Hearts Unleashed

by Julia Dumont

  “Emily! How nice to hear from you!”

  Something clicked in Seamus’s head. “Emily!” he blurted. “The girl from the cab!”

  A woman in the back seemed to react to that information. She stepped forward out of darkness.

  Max saw that it was Molly Hannigan. She was dressed in a long, black raincoat, looking a bit zombie-like. Her eyes were vacant, shoulders hunched, one hand plunged deep into the pocket of her coat, causing the familiar protrusion in the fabric…the universal symbol for one thing only: gun. She had the pistol. She was coming for Max again.

  “Hold on, Emily, we have a situation here,” he said. “Molly, dear, please don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  But Molly didn’t say anything. She still had that same deadeye look on her face. She took another step closer. Max checked Molly’s hand, twitching nervously inside her pocket.

  Something bleeped in Max’s ear. Call waiting. Another Dublin number.

  Molly reacted again, taking another step toward Max, Night-of-the-Living-Dead-like…her hand and pocket twitching more noticeably now.

  “Hold everything, Molly, everybody,” said Max, “I’ve gotta take this other call. Molly, please hang on. Don’t move. Don’t do anything rash. I’m sorry about everything that happened. I’m sorry about all of it. And Emily? I’m sorry to you too. But please stop calling me. Okay, goodbye. Hello? Yes, Brian? Hi, yes, I’m good. And you? No, this is a very good time.” He smiled slightly at the absurdity of that statement. “Oh, really? Oh, that’s wonderful! Fantastic. That’s very good news. Thank you. Congratulations to you too. Okay, yes, let’s talk more later. There is actually quite a lot going on here at the moment. I’ll call you back. Okay, thanks again. Goodbye.”

  Max smiled and looked at the people surrounding him in a semicircle on the deck…friends, enemies, ex-and-current lovers, totally entertained, baffled, and horrified strangers. “You will not believe my good fortune,” he said. “I just got some very good news…”

  But Molly stepped toward him again, faster this time, pulling her hand out of her pocket and thrusting it in his direction.

  Max jumped over the side.

  Lots of screams, a loud “AHHHH,” a tiny splash, and Max Ramsey was in the drink.

  Wilfredo, King, and Max the dog all dived in, Rin Tin Tin-style, after him.

  Lolita let out a scream that made the other screams seem like whispers.

  Molly Hannigan ran to the rail, dangling a set of keys at Max, below. “Your car keys!” she cried. “I’m just returning your car keys!”

  She threw them over the side in his general direction.

  “Don’t worry,” said Summer Starlight Friedman, “it’s a rental.”

  And then Molly climbed the railing and leaped overboard.

  Up on the quarterdeck, Cynthia and Captain Winslow, had been engrossed in a conversation about the burdens of leadership and the difficulties of long distance relationships. Turned out the captain had wed four times, but only his marriage to the sea had lasted. Going on thirty years. This was one depressing tête-à-tête. Finding out that you and a salty old sea captain have frighteningly similar romantic destinies is not exactly a happy discovery. Birds of a feather commiserating together.

  “Man, woman, and dogs overboard!” they yelled.

  Everyone rushed to the rail to see them all bobbing and flailing, then doggy paddling on the gently swelling sea.

  Sailors scrambled across the deck, shined a searchlight down into the darkness, and threw a lifeline to the five water-treaders who were soon trailing behind the Que Sera Sarong like a troupe of water-show entertainers.

  Cynthia descended the stairway to the main deck, shaking her head. “I knew something like this was going to happen.”

  “The Dog’s Meow,” said Timothy, emerging from the cabin, hand in hand with Ava.

  Cynthia smiled. “I thought you two might hit it off.”

  “You have no idea,” said Timothy.

  Ava moved in close to whisper in Cynthia’s ear: “We took a bath. So comforting.”

  “Oh, Ava, that’s so sweet.”

  But Ava wasn’t finished.

  “And then he kissed away my heartache, and kissed away my tears.”

  “Wow,” said Cynthia. “Quite the testimonial.” The heartache line sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

  The crew hoisted up the dogs and Molly with a winch, but everyone thought it would be safer for Max the man to remain in the Pacific Ocean among the sharks, than to come back aboard.

  “Hey, Ramsey!” shouted Seamus with a cheerful load of feck you in his voice, “Thanks for the hotel stay and the feckin’ Starbucks!”

  Max was mystified by this strange statement from the enigmatic, spirited Irishman, as was everyone on board. Except for Paloma, who was getting an inkling of what had transpired. She liked his resourcefulness. An asset in Hollywood. She walked over to him and kissed him, mostly because she really, really liked him. But also to send a message to Jack, in case he was watching from wherever he was hiding, that their chapter was over for good. She had seen him more clearly than ever tonight and despite his fame and fortune and physical beauty, he was really not all that attractive. She’d been coming to this for a while, but always said to herself, Come on, it’s Jack Stone. At the end of the day, though——literally this day——she could not imagine ever saying that to herself again.

