Waiting for a Girl Like You

by Christa Maurice

  “Vanessa?” Marc bit his tongue, but it was already out. Alex glared at him.

  “Vanessa was his first wife,” Carla said. “He was my freshman lit teacher, and he was so witty and charming. Vanessa was cruel, and she lied to him all the time. She promised him they would have kids as soon as she finished her doctorate, but then told him children would get in the way of her career. He so wanted a family.” Carla’s expression hardened. “Well, it’s going to be a cold day in hell before he sees my children again.” She got up and stormed into the kitchen. Alex stood to follow, but Marc stopped her.

  “Wait, let me get this straight. Roger was married and cheated on his wife with Carla when she was in freshman English. Then he divorced wife one to marry Carla and started having an affair with you.”

  “Oh, what a tangled web we weave when we screw around with undergrads?” Alex shrugged and followed Carla into the kitchen.

  “I’m keeping the dishes,” Carla announced. “He can eat off paper plates for all I care. Can you help me wrap them? Or maybe I should smash the whole set in the driveway. What do you think?”

  Marc positioned himself in the kitchen doorway, wondering where the knives were. Alex had been safer in the living room.

  “I think…” Alex glanced at him. “I think I need to tell you something first.”

  Carla set down the plate in her hands. “Tell me it’s not more bad news.”

  “Roger wasn’t having an affair with Diana. He was having an affair with me.”

  Dear Lord, three women at the same time. If Roger wasn’t such a creep, Marc thought he might admire the man. Why couldn’t he have been juggling three careers at the same time? That would have been cool.

  Carla blinked. “No, he was having an affair with Diana. He showed me the hotel receipts. That asshole had a credit card I didn’t know about that he used for his illicit relationship.”

  “Where are your kids?” Marc asked. He should have thought of the kids before. They didn’t need to hear this.

  “Teri Lewiston has them while I pack.” Carla waved toward the front of the house.

  “Carla, I was having an affair with Roger,” Alex repeated.

  “It’s very sweet of you to try to make me feel better, but it was Diana. I have proof. I printed out the history on that credit card. He’s not getting a dime from me.”

  “A dime from you?” Marc asked.

  “Daddy owns VCS.”

  “We used VCS on the first tour.” Marc looked out the window. He remembered those huge rented semis packed with equipment on the road with them for thirteen months. That was why the logo was so familiar. “I didn’t know they did little trucks, too.”

  “Trucks and drivers in all sizes.”

  “Carla,” Alex said.

  Marc grabbed her arm and yanked her out to the living room. “Let it go,” he hissed.

  “I have to tell her. It was me, not Diana.”

  “Apparently, it was both of you, and you did tell her. She just didn’t believe you.”

  “She has to believe me.”

  “No, she doesn’t. You told her. Your obligation is fulfilled. She can’t handle the idea that her husband, who she got second hand from some other chick, was cheating on her with two other women.”

  “But he wasn’t cheating with Diana, he was cheating with me.”

  “Did he take you to that hotel?”

  “No, it was always in his office.”

  “Voila. He was cheating on his wife with you and cheating on you with this third—fourth woman. I’m starting to lose count.”

  Something shattered in the kitchen. Carla cursed and started to sob.

  “But—”

  “No, you need to trust me on this.” Just like Carla didn’t need the truth shoved down her throat, Alex didn’t need to understand her beloved literature professor was nothing more than an alley cat looking to score with as many women as he could. It had been said, even if it didn’t register. Like Helen had told him, there was no point in causing needless pain in the name of truth. “Let’s just help her pack her shit and get out of here. Carla, should we just call some movers?” He went back into the kitchen.

  Carla was taking dirty dishes out of the dishwasher and wrapping them in newspaper.

  Marc lifted a marinara sauce covered plate out of her hands. “Let’s run the washer before we pack these, hmm? We could call movers to load the van for you.”

  “Movers.” Carla pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll call the office. They’ll send someone.”

  “And maybe another truck. It would be nice for Roger to come home to a house furnished with nothing but cobwebs.” He started unwrapping the dirty dishes and loading the dishwasher.

  * * * *

  Alex walked into the hotel room and sat down on the foot of the bed. Seven hours spent helping Carla pack while a team of burly men and women loaded furniture and boxes into four trucks. Roger was left with a broken lawn chair and half a pair of chopsticks.

  “Those guys were a trip.” Marc closed the door. “It was like they took this personally. Her dad must be a great boss. I caught that guy Rosco upstairs unscrewing all the light bulbs, and Daisy with the Goth black hair wrapped up the soap from the bathrooms. Next time I have to move out on a woman, remind me to call them.”

  “Let’s hope there isn’t a next time.” Alex should have had some kind of reaction to his comment, but she was too numb.

  “Sorry, babe. That was a stupid thing to say.” He sat down next to her and put his arm over her shoulders so she leaned her head on him.

  Marc had taken the whole thing personally, too. It had been his suggestion to leave the broken lawn chair in the middle of the living room. Roger had not returned to the house before they left. Someone must have warned him to stay away.

