Tonight is no exception. I wander the halls of my Bel-Air home at midnight. It’s a three-bedroom that I bought after I moved out of my West End apartment.
I’d thought to make a life here, in Los Angeles. And though business has flourished, I eye my spacious rooms and the palm trees out in the perfectly manicured lawns and it’s not me.
I’m still a Manhattan man deep down. It’s time I let my wife—soon to be ex-wife—stop ruining my life and driving me away from what I want.
I love fucking New York City—it’s my home, and always will be.
Time to seal the deal, start over, and hell, yes, if it’s what I want, take Sara to Daniel for dinner.
I punch my lawyer’s number as I climb into my silk drawstring pajamas for bed.
“Wahlberg. I’ve been thinking.”
“When aren’t you thinking? You’re a machine. You need more feeling and less thinking, Ford.”
“I’ve been feeling,” I announce, a bit exaggeratedly, “really desperate here. And I’ve reconsidered the plan you mentioned the other day.”
“Ahhh, the hardball plan. I tell you, with a woman like Cordelia, you need to—”
“Let’s do it,” I say, cutting him off.
“Come again?”
“Let’s do it. I can’t play nice anymore. I’m sick of her credit card bills, her phone calls, and getting jet rental invoices as she traipses around the world with any boy toy she can find. I’m not this man, Wahlberg. I’m not the one who’s been made a fool of for more than a fucking year.”
“Well, Hallelujah, he’s pissed now.”
“Not pissed. Just ready to do this on my terms. Get it done.”
After that last instruction, I hang up.
It gives me no pleasure to play hardball. Usually people respect me enough not to push me to the limit or encourage me to go there. But I’ll never be free if I don’t do this with her; and no matter how many wrongdoings I committed in our marriage, I fucking loved her. I tried my best. I deserve a shot at being happy again and I plan to pursue whatever gives me a glimpse of that feeling. And when I find it, I’m never letting it go.
NAME
Sara
Bryn was right. She landed Christos. He’s funding her start-up. Now she gets temporary offices in Brooklyn while we get the warehouse store ready for the big launch.
She wants me to be her personal assistant while I look for something I love. So I have been going to auditions along with attending my regular dance classes, walking dogs to pay rent, and being her PA. I love the variety. And Bryn loves the help.
“Christos. I can’t get him out of my head.”
“You two have been spending a lot of time together for this launch, haven’t you?”
“Well, aside from the fact that he vetted me head to toe… we’re looking forward to bringing this vision to fruition.”
It’s the weekend, and we’re chilling out after breakfast in our pjs in our small living room.
“Your designs walking around Manhattan—hell, the whole country. Getting worn and adored. How does it make you feel?”
“Amazing doesn’t cover it. But why is it that no matter the success, we always want more?”
“What more could you possibly want? Things are going great!”
In very little time, she’s turned her whole life around. From homeless and penniless in Manhattan to having a fabulous roommate (that’s me) and getting a cool million for her business.
“Christos.”
“Oh.” I smile. “Well, it’s the dream. Finding the one who makes your heart go pitter-pat. Makes me sad I found one who really lit me up. Makes everything seem drabber once they’re gone and you have no way of finding them.”
Bryn sighs and scans her phone. “You got another review.” She peers into the screen. “Sara was wonderful. Our Boston Terrier adores her. She’s even taught him to walk on a leash without pulling. So glad to have discovered her!”
She’s reading the review left for me on a dog-walking application, and I can’t help but feel warmth all over as I listen.
“It’s odd how much I like walking these pooches,” I admit, pulling my legs up on the coffee table of our living room. “Will you miss walking pooches now that your start-up is moving along so nicely?” I ask her.
“Oh, definitely.”
She smiles, then Bryn continues fiddling with her phone, looking distracted.
“Spit it out, Heyworth,” I demand after a minute of silence, dropping my feet and leaning forward. “You’re on cloud nine.” I roll my eyes, pretending to be disgusted when in fact, all this does is make me wonder why, why, why I haven’t found out the name of my Workaholic. I’ve checked the hotel logs since the night he left, but all I have is that California corporation name. And nothing else.
