He may love Candace but Griffin had no intention of staying in a relationship with a woman he found untrustworthy. She had defaced his heart with emotional graffiti that could not be washed away with apologetic words. Anger fired up his imagination and inspiration came down hard as he quickly roved the apartment, packing his belongings. Griffin grabbed the AT&T bill and wrote his farewell message across it. He finished his scribblings, stuck the paper on her pillow, and took a last look at her picture on the bedside table. As a parting memento, Griff tossed the Local Color script onto the pile. He could get another, and it couldn’t hurt to let her know that he wasn’t half the chump she’d played him to be.
Griffin picked up his bags and took a last look at the bed he once thought of as heaven. It suddenly dawned on him that he’d been whipped into believing that Candace was the one. How wrong he’d been. He’d correctly sized her up the first time he’d met her. Behind the law degree and liberal lust, Candy was about bling bling and bullshit. How had he lost sight of that fact? Candace wanted a man whose love came attached to a platinum credit card with her name emblazoned on the front and his address on the bill. He was not that man.
With the timbre of a Shakespearean actor, Griffin recited his version of poetic justice as he walked through the front door and out of her life.
“She was my everything and yet she was nothing.
She was the dream of a lifetime, but time had run out.
She always said the right things
but when I caught her with another
her words circled and spiraled into
nothingness
spraying meaningless graffiti on the
four walls of her own room.
Now when I see sprayed buildings, walls and billboards
on top of shops and malls
I know where she’s been
and where not to go.”
Candace stepped into a quiet apartment, grateful for the gift of solitude Griffin’s absence presented her. She tossed her bags into the entry and immediately threw her travel-weary body onto the couch. Thank God she’d been able to change her flight. It had been worth paying the penalty not to have to stay one more minute with that bastard Frank Warren. What a damn fool she’d been. Why did the grass always look greener on the other side until you strolled on over and stepped in a pile of shit?
Frank wasn’t interested in getting serious about their relationship. That line had simply been the bait to get her out to the coast and into his bed. At first everything had been lovely. Frank picked her up at the airport in a limo and took her back to the hotel, where six dozen roses, a dozen for each night they would be spending together, awaited her. He wined and dined her, flirted with and fucked her all night and the following two days. Everything was fine until his wife called while he was in the shower. Candace only picked up the hotel phone because she thought it was the concierge desk with information about their dinner reservations. She was quick to let Regina know that she had the wrong room and when she called back, Frank’s wet and dripping ass was out of the shower and answering the phone.
After diverting that possible crisis, a shaken Frank proceeded to break the news that he and his wife were moving to Chicago. Yes, he wanted Candace back, but not in any real way. He simply needed to know that Candace was available, whenever and however he desired, just as she’d always been.
Candy felt a tear squeeze from beneath her lids. How had she let herself get suckered into his tired rap yet again? She hated to admit it, but Melanie had been absolutely right. Thank God she still had Griffin. He may be broke but at least he was dependable and kept his drama onstage where it belonged. Candace picked herself up off the couch and headed toward the bedroom, reiterating the statement she’d made abundantly clear to Frank, “Never the fuck again.”
Tired and ready for a nap in her own bed, she strolled into her room, noticing for the first time that the apartment looked particularly tidy. Griffin must have been on some sort of cleaning spree, she decided. She immediately saw the note left on the pillow, and his thoughtfulness brightened her mood considerably. She stripped down to her lingerie before climbing onto the bed and curling up with the pillows. Before reaching for the note, her eyes fell onto the script and she picked it up. She read the title page and then opened the cover and saw the credits, which listed Griffin T. Bell as Taj Kenmore. She quickly flipped through the text, her excitement growing as she realized just how large a part his was.
Candace threw the bound document into the air, cheering loudly for Griff and his accomplishment. “My baby is a movie star!” she shouted into the air while she pictured the two of them walking the red carpet in Cannes. Thank goodness she hadn’t kicked him to the curb!
When did this happen? And why didn’t he tell me? she wondered as her chest filled with pride. Immediately her hand reached for the note in anticipation of further information, but instead she received a dose of breath-stealing rejection.
She threw the poem on the bed and immediately went to the closet, followed by the dresser and then the office area. She saw the pink message sheet with Frank’s hotel number in Palm Springs on the desktop, but all of Griff’s books and writing materials were gone. He and his belongings had vanished from her apartment and, apparently, her life.
How the hell did he find out? The question kept twirling through her head as she dialed Melanie’s number. She tapped her nails impatiently on the desk, her anger growing by the second. When Melanie finally answered, Candy’s rage exploded into the phone, slapping Mel in the face with wicked outrage.
“You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?”
“Hello to you too, Candace.”
“Thanks to you, Griffin has moved out. I hope you’re happy.”
“Why would that make me happy? I’m sorry Griff moved out, but this isn’t my fault,” Mel insisted.
“Why did you tell him that I was with Frank?”
“I didn’t tell him anything. He called asking a lot of questions about the two of you and the only thing I told him was that he needed to talk to you.”
