Driving Me Wild

by Maria Benson

  In her spare time, she had a commitment to community service that shamed my comparatively meager efforts to mentor José. Her Friday mornings were devoted to educational outings with two young girls she mentored through Big Brothers Big Sisters, and she would use her off day from work–usually Wednesdays–to teach a music literacy class at an under-performing elementary school on the West Side. She was an impressive, selfless example, so much so that she had inspired me to start donating regularly to Big Brothers Big Sisters.

  I turned to face her, drinking in her soapy smell and admiring the way she filled out her black leotard and nylon sweat pants. “I’m sorry, I got caught up helping a friend who’s having a bit of a crisis. Stuff related to her job, sort of.”

  “Hmm,” she said, her arms snaking back around my waist, her fingers on my hips. “Well, I have a little crisis you can solve when I finish up here.” Nearly a month into our loosely-defined relationship, Olive lifted her chin toward me in a now-familiar pose for a kiss.

  Naked instinct drove me as I pressed my lips to hers, but even as I did so I found myself mourning the white-hot escapades that had defined my time with her. As much as she stood out head and shoulders from the other women I was seeing, Olive shared one glaring fault with all of them.

  She wasn’t Aimee.

  CHAPTER 33

  Aimee

  My armpits were damp, my voice vibrated with stage fright, and I was fighting off a wardrobe malfunction, but I couldn’t show it. Standing before an audience of nearly five thousand at Cosmo’s Fun Fearless Life seminar, I launched into the final stretch of my presentation. Leveraging public speaking tips picked up in the past six weeks, I sliced the air with forceful gestures, stood tall, smiled in time with my punch lines and held a series of one-to-one conversations through carefully targeted eye contact.

  I continued through my close, bringing the audience in for an intimate view of the moment when I had decided not to cower in shame over my relationship with Ian. As I shared the freedom that followed that decision, the memory of the journey rejuvenated me, and the crowd reacted enthusiastically in response. “The healing begins,” I said, “when we step out of the shadows. It begins when we stop slinking about wanting others to think we’re okay, when we stop trying to fool ourselves into thinking there’s no need to change.

  “Now I’m not necessarily telling you to out yourself and your two-timing man in front of the whole world, or even the local town square,” I said, eliciting ripples of laughter. “But I am telling you to hold yourself accountable for your role in an unhealthy relationship. I am telling you to shed the shame, acknowledge the inconvenient truths, and start figuring out how to address their impact on your relationship choices. What it boils down to, is putting yourself first!” Accelerating into a closing line that I was still fine-tuning, I wiped my brow as the crowd roared in response.

  Annika Nordstromm, the event planner who had recruited me to speak, met me at the bottom of the stairs as I descended the stage. “Oh my God, you were wonderful,” she said as she handed me my purse. She air-kissed me, then placed a hand to my back. “Okay, I need to get you to the salon so you can be on hand to interact with the attendees. Now, you don’t have a book or anything to sell yet?”

  I shrugged. “Annika, two months ago no one had heard of me. Two weeks ago I had no idea I would be here.” Annika had tracked me down just over a week ago, desperate to replace a last-minute speaking cancellation by Giuliana Rancic.

  Annika looked me up and down, seemingly re-assessing my one-button, hounds tooth skirt suit. I had a bad feeling she was intuiting that it had only cost me $140 at a Macy’s clearance sale. If so, she was kind enough not to call it out. “You need a book,” she said, nodding. “You have everything else we look for in our event speakers.”

  “We’ll get that taken care of.” Helen Taylor, my dynamite PR specialist, burst between Annika and me. Grabbing my left arm, Helen gave it a loving squeeze. “You made me proud up there, Aimee.” She smiled at Annika, showing off every perfectly polished tooth. “Didn’t I tell you she would be awesome?”

  As Helen accompanied me to the literary salon, freeing Annika to focus on the next conference speaker, I leaned against my older buddy. “I cannot thank you enough.”

