All I Want is You_A Second Chance Romance

by Carter Blake

  “Not Greg, I’m afraid. He’s been very nice to me, though.”

  Oh, fuck.

  Okay, another unexpected direction, albeit one I should absolutely be expecting at this point.

  Before I even see her face, Maddie’s voice has a way of collaborating with the room’s acoustics like nobody else’s I’ve talked to in here. I here every word in high resolution Surround Sound.

  “You have better elocution than possibly anyone I’ve ever met.” That’s all I can think to say as Maddie emerges from behind the door.

  She’s not donning her usual business suits. She’s wearing a pale blue cardigan over a light pink top...and a pencil skirt. She sure pulls it off well.

  “I’ve long had a knack for diction.”

  Maddie’s wearing her hair partially up, letting it fall just to her shoulders. She’s wearing some sort of formal Mary Jane black leather pumps, which echo as she walks with the same Surround Sound fidelity.

  “That’s a fantastic asset to have.” I regret that comment immediately, nearly cringing in my chair, but Maddie doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t waver even slightly as she pulls an old-school wooden office chair sitting off to the side of the room—which is pretty much a decoration—and wheels it over on her way to my desk.

  Now she’s sitting across from me like she’s done this a million times.

  “Please, take a seat.” I have no idea if I’m joking.

  “Thank you.” I don’t know if she is, either.

  “I suppose I should’ve been expecting you this morning.”

  I think I’m getting used to Madeline’s eyes now. Or at least their power doesn’t seem to hit me out of nowhere anymore.

  Yeah, I’m not fooling anyone with that. I’m still blindsided by it, but it’s not a terrible feeling, and I can’t let it distract me with so much at stake.

  “Greg was about to call you. I asked if I could just go in...” Maddie leans slightly over the desk, her sweater brushing up against the solid oak. “I don’t think he’d even know how to say no,” she whispers, immediately followed by an adorable, comical cringe.

  Equal parts goofy and sexy, with the sexiness soon overtaking everything. It’s inimitable, something that I’m convinced only Maddie can do, and it used to drive me fucking crazy. I thought my memories of that feeling were gone, faded with time to nothing, but now I know I’ve been carrying every part of them in brilliant detail.

  But for Maddie, it passes in almost the literal blink of an eye. I feel like she’s doing me a service by snapping back into business just as the trickle of memories is about to become a flood.

  “I’ll instruct him not to bother you from now on. He’s not technically a receptionist, anyway. He’s...”

  “I get it, Mister Barrett. And that’s the last time I’ll call you that, Ethan.”

  I watch for what’s becoming Madeline’s famous hint of a smile, but her face stays sober. The only thing slightly off is that her eyes seem just the tiniest bit too wide, as if she just made a point and her face froze.

  She’s maintaining the expression very well as she stares at me, and I quickly spin in my chair to look out the window—this time, I need to look away to keep from laughing.

  “I don’t think it’s supposed to rain today. I forgot to bring an umbrella.” That’s my lame comment, looking out at the partially cloudy sky and the hint of Madeline’s reflection, which I see now has more than the hint of a smile.

  The smile’s gone by the time I spin back, and so is her staring-contest face.

  “Do you expect me to believe that you couldn’t get an umbrella if you needed one? Do you want me to get one from Postmates for you? Or we could send Greg...”

  “Ah, you got me. I just like showing off my view. I worked hard for this office.”

  “Hey, I understand, I wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t point it out to me like that.” There’s a flash of a hint of a smirk, followed by Madeline’s face dropping instantly into an incontestable professional-mode.

  “How good is your record keeping?” She throws the question out with perfect timing, and just the right near-subliminal suggestion of menace.

  “I don’t know how to answer that.” I also don’t know if I’m playing along, or what I’m doing.

  “Try.”

  “If you mean the firm, we do everything by the book. I know about the omissions, since you told me, but those were probably errors by the individuals involved with that process. I wasn’t around for that part.”