  Seamus was a much better bet. Maybe they could team up. Maybe Jack would read his script and get it to someone. Or maybe Seamus could direct the film version of Going Down in the Valley, or Porn Free, or whatever title they settled on.

  Captain Winslow phoned his son, who immediately headed out to pick up Max. It took him a while to get there. Max was one salty prune-fish when Paul hauled him aboard.

  “Ahoy,” said the kid. “Just wondering, matey. Are you off your meds?”

  As everyone watched them motor away, illuminated by the deck lights of the cigarette boat, they wondered why skipper and passenger were laughing so hard, and then, why Paul was screaming with joy. And they especially wondered why Max was in such a good mood, despite the fact that he was nearly killed and presently coughing up gallons of seawater and seaweed.

  Except Cynthia and even Lolita. They got it. They were laughing too…at him and with him. At Max’s good humor in the face of death and destruction. He was amazing like that.

  Cynthia wished she’d had a chance to at least catch up with him a while. She loved hearing that bit about the cab in Dublin. She had been that girl in that cab and she was happy it wasn’t her this time. And likewise, Max and her roles had often been reversed. No matter what anybody said, the guy had a certain purity of purpose about him.

  Despite everything, Lolita wished he could have stayed a little longer for that second round. She had no illusions about Max whatsoever. For her, his upside was just as genuine as his downside. The dogs loved him. That was huge for her. And he really did seem like he was going through something. Some kind of change, maybe for the better. But sometimes change isn’t easy even when you want it.

  “Max! Call me!” she cried, waving at the shrinking boat until it vanished in the dark.

  Cynthia put her arm around her. “There goes one funny sisterfucker,” she said. Then she realized that Molly Hannigan was standing close to them, shivering, wrapped in blankets, like she wanted to talk.

  “I believe I need professional help,” she said.

  Cynthia and Lolita both put their arms around her, showing her some much needed tenderness and sharing the names of much needed therapists.

  The three of them spent the rest of the night talking about everything, absolutely everything.

  Chapter 37

  SUNDAY MORNING

  Cynthia was beyond exhausted on the drive home that morning. She felt like she might actually fall asleep at the wheel, so she put the top down and let the wind whip like a refreshing tornado through her hair. She was still wondering how Lolita’s dogs g
ot on board the yacht. Three more wonders of the world apparently. And definitely talented and protective______even if they were almost always problematic. But in any case, essential to her best friend’s well being, which made them essential to Cynthia’s well being as well.

  She tried calling her mother again and reached her in a hotel room in Venice.

  “Bon giorno!” she answered, sounding incredibly happy.

  “So, Mom, what’s up with Dominic?”

  “What do you mean what’s up with him?”

  “I mean, you know, the marriage, all those kids out of wedlock, you know…what’s up with all that?”

  “I feel like you’re being critical of me, sweetie. Hold on.”

  “Mom?”

  “Yes? Sweetie, hold on a second.”

  “What’s going on over there?”

  “Nothing, honey.”

  Cynthia could hear Dominic in the background.

  “Is Dom there? Did he say something about getting going? I mean you’re on vacation.”

  “No honey, it’s okay, we’re just hanging around the hotel today.”

  “So when are you coming home?”

  “Not sure, honey. Dominic has a ton of air miles. We might just keep going for a while.”

  “Okay, Mom, I’m just going to come out and ask you. How do you see this working out?”

  “What do you mean, honey?”

  “I mean with Dominic.”

  “Easy. He adores me. He worships me.”

  “Yeah, but Mom, he has never been faithful to any woman he’s ever been with!”

  There was a long pause.

  “Mom? Are you there?”

  “Yes, dear. Hold on a second.”

  Cynthia heard Dominic whispering something, then moaning something, and then howling bloody murder.

  “Mom, is everything okay?”

  “Oh, yes, honey. Everything is very okay. And to answer your question, apparently there are certain things I know how to do better than any of those other girls Dominic’s been with. There, I said it. And we make each other laugh. Plus, I am never, ever letting him out of my sight.”

  It took Cynthia longer than it should have to figure out the nature of what was happening on the other end of the line because it was her mother.

  “Okay, Mom, goodbye,” she said, dropping the phone, which bounced on the passenger seat and onto the floor.

  Boundaries, Mother, boundaries.

  But then she laughed and felt happy for her. Maybe she could keep Dominic in line. Stranger things have happened. Not much stranger, though.

