by Maria Benson
For me as well as the woman I loved, payback had proven to be quite a bitch.
As I jogged down a ramp leading to the building’s two back doors, I was lucky enough to run into a young, heavily tattooed custodian finishing off a cigarillo. “It’s open, man,” he said, shrugging when I shared my sob story of needing to reach my girlfriend quickly.
Stepping into the backstage hallway, I scanned up and down trying to recall from the day before which dressing room should be Aimee’s. A false start down the nearest hall told me to start over, then a left turn down another one took me to pay dirt. The sight of Aimee’s name on the room’s temporary nameplate emboldening me, I didn’t bother to knock. Eager to find her and put everything into perspective, I swung the door open to find a fully-dressed Aimee straddling Ian Wallace, who sat beneath her in a chair. Like her, he was completely clothed but in reality, they were making love with their clothes on, at least until Aimee glanced up at me.
The instinctive fear and shame in her eyes quickly darkened into defiance. “What do you want?” Even as she shot the question at me, she tightened her embrace of Ian and didn’t budge from his lap.
I could barely stand the gut-punch I’d just been delivered, but a blast of testosterone kept me on my feet, set my jaw good and tight. “Is this how we’re playing it? I don’t even get a chance to explain my side of the story?”
Ian pivoted in his seat, scooting Aimee to one thigh so he could look me up and down. “You had time to explain everything yesterday, Michael,” he said. “Doesn’t the fact I’m here tell you that you’re out of time?”
“She has to tell me that, not you,” I said. I did not want to fight Ian Wallace tonight; while I liked to think I could hold my own against a guy who was over a decade older and who didn’t hold a major height or weight advantage, I wasn’t the one with a personally assigned security detail.
Ian gently urged Aimee to slide off of his thigh, then stood. “Am I gonna have to escort you out of here?”
“Let her hear me out,” I said, looking past Ian to focus on Aimee. “Look, I owe you an apology, Aimee, but it has less to do with Olive’s pregnancy than with the fact that I strayed from who I really was, all in a bid to impress you. And I’m sorry it’s led to all this.”
Aimee stared up as if confused, her face morphing between affection, anger and grief. Time was suspended as she, Ian and I stood there wordlessly, forming a literal triangle. Then: “Ian, let’s go.”
Wallace stepped back to her, his eyes on me, and took Aimee by the hand. Ears buzzing, eyes burning, I found myself frozen by anger and humiliation as they passed me. The best I could do was a whimpered “Aimee” just before she cleared the doorway. My eyes were on the floor, but I could sense clearly that she hadn’t even bothered to look my way.
Unwilling to risk a violent confrontation that would only damage the reputation Aimee was working to build, I trudged out of the dressing room a few minutes after Ian and Aimee left. I passed Dr. Lott, who was clearly asking if I knew where Aimee was, but I loped past her as if I couldn’t hear a word.
Brushing past any male who wound up in my path, darting around the females, I didn’t look up until I was out in the back parking lot. Breezing past a couple of wait staff on a smoke break, I nearly tripped on two metal trashcans that had the misfortune to be in my path. Though the prying eyes of the two smokers were a few feet away, I went right ahead and indulged in a good shit-kicking fit on the cans, rearing back over and over, feeling rage intensifying with every blow.
Obscenities spewed from my mouth and sweat dripped from my brow as the cans rolled and danced in desperate getaway attempts. Sometime later–seconds probably, maybe a couple of minutes–I took mercy on them. Hands on my knees, back arched, I vomited the entire turkey sandwich I had grabbed at work.
Trying in vain to spit the taste out of my mouth, reaching for a handkerchief, I kept my eyes on the concrete lot beneath me. Tears flowing from my eyes, one Aimee memory after another assaulting me, a perverse thought hit me and gave me an excuse to laugh.
“Haaaa!” It was the scream of a mad man, but as I gave in to a shuddering spasm of mirth it all made sense. For years I had resented the idea that women like Aimee habitually passed up the nice guys to give a free pass to the men who mistreated them. Now I was one of them, and here she was making me pay in full. Finally standing up for herself.
