by Beth Merlin
The first thing I did when I arrived back in the city was pick Chaka and Kahn up from the doggy hotel they’d been staying at these last two weeks. Merritt’s friend Nick, whom I was subletting from, was fine with me boarding the two Yorkies while I was away at the Boot Camp but had very specific stipulations about their accommodations. Their fourteen-day stay in the Presidential Suite at the Dogtopia Pet Hotel included a thirty-nine-inch HD flat-screen TV, panoramic glass views of New York City, filtered water, a bedtime story complete with milk bones, and daily spa treatments. Substitute milk bones for milk and cookies and throw in some talk therapy and their stay wasn’t all that different from my two weeks at Retreat House, and really not much cheaper.
I paid the exorbitant bill and walked the dogs back to Nick’s Perry Street studio apartment. Unlocking the deadbolts, I pushed open the heavy door, scattering the layer of takeout menus that’d built up on the welcome mat in the hallway. The dogs didn’t seem quite as happy to be home as I would’ve thought, but then again, from the sound of it, the pet hotel’s Presidential Suite was bigger than Nick’s entire apartment.
Chaka moseyed inside and took a few slow laps of the apartment before sulkily lying down on the window seat in the sun. Kahn sniffed his way to the kitchen and took some half-hearted licks of the non-filtered, regular New York City tap water out of the bowl and rolled over on the cold linoleum floor for a nap.
“Sorry, boys,” I said, lifting my suitcase onto the bed. “Looks like it’s back to reality for all of us.”
Chaka lifted his head off the pillow and snorted before laying his head back down. I shook my head, fired up my laptop, and began sorting my dirty clothes into two piles, laundry and dry-cleaning. Sand managed to find its way into every square inch of my suitcase, and I had to shake out almost every garment before stuffing it into one of the bags. Each piece was still a bit damp from the moist ocean air that seemed to have seeped into everything I brought with me. I breathed in the clothes and already missed Topsail. The salty scent of sea air taking me out of Manhattan and back to the beach.
I sat down at Nick’s desk and opened up my work emails. I’d only been gone for two weeks, but it may as well have been two years with how many unopened emails I had waiting for me. I scrolled through the first several dozen, most of which were the usual headshot submissions, audition announcements, and casting notices. Then, in all bold type, I saw the email I’d been looking for, the one announcing Lena Moore’s final audition for the Cats producers this upcoming Wednesday at the Shubert Theater.
I closed the laptop and walked back to the foyer to pick up the take-out menus strewn across the ground. Sifting through the pile, I zeroed in on a Thai restaurant just a few blocks away. I picked up my phone and started to dial the number and then promptly hung up. This was how it all started, some Pad Thai, spring rolls, and then a run downstairs to the liquor store for a bottle of white wine to wash it all down. No, I was going to cook dinner tonight. In the words of Todd Aldrich, great food started with great ingredients. I didn’t have to prepare anything too complicated as long as I started with the right components. The only problem, Nick’s fridge was completely bare.
I grabbed the dogs and their leashes and hopped on the subway. I was headed uptown a few stops, to the Union Square Greenmarket, one of the best spots in New York City to find organic fruits and vegetables, cheeses, fresh herbs, and seafood. I’d probably walked through the market a million different times, cutting through the square for quicker access to this street or that, but had never really stopped to check it out. Once or twice, I picked up a bouquet of flowers from one of the stands closest to the subway entrance, but never bought any of the food items.
The variety wasn’t quite as good as the Topsail Farmers Market, but there was still a pretty great selection. I was walking around from stand to stand, trying to work out a menu for myself, when I spotted them: Stump Sound oysters by the bushel and peck.
“Excuse me,” I asked the proprietor. “How much for those?”
“How many people are you serving?” he asked.
“They’re just for me.”
“It’s an even fifty for the dozen,” he said.
“I’ll take a dozen then, please.”
He nodded and pulled some sheets of newspaper off a large stack to wrap the shells in.
“Sorry, how much for the shucking knife?” I said, pulling it down off a high rack.
“That’ll be ten dollars.”
I pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill out of my wallet and passed it to him.
He counted out the change and handed the money to me. “Do you need a quick lesson on how to open the shells?” he asked.
“I think I’m okay,” I said as I started to turn away. “Actually,” I said, spinning around to face the stand, “if you wouldn’t mind showing me, that’d be great.”
“No problem.” He picked up an oyster and leaned over the counter. “First, place the tip of the shucking knife at the base of the hinge. You’ll want to twist the knife about forty-five degrees, and then lever the knife upwards to pry the hinge open like so,” he said, demonstrating the motion. When he was finished, he handed me the knife so I could give it a try.
He pulled a large oyster off of the ice tray. “Here, give it a go with this beauty.”
I repeated his instructions out loud, while working to pry the oyster open with the knife. When I heard the small pop of the shell, I knew I’d been successful.
“Now, if I can make a recommendation,” he said, “the Stump Sound oysters don’t need much embellishment.”
“Just a little lemon to bring out their brightness,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows. “You had a good teacher, I see.”
I smiled broadly. “The best.”
