“I have to go. My friend Riley has probably called a search party on me.” She laughed. “I haven’t seen her since last night.”
“Oh?” he asked. “And where were you last night, Ms. Talman?”
“Just out with my friend, Martin.” She pushed up off the floor. “I enjoyed talking to you,” she said, her tone flat and formal.
“Can I see you again?” he asked, hands in pockets, feeling quite nervous yet bold. “Maybe after tonight’s event?”
“No, no,” she promptly answered. “My friend and I have plans tonight, and then we head to the airport first thing in the morning.”
He didn’t blame her. He wondered what she was thinking. One hour. That’s all the time he’d spent with her. One hour, and yet he knew that his life had been forever changed. Never in his life had he been this desperate to maintain contact with a stranger. There was time to figure out later why he was acting so out of character. Right there and then, he just had to buy more time.
She reached out to shake his hand. “It was nice to meet you, Simon.”
“No, wait,” he exclaimed, clasping her hand at the same time. “If not tonight, another time?”
She withdrew her hand and turned around. “Maybe!” she teased, starting to walk away.
He followed her. “How?”
They left the empty room and walked right into a group of tourists, who weaved in between, separating them.
“Get on Twitter. Or WhatsApp!” she yelled.
“What what?” he yelled back, confused.
“It’s an app called WhatsApp. Install it. You have my number now, Simon. Technology. Use it to find me!” And then she disappeared into the crowd.
There were times Tessa thought of the man she’d met in New York three months ago. There were even times when she was excited about messaging him back. At first, his notes had come sporadically. Most often, they were single sentences as if he wanted to keep reminding her that he existed.
It took a week after the trip to New York for him to send her a message on WhatsApp.
Downloaded! He’d followed his message with a smiley face. He asked her how to use it, told her that he’d also set up a Twitter account. It amused her to see an imageless egg with no followers. She congratulated him when his followers increased to three. And his name—Disconnected. How apt, his humor aimed at poking fun at himself.
Riley called him “the creeper.” Tessa argued that he probably just needed some excitement in his life. Besides, Simon was grounded, worked at a place that gave him stability, a stark contrast to what her life had become.
Over the weeks that followed she began to receive a message from him every Thursday, and from the same location—Boston—where he was fulfilling his subcontract with the government, though he warned her that he’d soon be headed back to his home in Essex, England. They mastered an easy banter. Nothing too deep, superficial conversation that was the basis of every new friendship.
Where are you?
At the lab.
Again?
That’s my job.
How are those nanoparticles doing? Are they on to you yet? I’m bored and one of my fans just squeezed my butt.
Lucky.
Tessa’s life was exploding at that very same time during those three months. She’d moved into a bigger apartment, obsessed about getting a dog but decided against it shortly after. She traveled around too much. She flitted from one guy to the next, most of them members of the prestigious creative circle she belonged to, but by every third date, she was ready to move on.
Riley was sure that Tessa’s aversion to permanence stemmed from the only life she had known. She urged Tessa to speak to a therapist to find out why staying put was such a difficult task to accomplish.
Of course, this made Tessa even more adamant about disproving her case.
Tessa’s book had been an overnight success, landing on all bestselling lists to her genuine surprise. Now a company in LA was seriously considering the purchase of its film rights. Three more tours were added to her schedule, and she was preparing to leave for an extended period of time. Her days were filled with interviews and blog entries and ideas for her new book.
“Jesus, did you buy the entire shoe department?” Riley asked as she joined Tessa at an outdoor table which looked out into Rush Street on Chicago’s West Loop. Carmine’s was a busy Italian restaurant decorated with cherry wood tables and velvety cushioned chairs. Shopping bags lined the perimeter where their table stood. Riley could hardly pull out the chair to seat herself.
“I had to get a few outfits for next week’s signing,” Tessa said. She waved her arm to get the server’s attention, who came over and sputtered out the day’s specials.
After they told him what they wanted, Riley began in an admonishing tone, “Jake says he’s been wanting to get you to accompany him to your parent’s executor. He may have some suggestions for investments you can check out. He’s worried about all this.” Riley pointed to the hapless pile of shopping bags, as if holding them responsible. “You’ll run out if you’re not careful.”
“Jake always worries,” Tessa said. “I get that he believes it’s his role in my life. But I know what I’m doing. All of this is from the book sales, not from the funds that Mom and Dad left us. That’s still intact.”
Riley reached out to stroke her arm. “He’s just like that. He loves you.”
“I know. And I also know that he thinks I should’ve settled down by now. He gets attached to everyone I go out with, that’s his problem,” Tessa answered with a stiff upper lip.
“I did tell him about creeper, by the way,” Riley teased.
“Oh, Rye. I’m never going to hear the end of it from him!”
“Actually, Jake thinks it’s funny. He said that you had a pen pal from Saudi Arabia in grade school who actually wanted to come to the US to meet you.”
“Adir,” Tessa answered. “He was kinda cute. He loved to salsa dance, according to one of his letters.”
“And what happened to Adir?” Riley asked, leaning on her elbows.
“I don’t know. He just disappeared. We just stopped writing. Thanks for changing the subject, by the way.”