  Helen had indirectly taught me everything I knew about public relations during the years I utilized her services, first for ESPN and then for Terry Town Productions. She had called me the day after my interview with Mel Miller aired. “So we are clear,” she had said, “I am now your crisis management and PR adviser. And as long as you keep it to yourself, it won’t cost you a thing.”

  Accepting Helen’s offer had been one of my better decisions. Not only had she helped me selectively limit my follow-on interviews to the few channels that offered both high exposure and an opportunity to control the narrative, she had also pulled in expert subcontractors to build my website and social media profiles.

  Just last week I had inked a deal with Dr. Sarah Lott, who had continued to mentor me through this new journey. The good doc and I would be recording a series of video interviews where we would discuss aspects of my personal empowerment journey before broadening into a larger discussion of similar issues faced by most women. The content would be posted to our respective sites.

  When we reached the salon, Helen and I were both gob-smacked by the size of the crowd. The day’s previous speakers were still at their booths, each with a line of well-dressed, twenty- and thirty-something women waiting for a handshake, hug or signing of a book. As we pressed our way through the crowd, Helen sighed. “Get ready to press some flesh,” she said, pointing toward the double-wrapped line in front of the booth whose placard proclaimed my name. Placing an appreciative hand to Helen’s shoulder, I walked ahead of her and pretty much dove into the fray. This was exactly the type of fawning crowd I had spent my career to date managing for “VIPs” like Todd. At nearly every event I had managed for him, he would ask the same rhetorical question: “Can’t they just buy the damn book, watch the shows and leave me the hell alone?”

  Maybe someday I would be that cynical, but at the moment I couldn’t picture getting there. While some events beyond my control had spurred my decision to embark on this path, I had given it a try because I believed there were millions of women out there who could benefit from my experience. While I had seen some prior validation in the form of a clogged email inbox, impressive social media data and even random praise from women I had known for years, today was my first time seeing live physical evidence.

  As I hugged one woman after another and discussed the disastrous relationships driving their search for empowerment, I assessed my own emotional health. I had concluded things with Ian in a way that simplified my ability to hold out for a truly functional relationship, and freed him and Nadine to decide what to do about their marriage. I had challenged my parents to reveal some of the experiences that had probably hard-wired me to sabotage any hopes of having a committed relationship, and now I was building an entrepreneurial career that could truly touch the lives of others.

  All I really needed to know now, though, was where this journey was taking me.

  There was a good chance I was falling in love with Michael Blake, and it scared me. Our one night together, over a month ago, had since morphed into something caught between “Friends with Benefits” and a real relationship. One thing was for sure, in addition to the sex–which was both physically satisfying and emotionally rich–it was nothing like our previous dating stretch. No more big-spending nights out on the town; aside from the occasional meet-up at a movie or evening chilling out over beers at a sports bar, our time together most often consisted of Saturday brunch at his place or a jointly prepared dinner at mine.

  I wasn’t sure I could explain it, but it was like Michael was a Rubik’s cube I had finally learned to twist into the right configuration. He had been right in front of me all these years, sure, at one point literally begging for my consideration, but before now he had jus
t lacked a particular spark, that one element that finally helped me actually see him. Now that he had it, I was all in.

  The feeling seemed to be mutual. We hadn’t yet discussed the question of whether or when we might decide to be exclusive, but my guard was coming down with him in ways it had not in an awfully long time. Unlike our first night together, which had occurred in the wee small hours of the day, Michael didn’t usually roll over and die after our lovemaking. He was a cuddler, an inquisitive one at that. In a relatively short span of time, I had shared more with him–about Ian, Dustin, Todd–than I had ever imagined sharing with any man.

  Standing there in the Cosmo salon, posing cheek-to-cheek with a pair of twin sisters whom I had inspired to leave the abusive ad executive they were seeing, I longed to get home and ask Michael to come over. I wanted to tell him about my day, re-enact my successful presentation for him, and hear his thoughtful responses. And then, yes, I wanted to feel his hands on me.