“Shit. That’s just like admitting everything he was thinking was true. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Wrong with me? You might as well have left a trail of bread crumbs for him to follow,” Mel shot back in angry self-defense. How dare Candace blame her for the mess she’d created. “Why the hell would you tell him you were going to Nassau and your office that you were in Palm Springs? I didn’t have to tell him a thing. He figured out everything on his own, thanks to the loose ends you didn’t bother to tie up before you left. I told you not to lie to him, Candy.”
“Yeah, well, you should talk, judging by the bullshit you’re feeding Will. How do you think he’d react if he knew that his on-again-off-again-on-again fiancée was not only in love with someone else, but spending her days trying to figure out how she can have her cake and eat the vanilla icing too. After all the public humiliation you’ve already put him through, how do you think that bit of news is going to go over?”
Melanie sat silently in stunned disbelief. Was Candace issuing some sort of threat? What was going on between them? They had argued before, but this felt different. How had a friendship of over ten years disintegrated to this level?
“Will and I have a lot in common,” Candace declared, mistaking Melo’s silence for surrender. “We’re both dumbass fools for trusting you.”
Melanie hung up the phone without another word, knowing two things for certain. Her friendship with Candace Bennett was mortally wounded and if she didn’t tell Will about John, Candy would.
Melanie raised her face to the blue sky laced with wisps of white clouds. She and Will sat in a small boat, holding hands as they slowly pedaled their way out into the middle of the Potomac River. She’d been in D.C. since Friday and thus far everything had been perfect. They’d spent the weekend doing couple things—eating out, walking through the trendy streets of Georgetown, listening to live jazz at Blues Alley, and di
scussing everything from politics to buttermilk pancakes. As the cherry on this perfect Sunday morning, Will had packed a picnic lunch and they’d driven to the tidal basin near East Potomac Park to tour the river in an old-fashioned paddleboat.
The only thing keeping Melanie from completely enjoying this fabulous weekend was the ominous task she knew lay before her. At some point she had to tell Will about her relationship with John before Candace had the opportunity to confuse him with her twisted and vengeful version of the truth. As she bought more time by trying to fortify her courage with sunlight, her fiancé brought Candace up in conversation.
“What’s up with your girl? Why she have to do Griffin like that?”
“She’s not exactly my girl anymore. And Candace plays by her own set of rules,” Melanie replied.
“Wrong is wrong. You said that the man is married with kids. It wasn’t right for her to interfere in someone’s relationship like that, especially when she’s got a man of her own—a man who loves, or should I say loved, her. I don’t blame Griff for dumping her. I wouldn’t play that BS either. Trust is everything.”
Melanie felt suddenly warm and uncharacteristically guilty. Perhaps now was the time to tell Will about John, though she was not sure how he would take knowing that John too was married. Somehow she’d have to make him see that she and John were nothing like Candace and Frank. As she sat quietly searching for the words to begin, Will expelled his own revelation.
“I need to tell you something. I don’t want you to think I’ve been sneaky or controlling, but I’ve been doing a little job-hunting in New York,” he admitted. “I’ve been offered a position and before I decide what to do, I want to talk it over with you.”
“New York? That’s wonderful!”
“It’s a great job—a VP slot,” he explained, relieved that her reaction was positive.
“You’re sure you want to live in Manhattan? I mean, you’re not just doing this for me?”
“I know how important your career is to you and if you need to be in New York, then that’s where we’ll live. I’ll do whatever I have to to make you happy.”
“It’s not your job to make me happy. That’s my job. And it’s yours to do the same for you. I ran away from you the first time because I was afraid of assuming that kind of responsibility. But if we’re going to make it, we both have to be satisfied as individuals.”
“You know, in a lot of ways our breakup was good for us,” Will said. “It gave us the chance to get to know each other on an even deeper level. I can’t speak for you, but it really made me look at myself and what I wanted out of life.”
“Me too. And I finally know that you’re the man I want to grow old and fat with,” Melanie said, feeling grateful that their relationship had risen to such an awesome level. “But we’ve got to talk about something else.”
“You’re right. Kids. I know that you’re not ready now, but I do want children at some point. At least two; I don’t want to raise an only child, it’s too lonely a life.”
“Two sounds great—eventually. I don’t want my legacy to be simply pretty rooms scattered around the world,” she said, repeating the same thoughts she’d shared with John. “I want a couple of little knuckleheads running around making me proud, just like their father. Besides, it would be a crime to waste all that Santa Claus talent you’ve got going.”
Will reached over and pulled Melanie to his heart. “God, I love you.”
“Me too, baby,” she said before getting lost in his kiss. Will pulled back with a satisfied sigh. He’d never felt so fortunate and content. The pain and turmoil of this past year had been worth the two hours they’d spent in this tiny little boat. As he sat there, bubbling over with anticipation and love, Will had never been more certain that Melanie was his true love and soulmate.
“You know what being on this water makes me think of? Venice. I can’t think of a more romantic place to spend our honeymoon, can you?” he asked.
“Italy sounds perfect. I hear that there is nothing like a sunset over St. Mark’s Square.”
