Ditching The Dream (Dream Series)

by Isabelle Peterson

  When it was time to leave, I locked the door, double checking it, then made my way to the elevator bay. As I passed the apartment next door to mine, the door swung open, and out emerged a sweet older lady.

  “Oh, hello pet! Are you our new neighbor?” she chirped with an adorable Irish brogue.

  “Yes I am. Elizabeth Fairchild,” I said, extending her my hand to complete the introduction. “It’s nice to meet you.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m Doloras Hanlon,” she said, shaking my hand. She turned, and closed the door. “Just headin’ out for the day. No rest for the weary. Ya must keep movin’ if you want to keep groovin’, or however the sayin’ goes.” I loved her accent. “So, would you be stayin’ here for work or pleasure?” she asked as she locked her door and we made our way to the elevator.

  “Oh, work. Definitely,” I replied.

  “Well, be sure to get out there and have a bit of fun, too. New York is a great city, she is.”

  “I’m finding that out, thank you.” I said as we stepped into the elevator. I pressed the button to go to the lobby.

  “So, where would you be comin’ from?”

  “California. How about you?”

  “Beautiful country out that way. Me? I spent my youth in the outskirts of Dublin, and been livin’ here for the past fifty-three years.”

  “And what brought you to New York?”

  “Ah, that’d be my Joseph. He was an American business man. Advertisin’. He sold me quite a bill of goods for me to leave my homeland, but I do love it here, and goin’ back – well, there’s not much there for me anymore. How long will you be stayin’ in New York, honey?”

  Good question, Mrs. Hanlon. “A couple months,” I shrugged.

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened to the lobby. I let Mrs. Hanlon out first and followed.

  “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Hanlon. I’d love to talk more, but I have to get to work. Hope I’ll be seeing you later.” I waved as Mrs. Hanlon stopped at the front desk.

  “Just a quick moment, Mrs. Hanlon,” Dominic smiled as he rushed to the front door to hold it open for me. “Ms. Fairchild. Have a pleasant day,” he said with a nod, still smiling. I could get used to this.

  I made my seven block walk to work, enjoying the frenetic pace of the streets of New York, along Lexington Avenue to Seventy-Third Street. I adored the fact that I was living in a city that was a true melting pot, listening to several languages all around me. I slipped right into the bustling action of the shops, the cabs, and people, with their cellphones and iPods. I wondered if I looked like a tourist or a New Yorker. I hoped at least a little New Yorker.

  The next-thirty six hours passed in a blur. As promised, Friday’s lunch and dinner shifts were CRAZY. Saturday – well, I don’t remember much, they were as fast-paced as they came, I hoped. Or maybe it was due to my inexperience, which was rapidly disappearing. I was getting plenty of experience.

  Sunday surprised me with its pace hopping from noon until six, then slowed to nearly nothing. It was nice that Sunday started later, and even though it was more of a family crowd, as opposed to the dating crowd, it was still non-stop. The only drawback was watching the happy families sit in the restaurant area. I missed family dinners, even if Greg wasn’t usually engaged. I wondered if the kids had stayed local, living at home for school, if I would have stayed.

  The quieter Sunday also allowed for more time for Shelby and me to talk. I liked her. She wasn’t just a great mentor, but she was one of those people you were simply comfortable around. I guess that’s what made her such a great bartender.

  Jack hadn’t returned to the bar all weekend. I should have been happy about that, but I was bothered that I wasn’t. I found myself continually scanning the bar looking for him.

  When we were cleaning down the bar that night, again, Shelby took notice of my rings, and asked about Mr. Fairchild. I shrugged and reply, “He’s fine.”

  She stopped wiping down the bottles and looked at me squarely. “I know we’ve only known each other for a few days, but if you ever want to talk, I’m a really good listener.” I had a feeling it was only a matter of time before I caved and told her everything. I was glad to have the Monday lunch shift off.