  Helen’s sudden appearance threw cold water on my anticipation. “Ms. Chase needs to take a ladies’ room break,” she announced abruptly, a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go, Aimee,” she whispered to me.

  Annoyed by the interruption, I kept pace with Helen as we trekked across the backstage of the main speakers’ platform. “What’s going on? You’re the one who always says never leave a crowd waiting.”

  Helen frowned, placing a hand to my wrist as we entered the hallway tied to the backstage. “There’s someone you have to see, if you want to avoid a scene that harms your brand.” She knocked on the nearest door, then opened it.

  Flanked by a bodyguard who looked like a retired NBA big man, Ian glanced up from a couch on the right wall of the room. “Aimee.” His smile was warm but professional.

  “Ian.” I glanced at Helen, whose expression pleaded with me to just make him go away. Processing that, I smiled at the bodyguard. “May we have some privacy, please?”

  “That’s the plan,” he replied, resting his weight more fully against the couch as the guard buttoned his blazer. “Wendell can wait outside with Helen. This won’t take long.”

  While I had mixed emotions about seeing Ian, I exhaled gently as I shut the door and turned to face him. Unbuttoning the jacket of his pinstriped suit, he patted the seat next to him, a thin smile on his lips. “You were really something up there.”

  I took a seat on the opposite arm of the couch, smiling to counter the fact I had declined his invitation. “Everything I said was true.”

  “I hope you remember me as more than an unhealthy relationship.”

  I crossed my arms. “You don’t need to worry about that, Ian. I hold no grudges.” I cocked my head to the side, examined the look in his eyes. “Do you?”

  Ian grimaced. “This looks bad, right? I should have just called, I guess.”

  “That would have made sense.”

  He laid aside his tablet, which had the Wall Street Journal app up. “I wasn’t certain that would be welcome.” He cleared his throat. “You seem to have moved on quite well.”

  My nose wrinkled as I replied. “Is that a complaint about the new guy in my life?” As if it was any of his business. “You’re with Nadine, I’m with someone other than you. How else should this work?”

  He glanced at his lap, retrieved a piece of lint. “Forget I said anything. That’s not why we’re here.”

  “Oh?”

  He folded his hands around one knee. “A couple of things have changed since we last talked. For starters, the private investigators I hired finally earned their keep.”

  “What was left to investigate?” I was genuinely confused. “My coming out eliminated the Ray Watkins problem.”

  Ian stood, buttoned his suit jacket. “Yes, you did, and you know I’m in your debt. My guys couldn’t stop there, though. We needed to know who helped a deluded, financially devastated alcoholic hire one or more hackers to try and fabricate those texts and emails, the doctored videos he said he could produce. It took some digital forensics, but they found Watkins’ partner in all this.”

  I stayed on the arm of the couch, but leaned forward in anticipation. “What was this guy’s motivation?” I snapped my fingers, trusting my intuition. “Was it someone with your players’ union?”

  “Oh, his only motivation was money,” Ian replied, his mouth set into a grim line. “He was hired, though, by someone whose motives were more complicated: Nadine.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Michael

  After taking José and his new girlfriend out for pizza and a movie, Aimee and I had spent most of last night–in between more entertaining interludes–discussing her run-in with Mr. Ian Wallace. Maybe the fact she didn’t bring him up until we were snuggled in bed, drenched in each other’s sweat, helped me take the news in stride. As a man, I should have felt threatened or vulnerable, but Aimee’s tone was so matter-of-fact, so disinterested, that she easily distracted me by pulling me back on top of her for another round.

  As I dressed for work, she slid beside me, staring at my bathroom mirror reflection. “I really like the changes you made to the proposal.” I had edited a hard copy of an abstract Aimee was drafting for a book based on her lectures and blogs. The book was less designed to get her on more television shows and websites, than to help her build the necessary support and funding for an organization that would help survivors of domestic violence truly “put themselves first,” as she was now routinely framing her message of self-esteem and healthy relationships.