  “How about the audit we did last year?”

  “What? Were you here last year?” I don’t know why that’s the first question to come to mind after Maddie’s bombshell. I didn’t even know there was a fucking audit. “Uh, fiscal or calendar?”

  “Calendar, Ethan. Don’t you remember?”

  “Maddie, I had no idea. Were you here?”

  “Not personally.” Fuck, that shouldn’t make me feel so much better. “You really are in your own little world in here, aren’t you?”

  “I spend a lot of time working, but not usually with that stuff.”

  “A pure numbers man, all about the markets, no time for the boring legal and bookkeeping junk.”

  There’s Maddie’s smile from the reflection—not just a hint, not just a fleeting spark, but a look that I never thought I’d see again, first after Hawaii, and today after that phantom of a reflection in the window.

  This is big fucking news. Audits aren’t necessarily a big deal, but there’s no way I wouldn’t know about one unless somebody, likely a group of people, kept it hidden from me.

  That is a problem, or it should be, but Maddie’s smile is still there, and I can’t get myself to care about much else.

  “You’ve got me, Madeline. That’s an internal issue, and I’m learning about it now. For me, I do stick to my job. It’s what I’m good at, and I try not to dilute it.”

  Madeline’s smile fades naturally, but her expression stays affable.

  “Hey, I believe you. Between you and me...” Fuck, she’s leaning over the desk again, and she whispers, “We’ll figure this out, okay? I promise. This is what I’m good at.”

  Okay, now I’m leaning towards Madeline, and we’re closer than we’d ever need to be for this meeting. But she stays close, and her electric green eyes are still on me, and good Lord, her smile is coming back—but with a mischievous edge.

  I still couldn’t care less about the audit.

  “Are you having trouble hearing me?” she whispers, softer than before.

  “It’s much better now, but it’s a little too loud. Can we start whispering quieter?”

  Maddie’s grin becomes an asymmetrical smirk, and she gently rolls her eyes.

  “Mister Barrett,” Maddie listened to my request, and her whisper’s become barely audible, “and that is the last time I’ll call you that, I promise, I think this is becoming something for another time and place. As much as it pains me to say it, let’s get back in our seats.”

  I fall back as if someone shoved me and slump back into my chair. Maddie resumes her sitting position with much more dignity.

  “So, what now?” I think I’m asking about the investigation.

  I also think I seriously fucked up. I ruined my chance for...what?

  It’s not happening. There’s no way I shouldn’t know that by now, and it’s ludicrous that I haven’t accepted it.

  But the metronome ticks on, and the time for me to grow the fuck up is now.

  But did she say it was something from another time and place, or for another time and place?

  “I have a feeling, and not just from today, that we may get this wrapped up faster than I thought.”

  Ah. If there was anything, I fucked it up, and there’s no undoing that.

  “However,” Maddie’s voice has effectively snapped me out of my wallowing before, and it throws me right back into the present moment as she continues, “I can’t promise anything.”

  Maddie nods at me pleasantly,
like she’s asking me to acknowledge I understand her.

  I try nodding back, but it’s like the signal gets lost somewhere.

  “For another time, you said?”

  Fuck, what the fuck am I doing? Is this really so hard for me to handle?

  “Another time, another place. Conceivably.”

  Conceivably.

  “Speaking of the weather, seriously, it’s finally supposed to warm up this weekend. Like into the eighties, maybe,” I start.

  “That’s nice, if it’s accurate this far out.”

  I’m not sure where I’m going with this myself, but Maddie’s listening.

  “Have you been to Coney Island?” I ask.

  “Coney Island? Is that still a thing? Is it the twenties again? I mean the nineteen-twenties?”

  “It shouldn’t be too crowded this time of year, and if it’s warm, it’ll be perfect. Drinking on the beach...and they do burlesque shows there regularly.”

  “That sounds like something I may want to check out sometime. Thanks for enlightening me.” She gives a tiny smirk.

