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Well, she’s right about that. Still…
“I promise you, it’ll be a very relaxing, refreshing weekend; for the both of us. And who knows, maybe you’ll want to keep c
oming back.”
I smile at the thought of having somewhere else to go instead of staking out the malls for clearance sales, or being cooped up in my house, staring at the walls, eating myself into another dress size. “Okay, I’m sold. When and where?”
“Oh, great,” she says, sounding a bit too overly excited. But why? “Girl, you have no idea how you’ve made my day. I look forward to seeing you.” She gives me the address and directions. I tell her I will work a half-day on Friday, then head up. We talk a few minutes more, then disconnect.
At six o’clock, I shut off my computer, slip into my coat and prepare to leave for the day. “Miss Wilson,” Erica—one of the administrative secretaries, stops me, carrying a huge floral arrangement in a crystal vase. “These just came for you.”
I raise my eyebrow in surprise. “For me?” Erica hands me the vase. There’s a white envelope in the center of it. I open it. GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE? I’LL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES. I MISS YOU. MAURICE.
I tear the card up, then hand the vase back to her. “No thanks. You can toss these.” I walk off, ignoring the young assistant’s curious look. “See you in the morning.”
• • •
The rest of the week flies by uneventful. I become immersed in briefings and reports at work, then spend an hour and a half each night at the gym right after work so that by the time I get home—around eight, I am too exhausted to do anything else besides shower and then hit the sheets. So Friday rolls around faster than I had hoped. For some reason, I feel nervous. And I’ve been tempted a few times to call Karalyn to cancel. But then I think about the alternatives, and decide against it. Hell, it’s the New Year and I promised I would spend it doing and experiencing new things. So I might as well get started now.
At twelve P.M. sharp, I am pulling out of the employees’ parking garage. With my overnight bag already packed and in the trunk, I stop at the Exxon down the street from the job. Gas up, then head up Interstate 280 toward Interstate 80, heading westbound.
Four
“So, do tell,” Karalyn says, moving around the L-shaped granite counter. We’ve eaten lobster and shrimp dishes she’s whipped up. And have spent the last several hours getting caught up with each other’s lives while listening to her vast collection of music. Surprisingly, Karalyn has been extremely chatty. She’s told me that she and her husband, Kenneth, have been divorced for the last six months, partly due to his infidelities and, mostly, to her not being happy in the marriage. She said it felt like she was suffocating. Now the conversation has shifted over to me. I sip my wine, eyeing her over the rim of my glass as she reaches for her glass of wine, then takes a sip. It’s close to eight o’clock in the evening and we’ve already finished off two bottles of Moscato, now working on our third. And, yes, my guard and hair have both been let down. I’m feeling good. “What happened between you and ole boy, anyway? What’s his name?”
I sigh, shifting my weight onto the stool I’m sitting on. “Maurice.”
She snaps her fingers. “Yeah, that’s right. Mister Fine. Mmmph. Anyway, what happened or didn’t happen to cause this breakup?”
I toss back my drink. “What else you have besides wine? I need something a little more stronger than this.”
She chuckles, pointing over toward a room off of the kitchen. “There are a few bottles of Ciroc and, I think, I have some Bombay, Tequila, and Remy in the cabinet as well as out in the pantry. And you still haven’t answered the question.”
I get up from my seat and head for the bottles of liquor, feeling tipsy. “I’d rather not talk about him.”
“I thought the two of you were madly in love.”
“Please. So did I. But that one-way love affair has since been derailed.” I walk back out with a bottle of peach Ciroc.
She guzzles back the rest of her wine, then sets her glass on the counter. “So what happened? What changed?” She reaches over and grabs a handful of grapes from off a ceramic platter and pops two in her mouth.
I roll my eyes, cracking open the bottle. “Girl, long story.” I walk over to the fridge and pull out a tray of ice cubes, then locate a can of pineapple juice she has in another cabinet. Now in the back of my mind I know I probably shouldn’t have any more to drink. And I definitely should probably stick with the one and not switch over to something else. But, tonight, I feel like pushing the envelope to the edge. I feel like letting my hair down and simply being in the moment. And I’m sure I’m going to pay for it in the morning.
Karalyn stares at me, tapping her nails against the granite. “Well, are you going to keep me waiting? Spill it. I wanna know what happened between you and Maurice?” I pull out a clean glass from out of the cabinet. She tells me to grab her one as well. She’s decided she’s had enough of the wine for one night.
“Say when?” I say as I pour vodka into a glass over three cubes of ice. She waits until it’s half-full, then says, “when.” I add a splash of pineapple juice, then hand her the glass.
“Aaah, yesss. Now this’ll kick it up a notch,” she says, taking a sip.
I grin. “Glad you like.”
“I definitely do. A lot.” She eyes me over the rim of her glass. “How about we take this into the living room so we can get a little more comfortable?” She stands, stretches, then takes another sip of her drink. “You sure know how to make a simple drink taste delicious.”
“Hey, what can I say?” I tease. “I’m good at whatever I do. Trust.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are. And I can’t wait to find out what else you’re good at.” The statement drips with innuendo. My face suddenly feels flush with embarrassment.
She laughs, walking off into the living room. “Relax, girl. I’m only teasing.”