“Not cloud nine! But… ten.” Bryn giggles, then pulls up a horoscope app on her phone.
I watch her skim her horoscope, biting her lip thoughtfully as she reads her fortune—the stars—whatever you want to call it.
“I do enjoy reading these suckers, though I never pay attention to any negative things they have to say. I only run with the good ones. This time, though, it’s way off.” She sighs. I peer at the screen and realize they’re predicting that she should be ready for business and pleasure, both. Has Christos broken up with his girlfriend? Seems to me like maybe that’s what’s going on with Bryn and her Christos lately.
“Read mine,” I suddenly say, excited about hearing it. “Wait—you read it first before telling me what it says. Shit, don’t tell me if it’s bad.” I don’t want it to jinx me, or to make me feel hopeless about things.
“What’s your sign?” she promptly asks.
“Taurus. Ruled by Venus, I apparently like very beautiful and expensive things.” I take a peek as she searches up my sign. “What does it say?”
“Don’t peek and don’t talk—I can’t concentrate on reading with noise around!” She starts reading in silence.
“What does it say?” I ask.
“‘Dear Taurus,’” she begins after a moment’s hesitation. “‘If you still love him, go for it. Don’t wait for an astrologer’s permission, don’t wait for me to give you a safety net, just do it!’”
“What?” I take it and start reading stuff like “If a relationship has felt the rough and tumble of the stars, remember the universe always helps us with course corrections to fix what’s broken, or learn to let go…”
Damn Bryn, that little liar. I hand back her phone.
“Bryn, you are a lousy astrologer. You’d die poor.”
She giggles and sets the phone aside. “No, really. You’re hooked on him, Sara. I do think you need to find him. Why wait? You can be waiting forever. Why do we give our power away?” She frowns now. “I mean, we’re bombarded by all these marketers telling us what to think, how to feel about ourselves; we wait to see what others think about our clothes to determine if we really like them. We wait for an astrologer to tell us the coast is clear to do something we’ve been wanting to do. It’s wrong.”
She chews her nails thoughtfully, while I mull over the same things.
“Let’s do something we really want to do. Let’s finally do something for ourselves, take our own advice,” she proposes.
I’d thought to make a life here, in Los Angeles. And though business has flourished, I eye my spacious rooms and the palm trees out in the perfectly manicured lawns and it’s not me.
I’m still a Manhattan man deep down. It’s time I let my wife—soon to be ex-wife—stop ruining my life and driving me away from what I want.
I love fucking New York City—it’s my home, and always will be.
Time to seal the deal, start over, and hell, yes, if it’s what I want, take Sara to Daniel for dinner.
I punch my lawyer’s number as I climb into my silk drawstring pajamas for bed.
“Wahlberg. I’ve been thinking.”
“When aren’t you thinking? You’re a machine. You need more feeling and less thinking, Ford.”
“I’ve been feeling,” I announce, a bit exaggeratedly, “really desperate here. And I’ve reconsidered the plan you mentioned the other day.”
“Ahhh, the hardball plan. I tell you, with a woman like Cordelia, you need to—”
“Let’s do it,” I say, cutting him off.
“Come again?”
“Let’s do it. I can’t play nice anymore. I’m sick of her credit card bills, her phone calls, and getting jet rental invoices as she traipses around the world with any boy toy she can find. I’m not this man, Wahlberg. I’m not the one who’s been made a fool of for more than a fucking year.”
“Well, Hallelujah, he’s pissed now.”
“Not pissed. Just ready to do this on my terms. Get it done.”
After that last instruction, I hang up.
It gives me no pleasure to play hardball. Usually people respect me enough not to push me to the limit or encourage me to go there. But I’ll never be free if I don’t do this with her; and no matter how many wrongdoings I committed in our marriage, I fucking loved her. I tried my best. I deserve a shot at being happy again and I plan to pursue whatever gives me a glimpse of that feeling. And when I find it, I’m never letting it go.
NAME
Sara
Bryn was right. She landed Christos. He’s funding her start-up. Now she gets temporary offices in Brooklyn while we get the warehouse store ready for the big launch.