  Do I give up now, or...

  “You can check it out this weekend. With me, to be clear, but totally separate from the investigation.”

  I don’t know why I threw that in there, and it’s not like she’s going to agree to...

  “Okay.”

  Okay.

  That was unexpected.

  Let’s see where this goes.

  Ethan

  Whether we hail a yellow taxi or order a Town Car from the car service, the ride from lower Manhattan to Coney Island takes about twenty-five minutes. Maybe thirty to forty if there’s a Saturday traffic jam in the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel.

  Waking up this morning, before even thinking about the day with Madeline ahead of me, my first thought was, That seems like a short ride.

  It never seemed fun to me, sitting in a car on the interstate. For anything beyond walking distance, I usually refuse to travel any other way but car—or first-class commercial if it’s thousands of miles away.

  Today is different, though. Today, I’m taking Maddie to Coney Island, and I want to get there the same way I did as a kid.

  I still don’t know where Maddie lives, and there’s a good chance that she has to take the subway every day, and she may even be put off by the idea of taking the train for fun.

  It’s not something that I expected to occur to me, either, but somehow the idea of sitting on the Q train with Maddie for forty-five minutes sounds like the best way to get anywhere in the city.

  I hope that it turns out to be okay in reality, since she already agreed to meet me at the station at Canal and Broadway. This may end up being the last time we spend together outside some regulatory agency-mandated ugliness.

  How did she even end up in New York? I could just ask her, but that’s not the type of question I think she’d respond well to at this point.

  The forecasts, even five days back, were right about today. It feels like the city time-warped to the middle of the summer—one of those perfect summer days in the mid-eighties without too much humidity.

  Of course, it’s only in the low-seventies today, but after that winter we’re just recovering from now, it sure feels summery.

  The temperature feels perfect for the linen shirt I’m wearing as I walk uptown on Broadway by myself, in a much better mood than I was just a week ago.

  This week, thanks to the weather, it seems like the entire tri-state area is out on Broadway with me, all decked out in t-shirts, sweatshirts and beige shorts.

  It’s not typically a mood-enhancer for me, but today I’m easily feeding off the collective, jubilant energy of the locals even as I fight through the masses, so it doesn’t take an hour to walk the ten blocks up to Maddie.

  It doesn’t end up taking that long, but the crowd’s so dense when I get to Canal that it’s almost enough for me to give up and go home.

  But she’s there when I get to the southwest corner of Canal and Broadway, across the street by the station entrance.

  Her shorts and brightly multicolored short-sleeve chiffon top are kind of in the same ballpark as the fashions sported by the big clumps of weekenders surrounding her.

  Yet, I can say confidently, she looks so much better than any one of them. The clothes fit her shape perfectly as she slightly leans to one side by the subway station railing.

  Her large white cat-eye sunglasses flatter her face as well—even if they do hide some of her most amazing features.

  After spotting me, Maddie shifts her stance almost imperceptibly. She doesn’t wave; what’s expected of me is clear.

  I ride the surge of pedestrians at the crosswalk towards Maddie. I don’t know if the light’s red, but any poor bastards trying to drive downtown today are out of luck at any intersection.

  Maddie stands up straighter as I approach, and her neutral expression, with a haze of annoyance—the standard waiting in New York face—softens just a touch.

  I get as close as I can. There’s a loud and obvious signal that I need to respect, and it’s telling me that we’re just acquaintances today. We know each other through a loose, contentious association, but we can be civil for now.

  No hugs, no handshakes. I need to choose a good greeting for this dynamic.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” I say.

  “Just a few minutes.” I don’t know if Madeline’s telling me not to worry, that she’s only been here a few minutes, or that she’s vexed and being sarcastic.

  The train may have been a poor choice.

  “Shall we?” I gesture to the stairs underground like we’re at Per Se on a dinner date.

  Maddie nods affably and capers, almost prances, happily to the stairs. She keeps her happy gait as I follow her down into the station, digging out my MetroCard in time.