He passed me the bag of wrapped oysters. “I packaged the oysters up in ice, so they’ll be fine for a while. Enjoy them. They pair really well with—”
“A Chablis although I think I’ll be sticking to seltzer.”
He winked at me. “You’re all set, then. Have a great evening.”
I finished walking around the market and was picking up sweet corn and oversized blueberries from a stand selling fresh summer produce, when I spotted a table selling gourmet pet treats. Poor Chaka and Khan seemed to be grieving the loss of their four-star service so much, I figured the least I could do was buy them a few doggy delicacies. I walked over to the crowded table, pushing my way through to get a closer look at the merchandise. I picked up a bag of pup-corn and turned it over and read the ingredients to make sure the treat was safe for Yorkies.
“Excuse me,” I said, trying to get the salesperson’s attention.
The stand was overflowing with people. It seemed everyone in New York City liked to pamper their pets.
I rose up on my toes again. Although I should’ve been used to it by now, sometimes I really hated being so short. “Excuse me,” I shouted again, more loudly, over the masses of heads.
“Let me help you get their attention,” said a gentleman’s voice from behind me. My heart lurched in my chest. I knew that voice better than I knew my own. I closed my eyes, spun around, and came face-to-face with Sam.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Joanna, what are you doing here? And when did you get a dog?” He glanced down at the ground again. “Two dogs?”
“They’re not mine. They belong to the person I’m subletting my apartment from.”
There was no denying he looked good in his causal weekend wear, an unbuttoned white polo shirt with a popped collar, khaki shorts, and boat shoes. His hair was a bit more unkempt than usual, and his eyes were hidden behind trendy Tom Ford sunglasses.
He pushed the glasses to the top of his head. “You know, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks. Nobody would tell me where you were. Not Grace. Not Merritt. Not even Stephen.”
“You reached out to Stephen looking for me?”
“You didn’t give me much of a choice. I thought maybe you went on
our honeymoon trip, until I realized I still have your passport in our safe.”
“I was in Topsail Island off the coast of North Carolina.”
“I’ve never even heard of Topsail Island. What’s there?”
“A Boot Camp.”
“A Boot Camp? Like a Benji’s Bridal Boot Camp type of a thing?”
Just as I was about to answer, a large Doberman shoved into my side, practically tossing me into Sam’s arms.
“Jesus, man, watch your dog!” Sam snapped at the Doberman’s owner.
“It’s really crowded, do you want to go find a quieter spot we can talk?” I asked.
“I’d love that. Let me just grab two bags of the pup-corn. Make that three,” he said, taking the bag out of my hand to pay for it. He reached into his pocket for his wallet, switching the leash he was holding from his right hand into his left. I followed the chain with my eyes, down to a small brown Dachshund cowering under his feet. Funny, last time I checked, Sam didn’t own a dog either.
“Here you go,” he said, handing me the bag. “Be careful, that pup-corn’s like crack for dogs. I’m at the market at least once a week picking some up.”
“For your dog?”
“It was a bit of an impulse decision. We’re still getting used to each other.”
Sam picked the Dachshund up off the ground. “Joanna, meet Waldo, Waldo meet Joanna.”
I laughed. “Waldo?”
“He’s a rescue and little skittish around people. He likes to hide in very strange places. The laundry basket. Behind window curtains.”
“Oh, I get it. Where’s Waldo.”
“Exactly.” Sam glanced around the square. “Where can we go sit with these three that’s out of the way?”
I pointed to a café off the corner of 17th street that had outdoor seating. “How about over there? It looks like there are a few dogs hanging outside with their owners.”
He nodded, and we crossed the street to the café. Once there, we asked the hostess for one of the sidewalk tables. She picked up two menus and led us to a high top next to the railing. It was a beautiful afternoon for early August in New York City, with low humidity and clear skies. People flooded the streets walking their dogs, window shopping, strolling to the farmers market, and taking in the sights of the city.
“Your waitress will be right with you,” the hostess said, dropping the menus onto the table. Sam pulled his sunglasses off his head and placed them down beside his water glass. He hopped down from his seat and tied Waldo’s leash to the railing. He reached out his hand, and I passed him Chaka and Khan’s.
“They’re not going anywhere,” he said, securing the dogs with a double knot. He climbed back into his chair as the waitress came over to our table to take our order. Sam motioned for me to go first.
“I’ll take an iced coffee, please.”
Sam turned to me. “You sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
I held up my bag from the Greenmarket. “I picked up a few things to make at home.”
His eyes widened. “You? Cooking? What kind of Boot Camp was this?”
“Very funny.”
“I’ll take an iced coffee too, with an extra espresso shot,” he said to the waitress, who jotted down both our orders.
“You look good, kid,” he said, once she was out of earshot. “I texted you a couple of times over these last two weeks, but you went radio silent on me.”
“I was too busy surfing, meditating, and talking to shrinks about our breakup to respond.”
“You went to a relationship Boot Camp?”
“The Retreat House Breakup Boot Camp, where their program fostering development, empathy, and self-love will help you discover your personal power and bring you the relationship you deserve,” I said, reciting their mantra like a commercial announcer.
“When we were together, I had a hard time even convincing you to go to the chiropractor.”
