Running from Love: A Story for Runners and Lovers

by Rozsa Gaston

  He laughed too, hoping she’d feel comfortable enough to open up further.

  “Was he with friends?”

  “He was hosting the tent party for Hedge Fund Managers of Connecticut.”

  “Were you with friends?”

  She giggled. “Yes. Two girlfriends.”

  “Big hats?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Teeny sun dresses?”

  “Are you a metrosexual?”

  Now, it was his turn to laugh. “Not really, but I try.”

  “Don’t try too hard. Women might think you’re gay,” she advised, giving him a bold once-over.

  “Do you?” He hoped he’d disguised his wince. He sure as hell didn’t want to be taken for anything but heterosexual.

  “No,” she said flatly.

  “Why not?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Did you ask your future husband these kinds of questions at the polo match?”

  “No.” Her smile became sly.

  “Good girl.” He hoped she wouldn’t find his term condescending. It had just popped out. “So what did you ask him, then?”

  “He did the asking.” She looked pleased with the “good girl” appellation. She probably didn’t get called that too often.

  “Huh. What did he ask?”

  “The usual stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “He said something like ‘What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?’”

  “So, what did you say?”

  “I said, “What’s a boy like you doing at a party like this? And he said, “Running it.”

  “Encouraging,” he egged her on.

  “Then, I asked if he needed help, and he said, ‘Sure.’ So I spent the next three hours helping him keep the bar stocked, registering guys interested in his club, and making small talk with the Junior League girls following the junior hedge fund guys around.”

  “No junior hedge fund girls?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “So it was love at first sight?” Jude asked. He was being cheeky, but this was investigative journalism, after all. He wouldn’t find out what he needed to know for How to Marry Money unless he put himself on the line.

  A long pause ensued, as a waiter freshened their drinks. On the Gold Coast, drinks were freshened, never refilled. Jude thought she had forgotten his question. Finally, after a sip, she gave him a level look.

  “No.”

  “Then what was it?” He was pushing the envelope, but he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  “It was need at first sight.”

  “His?”

  “His and mine. It’s got to be both if it’s going to go somewhere.”

  “What was his, what was yours?”

  She looked startled.

  “If you don’t mind my asking?” he softened his question.

  “You’re pretty intense with party chit-chat. Don’t you think?” she asked, frowning for the first time.

  “I’m studying to be a metrosexual. I need to learn how to ask girl stuff.” He looked deep into her eyes as sincerely as he could. “Would you help me out?”

  Her frown turned upside down. “You just put your finger on it. He asked me to help him out. Women love that sort of thing. They like to be needed.”

  “And why did you need him?”

  “That’s for me to know and the rest of the world to find out.”

  “Great. Here I am, one small representative from the world at large. Fill me in.”

  She sighed, shaking her head, along with her index finger. The gem on her ring finger flashed from ice-blue to yellow-gold in the light of the tiki lamps. Jude thought of Farrah’s eyes.

  “Is this off the record?” she asked.

  “Strictly.”

  She leaned toward him, her voice hushed. “Figure it out yourself, Clueless.”

  It took Jude a moment before the words sunk in. By the time he got his sea legs under him, she was gone. Anne Alexander was no dummy. And Jude was going to have a hell of a time trying to research how to marry money. Those who did weren’t divulging.

  HE’D GOTTEN LEANER, better looking than she’d remembered. Instead of walking toward him, she paused, willing him to come to her. She could afford to hold back. The man was married and another man, who wasn’t, had made the hair on the back of her neck stand up straight less than twenty-four hours earlier. She hadn’t felt passion like that in over three years. It was something.

  “Farrah,” Will said quietly, kissing her on the cheek.

  She tried not to inhale so as not to be reminded of his scent, which now belonged to another woman. Beware her brain warned as her heart quivered in her hand. The human psyche was a mass of illogical contradictions—hers especially.

  “Hi.” She would be as tight-lipped as a New England clam.

  “Want to sit outside?”

  She nodded. The crisp, fall air would keep her cool, calm, collected. She tried not to notice the fine leather of his jacket. It was the sort of jacket she’d like the man she’d marry one day to wear: buttery, Italian, fine.

  At a bistro table toward the end of the nearly empty bar area, he pulled out a chair for her.

  She sat.

  “You look great,” he remarked, his pale blue eyes sweeping her face.

  A blush ran down the back of her neck, marking the path Jude’s fingers had taken the evening before. His ministrations had sent blood and oxygen rushing to her head. She didn’t doubt her complexion now sparkled.

  “You look like you lost weight,” she said neutrally.

  “Yeah. I’m eating better than in my bachelor days. More salmon, less take-out.”

  “So what’s up?”

  Will frowned. She’d let loose with yet another of those expressions he disliked. If she tried hard enough, she’d unleash as many as possible on him until they bade each other goodbye, mutually fed up. Yet the old feelings were there, an undercurrent between them.

  “Well—as I said on the phone—there’s been some new developments.”

  “First tell me about the old ones.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to know.”