  For her, this is a daily routine, but she doesn’t seem to mind being here today in the slightest.

  I manage to swipe myself through after Maddie, finally catching up with her as we board the Brooklyn-bound train.

  It’s an older car, and we find a pair of bright yellow and orange bucket seats facing forward.

  I struggle to come up with a conversation piece, but she beats me to it.

  “I went to undergrad and grad school in Boston. I feel like I missed out on going into Brooklyn all the time as a young ‘un.”

  Maddie takes off her sunglasses and puts them in her canvas purse. I was wrong—I don’t know what mode she’s in, but we’re not in work-land anymore.

  I smile slightly. “You’re thinking of Williamsburg, probably.”

  “Am I?” Maddie turns to me as the train goes over the Manhattan Bridge.

  “That wasn’t Brooklyn when I used to go there as a young ‘un. That Brooklyn is the one we’re seeing today.”

  “Okay, Mister Barrett. Hope you can show me around your old stomping grounds.”

  I almost get whiplash, pivoting from a legitimate Maddie-joke, delivered with a smirk, to Madeline looking towards the front of the train with a dead expression.

  “Okay, young lady, we can hit up some real hip dive bars with microwave pizza on the way back if that’s what you want.”

  “I bet you’d enjoy that, too...” Maddie’s still facing forward, not looking at me, but her lips are trying to suppress a mild smirk, “...young man,” she mumbles, possibly thinking I can’t hear her.

  We’re going back underground into Brooklyn, one of those bleak parts of riding the train I’ve never enjoyed.

  But today, I don’t mind it that much.

  “I think I’d enjoy Tomasso even more,” I suddenly announce.

  Her brows furrow. “What the...what in the world is Tomasso?”

  “I thought you knew a lot about upscale dining.”

  We pull into the Dekalb Avenue stop, and Maddie’s face drops. I forgot that we weren’t discussing that part of our lives.

  “I don’t know where you got that idea,” she says flatly, but she stil
l looks like she’s enjoying herself, while we zoom through the express stops to Coney Island as the scenery gets more interesting.

  “Okay, I see a rollercoaster out the window. Where are we again?” Maddie asks as the train’s making its final approach.

  “Not Williamsburg,” I reply.

  “Not Williamsburg. That’s an interesting name. Accurate, I think.”

  Maddie puts her sunglasses back on and steps past me on the way out of the train. I follow closely behind, but she’s walking with purpose now.

  “Look, there are the mermaids!”

  Maddie points at the beachside makeshift burlesque stage like it’s a long-lost civilization.

  She walks briskly there, and I follow her, eventually catching up after she chooses a spot from which to stand and watch.

  Maddie’s giving every iota of attention she has to the show, although it looks more like a dress rehearsal for the actual performance tonight.

  There are women of all types—over a dozen of them—with unique mermaid getups. The costumes look very professional, with a touch of individuality and care. They all designed their own costumes.

  The performers are all cavorting on the stage at the same time, with no music and a tiny audience. I think we both realize it’s a rehearsal, and, with a shared look, we’re both off to the nearby beer stand.

  The beach is hardly populated, and it stretches in front of us for miles, while we drink brown ale from plastic cups.

  I look down at my chocolate loafers.

  “These shoes aren’t coming in my apartment anytime soon.”

  Maddie studies my footwear with a confused expression that I think is sarcastic—though I don’t know for sure.

  “They’re not?”

  “Aren’t you thinking about sand in your shoes? What shoes do you have that are so unimportant...”

  Then, my eyes land on Maddie’s feet next to mine. She’s wearing her pink Chuck Taylors.

  “I guess you know how to take pretty good care of footwear,” I comment, leaving it at that.

  “Hey, if I’m gonna pay what Chucks cost these days, I’m gonna want them to last a few years. And I take the time to clean the sand out of my sneakers properly.”

  I’ve seen her wear those shoes on the beach before.