  “You okay?” Marc asked.

  “No.”

  “How can I fix it?”

  “You can’t. I just don’t know what to think, and all the decisions have been taken out of my hands.” She blinked and her eyes burned, either from anguish or dust. It didn’t matter. Both options would produce tears, and she still wouldn’t have any control.

  “Did you eat any of the pizza I ordered around lunchtime? It’s going on dinner now, anyway. I’ll order room service.” He stood up.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You should eat.”

  “I don’t want anything.”

  He knelt on the floor in front of her. “Alex, honey, I’ve been where you are. I’ve listened to my own footsteps because there weren’t any footsteps with mine. I’ve said I can’t do this anymore, but stayed because I didn’t have anywhere to go. You aren’t trapped. You have options.”

  “I’m not upset about losing Roger.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  Smartass. “But I have to work alongside him for the next year, at least while I finish my master’s.”

  “I thought he wasn’t your advisor anymore.”

  “He’s not, but he’s going to be there. He’s tenured.”

  “So transfer to another school. You have to be able to finish this thing somewhere else.”

  “I have to stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “I promised the dean.”

  “I think he’d understand. What do you want to do?”

  “I can’t do what I want to do.”

  “Hey, you’re riding with me now, and I’m a goddamn skylight.” He grinned.

  Laughter bubbled through her chest, almost painful. Every muscle in her body ached.

  Marc picked her up and carried her to the head of the bed where he cuddled around her. “In a perfect world, what would you want?”

  “For dinner?”

  “For the rest of your life.”

  Alex bit her lip. She’d spent so long jumping from one terrible choice to another like they were rocks across a river that to have
anything possible made her a little queasy. “I’m so close. I’d like to finish my master’s, and I’m committed to another year in the dorm.”

  “Is that what you want or what you feel like you have to do?”

  Alex closed her eyes. How the hell was she supposed to know? She thought that’s what she wanted. That was going to have to be good enough for now. “It’s what I want.”

  “Okay, for the next year, you will live in your dorm and I’ll get a place in town.”

  “You don’t have to go to work or anything?”

  “My buddy’s wife is having a baby so he won’t be going anywhere until a couple of months after the kid is born. We might be recording in West Virginia next summer, but not before, and I could drive between here and there. Shep and I should be able to do most of his solo album through e-mail. If not, it might be a couple of days here and there, but I want to spend as much time as possible with you. So you’ll get your degree, and we’ll go to Italy next summer.”

  “It never occurs to you that I might not want you here.”

  “No. Don’t you?”

  “I do, but I’ve never met anyone quiet so confident before.”

  “Welcome to a brave new world, sugar.” He nuzzled her neck. “What about marriage? Is that something you want?” His arms tightened around her.

  She had never planned and replanned her wedding, but Marc she could trust to be there forevermore. “It is, but when are we going to fit it in?”

  “After the school year ends and before Italy.”

  How could he sound so nonchalant about it? “I can’t plan a wedding while writing and preparing to defend my thesis. I don’t even know what I want.”

  “Candy will do the planning, just talk to her about what you want. She’s done several already.”

  All these people she was going to have to get to know. They might not like her. Marc could lose interest in three months. Then all of this would have been for naught. She snuggled into him with a comfortable sigh. No, he wouldn’t lose interest. “I want kids. But not too soon.”

  “A year here, Italy, recording, and a tour. Is two or three years from now good enough?”

  “I was thinking I’d wait until I was thirty.”

  “I’m not excited about being in my fifties with babies. We’ll discuss it after we get through this year.”

  She twisted to look at his face. “Isn’t it a little creepy to plan like this?”

  “What’s creepy is planning and not being willing to adjust for circumstances. We might not get to Italy next year. Recording and touring might come up sooner than I expect. Are you going to kill me if that happens?”

  “No, but I’ll pout and demand that you buy me ice cream.” She turned to press her back against his chest. There were index cards taped to the wall beside the bed with lengths of yarn connecting them. “What the hell is that? Were you conducting a manhunt?”

  “Sort of. You left me, and then you dumped me. I needed to know why.”

  Some of the players were there, including a few from West Virginia. A couple of direct quotes missing their proper punctuation. “You’re missing a few people.”

  “I didn’t have a complete playbook, but I still figured it out. I got to Roger.”

  Alex studied the mind map on the wall. Somehow, it was comforting to see that he’d invested all that time and effort into figuring her out after she’d told him to go. It shouldn’t have. Roger hadn’t been able to let go, but he’d hunted her down and manipulated her into staying with him. Marc just needed to know and wanted the best for her. She tugged his arms tighter around her. He put her interest ahead of his own.

  “Is there any way we can keep that?”

  “Why?”

  She smiled. Why? That obsessive crazed thing on the wall was better proof of love than anything she’d ever seen. It wasn’t big bands and grand passion, but Marc hadn’t been willing to let anyone put her in a corner.