Still laughing, wiping spittle from my mouth, I stumbled down the back alleyway. Trading defiant glances with anyone who dared make eye contact, I debated whether to even bother locating my car. A walk through the city wouldn’t feel so lonely; for now, I could dull my insides by appreciating the irony my decision months before had unleashed.
Loping forward, staring dully ahead, I grabbed my phone and searched for Olive’s number. I might as well confirm whether I had lost Aimee for a good reason.
CHAPTER 46
Aimee
Ian fidgeted visibly as I emerged from the bathroom in his Ritz Carlton suite, covered in one of the chain’s trademark white bathrobes. As I took a seat on the king size bed, crossing my legs, he cleared his throat. “So, Aimee, not to be a dick about it, but why do I get the feeling I was misled?”
I shut my eyes, convicted. “Ian, the make-out session back in my dressing room? I-I was reeling from the news about Olive and Michael’s possible baby. I’m sorry if you thought I was ready to come back here and just pick up where we left off.”
Ian reclined further in the seat he had taken at a nearby desk. “Okay. So my balls are going to get a little blue while you figure out your next move, is that it?”
I sat up straighter. “Sorry, is that too inconvenient for you?”
“Come on, Aimee. Is there any reason to think this Olive isn’t carrying Michael’s baby?”
I glanced toward him, then gazed out the suite’s bedroom window into the clear, starry night sky. “It’s probably 50-50,” I replied, a finger circling the rim of my wine glass. “She flipped pretty quickly from seeing Michael to running back to her ex-boyfriend, so she really has no clue. The fact there’s even a possibility, though, was all Nadine needed.”
Ian, still dressed in his shirt and jeans, peered at me with the focus of the super-lawyer he had once been. “I am really sorry about all this. I hope you understand all the more why, regardless of what you decide, I’m leaving her.” Ian had sensed that Nadine was cooking up some revenge against me, but hadn’t been able to nail it down in time.
“If the paternity question is a game-changer,” Ian said, “Michael can find out now whether he’s the father. There are several reliable methods of prenatal paternity testing–the non-invasive leveraging blood samples, amniocentesis, chorionic villus sampling–”
I cut him–only somewhat playfully–with a blank stare. “Wow, those really roll off your tongue.”
He smiled sheepishly, arms raised. “I have never needed them, at least not since college. I do, however, have weekly conversations about such matters involving our athletes.”
I stood and walked to the window, imagining the night’s crisp air and losing myself in the sight of vehicles moving about the streets below, the streams of people heading to or from theaters, cinemas, restaurants. “I’m not sure solving the paternity mystery makes my decision any easier.”
“I’m glad you see it that way,” Ian said, coming over and taking a seat beside me. “The problem is, he didn’t proactively share the situation with you.”
“He wasn’t transparent,” I said, letting my head rest against Ian’s shoulder. “How can I trust him again? After the journey of discovery I’ve gone on, after all I’ve done to try and share that with others, how can I respect myself if I stay with him?”
Ian sighed. “Well, you could take the obvious, glaring Door Number 2.”
“Stop.” When I had called Ian minutes after Olive’s interview aired, I had not been a tease. I had told him that what I needed was a friend, but yes, one whose arrival would allow Michael to experience some
of the pain still resonating through me.
I think Ian would have been up to the task if I hadn’t impulsively made out with him, knowing in some ways that I was doing so in order to shock Michael when he found us. Ian had behaved like a perfect gentleman up until now, but I could see his resolve crumbling before my eyes.
He gave me a sidearm squeeze as he spoke. “Aimee, I’m your answer. This Blake kid is pretty pathetic, a boy who only just recently became a man. How else do you explain him getting himself sideways with this Olive? He’s an amateur.”
I frowned, turned toward Ian with a bunched brow. “Uh yeah, he’s an amateur at how to cheat, sleep around and cover it all up.” I rolled my eyes. “Who wouldn’t want a man who’s a pro in all those categories?”
