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At the same time, my days were filled with high-end deals that always seemed to go my way. Well, mine and mypartner’sway — Eddie Bruce, a friend from business school. He and I had been pals since the first day of classes. We formed our company right after college, and it took off. We could do no wrong in those days.
Eddie was an Australian who loved New York City. He was always tan, always laughing, never wore a tie. He was also wicked smart about real estate. No one could resist us when we worked together.
It was a ton of fun.
Everything was on the up-and-up. My nights were filled with romance alongside Tabitha, and my days were filled with million-dollar deals alongside Eddie.
Then it seemed I saw less and less of both of them. The days got longer, and the nights got shorter.
I’d find myself alone in the sprawling offices Eddie and I owned. He would go on trips here or there. Told me he was trying to expand our reach across the U.S., or over into Europe. I didn’t question him. I trusted him implicitly, and always had.
I’d also find myself alone in the penthouse. Some nights, after the construction crew and interior designers had left, I’d go in there and just stand in the dark, wondering what she was up to. She told me she was on a photo assignment somewhere or other; shooting a mogul in LA or a disgraced duke in Europe.
I didn’t question her. I trusted her implicitly because I loved her so deeply.
Two days before the wedding, they took off together.
“Roger, you know we were never right for each other anyway, not really,” she wrote in a brief note she left on our kitchen table.
“Oy, mate, hope there are no hard feelings,” he texted me a few days later.
“I’d like the ring back,” I texted her.
“Eat shit, Eddie,” I texted him.
They absconded to Australia, just outside of Sydney, at a sprawling mansion I didn’t even know Eddie owned. They left me with a business suddenly in turmoil and a huge penthouse suddenly too big.
Oh. And a broken heart. They left me that, too. Guess it was what hurt the most.
I sold the penthouse. Changed offices. But the broken heart was with me wherever I went.
That’s when I really began to live the billionaire-playboy-party life. Before Tabitha, I’d gone out just enough to get my name on Page Six or in the tabloids every now and again. Eddie and I knew a little notoriety was good for business. Mostly, though, I was so consumed with work – and then with Tabitha –I didn’t have time to live it up.
All that changed after their betrayal. I’d think of Tabitha and have a drink. I’d think of Eddie and snort a little coke. I’d think of them together and go home with a stranger. Whatever it took to drown out the sorrow and the hurt. Whatever it took to make sure I never got myself in that kind of vulnerable situation again…
Except, now look at me.
I force my gaze away from that penthouse of broken dreams. Instead, I stare way downtown. A long way. Natalie’s new place is down there somewhere.
Do I dare take another risk with another woman?
“Get to work, Roger,” I mutter to myself. I pick up folders at random and look at the address. Sitting at my computer, I hop online, telling myself I’m going to do some research on this highly promising property or whatever.
Except, I do what I always do when I’m feeling maudlin like this. I start scrolling Tabitha and Eddie’s social media pages. Listen, I’m only human, same as everyone else. I do some hate-scrolling. Or, as others might call it, stalking.
Thanks to everything they post, I know more about their lives now than I did back then. There are pictures of them on the beach and on his boat. There arealwayspictures of them on the beach and on his boat.
From their feeds, it seems like all they do is spend time near or on the ocean. There’re plenty of pictures of them being lovey-dovey. One or two red carpet events. Inevitably, there’s a post of some arty picture she took of Eddie captioned with a message about how much she loves “this incredible, thoughtful man who saved me” andblah-fucking-blah.
Ah, the internet, where your heartache lives forever in ever new and interesting ways…
Those days, when things went south, were bad times indeed. Maybe I keep tabs on them to remind myself never to let those come around again.
I think about Natalie once more.
And try to throw myself back into my work.
Bad times, all around.