Tessa grinned. Her friend knew her well. She’d adroitly switched gears just as Tessa was drawn into a foul mood about her brother and his tendency to try to nanny-state her life. Maybe Simon would be like that pen pal. He would just fall off the face of the earth.
“It’s Thursday,” Riley said. “Have you heard from him?”
They leaned back to give way to the server, who appeared with a large tray of food. Both ladies waited until their glasses were refilled and their silverware arrived. Riley took a bite of her meatball. They had a habit of ordering too many items from the menu and the table was now filled with plates of all sizes.
“He messages after work,” Tessa explained.
“Oh, so you know his schedule now?”
“Shut up.”
“Are you going to see him sometime?” Riley pressed. “I mean, you’re not going to live off each other’s messages on Twitter, are you?” She fluttered her eyes and licked her lips. “Talk to me baby, in that sexy English accent of yours.”
“Funny.”
Tessa reached her fork over to take the last piece of brussels sprout buried under a mountain of bacon.
“It’s been nice,” Tessa said, “just talking to someone completely oblivious to my world.”
“He’s not in your world. Period,” Riley said. “You see? This is what I’m trying to point out! You shop because you’re lonely, but it’s self-imposed. This guy’s been sticking around on social media, which he doesn’t like, for what, three months? As you say, he’s outside of your world so it’s not like it’s your fame that draws him. Or is it?”
“It’s not,” Tessa said with a stern face, her eyes set on Riley. “Besides, I have no fame. I’m a little two-bit author who just got lucky.”
Tessa just had to l
augh. She loved her life, her career, her freedom. There wasn’t anything she would change. Sure, sometimes all that moving around was exhausting, but she enjoyed it, too. There was always something to look forward to.
The traveling may have been temporary, but her avoidance of permanence was just part and parcel of who she was.
It was time to change the subject. Tessa reached over to one of the bags on the ground and pulled out a pair of jeans. “Fashion week find! Fringed denim!”
“Oh. My. God. You found it! Where?” Riley gently ran her fingers through the frayed bits of thread along its edges.
“3X1. Last one.”
“So worth it! You can wear it at your next signing!” Riley exclaimed.
“Totally,” Tessa answered. “I—”
The table shook as her phone vibrated. Tessa turned it over and a smile crossed her face.
“What?” Riley asked.
“It’s him. He sent a Tweet,” Tessa said as she scrolled through her phone.
“Give that to me!” Riley squealed, grabbing the phone. Tessa watched helplessly as Riley began typing.
“There,” she said a few seconds later, handing the phone back to Tessa.
“My God, Rye. What did you just do?”
“What I always do. I took care of it for you,” Riley answered with a twitch of her eyebrows and an innocent smile.
Disconnected: What you up to, Girl in 7C?
Tessa: Nothing much, getting ready to leave for my next event.
Disconnected: Been thinking of you.
Tessa: Then #MeetMe #Vegas
If the airport was any indication of this trip, Simon thought, it was bound to be a disaster. Screaming kids, nerve wracked parents, feather clad showgirls, dogs and cats everywhere. The sea of humanity seemed to have gathered in one location that day.
This was karma, Simon thought, for lying to Maxine and telling her that he was going on a business trip. He recalled their conversation while bouncing around on the shuttle bus from the airport. She’d hovered around him as he’d neatly folded his clothes and began packing them in his suitcase. While she’d spoken, she’d stared at the mirror and picked at something in her eye. He’d stopped to look at what she was doing, her back to him, long lustrous blond hair over her shoulders.
“This new mascara is bothering me,” she said.
That was Maxine. Beautiful, well made, but also vain.
“Huh. Don’t use it again,” he answered, dodging past her toward the bathroom.
“When did you say you were coming back?” One eye was shut, and her mouth was wide open as she pulled on her eyelash.
“Two days.”
“Funny,” she said. “You normally know about these trips way in advance. How are you not freaking out that this is so last minute?”
“Yeah, about this trip.” He moved closer to her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. “We need to talk.”
When in fact, he had taken two days off work in response to Tessa’s Tweet a week ago.
What was he doing there? This was crazy! For the most part, life had gone on after he met Tessa in New York three months ago. His reluctant introduction to social media had occurred three days after he’d seen her. It took him hours to set those apps up on his phone, hours to learn how to navigate through the settings. He was a pro now, proud of himself for boldly entering a world he knew nothing about. He couldn’t tell Adrian, couldn’t ask for his advice, lest it raised suspicion. But he was amazed at the following Tessa had and the day to day interaction she maintained with her fans.
As he rode to the hotel, he felt a pang of guilt, remembering that Maxine had always wanted to take him to Vegas. He had no complaints about his life with her in Boston. He hadn’t traveled since New York, was happy to stay put in one place. To try new things.
And yet… once in a while, in the heat of the moment, he’d find himself imagining it was Tessa and not Maxine writhing in pleasure underneath him.
It was insane.