  Epilogue

  “Ah, scusi?” The man in front of her fumbled with a map. A woman Alex presumed to be his wife stood a couple of feet behind him frowning and staring down the Grand Canal. “This— this vaporatto go, go—via—um—Rialto Bridge?”

  “I speak English,” Alex said.

  “Thank God.” The man melted a little. His wife also sighed. “I can’t make heads or tails of this map. Can you tell me how to get to the Rialto Bridge from here?”

  Alex glanced over her shoulder at Marc. No wonder tourists thought she was a local with Marc glued to his phone all the time. “You need the vaporatto on the other side of the canal.”

  “How do we get there?”

  Alex pointed. “Footbridge.”

  “Can you answer me another question?”

  Marc slid his phone back in his pocket and draped his arm over Alex’s shoulders. The man frowned at Marc. It was the now familiar don’t-I-know-you expression.

  “My girlfriend and I were wondering what all the padlocks are about.”

  “The Love Locks on the bridges? You put a padlock on a bridge and throw away the key. It means you and your lover will never split up.”

  Marc kissed her temple. They had discussed getting a Love Lock, but hadn’t done it yet.

  “Aren’t you Marc Wells?” the girlfriend asked.

  “I am.”

  “Can I have your autograph?” She snatched the map out of the man’s hand and started riffling through her purse.

  “Hey!” the man said. “We need that.”

  “We’ll get another one.”

  Alex held out a pen. She’d learned after the first month to have a couple on her every time she went out with Marc. People at school had eventually gotten over Marc Wells sightings, but everywhere else he was stopped and people didn’t usually have a pen they could find right away. She should start carrying around a notebook, too. Marc released Alex and autographed their map across a restaurant ad.

  “Can I take a selfie with you, too?” The girlfriend was bouncing on her toes. The man looked like he wanted to throw Marc in the canal.

  Marc obliged for the selfie, smiling stiffly. “You guys have a good trip.” He guided Alex in the opposite direction of the footbridge.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Away from the fan. Look, the boat is coming. We can ride out to the gardens.” He turned her in to the shelter at the vaporatto stop and wrapped his arms around her waist. “So what do you think? Will they make it?”

  “Are you kidding? Did you see the looks that guy was giving you? If he doesn’t learn to control his jealousy, and she doesn’t learn to stop slobbering all over the nearest rock star, they don’t have much of a future.”

  Marc nodded. “I concur.”

  “So what’s up with Suzi?”

  “She’s in Potterville with Brian.”

  Alex smirked. Didn’t take a genius to see that one coming. “Really now?”

  “Yeah, there’s a picture of them near Ida’s. I wonder what she’s doing there.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No.”

  The boat docked and Alex and Marc joined the line to climb on. “Brian has a huge crush on Suzi, and Suzi has a thing for Brian.”

  “He does not. He’s just been worried about her like all of us have been. I was with him in Japan when she broke up with Logan.”

  “You are such a man sometimes.”

  “Good thing for you.” He pulled her against him.

  “What do you want to do after this?”

  “After the garden or after Venice?”

  So many options. Alex rubbed her cheek against his sweater. “How long do you plan to stay in Italy?”

  “As long as you like, Mrs. Wells.” He kissed her nose and then turned to watch the city slide past the windows.

  Last year, while he waited for her to finish her masters, he and Glen had recorded an album in Chicago and then traveled back and forth to Potterville to record with
his own band. Marc felt bad about leaving her alone so much that he was perfectly happy to go wherever she wanted now that both records were finished. “We could take a train to Rome.”

  “I’ll tell the concierge to set it up when we get back to the hotel.”

  The boat bumped into a dock, but it wasn’t the right one yet so Alex indulged in watching tourists scramble off, and then onto, the vaporatto. The longer they stayed in Italy, the longer she could put off getting too involved with all of Marc’s friends in California. A lot of people were surprised she didn’t know most of them by reputation. Moving to Los Angeles might require as much preparation as her thesis defense and wedding combined.

  “Suzi doesn’t have a thing for Brian. They’re just good friends. Brian’s her biggest fan,” Marc said.

  “You are welcome to believe that, but it isn’t true.”

  “Present your evidence.”

  “She calls him several times a week to have long conversations.”

  “She calls me several times a week.” The boat unmoored and set off across open water toward the garden.

  “But she doesn’t talk about talking to you. When I hear from her it’s ‘How’s the thesis coming? Send me anything you want me to proof. I was talking to Brian, and on and on.’”

  “So she does talk about me.”

  Alex snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. “Hey, Mr. Center of the World, back on topic.”

  “But she does talk about me.”

  “To me, but it makes sense that she would talk to me about you. It doesn’t make sense that she would talk to me about Brian. Candy says she talks to her about Brian, too.”

  “You and Candy got very chummy.”

  “She was planning my wedding. We had to talk.” Plus Candy was nice and it would be good to know somebody when she landed in California permanently. The wedding reception had been a blur of names and faces that she half knew and hoped she wouldn’t be quizzed on.