  Cynthia noticed that she had a bunch of voicemails and listened to them. As usual, quite a few happy clients this weekend. Above all, Ava and Timothy seemed good to go and, who knows, they still might want her help in creating a new circle of friends without benefits.

  Cynthia drove by the coffee bar on Franklin and thought about Seamus. He was a good kid and she hoped he’d hit it big in Hollywood. She thought he might have a better shot at acting than writing, but who knows? She would stop in tomorrow morning to say hi to Donald and Adriana. She hoped it would work out between Seamus and Paloma. They seemed like the right characters in the right story. She had no idea that she’d played a major role in bringing them together.

  She turned up the hill and rounded the bend to her driveway. Someone was sitting on the steps.

  It was Pete.

  He had gotten sick and tired of all the miscommunication. He’d talked to the band and found a replacement for two weeks. He’d dropped his stuff off at his house and walked back down the hill to wait for her.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked.

  “About three hours,” he said.

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I did, about fifty times. You didn’t pick up…or bad reception at sea. Whatever. I didn’t feel like leaving another message that would probably come out wrong and make things even worse.”

  “Okay, I can see that,” she said, kissing him and handing him her suitcase as they went inside.

  “Two weeks, huh,” she said. “You know, I don’t think I can take this long distance thing anymore. It’s impossible. It’s frustrating, unfulfilling, maddening, and lonely. I want you here. With me. At least most of the time.”

  “I know. I agree. But unfortunately, all I have is two weeks right now. This tour just got extended for two more months. So we’ve got four more left in total. It’s just the way it is.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “But the way it is sucks. Do you want a drink or something?”

  “I’ll take the something,” he said, touching her already glowing cheek______her telltale sign______with his fingers, brushing her hair from her face. “The whole time I was gone, when I closed my eyes, I saw you. Those lips. Those eyes. That brain. I know two weeks isn’t much, but it’s a whole lot more than we have ever had. Feels like a lifetime.”

  “Nice speech, handsome,” she said, taking his hand, kissing it, and sliding it under her blouse and onto her breast. “It’s a total crock, but it’s a total crock I can relate to.”

  He smiled and unbuttoned her blouse, quickly dispensing with the bra and smothering every inch of her torso with warm, wet kisses before silently unzipping and letting her skirt drop to the floor. One hand still on one breast, the other moving along her ribs to the small of her waist, to the slope from hip to belly and downward, he kissed her softly, then deep and slow.

  She reached into his trousers and reacquainted herself, instantly inspiring his kisses to become much more passionate, more serious…more meaningful.

  There was something about the way he did what he did that was different. Something about his touch…something indefinable. Whatever it was, it was better…better than almost anything in the world.

  They moved toward the couch, the rest of their clothes falling away, except for her maddeningly stubborn thong, which had become entangled between two of her toes. He removed it with his teeth.

  But she stopped him when he started to lower her down.

  “Wait, Pete, wait. I have a question.”

  “Good, because I have all the answers,” he whispered.

  “No, really. I’m serious. This might seem silly, but will you take a hot bath with me later?”

  “I’ll take a hot bath with you all day long,” he said, kissing her neck, making her shiver slightly.

  “Will you soap me up all over and rub against my hot, pink tingling skin with all of your body parts?”

  “Every single one,” he said. “No exceptions.”

  “Very good,” she replied softly and sweetly, but also sort of like she was detailing an itinerary in a business meeting. “Okay. One: I’ll call Paloma to tell her she’s going to have to do a whole lot of filling in for me. I predict she will say, ‘Yes, Boss. No problem, Boss.’ And two: aside from an occasional bath and maybe a meal here and there, would you mind playing “hooky” with me nonstop for the next two weeks?”

  “Let me think. Yes, this is an assignment I’d be pleased to take on and apply myself to with great dedication, Ms. Amas,” he said, carrying her to the bed. “I promise to rise to the occasion whenever called upon.”

  She felt like he was levitating her. He was clearly a magician. She closed her eyes and floated gently downward as if drifting through a cloud painted by Marc Chagall. Or like they were those intertwined figures suspended from the ceiling of Timothy’s loft…with the great sweep of Los Angeles and the Pacific below. She felt like a work of art. And for the upcoming admittedly too-short period of time, someone would be appreciating her as such. She craved deep comfort and earth-shattering pleasure, goddamn it.

  Somehow Cynthia knew that she and Pete would find a way to navigate this relationship. Four months was only a heartbeat in a lifetime. Maybe, just maybe, she had finally found her own perfect match.

  “Okay, Guitar Boy,” she said, “just how much can you make me miss you when you go?”

  The End

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  Julia Dumont, Hearts Unleashed