She wants me to be her personal assistant while I look for something I love. So I have been going to auditions along with attending my regular dance classes, walking dogs to pay rent, and being her PA. I love the variety. And Bryn loves the help.
“Christos. I can’t get him out of my head.”
“You two have been spending a lot of time together for this launch, haven’t you?”
“Well, aside from the fact that he vetted me head to toe… we’re looking forward to bringing this vision to fruition.”
It’s the weekend, and we’re chilling out after breakfast in our pjs in our small living room.
“Your designs walking around Manhattan—hell, the whole country. Getting worn and adored. How does it make you feel?”
“Amazing doesn’t cover it. But why is it that no matter the success, we always want more?”
“What more could you possibly want? Things are going great!”
In very little time, she’s turned her whole life around. From homeless and penniless in Manhattan to having a fabulous roommate (that’s me) and getting a cool million for her business.
“Christos.”
“Oh.” I smile. “Well, it’s the dream. Finding the one who makes your heart go pitter-pat. Makes me sad I found one who really lit me up. Makes everything seem drabber once they’re gone and you have no way of finding them.”
Bryn sighs and scans her phone. “You got another review.” She peers into the screen. “Sara was wonderful. Our Boston Terrier adores her. She’s even taught him to walk on a leash without pulling. So glad to have discovered her!”
She’s reading the review left for me on a dog-walking application, and I can’t help but feel warmth all over as I listen.
“It’s odd how much I like walking these pooches,” I admit, pulling my legs up on the coffee table of our living room. “Will you miss walking pooches now that your start-up is moving along so nicely?” I ask her.
“Oh, definitely.”
She smiles, then Bryn continues fiddling with her phone, looking distracted.
“Spit it out, Heyworth,” I demand after a minute of silence, dropping my feet and leaning forward. “You’re on cloud nine.” I roll my eyes, pretending to be disgusted when in fact, all this does is make me wonder why, why, why I haven’t found out the name of my Workaholic. I’ve checked the hotel logs since the night he left, but all I have is that California corporation name. And nothing else.
“Not cloud nine! But… ten.” Bryn giggles, then pulls up a horoscope app on her phone.
I watch her skim her horoscope, biting her lip thoughtfully as she reads her fortune—the stars—whatever you want to call it.
“I do enjoy reading these suckers, though I never pay attention to any negative things they have to say. I only run with the good ones. This time, though, it’s way off.” She sighs. I peer at the screen and realize they’re predicting that she should be ready for business and pleasure, both. Has Christos broken up with his girlfriend? Seems to me like maybe that’s what’s going on with Bryn and her Christos lately.
“Read mine,” I suddenly say, excited about hearing it. “Wait—you read it first before telling me what it says. Shit, don’t tell me if it’s bad.” I don’t want it to jinx me, or to make me feel hopeless about things.
“What’s your sign?” she promptly asks.
“Taurus. Ruled by Venus, I apparently like very beautiful and expensive things.” I take a peek as she searches up my sign. “What does it say?”
“Don’t peek and don’t talk—I can’t concentrate on reading with noise around!” She starts reading in silence.
“What does it say?” I ask.
“‘Dear Taurus,’” she begins after a moment’s hesitation. “‘If you still love him, go for it. Don’t wait for an astrologer’s permission, don’t wait for me to give you a safety net, just do it!’”
“What?” I take it and start reading stuff like “If a relationship has felt the rough and tumble of the stars, remember the universe always helps us with course corrections to fix what’s broken, or learn to let go…”
Damn Bryn, that little liar. I hand back her phone.
“Bryn, you are a lousy astrologer. You’d die poor.”
She giggles and sets the phone aside. “No, really. You’re hooked on him, Sara. I do think you need to find him. Why wait? You can be waiting forever. Why do we give our power away?” She frowns now. “I mean, we’re bombarded by all these marketers telling us what to think, how to feel about ourselves; we wait to see what others think about our clothes to determine if we really like them. We wait for an astrologer to tell us the coast is clear to do something we’ve been wanting to do. It’s wrong.”
She chews her nails thoughtfully, while I mull over the same things.
“Let’s do something we really want to do. Let’s finally do something for ourselves, take our own advice,” she proposes.
