by Dee Mann
"It'll be very late. You might be sleeping."
"Doesn't matter. I can't think of a better way to wake up than to the sound of your voice."
10:25 AM
A happy Paul hung up the phone, grinned at Rob and said, "My flowers worked."
"I could tell." Rob was pleased for his friend, but anxious about his own delivery.
The florist's driver had stopped by forty-five minutes earlier to pick up the note and CD. It had cost him an extra forty dollars, twenty for the pick-up and twenty as a tip to the driver to ensure he placed everything right in Lisa's hands, but he didn't care. It would be worth every penny when the phone rang.
Rob stared at the pages on his desk, hoping nobody noticed he wasn't really doing anything.
Why did I put that song first? Maybe I should have put our song first? What if she doesn't like the mix…or doesn't get what I was trying to say…or doesn't even listen to it! Oh shit, what if she doesn't even read the letter! No, she'll read it. But will it work? Will she want me again? What am I going to do if she doesn't? Hell, what am I going to do if she does? I'll change…I'll have to change…I can do it…
"Earth to Rob." Tom upped the volume when Rob didn't answer.
"What? What's wrong?"
"That's what I'd like to know. Priya just asked you a question. Twice. What's wrong with you today?"
"I, ah…"
"He's waiting for a phone call," Paul said. "About the flowers from before."
"It must be pretty damned important for him to be that distracted," Tom said. "When is this call due?"
"We're not really sure. It's…"
Interrupting, Rob said, "Just tell them."
So he did. Paul explained about the break, about Rob's feelings about it, and about his last ditch effort to win her back.
"Geez, Rob," Tom said, "no offense, but you've always been such a player that it's hard to imagine you this hung up on one girl. I mean, I know you've been talking about her for months now, but I never figured…well…I never imagined you getting serious about anyone."
"You're not the only one," Rob lamented. "I hope this works. If it doesn't, I don't know what I'll do. I never realized how, ahh, hung up on her I was and if she doesn't…" He didn't finish the thought, not wanting to make real with words the thought of never seeing her again.
Priya stood and walked over to perch on the corner of Rob's desk. "Look, if a guy sent me what you sent to her, and I had any feelings for him at all, well, he'd be one lucky boy tonight."
Rob smiled. "So you think I have a chance?" He could see the compassion in her eyes.
"Rob, I can't predict what she'll do, but I can say she'd be a fool if she didn't give you another chance."
Paul and Tom voiced their agreement.
"Women are funny, Rob. We like to think we're always logical and reasonable, but the truth is we more often listen to our hearts than our heads when it comes to relationships. We want to know we're wanted, that we're appreciated."
She glanced over at Tom and Paul. "Are you two bozos paying attention? You're not likely to get this kind of lesson again anytime soon."
Turning back to Rob, she continued. "It sounds to me as if you've been taking her for granted. It's not enough to just be there, to go out, get laid, whatever. You have to let her know she's important, the most important person in your life. If you don't, eventually some other guy will.
"When was the last time you sent her flowers, or wrote her a note, or sent her a funny card. We love that stuff. It lets us know you're thinking of us, that you care about us enough to take the time to do something out of the ordinary.
"When was the last time you surprised her with a sexy negligee or a weekend on the Cape or at some pretty little Bed & Breakfast? How often did you give her a pat on the butt or a kiss on the top of her head or stroke her cheek as you were walking by her? Not often, I'll bet.
"Stuff like that lets us know you care. You guys seem to think love is all about grand gestures, expensive jewelry, fancy cars, and such.It's not. Sure, those things are nice, but love is really about the little things, the sweet little intimate things we do for each other. Anyone can plan a vacation or buy a necklace once in a while, but only someone who really cares about you does the little, everyday things.
"As for grand gestures, if you really want to show her how much you love her, next time she's sick or drinks too much, sit on the bathroom floor with her, hold her hair back, and comfort her as she pukes her guts out. That is real, true love."