  Around ten that night, I ambled, dead on my feet, into the lobby of my ‘new’ apartment building, with Gilbert holding the door. Gilbert wasn’t as cheery as Dominic, but professional and kind. I noticed that the elevator doors were just about to close and that someone was in there.

  “Hold the door!” I shouted, and make a mad dash into the car. Inside, as the doors were closing, I took notice of who the other passenger was.

  I recognized the man from crossing paths in the lobby a few times, but we hadn’t officially met. He was tall, very tall. This guy nearly towered over me. He had to be six-foot-four or more. Why are there so many tall guys here? Or have there always been this many? And where were they when I was dating in college? I couldn’t help but notice he was also rather young. Dressed in a plaid shirt, jeans, and boots, I wondered if he’d been at some country themed night at a local bar.

  He roused me out of my line dancing reverie by asking, “What floor?”

  “Um. I, ah…” Why was my brain stuttering? I didn’t know, but I was standing there like an idiot! I took a deep breath and gathered my mind. “I’m sorry. I’m on sex.” I gasped when I heard my slip. “I mean six. I’m on floor to six.” Oh good god, I inwardly groaned, now he thinks I’m some perverted nut job.

  “That’s mighty convenient,” he drawled, concealing a smirk. “I’m also on six,” he said with a wink pointing to the button panel with the six button already lit. But his accent was definitely from below the Mason-Dixon Line. Maybe his ‘get up’ wasn’t just for show?

  There was an awkward pause as the elevator lurched on its upward climb. He inhaled deeply. “Someone must be cooking steak. Do you smell that?”

  I, too, sniffed the air. All I smell is elevator…and man. Sweet, delicious man. As I turned to look at him, I caught a whiff of my shirt — mortified, I realized the steak smell was me.

  “Oh, I’m afraid that might be me,” I apologized.

  “Interesting perfume choice,” he shot back with a cocky little grin.

  “Oh, no – I work at a steak house just a couple of blocks from here. I come home every night smelling like this. Eau du steak, I guess.”

  “That’s something I could get used to.” His smile, which was at least a country mile wide, made me melt. I felt a blush infuse my cheeks.

  I took note of his shaggy-styled hair, his stubble, and his sparkling green eyes. He was the kind of guy you would see on screen. Perhaps he was an actor, or a model. I mean, we were in New York.

  “I’m Kevin,” he said with an outstretched hand.

  “Hi, Kevin. I’m Mrs. Fairch – I’m Elizabeth.” I smiled quietly and shook hands with him. I started to swoon a bit when our hands met. I must be tired, I convinced myself. And why did I choose to call myself Mrs. Fairchild, like Kevin was one of Bradley’s friends? My head was a frightful mess.

  “Nice to meet you, Lizzie.”

  The nickname stunned me a bit. I’d not been called Lizzie in almost thirty years. My sister Susan, Suzie, was the only one who still called me that.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you that. It’s awfully familiar… Please accept my apology. I work with middle schoolers and sometimes nicknames get the better of me.”

  The elevator stopped on the sixth floor, and the doors opened.

  “Ladies first,” he drawled. He placed his hand on my lower back to escort me out sending an electric tingle up my spine. His touch actually gave me goose bumps. What in the hell was that?

  I gasped, hastily stepping out of the elevator and out of his reach.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please accept my apology.”

  “Apology accepted,” I whispered. My mouth was bone dry and my thoughts were all over the place. I could
still feel his hand on my lower back, and now that he was standing closer to me, I could smell him better. A rustic man scent under his spicy cologne.

  We started down the hallway together, in an awkward silence, but my mind was shouting at me so loudly that I couldn’t properly hear, but it was along the lines of: “He’s gorgeous!” “He smells great!” “Don’t you want him to touch you again… in other places?”

  He stopped at his door, 6C, and I continue to my apartment, 6G. I heard him unlock and open his door, but it hadn’t closed. Curious, as I unlocked my door, I chanced a glance his way. He was watching me. He jumped slightly as he’d been caught, then he gave a small wave and slid into his apartment.

