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“No. Sadly, Madison and I broke up,” I reveal, unable to hide my regret.
Max’s mouth dips into a frown. “I’m sorry to hear that. You two were quite fetching together. She appeared to be the yin to your yang.”
“Thank you, Max. And yes, she was.” All talk of Madison has me desperate to venture upstairs to drown my sorrows in scotch and baseball. “I’d best unpack. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You’re not attending the cocktail party?” Max asks, and I shake my head. “The guest of honor not attending his own party? Whatever will the big wheels say?”
I laugh, loving Max’s spunk. “Honestly, I couldn’t give a damn,” I reveal behind my hand.
Aiko and Max chuckle. Max steps forward and places his hand on my shoulder. “If you change your mind, I’d love to have a brandy with you. If not, I shall see you tomorrow.”
“Okay, Max. Either way, we will catch up,” I affirm. “It was lovely meeting you, Aiko. I hope to see you again soon.” She smiles, and we part ways after we wave goodbye.
As I ride the elevator to my floor, I can’t help but remember how Madison and I cemented our relationship under this very roof. If I’d known then what I know now, I would have confessed everything then and there. With hindsight, I would have done so many things differently. But that’s the fucked-up thing about hindsight. It’s useless.
As I enter the lavish room, I get hit with a serious case of nostalgia, as this room is a replication of the one I shared with Madison. As I walk to the bedroom, I can’t help but wonder if this feeling will ever go away. Will I ever be able to walk into a room, smell a certain fragrance, or eat a certain food without thinking about Madison, or relating it to her somehow? When my eyes fall to the king-size bed, I know that the answer is probably no.
I hang up my suit and then go on to arrange my toiletries in the bathroom. The counter looks so bare without Madison’s entire makeup collection crowding the surface space. And so does the glass, where my toothbrush sits by its lonesome.
Needing a distraction, I decide to pour myself a drink and watch some TV, but when an ad comes on detailing that Madison Avenue is the best place to shop, I quickly change channels and groan. When will this stop?
Leaning my head back against the sofa, I stare up at the ceiling, wondering if this is what the rest of my life will be like. If so, it’s going to be one long, painful ride.
Deciding to take Max up on his offer, I quickly get up and leave behind my boulevard of broken dreams.
The ballroom is in full swing. I, however, am not. I’ve been here for roughly fifteen minutes, and already I can feel my cheeks start to ache from all the fake smiling.
I seem to be everyone’s golden boy because as soon as I finish talking to one person, another takes their place. The majority of the conversations have been dull and drab, but I smile and nod, hoping I catch a break and someone pulls the fire alarm soon.
As I’m talking to Dr. Frenk about his experiences after winning the Gerald Harriet’s Award, I can’t help but look longingly at the bar; I need a scotch to deal with the boring content of his speech. How different my attitude is from what it was when I was last here. Of course I would be thrilled to win the award, but it doesn’t seem as important as it once was.
With that thought in mind, I politely excuse myself and make a beeline for the bar. Max and Aiko are talking to Dr. Felding, looking as excited as I feel. I decide to have one drink with Max before calling it a night.
“Two scotches, please.” The bartender nods and goes about pouring my drinks.
As I’m waiting, the hair on the back of my neck suddenly stands on end, and every part of my body tells me to keep my eyes in front. But it doesn’t matter where I look because Rebecca, Chad’s fiancée, will ensure she’s all up in my face, demanding my complete attention.
“Hi, handsome. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” I unconsciously shift away, hoping she gets the hint and leaves. She doesn’t. “If possible, you’re looking even hotter than when I saw you last. I like the scruff.” As she attempts to run her fingers through my full beard, I pull away, almost bumping into the woman next to me.
I apologize quickly and rejoice when the bartender places the scotches in front of me. “Good evening, Rebecca,” I dismissively say, grabbing my drinks and attempting to leave.
“Do you like my dress?” she randomly blurts out, running a hand down her torso. She looks like a Christmas ham in her laced ensemble, but I nod, not at all interested in what she has to say. “Well, you should see what I’m wearing—ornotwearing—underneath.”
Holding back my vomit, I step forward, but she moves to the side, blocking my path. “What do you want?” I snap, my patience wearing thin. I haven’t forgotten what she did to Madison. Whatever awful, venomous words she spewed to Maddy the night of the Gerald Harriet’s Fellowship Award ceremony brought on an episode that almost destroyed Madison’s fragile mind.
I have no intention of pretending to stand the sight of her.
She pathetically pouts while I glance around the room to ensure no one is watching this painful encounter. “Where’s your little girlfriend?”
Just the mere mention of Madison has me seeing red. “That’s none of your concern.” I step forward, not bothering to mask my anger. “Rebecca, consider this your first warning. This is strike one.”
Her cheeks flush, and she licks her upper lip slowly. “What happens at strike two? Or better yet, strike three?”
Unable to put a lid on my emotions, I get into her face and snarl, “Don’t test me, Rebecca. Unlike last time, I’ve got nothing to lose.” A small breath catches in her throat, and she exhales heavily.
Great, my words have had the complete opposite effect, and now she’s totally turned on. This time, however, I don’t have Maddy to save me. I do, however, have Chad.
“There you are.”