Rob sat mute, stunned for the second time in two days.
Could Paul have been right yesterday? Do I really not know anything about women? Listening to her, it sure seems that way. Oh man, this is not good. What if I really did screw up the note or the CD?
"Maybe I should call her."
"No, give her time to call you. Give her time to read the note and listen to the CD, time to think about it all, to figure out what she's feeling. If she's really the kind of girl you and Paul have told us about, and she still has feelings for you, she'll call"
"And if she doesn't."
"Then you'll hurt for a while and move on, as I'm sure we've all done a time or two."
The men nodded, remembering those painful times in their past.
"I guess this means you won't be worth shit today, eh?" Tom asked.
Rob grunted. "I don't know. Give me something mindless to do, something that doesn't require any heavy thinking."
He smiled at Priya. "Thanks. Why is it that women always know the right thing to say?"
"We don't," she told him with a playful grin as she sashayed back to her desk. "It's just that anything sounds good when it comes from a hottie like me."
12:15 PM
The warm spring sun made Paul wish he were walking with Jillian instead of Rob. They were eating sausage sandwiches as they strolled along the sidewalk.
"Did you know Boston Common is the oldest public park in America?" Rob asked. "Dates back to 1634."
"And you know this…why?"
Rob grinned. "Lisa told me once. I guess when you're the function manager, the Ritz makes you learn all that stuff. Did you know the place is fifty acres? And they used to use it for grazing cows?"
"Really?" Paul surveyed the grass and trails. "All I see now are grazing people."
As they ate and walked, Rob casually led Paul onto a path that cut diagonally across the Common to Charles Street. He'd been re-telling, in greater detail, the story of last night's chastisement by Marianne.
"You have no idea how pissed she was at me," he said. "She even threatened to arrest me if I ever had the poor sense to do that again in her jurisdiction."
Paul's expression made clear he thought Rob had crossed the line from mere embellishment to outright fantasy.
"I swear. Those were just about her exact words. As if I would fly out to Seattle to keep you from calling your new honey."
"I'm not sure she qualifies yet as my honey. And to tell the truth, I actually had a pretty good time last night. I never talked with a cop before. She was pretty interesting. Real smart. And she was funny! You never think of cops as being funny. At least I don't. And let's face it, she was scorching!"
"Hmmm…sounds like coffee girl has some competition."
"No. No way. Marianne was nice but Jillian is something special. Like I said this morning, I have it bad."
Paul looked around and realized where they were. "Where the heck are we going?"
"Hey, it's a nice day. I thought we could take a walk over to the Beacon Street side."
"Wouldn't it have been easier to walk straight across? Or is there some special reason we'll be walking up Charles to Beacon?
"Reason? Besides this glorious sunshine?"
"Are we planning to turn left when we get to Beacon? Are we hoping to run into anyone we know sitting on her favorite bench eating lunch in the Public Gardens?" Paul sighed loudly and shook his head for effect. "Didn't Priya tell you to give her time to make up her mind
?"
"I know, I know. But I want to see her. From a distance. I haven't seen her in almost two weeks and I miss her. I miss the sight of her. You know what I mean?"
Paul nodded. "Yah, I know." He felt the same way about Jillian and it had only been twenty-four hours since he'd seen her.
Neither of them spoke now that the real purpose of the walk had been revealed. Paul hoped she wouldn't be there. He trusted Priya's judgment and was afraid if Rob saw her, he'd not be able to resist approaching her.
As he walked, Rob conjured Lisa's image in his mind; her brilliant smile, sapphire-blue eyes, long blond hair, and delicate, creamy skin; the five-foot ten-inch body that turned heads wherever she went.
"You know she's loaded, right?"
"Well, I suspected with two uber-lawyers for parents, she might be well-off."