“I was in a pretty dark place after canceling the wedding, and I needed a break from everyone and everything. I did think about taking our honeymoon alone, but then someone told me about the Boot Camp. Merritt was the one who finally convinced me to go. The resort was device free, so I had lots of time to think about us and what I’d say to you the next time we were face-to-face.”
“And what’d you come up with?”
“So many things. So many things that always boiled down to just two words—I’m sorry.”
The waitress came by with our coffees and set them down on the high top. “Can I get you both anything else?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“No, I think we’re all set,” Sam added.
“I’ll grab a water bowl for the dogs,” she said, picking up the menus off the table.
Sam scratched the back of his neck and sat back, stunned by my admission. “You’re sorry?”
“Yes, I am. I’m very sorry. I’m not saying I forgive you for the affair, but I understand now how we got to that place.”
Sam’s chin vibrated as his eyes welled with tears. “God, Jo, I never expected—”
I continued, “I grew up feeling so alone, and then Samuel Calver, the most popular and interesting boy at Oakridge Prep, singled me out of the crowd and made me feel special and acknowledged for the first time in my life. You became my everything, Sam, and nobody should be somebody’s everything.”
He leaned in closer to the table. “I wanted to be your everything Jo, God knows I tried to be. But there were times it felt like no matter what I did, it wasn’t enough, or maybe I wasn’t enough. At some point, I got tired of feeling like a failure.”
“I know. I looked to you to fill a void in my life nobody could’ve filled, and then got angry with you when you fell short. I put you in a no-win situation. When I think back to all the fights I picked and buttons I pushed, I’m ashamed.”
Sam put his hands over my own. “You were in pain.”
I nodded. “Much more than I even realized.”
“So, this Boot Camp, it helped you, then?”
“It did. I still have work to do on myself, but I finally took those much-needed first steps toward facing all those demons that have haunted me for …I don’t know, for maybe as long as I’ve known you.”
“You know, I can see it in your eyes—you seem lighter, freer, more joyful.”
I studied his face. “You do too.”
“Nah, I’m the same old prig,” he said with a grin. “I want you to know, after that night at the restaurant with Grace, I told Lena everything.”
“And she didn’t kick you to the curb?” I joked.
“Oh no, she did. She kicked me hard.”
“Good for her.”
“Jo, believe when I say Lena didn’t know a thing about you, I swear to god. That’s not who she is. She never would’ve been on board for that. I was just as dishonest with her as with you.”
“I'm not sure that makes me feel better exactly but I appreciate you saying it.”
“I ruined us. I ruined our happy ending.”
“What they tell us in fairy tales, it’s all one big lie you know.”
He narrowed his eyes and his chin came up a little. “What do you mean?”
“True love doesn’t have a happy ending. If you really think about it, true love doesn’t have any ending at all. It keeps on going because both people want it to keep going and are willing to keep working at it.” I pulled my hands from beneath his and set them down on my lap. “I loved you Sam. I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life maybe more than I’ll ever love anyone again, but we both know we stopped working on us, a long time ago. Long before Lena Moore came into your life.”
Tears spilled over the sides of Sam’s eyes. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry for all the times I lied to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be honest with you or with myself about how I was feeling, and I’m sorry I wasn’t man enough to face what was happening with us and confront it head on. Mostly I’m sorry I didn’t demand we try harder and
do better, we may have even ended up in a different place than the one we’re in now.”
Sam was a straight shooter, he’d always been that way. It was part of the reason people always liked and respected him, and it was also why, deep down, I knew the affair wasn’t indicative of his character, but rather, a symptom of our relationship’s ultimate demise. I searched his pensive face and could tell he meant every word of his declaration.
I dabbed my eyes with the napkin and looked down. Large streaks of black mascara marked the white linen napkin. I held it up to show him. “Mistress Monica told me I need to find a man that messes up my lipstick, not my mascara.”
Sam’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Mistress Monica? The porn star?”
“It’s a long story, involving me and a dominatrix lesson.”
He tilted his head to the side, grinning. “Sounds like an activity from one of our yes dates. You and I had some pretty great adventures together, didn’t we?”
“We sure did. You know, for a long time now, I thought saying goodbye to you would be saying goodbye to my entire life. You’ve been my one constant, Sam. But I know now I can’t walk away and hold on at the same time. My mind’s been at war with my heart long enough, and I’m calling for a cease fire here.”
He held his hands up. “I surrender Joanna. I don’t want to battle anymore either.”
“So, let’s agree to put down our weapons and walk away before anyone else gets hurt knowing what we had was real, wonderful and maybe even once in a lifetime, but over now.”
He wiped his eyes. stood up and untied the dogs from the railing. He handed me Chaka and Kahn’s two leashes.
“Can me and Waldo walk you guys home?” he asked.
“Maybe some other time. I think tonight I’ll be okay on my own.”
He shook his head “Friends kid?”
“Always Sam.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
The next day I got up early and headed uptown for Grace’s baby shower. The shower was being thrown by her sister-in-law, Bronwyn, whom she indecently despised. Grace begged me to come early, help with the setup, and essentially serve as a buffer between the two of them, which I happily agreed to do.