Every day, he would swear never to send her another message. And yet, every Thursday after work, he picked up his phone and opened one of the social media apps. He’d consciously chosen that day of the week because Tessa’s book tours were always on weekends. Thursday was her travel day—a good day to check in to see where she was heading off to. He decided to see where all this would take him. And lord knows, he wasn’t one to date two women at the same time. Even if technically, he wasn’t dating Tessa.
And so, he broke things off with Maxine the day before he left for Vegas. Told her he was simply too focused on his work to consider staying in Boston after his assignment.
Why? What was he so excited about? He couldn’t even tell Adrian for fear he’d ask that question. He’d been with pretty women before. Maxine was gorgeous. But there was something about Tessa. Maybe it was because she was so unassuming, so laid back. Nothing seemed to faze her. Her detachment intrigued him, challenged him. He couldn’t wait to see her.
With no game plan and an itinerary based on just her Tweets and Instagram posts, he knew what and where her activities would be for the weekend. From the looks of it, she didn’t have any other obligation than the four-hour book signing occurring in the afternoon. He made a conscious effort not to arrange to meet, not to pin her down on a schedule. He didn’t want to scare her away with so much organization.
Besides, it might be fun, this on-a-whim kind of life. Except that this bus ride had just quelled his anticipation and transformed it into dread. Sweat-soaked fabrics stuck its occupants together like glue. It was standing room only, skin to skin in an enclosed space with nothing but bad odor and perspiration exacerbated by a busted air conditioner.
By the time he reached his destination, he was the last one on the bus. As he stepped down, he was caught off guard by a burst of hot air. He’d never been to Vegas before and was unprepared for the sudden change in climate. He clutched at his laptop bag, making sure his medication was close by.
Back to the present.
There he was, weaving through the insane crowd at the Vegas airport unable to contain the feeling of excitement that had overtaken him.
His concern was overridden by the sight in front of him. The entrance of the hotel was just as bad as the hellhole he’d just been in. Too many people were converged in the middle of the lobby, banners hoisted everywhere, and the place just overflowing with women.
The influx of people overwhelmed him more than the palatial surroundings. Imposing stone columns and marble floors as well as the massive gold statues were hardly visible—all he noticed was a sign saying, “Welcome: Hot in Vegas Signing Event.”
Two women, a blond in a ponytail and yoga pants and a redhead in torn up jeans sashayed up to him, their faces painted, their lips in a permanent pucker.
“So, which author are you here with?” asked the blond one.
“Excuse me?” Simon asked.
“You’re a model, right? Which cover are you on?” the redhead repeated, her hand now on his arm.
“Oh.” He laughed. “No, I’m just a guest.”
He circled around them to get to the reception desk.
“Well,” the blond giggled. “You should be one.”
The women followed him as he stood in line. He grappled with his laptop bag, strapped it onto his overnight bag then turned to them and asked, “Are you here for a book event?”
Might as well engage them in conversation. He had nowhere to go, nothing to do. He began to notice his surroundings. It amazed him to see such extravagance laid out so publicly, everything in gold. It reminded him of an album cover his dad had displayed in the living room when he was a child. He laughed when he turned around to see the same golden grand piano in the flesh, on a giant pedestal peeking from behind a roped velvet curtain. It belonged to the famous pianist Liberace.
“Yeah. We’re here for her,” the redhead answered, pointing in the direction of a group of shirtless men. One of the m
ale models stepped aside, and he saw her in their midst.
Her hair was still short, but this time she wore a black and white mini dress with her signature high heels. She laughed, her head thrown back as one of the models gripped her around the waist and whispered something in her ear.
Simon forgot what he’d lined up for and started across the lobby.
Tessa looked up and smiled when she saw him. She said a few words, disengaged from the model, and met Simon halfway across the floor, away from the expectant crowd.
“Hi,” she said. “You came.”
“Hi,” he answered. He smiled so hard his cheeks began to hurt. “You look—”
“Cleaned up?” She laughed. “You’ve got this social media thing figured out, Mr. Fremont.”
“Ha!” He guffawed. “The next trick was to find out how to actually find you. I was going to worry about that this afternoon.”
He noticed he was rocking on his toes and tried to stop. He didn’t quite know how to deal with his excitement. He was acting like one of her fans.
“I wasn’t expecting you to come. Riley, she was the one who—”
“Me neither,” he said, nervously. “But here I am.”
“Here you are.”
An awkward silence followed. A few seconds later, the same model appeared by her side. He placed an arm around her, firmly grasping her shoulder. “Tess, we have to go,” he said, puffing his hairless chest in Simon’s face.
“One minute,” she told him. “I’ll be right there.”
She gripped Simon’s arm and led him away. “Sorry. Andrew and I have to take our place in the signing room.” She’d explained this to him some time ago. Andrew was the guy who had hit it big after appearing on her book cover. Now a full-fledged model, it became quite a treat for readers to be able to interact with him during these tours.
Simon nodded.
“Meet you later?” Tess said.
“Yes. When?”
“I’ll text you.”
Her response wasn’t good enough. He needed a plan. That was just the way he was. He needed to know what time and where and what did she want to do? At that point, he didn’t care about going against his previous intention to just roll with the flow. He was here for her. “What time?” he asked.
Eight Goodbyes Page 4