outgoing personality.

  “Where are you originally from?” I asked her.

  “Puerto Rico,” she rolled her R’s.

  I laughed, “You are one hot mama!”

  Rolling her eyes, Kelly agreed, “That, she is. Don’t let her have too much to drink or she will have this entire room doing a conga line before they serve us dessert.”

  Wes and the woman turned from the bar, drinks in hand. Her look was exotic and she was quite beautiful. It was her body that surprised me. Small in stature, with a tiny bone structure, she was less developed than Scarlett and my first thought was, oh how sweet, he brought his daughter.

  “Wes’ daughter is beautiful,” I commented to Kelly and Renata. The reaction that I got was certainly not what I expected as Renata rolled her eyes and Kelly pursed her lips. “What?” I asked.

  “That’s his girlfriend,” Kelly’s tone was hushed.

  “Is that legal?” It was my kneejerk reaction and it was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  Both women laughed. “I like this one,” Renata declared.

  Sneaking another look at them, my stomach suddenly felt sour. Wes was no different than my ex, hooking up with twenty-something year old arm candy. And for what? To make themselves feel young and virile? What the hell could he talk to this woman about? Would she get his references when he threw in a song lyric circa 1990 or how he felt during an historical event? What the hell was wrong with these men?

  Just buy a freaking convertible, I wanted to scream across the room at him.

  The overhead lights flashed signaling the meal and program were just about to begin. Finding our table with the number 18 sticking out of the centerpiece took some doing.

  “Who the heck arranged this,” Jonathan bitched, as we sat down. Chris and Jamie were at the next table with Wes and his staff, while Jonathan and I sat with our clients from the Literacy League. It was the commercial we created for them that had earned us today’s nomination.

  Looking through the program and at all the nominations, I said to Jonathan, “What an honor it is to be nominated with these people. Look at this group!”

  “I think either JWT is going to win it for the Macy’s Believe Campaign or M. Silver & Associates for 9/11 First Responders’ Foundation.”

  “I think you’re right. I’m just really honored and humbled to be nominated with them.”

  The waiters served our salad course and I tried my hardest not to look over at the next table, but I couldn’t stop checking out Wes’ girlfriend. I felt like I needed to take her on a playdate with CB or something.

  Prior to serving dessert, the program began, with the chapter president thanking everyone for being there and talking about the strength of the organization and what was accomplished within, and created by, the New York group truly shaped global opinion, buying and trends.

  They began with the internet advertising awards, clearly the largest growing category and the youngest, hippest nominees.

  “Are they even allowed to drink yet?” Jonathan took a sip of his white wine.

  The next category was video-based, first starting with commercial, which took forever to get through and then finally into our area of non-profits and
public service announcements. Jonathan and I clenched each other’s hands under the table.

  “We should all be proud to be nominated. This is so competitive and your message was among the best and really resonated with people,” I told our clients.

  As they started reading the names I could feel my hand shaking within Jonathan’s or maybe it was his shaking that was jostling mine. Although I didn’t expect to win, I think it’s human nature to hold out hope until the very end. Because you never know.

  Smiling at each other and the clients when our names were called, I squeezed Jonathan’s hand tight and looked over at Chris at the next table. Momentarily, I caught Wes’ eye. The smile on his face was magnificent. Everyone was sharing in this moment of joy.

  And then the inevitable, the winners were read, “Mia Silver and Seth Shapiro of M. Silver & Associates for the 9/11 First Responders’ Foundation.”

  Clapping loudly for them, Jonathan leaned over and said in my ear, “If I had to lose to anybody, I’m glad it’s them.”

  I hardly heard him as I focused on the winning team two tables away. With beatific smiles, Mia and Seth high-fived. I had known them for over a decade, not well, but enough that we’d always talk at events. It was what happened after the high-five that caught my attention and raptly held it captive.

  Mia turned to an exceedingly handsome man with thick dirty blonde hair sitting on her right and they kissed. The look they gave one another took my breath away. The love. I felt their love and it made me ache. As she left him to go to the podium to accept her award with Seth, she and the man held hands until the contact broke at the end of their fingertips. And then he watched her, the pride radiating off him like a solar flare. It was then I noticed his wedding band and looked up at the podium to see Mia was wearing one, too.

  My heart bloomed with happiness for Mia. I was aware that her affinity for 9/11 charities was not just rooted in being a native New Yorker, but also that she lost her boyfriend in the towers. I hadn’t seen her in a while, between work and the divorce, I had missed more Ad Club meetings than I had attended over the past two years.