  “I don’t but I do.”

  “Right.” He smiled, looking at her fondly. “Well, I married in France about two years ago, and we now live in Darien.”

  “I know all that. I read your wedding announcement in The New York Times.”

  “Oh,” he looked startled. “Then you know about my wife’s family.”

  “I remember it was an old one. That’s about it.”

  “So, it was all fine for awhile then after awhile it wasn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It just began to get—well—you might say, mundane.”

  “You mean the honeymoon period wore off.”

  “You could say that.”

  “So what’s wrong with the next phase?” Not ever having been married, Farrah was only vaguely aware of how the next phase went. But she knew Will well enough to know how he might take to the actual nuts and bolts of living day-in, day-out with another human being.

  “Well—nothing terribly, except that it’s very—predictable.”

  “Isn’t that one of the comforts of being married?”

  “Well, it might be a comfort to some—but to others, it tends to a certain staleness after a time.”

  “But don’t you have something to do with whether it becomes stale or stays fresh?”

  He shrugged, the pale blue of his eyes looked tired, washed out. “I just hadn’t thought things would turn out this way.”

  “I still don’t understand what this has to do with new developments. You’re describing marriage after the honeymoon is over. Everyone gets to that stage, and most people make their peace with it. Why not you?

  He pursed his lips, the way she’d seen him do so many times. He was an aesthete, a snob. She’d worshipped at the altar of his good taste. Not anymore, she told herself.

  “
Well, when Alexandra went to get her name changed on her social security card, something came up.”

  “What?”

  “It turns out we’re not legally married.”

  “You’re not??” Her heart stood still.

  “We had our wedding in France, but we never took out a marriage license here. We didn’t think we had to. Turns out we did.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying under U.S. jurisdiction we’re not legally married.”

  “So why not get the license and make it legal?”

  “Well that’s just it. We discussed it, and both of us realized that this might be a good moment to think about whether this is what we really want to do.”

  “You mean what you thought you already did? Get married?”

  “Yes.” He looked strained. “You see that mix-up might have happened for a reason.”

  “I’m sure it did.” But what did the reason have to do with her? Nothing, unless she wanted it to.

  “So—I wanted to ask your advice.”

  “I’m still not getting this. You want my advice on whether to really marry the woman you thought you already married?”

  “No. I want your advice on whether I should take this opportunity to end the relationship, since it isn’t really going anywhere.”

  “How would I know, Will?” She felt her voice rise. “I have no idea what’s gone wrong between you and your wife. But what you’re telling me sounds like what happens in married life, period.”

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon.”

  “Welcome to the real world.”

  “What would you know about the real world when it comes to marriage?”

  “Not much, since you didn’t give me the opportunity to find out,” she shot back sharply. Looking around, she saw the bartender glance their way. Fortunately, no one else was around.

  “Well what if I did?”

  “What if you did?? What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I realized I’m not with the right woman.”

  “And who might the right woman be?”

  “I think it might be you.”

  She eyeballed him silently. It was flattering to hear his words, but did she believe them?

  Will stared back, his eyes finally sparking, coming to life. His hand closed over hers on the table.

  “This is a bit sudden,” she finally got out.

  “I know.”

  “I hardly know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Just let me take up where we left off. And meanwhile—I’m not proceeding with anything further in my present situation.”

  “You’re not really in a position to speak with me like this if you’re living with someone, are you?”

  “I’m thinking of moving out.”

  “Well when you do, I’ll think about it.” Why had she even said that? “I mean, if I’m available.” Why should she take anything he said seriously? From the looks of it, he didn’t know how to take the institution of marriage seriously, not that she was an expert.

  “Are you available?” He looked startled. “I mean, you aren’t seeing someone, are you?”

  She burned at his assumption that she was still single, pining away for him. Yet she more or less had been, until the evening before. The memory of Jude’s firm fingers danced on her neck.

  “When you move out, you can ask me then. Otherwise, it’s not your concern,” she said sharply then took a long sip of her tea. The evening before she’d felt genuine passion at Jude’s touch. Right now she felt the passion of reawakened feelings with Will. Which was real?

  One thing was certain. Will would find her more interesting now that she hadn’t fallen back into his arms. He would pursue her like a hound, as he’d done before, until she’d succumbed. Then what? The past didn’t bode well for him looking like a safe bet. But he had been the love of her life, and now he was open to giving their love another try. Could she possibly say no?

  Before confusion wrote itself all over her face, she got up and bade him goodbye. Looking down into Will’s handsome, yearning face, she knew she had him. But for how long? Even more importantly, did she really want him?

  Eager to distance herself, she walked away briskly. She needed time alone to think. All she knew was that she really wanted to be wanted. And she doubted her former boyfriend knew how to sustain that sort of feeling over the long term.

  AT THE OPENING presentation for the fall sales conference in Phoenix that Monday, Farrah mentally mapped out her next two days. If she didn’t stay up schmoozing too late after that evening’s gala dinner, she planned to run along the three-mile bike path bordering the golf course the next morning before her brunch meeting with her boss, where they would hash out strategy for the final quarter. Then she’d hop her flight back to New York to get home in time for the Tuesday night workout.