"Her parents do okay. But they both come from old money. Lisa has this huge trust fund…I'm talking eight figures before the decimal point…but she never touches it except to write checks to charities and stuff. She lives off her salary. I mean, she could be some ditzy playgirl like…what's her name…Paris Hilton or something, but that's not what she wants, you know. I mean, she really is so…what's the word you used yesterday…unassuming and straightforward. And she's way more interested in other people than herself." He sighed. "I guess that's why everyone finds her so sweet and charming."
Paul just nodded, knowing his friend was mostly talking to remind himself of all the things he loved about the woman who might soon shatter his heart.
Lisa's favorite bench was about 100 yards ahead, diagonally across from the Bull & Finch Pub, the inspiration for the 1980's television comedy Cheers. Set back a few yards from the sidewalk, the bench was still hidden by the shrubs and trees that lined the park.
Paul was on the street side of the sidewalk so his view cleared the trees a split second before Rob's did. He reached for his friend's arm, but it was too late. Ahead, seated on her bench, Lisa was engaged in animated conversation with a man. She was laughing at something he said and reached out to touch his arm. As she made contact, she glanced over his shoulder and noticed Paul and Rob, who had come to an abrupt halt. Paul was watching Rob and Rob was staring at her, shoulders slumped. He looked like he'd been punched. Then, before she had time to react, Rob turned on his heel and walked away. Lisa's gaze shifted to Paul, who sighed, pursed his lips, and with a slight shake of his head, turned and hurried to catch up with his friend.
When he'd matched pace, he said, "Hey, slow down. It's…"
"Forget it, man." Rob's head was shaking so fast it seemed to be shivering. "I should have known. What an idiot I am. Taking a break. Right."
Rob's cell phone rang. He didn't even glance at the display before turning it off.
"Why didn't you answer it? She might…"
Again Rob cut him off. "Hey, I have no right to complain. She can see anyone she wants. Hell, I was out with, ah, what's-her-name last night, wasn't I? Fair is fair. What did you think? She'd sit around like a nun?"
"Well, I hadn't…"
"She's a great girl." There was no mistaking the despair in his voice. "She can have anyone she wants." And then a few silent steps later. "Anyone she wants."
3:30 PM
Jillian and six of the crowd who witnessed the delivery of the flowers that morning sat around the oval table in the break/conference room. One of the perks of working at Metro Magazine was management's laid-back attitude. As long as the work was done on time to meet deadlines and you showed up bright and cheery for meetings, they didn't much care whether you stayed glued to your desk all day or wandered the halls. It made for a relaxed atmosphere where creative people could work and rest as needed.
Pumping Jillian for information about Paul seemed to be the day's sport. Her co-workers alternately sighed, smiled, laughed, and cooed with appreciation as she told them about how they met, the fateful lunch, and of the late night conversation.
Finally, Marie asked the question that was on everyone's lips. "So when's the big date?"
"Friday. Tomorrow."
"Where's he taking you?"
"I don't know." She repeated what she'd told Paul.
Dave Webber, one of the layout guys chuckled. "Now that could be dangerous. Giving a guy carte blanche to surprise you! How bold! And here we all thought you were so quiet and conservative. You know, some men might take that as an invitation to, let's say, some interpersonal relations."
Jillian shook her head. "I'm not worried, Dave. You have to remember, most men aren't like you."
He clutched at his chest. "Argh, you wound me. Although it's true, of course."
Everyone laughed. Dave had a well-deserved reputation. Every new female employee received a warning about him from one of the other females, although many times, the warning came with stories and the kind of praise for his attributes and talents that made the new girl want to sample for herself.
"To tell the truth," Jillian said, "I really don't care if we just grab a burger and sit and talk all night."
Shandra grunted. "You know that's not happening, girl. This boy sent you flowers after only talking to you. My money's on a fancy restaurant, some quiet place for drinks, or maybe the theater, then drinks, then a night-full of the hot and nasty. Yes! Jilli's gonna be gettin' dowwwwn! Woo!"
Her slow, sultry bump and grind elicited peals of laughter from everyone. Jillian could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.