  Safely in my own apartment, with the door double locked, I let out the breath that I’d held since the elevator. Why was my blood racing? This was absurd. He was just being nice. A southern gentleman. A drop-dead, gorgeous, amazing smelling, southern gentleman.

  I decided to take a shower to try and calm my nerves, and rid myself of the Eau-du-Steak.

  In the shower, shaking thoughts of other men out of my head, I planned my call to Greg. I’d been gone nearly a full week, I was feeling stronger. A call was the grown up, mature thing to do.

  Getting a whiff of her in the elevator smelling like steak, I now had a fierce craving. I didn’t even have to eat it. I knew that every time I smelled steak, I was going to think of her. She said she worked at a steak house nearby. I was going to have to figure out which one.

  When did she move in? And how did I miss it? I knew it was a furnished apartment. Maybe she didn’t have much in tow. How long was she staying? Why was I so affected by a total stranger? I only broke up with Erica six months ago. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. In fact, I was enjoying the single life. But now she’s here. Elizabeth.

  Why did I have to go and freak her out by touching her? I just couldn’t help myself. Before I knew it, my hand was on the small of her back. She felt so good. I could still feel her on my hand. Then, she caught me staring at her. Way to go, Kev.

  Elizabeth Fairchild. Beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Did she start to call herself Mrs? Maybe she was a new divorcée? I’d have to look for rings. I hoped I would see her again soon. I was grateful that Spring break was this week.

  CHAPTER 7

  Scrubbed up, and no longer sporting Eau du Steak, I towel dried my hair. An unexpected bonus to getting all my hair cut off was that I could use less shampoo and conditioner, and I could towel dry my hair.

  I sat down in the comfy living room chair with my phone and pulled up the home number. I stared at the entry building up the courage to touch the number and let the call go through. I counted to three and tapped it. The phone rang and rang. Was Greg out? I checked the time. It was eleven o’clock here, which meant it was eight back home. Greg was never out this –

  “Hello? Elizabeth?” Greg answered, sounding anxious and out of breath. My heart broke a little. What was I doing?

  “Hi, Greg,” I managed.

  “How’s New York?” he asked quietly. “I see there’s great weather out your way. It’s been rainy here.”

  Is he really making small talk? I couldn’t believe my ears. “Um, good. It’s good. And yes the weather has been great.”

  “How’s the job hunting going? Any luck? I hear it’s brutal out there.”

  “I actually got a job already. Been working since Thursday.”

  “Really? That’s amazing. Where are you working?”

  “Greg, are we really making small talk?” I blurted. I couldn’t help it. This was awkward enough. “What’s next? Neighbor gossip?”

  “You want the neighbor gossip? My wife left me.” I could hear him breathe deeply on the other end of the line. “Why? Why did you leave? Couldn’t you just talk to me? We could have worked this out.” I could hear desperation in his voice. “Do you want a divorce? Do I need a lawyer?” Crack. Was that my heart breaking?

  I steeled myself and took a breath before replying. “I don’t know, but I do know that I need to do this. I am learning a lot about what I am capable of.”

  “But Elizabeth, you’ve always been capable. More than capable. You are one of the smartest, most clever, strongest women I know.”

  “What? Keeping the house clean? Cooking dinner? The PTA? The book club? That’s all fine and good, but there’s more to life. I need to know that I can survive on my own, Greg. I’ve never done that before. I went from my parent’s house to yours. I’ve never stood on my own two damn feet. I needed to find my light again.” I was really getting steamed. Why did I even bother calling? I knew he wouldn’t understand.

  “There’s something more here. There has to be. What is it, Bets?”

  “Nothing. I swear.” And that was the truth. I just wanted to be – no, needed to be independent. To know I could do it.

  “Well, I’ve been giving it some thought and –”

  “If you’re going to suggest that I’m out here shacked up with a man, again, I swear I’ll hang up right now!”

  “It’s not that, well not exactly.”

  “What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” I retorted accusingly.