Ian’s lips flattened in frustration. “You know what I mean.”
I crossed my arms and looked down, a protective measure against the vulnerability coursing through me. “You might want to stop talking.”
“You know what?” Ian stood, took a purposeful step away from me. “Take the room for yourself, I’ll get another. You still going to Burbank?”
With all of the craziness of the day, I had forgotten that I was scheduled to appear on the “Ellen” show alongside Dustin tomorrow. My ABC News interview last month with him had been such a viral sensation, we were getting multiple requests to reprise it with even more highly rated shows.
I stared up at Ian, too weakened to reply. I felt like crawling into the king size bed and sleeping for the next twenty-four hours, but deep down I knew that was not an option. In that scenario, not only would Nadine Wallace win, the women I was trying to help would lose.
CHAPTER 47
Michael
I sat at the restaurant bar, nursing a beer and experiencing déjà vu. I had been in a different city then, but it was nearly six months to the day since I had done the same thing while awaiting my first date with Beverly. My sense of having been here before intensified when a petite twenty-something brunette took the seat next to me. Her pants suit sparkled in a way that told you it was tailored, top of the line, and her long bob looked like it had been primped at an overpriced salon. She was beautiful and she was high-maintenance. She was no snob, though.
“You are Michael Blake, aren’t you?” She pivoted so that she was facing me head-on. “My business colleague and I over there debated that for the past five minutes.”
I tried to be good-natured as I endured her banal pick-up moves. In the weeks since Olive had put me on public blast, I had become a notably infamous player in social media coverage of Aimee. Double-digit estimates of the number of women I had been seeing while first wooing Aimee were bandied about, explaining how I had slipped up and likely fathered a child with a woman I did not love. It hadn’t helped that in addition, various women from my recent past had been happy to provide interviews that served as verbal sex tapes. A good memory and a flair for turning a phrase made for a new type of revenge porn.
I flicked the woman’s business card onto the floor as she walked off, resigned to the fact I would be reliving these come-ons for a while. If my email and text traffic was any indication, being known as a “bad boy” who broke the heart of a relatively high-profile woman was not unlike doing time in prison for the right types of crime–it made you irresistible to a certain type of woman. For Aimee’s more demented fans, I was as intriguing as Ray J and Jesse James rolled together.
After paying for my beer, I stepped outside and walked three quick blocks over to a little Italian hole-in-the-wall restaurant known for reasonable prices and fast service. Along the way, I answered Scott’s call but told him I had little time to spare.
“I know you hate me, bro,” he said. “I loaded you up with all those skills, but they ultimately cost you the only woman you really wanted.”
“Scott,” I said, “for all I know, your over-the-top methods may have cost me everything where Aimee’s concerned. But you know what? You didn’t kick in my door and force me to do anything. I asked for all this.” I had spent several lonely nights contemplating the pros and cons of my transformation. I would never recommend my actions of the past six months to José–nor to the little life kicking inside Olive–but my transformation had spurred one positive side effect. “I may have lost Aimee forever, but without your help I never would have had the confidence to win her over in the first place.”
Scott sighed. “Glad to be a help,” he said. “Look, just wanted you to know the wedding is still on. I’ll explain later, but I’ve gotta follow my heart on this one. You still want to be in the wedding party, or are you too cool now to support a friend in his hour of need?”
I paused at the corner across from my destination, taking a second to joke that Scott should give some lessons in granting grace to Aimee. Once I accepted his invite, I crossed the street and made a mental note to return the latest of Bobby’s many voicemails. The guys’ advice might not have given me a storybook ending, but it had helped me grow beyond the more limited guy who had assumed he was entitled to happiness.
Carlos and Olive had already been seated, and my prompt arrival probably explained the looks of relief on their faces. I imagined they didn’t want this meal to last one second longer than necessary.
I took a seat, dispensing with small talk, and acknowledged the first of many elephants. “So, your little stunt dynamited my relationship with Aimee, but you’d have to live under a rock not to be aware of that.”
Carlos shrugged. “Why hadn’t you told her about this?”