Time to change the subject, I think.
"Anyone else have plans for tomorrow?"
"Why?" asked Lucinda, one of the copy writers. "You inviting us all along on your date?"
That brought more laughter.
"What a great idea!" agreed Marie. "We can all meet him and share all the gory details about our girl here."
Jillian groaned. "That is soooo not gonna happen. I knew I should've kept my mouth shut. This is what I get for blabbing to a bunch of mental misfits."
Again laughter rang through the room as everyone congratulated themselves on their collective wit.
Jillian rose to pour herself another cup of coffee.
"Sounds like fun over here." Cathy O'Hara stuck her head full of long, burnished-red hair through the door." Am I missing a party or something?"
Shandra explained as the others drifted off back to their workspaces.
"Oh, that's right. I forgot about you leaving early for lunch yesterday. Okay, now I have to hear the story, too."
Jillian didn't mind the re-telling. Cathy was older, thirty-two and married, and Jillian was interested in her take on the whole thing. She began again as Shandra waved goodbye.
Cathy found her heartstrings tugged as the tale unfolded. When it was over, she sat quietly for a few seconds, then smiled. "Jillian…I have a good feeling about this."
"Really? I mean, I've been having all these feelings that don't seem quite right yet. I hardly know him, but just talking to him makes me all warm and tingly. It sounds stupid, I know. Stereotypically girly, like every guy's impression of how we go all soft and mushy when they deign to talk to us. But I can't help it."
She looked sheepishly at her boss, hoping she wasn't sounding too much like a kid caught up in her first crush.
"Did I ever tell you how Mike and I met?" Cathy asked.
Jillian shook her head.
"I was twenty-three, a year out of college, and had been laid off from my first job when the company merged and downsized. Nobody was hiring, I was almost out of money, and my roommates were hinting that they couldn't carry my share of the expenses for very long. In short, I was miserable.
"I had visions of having to move back to my parents' house in Chicago. I knew lots of people were doing it, but I hated the idea. Just the thought of it made me feel like a loser."
Jillian nodded. As much as she loved her parents, she, too, never wanted to have to go back home to live.
"I'd been making the rounds of employment agencies for almost two weeks without so much as a hint of a positio
n. I was an English major with a minor in business, but evidently everyone and their sisters had also majored in English and seemed to be after the same jobs I was."
She grimaced as she recalled that time in her life.
"It was a Tuesday afternoon and I was waiting my turn at yet another agency. When I filled out the application, I indicated I'd consider any entry-level position in publishing. I was sitting and reading some trashy novel when I heard the woman at the desk call out ‘O'Hara, room three twenty-two'
"I stuffed my book in my purse and hurried down the hall. The door was open, so I knocked and walked into the office. This gorgeous guy was sitting behind the desk reading what I thought was my résumé."
* * *
Without glancing up from his reading, the interviewer said, "O'Hara, I'm Marcel Henriquez. This may be your lucky day. We just got a call from Metro Magazine. They want some fresh blood to write ad copy and they pretty much take whoever we send over. Interested?"
"Yes, sir," Cathy said as enthusiastically as she could. "It sounds exactly like what I've been looking for."
At the sound of her voice, his head snapped up and did a double-take.
"Who are you?"
"O'Hara. The woman at the desk called my name and said to come here."
"I don't think so."
"What do you mean? I'm Cathy O'Hara and she told me to come to room three twenty-two."
Before he could respond, a voice at the door said, "I don't think he was expecting anyone so pretty."
She turned to see a man standing there, briefcase in hand. He'd been grinning, but she saw his face change as their eyes met. He seemed suddenly nervous or ill as he stared at her for a few more seconds.
"I'm afraid O'Hara is a pretty common name in Boston. I think he was expecting Mike O'Hara."
"Right, Mike O'Hara," Henriquez said.
Cathy realized what had happened. For a split second, she thought her job worries were over. Now it was all being snatched from her.