  Her boss had suggested she attend that afternoon’s cross-selling seminar. Farrah’s main competition in the Northeast division, Alison Keane, was running it.

  With only two years of sales experience, Farrah was on the shortlist to become top salesperson in her division for the year. She hardly knew how that had happened, but ever since the break up with Will, all she’d wanted to do was work. She’d brought in account after account, until there was no time left in her week to go out and find more. Her boss had advised her to take it to the next step—cross-selling and bundled products. Farrah couldn’t help but think it sounded like selling the same product the client had already bought back to them again, but she buried that thought in the back of her mind. Alison Keane was a master of the technique. With Sun-Tzu’s adage in mind, “keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Farrah decided to keep a close eye on Alison at the conference.

  Alison was roughly Farrah’s age, around thirty, a well put together blonde with a sexily disarming “You don’t have my full attention” air that attracted men to her like horses to alfalfa. She’d gotten an MBA in night school, and she knew how to use it. Farrah’s boss referred to her as the division maestra of cross-selling and bundled product techniques. Earlier that year, Alison had landed an account with a major eye surgery hospital in which she’d structured a deal so complex that even Farrah’s boss hadn’t been able to figure it out. Instead, she’d suggested Alison give a talk on cross-selling at the conference and commanded Farrah to attend.

  Farrah hoped Alison would explain enough of the deal so she could explain it in turn to her boss, but she knew Alison too well to expect her to give away the full secret of how she’d landed the company’s biggest account of the year. What smart salesperson would?

  “Hey Farrah, I heard you’re on the shortlist for top salesperson for the division,” Mara Cortez, administrative assistant for her group, congratulated her.

  “Yeah, I guess. We’ll find out tonight at dinner.” Farrah, Alison, and Meredith Russell were rumored to be the top three contenders. But the announcement of top salesperson for the year wouldn’t be made until the following February at their winter get-together. It all depended on fourth quarter results. Meredith had just had a baby, so she’d be out. It came down to Farrah versus Alison.

  “I heard Alison’s up, too, for landing the Deming account.”

  “Yeah, she’s a tiger,” Farrah replied, thinking Alison was more of a shark in custom-made suits with a halo of light blonde hair floating ethereally around her face and shoulders. Her rival was approaching now, in a pink Chanel-style suit with a few fussy gold chains. She looked very much like who she was, a crack saleswoman. Farrah could hardly wait to see her shoes.

  Sure enough, as Alison approached, her taupe-colored platform heels revealed a gold strip sandwiched between the sole and heel. Amazing. Only a fashionista would notice—a group that included just about every female attending the conference.

  An hour and a half later, Farrah walked out of the seminar having learned that Alison had signed up Deming Vision Institutes, a nationwide chain of 400-plus LASIK procedu
re clinics for what looked like a one-year commitment to purchase a single product. But for every one-year exclusive contract signed for one of her product lines sold, the subsequent year the product price would decrease significantly below that of all other competing brands. Then she’d offered a deal whereby if the company picked up a second product line in an exclusive one-year package, the cost of the first one-year package was reduced 40 percent outright and another 10 percent per unit bought, making it more cost-effective every time the company bought another unit. At the end of the year, the deep discount would continue contingent upon the purchase of yet another product line. As a result, Deming distributed its products to all of its clinics and associated doctors. It had been the deal of the year, resulting in millions of dollars worth of new business.

  As she exited the conference room, she scratched her head. She still couldn’t figure out exactly how Alison had tied up every loose end to the point that Deming ended up on the hook for a minimum of five years. Who was the decision-maker who’d signed off on that? It was crazy, considering how fast eye surgery technologies changed. Every salesperson in the room knew most of the products they currently sold would be obsolete five years from now. The manufacturers of the products had designed them with built-in obsolescence in mind. But if anyone could do it, Alison could. She had to hand it to her rival. She knew how to sell.

  That night after dinner, Farrah snuck up to her hotel room to avoid the exodus to the leather-chaired, wood-paneled bar where she knew most of her colleagues would congregate. She wanted to clear her head and take a dip in the hotel hot tub. After Friday evening’s date with Jude then meeting Will on Saturday, her head was as confused as her heart. By the time she’d boarded her flight to Phoenix Sunday afternoon, she’d been relieved to travel for work, something she usually resented having to do on weekends.

  She took the service elevator directly to the gym, then entered the pool area. There was something utterly sensuous about attending a conference in Arizona. No wonder it was a top conference destination spot. At dinner she’d been applauded as she stood along with Alison to receive congrats for being one of the top three performers for the first three quarters of the year. Meredith was back home, enjoying her new baby. That left Alison and her to duke it out in the fourth quarter for the top salesperson spot. The winner would receive a large bonus as well as increased sales territory for the following year. Farrah could use the bonus and tried not to think about the increased territory. The last thing she wanted to do was travel more.