  “It’s just my two cents,” I replied, straightening up my tie. “I know I’m not exactly your target market, but I’ve gotten pretty well acquainted with them recently.”

  She leaned her head against my shoulder, slapped my butt. “As far as I can tell, you’ve gotten pretty intimate with my target market recently. Were you seeing a lot of women back when we dated last time?”

  My protective radar stirring, I brought her into my arms and stared down into her bright eyes. “Who says I’ve ever seen a lot of women?”

  “So we’re going to play dumb, huh?” A smile escaped as she shook her head softly.

  “I don’t see the point of staring in our rearview mirror,” I said. “Not much to see there. I’m enjoying the forward-looking perspective. You’re building a meaningful career, Aimee.”

  “I have a long way to go,” she said to me as we headed down to my car. “Helen won’t let me see most of the social media tracking and analysis she’s always monitoring, but I can tell I still have more haters than lovers out there.”

  I grabbed her hand as we stepped onto the elevator. “Never mind the statistics. Focus on the people coming your way for help. You’re already meeting their needs.” I leaned down, pressed my forehead to hers. “For the record, I’m proud of you, and I’m in.”

  She tickled my chin. “So what are you saying?”

  “Nothing big, just ‘Put me in, Coach.’ Tell me how I can help: Reading drafts of your book manuscript, kicking around ideas about expanding your platform as a speaker, or screening new business partners.”

  She licked her lips, drew me closer. “You’re sounding like someone who plans on being around for a while.”

  Feeling oddly shy, I blinked. “If you’ll have me, sure.” I glanced at the elevator door, wondering how quickly I hoped it would open. “You’re not trying to have ‘the conversation’ with me are you?”

  She crossed her arms. “What conversation would that be?”

  “I don’t know. The one, I guess, where we talk about where this is all headed.”

  She grabbed for one of my hands as the doors opened. “Are you ready to have it now?”

  My spine hardened. “Are you?”

  She leaned into me, then patted my butt. “Never mind, Michael. Drop me at home, then get on to your job.”

  After dropping Aimee at her place, I called Scott. After I complimented him on the latest pics of his baby son and picked with him about the challenges of getting through each day with minimal sleep, I filled
him in on my give-and-take with Aimee. “You’ve been warned about this, Michael,” he said. “Please don’t make me be crass–I’m actually sitting here with Adam in my arms, know what I mean? It’s too early to make Aimee your one and only.”

  Peering ahead at an upcoming traffic jam, I sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you. Since getting with Aimee, I have slowed things way down; I can’t help it.” Unwilling to endure Scott’s judgment, I omitted the full truth–that I hadn’t slept with another woman since the night Aimee and I first made love.

  Beverly was apparently still interested in me, but the demands on her time as a new CFO had made it relatively easy to keep things professional with her for now. As for the other woman of note with whom I’d hooked up shortly before Aimee, Olive was pretty much off my radar. While we had been hot and heavy initially, I had cooled things first by backing away once I got with Aimee. In addition, her travels with the symphony had kept her out of town for most of the past month. Flirty phone conversations were as amorous as things got between us these days.

  Scott sounded concerned. “How long have you been working such a downsized roster?”

  I swallowed calmly. “A month at least.”

  Scott sounded like he’d blown morning coffee through his nostrils. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “Come on, man. You really think I can live up to my new professional responsibilities and spend every day racking up new conquests? I’m just one man.”

  “All these women in your phone, in your recent history, but only one has your heart,” Scott said, sighing. “That’s a dangerous position. You’re putting all of your training, everything that turned you into the type of man who knows how to get what you want, at risk.”

  “It’s a tightrope act,” I said, admitting his point. Every moment with Aimee was the realization of a dream. The emotionally transparent conversations, the shared interests, the electric but meaningful sex, and maybe most of all the shared history, combined to exceed my schoolboy fantasies.