“Well, the sooner you make up your mind when you want to marry me, the sooner we can get there,” Will teased.
Melanie reached into the river and let her hand trail along the water as she tried to once again broach the subject of John Carlson. She knew that until that issue was announced and whatever fallout settled, their wedding plans would have to remain on hold.
“Will…”
“Yes?” he said, running his finger tenderly down the side of her face. Melanie turned her eyes to the clouds, unwilling to look at Will’s face.
“I have to tell you something…`about someone I met while we were apart.”
“I know all about the guy from work. He’s the same one that called the day I went apartment-hunting with you. Look, I don’t want to know the details. If the experience made you realize that I was the one for you, then I have nothing but thanks for the brother. We’re together now and as long as I’m the only man you love, that’s all that matters.”
Melanie saw the unconditional love in his eyes and could not bring herself to break the spell. Maybe it wasn’t necessary to tell him the whole truth. If Will was able to accept the idea of her relationship, perhaps the gritty details best remained undisclosed, particularly since she and John were over.
“Well, then,” she said, “I hear Venice is lovely in October.”
Chapter 26
“Melanie, Austin Riley from Carlson and Tuck is on line two,” the receptionist announced.
Melanie quickly picked up the phone, more anxious to uncover any information about John than to talk with Austin. Yes, their relationship was over, but Melanie certainly had not stopped caring about the man or what he might be going through.
“Mel, I just got the status report in on the Casa de Arte. Looks like they’re ready for us to start on the interior, so I want to schedule a trip with you sometime in the next couple of weeks,” Austin said.
“You’ll be going down with me instead of John?”
“You haven’t heard?” Austin’s disclosure of John’s accident and tentative condition caused her to fly out the door and into the first available cab.
Twenty minutes later, the taxi dropped her in front of St. Paul’s Hospital. She hurried through the front door and stopped at the gift shop to buy flowers before heading up to the critical care unit. As she traveled up the elevator to the fifth floor, it suddenly occurred to her that Sharon Carlson would most probably be at her husband’s bedside. Panic overtook her. This was not the time or place for any type of scene and Melanie was in no frame of mind to properly defend herself and their relationship. But she needed to see how John was faring. What should she do? Neither fight nor flight seemed an acceptable option, so when the elevator doors opened, she steeled herself for whatever close encounter might occur and forged ahead.
She walked up to the nurses’ station and while the RN on duty finished her phone call, Mel studied the large patient board on the far wall, noting John’s name and room number. When the woman concluded her conversation, Melanie asked to see John, and was politely but adamantly informed that only family members were allowed to visit patients in the CCU. Obviously unable to pass for a sister or cousin, a disappointed Melanie turned away, her concern multiplied tenfold. She had to find a way to see him, instinctively knowing that this could well be her last time.
As she stepped back into the main corridor, she noticed the nurse leave the desk and disappear into another area. Melanie looked around and, seeing no other staff members, walked quickly down the hall to John’s room. She took a quick peek through the glass window in the door to make sure that the room was empty before stepping inside.
Shock immediately sucked the air from her lungs when she saw the multitude of tubes and equipment hooked up to John’s body. He appeared so lifeless and the idea of this talented, compassionate man being kept alive by machines deeply saddened her. She felt a tear slide down her face. She caught the salty dro
p on her tongue and commanded herself not to cry.
Melanie quickly glanced toward the door before reaching out to take John’s limp hand in hers. She took a long look at him, noting how peaceful he looked and how his face—unadorned by his charming smile and curious eyes—looked remarkably older.
“Can you hear me?” she asked in a half whisper as she caressed the soft topside of his gifted hand. Melanie paused for a moment and looked toward the door to make sure that they were still alone.
“You have to get well, my sweet. There is so much we have to talk about. I want to tell you how fabulous The Jewel is. You are such an amazing artist.
“And there’s something else I want to tell you. I’m officially engaged to Will. I’m finally ready to get married, and it’s all because of you,” she said, finding it difficult to keep her tears at bay.
Still clutching his hand, Melanie closed her eyes and sent both John and Sharon love and light before releasing a prayer up to God. She asked the Spirit to watch over her beloved friend, heal his body as he rested, and return him to his vigorous former self.
“John, fight hard to get better. There is a lot of love here waiting for you. I know things are kind of messy right now, but if you need me, I promise to help you through whatever is waiting for you when you return. So get well soon.” Melanie finished speaking and gently squeezed his hand. Miraculously, she felt faint pressure being applied to hers.
Initially Mel wasn’t sure if she’d simply imagined the squeeze, but before she had a chance to second-guess his action, John once again lightly pressed the pinky side of her hand.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said softly, smiling down on him. Melanie immediately sent up a grateful thank-you, brought her lips to John’s forehead for a brief kiss, and turned to go. She looked up and saw a woman peering through the glass, wearing a stricken expression on her face. Their gazes locked for a brief moment and Melanie instantly recognized Sharon Carlson from the pictures in John’s office. She also recognized the look in her eyes. It was indignant disbelief. Sharon turned and ran down the hall.
Hitts & Mrs. Page 27