  “I know that your, um, experiences were limited when we met. Maybe you need to…”

  Silence fell heavy on the line. My heart was beating in my chest so hard and blood was rushing in my ears. Is he suggesting what I think he’s suggesting? How do I respond to that? I gulped hard.

  “I mean,” he continued, “before we met, I had been with a lot of girls, and women. In high school and college.”

  My mouth dropped open. He was talking about what I thought he was talking about. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. I was stunned. I was appalled! How dare he! He was turning this into a – a – I didn’t know what!

  “Bets? Are you there?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” was all I could muster.

  “So, I guess I’m saying if you need to – to – sow your wild oats or whatever, do that. But come back to me. Please.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re saying you want me to go and sleep around with random men in New York? Are you out of your mind? What kind of woman do you think I am?”

  “I was just saying –”

  “Is that what you think of me? Do you really think that low of me? What in the hell, Greg! You are out of your ever-lovin’ mind! Twenty-four years together and you don’t know me at all!” I was practically screaming now. I was so furious! Did he really think if I just went and slept with someone I’d get ‘this’ out of my system. Not to mention that my ‘sabbatical’ was never about sex.

  “That’s not what I’m saying, but if you need to… Besides it’s getting awfully old eating frozen dinners and takeout.”

  Whoa! Hold the phone! Did he just turn this into HIS needs? I’ve done nothing but support his needs for years! “Sorry, did you say you’re eating frozen meals and takeout?”

  “Well, what did you expect? Even if I had the time, I don’t know how to cook. Nor iron for that matter. I burned the tail of my good shirt, you know, the one I bought in London? Is a month what you need? It’s about all I can take. I’ll give you a month.”

  My blood boiled!

  “I don’t even know what to say right now, so I’ll start with you won’t die from microwave meals, take your damn shirts to the cleaners, and I don’t know WHAT to say about your insinuations about other men. And I have no idea how long this will take. Now, I’m going to hang up before I say something I’ll regret. ‘Bye.”

  I ended the call in a huff, wishing I’d been on the kind of phone I’d had in my parents’ house. A corded phone. The old kind, with the bells, so when you hung up on someone angrily, they knew it. There was not much pleasure in pressing “End” angrily.

  I quickly changed out of my pajamas into a pair of jeans and top, grabbed my purse and headed out. I needed some fortification, and all that was in my fridge was milk, which was not going to cut it. A month. It’s all I can take. What. An. Ass. I’d given him mo
re than twenty years of being quiet and losing myself to what he wanted me to be.

  One of the great things I was loving about living in the city was that at any hour of the day, even at 11:07 p.m. just about anything was available. I found a respectable looking restaurant, with a bar, on Third Avenue that was still open. The place was dead, which was to be expected at this hour on a Sunday night, and I was grateful for that. I took a seat at the bar, and with Greg’s voice and insinuations in my head, I ordered an Alabama Slammer – a good drink for when you’re mad, right? But as I sipped, a tiny part of me wondered if Greg wasn’t all wrong…

  It was true that I’d only had one other sexual partner before I got married, and I couldn’t even remember it. It was my senior year of high school, and I was totally drunk on a ski trip with my group of friends. Our group of girls met up with a group of guys from out-of-state, and several rounds of ‘Quarters’ and ‘Bullshit’ later, I went back to my room with Ron, or Rick, or whatever his name was. I only knew that I’d ‘done the deed’ because Julie, the girl I was sharing a room with, said she’d walked in on us. I’d sworn off one-night stands after that.

  In my first year away in college, it was clear that all the guys were pretty much only interested in one-night stands, not a relationship. So, I spent the year a single lady. Which was fine by me, actually. My roommate, Ana, got enough action for the both of us. Some of which I was in the room for when she thought I was asleep.

  Then I met Greg my second year in college. He was sweet. Made no overt gestures toward sex. We dated three months before we took things to that level. He was caring and tender. He was safe. And the rest was history, as they say. One partner I couldn’t remember, and one partner I’d spent twenty odd years with.