Olive put a hand to his shoulder, then turned toward me with sorrowful eyes. “We really needed the money Nadine offered, Michael. I guess I didn’t really weigh your right to first come clean–”
“I don’t have time to waste arguing over who spilled the milk,” I said, slicing a hand across my throat. “I get that you weren’t thinking clearly.” I waved toward her increasingly bulbous belly. “Lot of hormonal action going on down there, I get it.”
She hunched down in her seat, seemingly unsure how to respond. “Thanks?”
I glanced at Carlos. “What’s your sense of the odds this is your baby?”
He clasped his hands, looking over at Olive first. “Honestly? I’ve told Olive I’m willing to raise this child regardless of who fathered it.”
I blinked twice for effect, then swiveled toward her. “Wow, this guy’s a keeper. Problem solved for you two.”
Carlos’s cold stare said “Damn right” in response, but Olive sighed before smiling weakly at me while rubbing her boyfriend’s back. “What do you need, Michael?”
I folded my hands in humility. “I probably don’t deserve to ask, but could you guys help me walk away from this with some sense of certainty? Whether it’s Aimee or someone else, I feel like I owe that much to the next woman I’m in a relationship with.”
Olive stared at Carlos before nodding back to me. “I-I’ve done some reading up on area prenatal DNA test centers.”
I stood, filled with both relief and what felt like the curdling of my stomach. “Tell me which one, and when, and I’m there.”
Olive put out a hand as I stepped toward the door.
“Michael, let’s all pray for the right result, okay? One that simplifies things and makes it easiest for Aimee to take you back.”
“Wow,” I said, my voice too loud and my laughter increasingly irreverent. “Nice sentiment, but frankly, it sounds like a fairy tale.”
CHAPTER 48
Aimee
My father’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “You’re running a bit late.”
“Stop it,” I said, as Mom and I took seats facing him in the “Ellen” show green room. “You knew I was coming. The make-up artist just took longer getting me ready than she did for you.”
“Hmm,” he said, “I guess my rugged looks are pretty low maintenance.” Dropping the smirk, he went back to his usually pissy glare. “You’re sure you’re ready for this now?” So that I could better collect my thoughts and responses to Nad
ine’s many accusations and revelations–and have more time to mourn the loss of my relationship with Michael–we had managed to postpone the interview by a full week.
“Yes, I’ll get through it in order to keep advancing the Put Yourself First cause. Hopefully by showing poise and grace, I can be an inspiration to others.”
Rolling his tongue around the inside of his mouth, Dustin shifted his gaze between me and Mom. “Lynda, you are a dear woman, but you may want to leave the room for a minute.”
Mom frowned in confusion. “What?”
“Look, we agreed long ago that we are not really co-parents to Aimee. You have raised an extraordinary woman, while I have written checks and done a bad job at just staying out of the way.” He sighed. “You’ve been with her all evening, and I’ve barely seen her since our plane landed last night. Can I have a few minutes to provide my daughter some counsel?”
I placed a hand to Mom’s wrist. “You don’t get to send her away, but you can shower me with your wisdom.”
“You know all I can offer is life experience,” Dustin said. “Let’s start with how you’re really dealing with the past week’s news about Michael? I mean, tell me how you really feel, then tell me what you plan to tell Ellen about it.”
“I’ll tell her that I’m exercising my agency in life, my power to choose the next steps that I take. They may include Ian, they may include Michael, or may not include either one.”
Dustin shrugged. “You left out, they could include both.”
“Very funny, Dustin.”
He placed his hands in his lap. “What will you say about which way you’re leaning?”
“Oh that’s easy,” I said. “It’s none of her damn business, or anyone’s.”
“Not even mine?”
I can’t fully explain it, but his question took my breath away.
He tolerated my silence for a few beats before plowing on. “You may not want the advice, Aimee, but I’m a little mystified here. From what I could tell, you were so into Michael a few days ago, but the fact he may have accidentally made a baby–before he was with you, mind you–drives you back to Wallace? Wallace, who once cheated on you with Nadine?”