“Absolutely.” She’s a lot happier than I’ve seen her all day. As she skips down from her stool, she adds with a smirk, “Sorry again, but not sorry.”
“You’re forgiven…or not,” I joke. “But promise me you won’t say anything to anyone until I’ve made my decision.”
“Deal,” Claire says, pushing open the heavy glass door of the café and stepping forward into the bright sunshine.
I follow her and smile despite myself. I can’t help but feel giddy with excitement. A book written by me. How cool would that be?
36
New York, New York
The bus journey to New York really takes forever; eighteen hours in total. I mostly spend them reading my book. Yep, since talking with Claire, I haven’t done anything else besides writing. Her vote of confidence really gave me the push I needed to get behind my story. After that, the words just seemed to flow out of my fingers as I typed and typed. So I spend the whole journey highlighting some typos and all the changes I need to make on my eReader, while taking notes in a notebook the old-fashioned way. I chortle with myself for most of the ride. Oh boy, Connor makes for a brutishly hilarious leading man. I’m sure he’ll catch the ladies’ hearts. I wonder if he’ll read the book once it’s released. I hope he will. I still miss the way we used to argue, frustrating as it was. Recapturing the memories almost makes me forget the tedious ride.
When the bus finally pulls over at our final destination in midtown Manhattan, I immediately spot Tracy waving at me from the curb. I carefully pick up my garment bag from the overhead compartment and almost jump from the bus directly into her arms.
“It’s been too long,” Tracy whispers, hugging me.
“I know. My new no-fly policy isn’t really helping my sociability,” I joke.
“Do you think you’ll ever start again?” she asks.
“Mmm, I doubt it.”
“Next time I’ll come to Chicago.”
“Yeah, you should do that more often!” I agree.
“Are you completely destroyed by the bus ride? We can either go out for dinner or order some take-away at my place and gossip all night, or at least until you pass out.”
“Take-out sounds great, and we can conquer the town tomorrow. I’m sorry I had to cut the trip short, but I have this new project I really needed to finish working on.”
“No problem—three days is better than nothing. You’re really here.” She hugs me again before we hop into a yellow cab.
Tracy lives in a cool, modern loft in Brooklyn, and she has a wonderful view of the Manhattan skyline from her floor to ceiling windows.
“This place is amazing,” I say, gaping at the view, the brick walls, and hip interior design. “Can I kick Adam out and move in?”
“You almost don’t need to kick him out—he’s away so much that sometimes I feel as if I lived here alone.”
I sense a bit of resentment. “Are you okay with him being away for so long?”
“I don’t like it,” she admits. “But I’m okay with it. I knew travelling was a part of his job, and that most times I wouldn’t be able to go with him. I’m not one of those women who marries a person hoping to change him entirely. I miss him a lot, but it also makes the time we spend together so much more precious. Keeps the romance alive, you know?”
“You’re so cool.” I give her shoulders a gentle squeeze.
“Now show me the shoes,” Tracy orders.
“I see you’ve been talking behind my back,”
“Ashlynn wouldn’t stop going on and on about those shoes,” Tracy confirms.
“Well, after what she made me spend on them, they’d better be amazing! I still can’t believe I did it!”
I open my hand luggage and retrieve the shoebox. On the top are two simple words engraved in gold—Jimmy Choo. I lift the cover and reverentially retrieve the most beautiful pair of shoes I have ever seen. They still take my breath away, even if I have—secretly—admired them every night before going to bed, and walked them around the carpeted areas of my apartment. They are classic Jimmy Choo pointy-toed pumps covered in tiny Swarovski crystals of different sizes. There’s a bigger crystal cluster on top of the point, and the vamp isn’t perfectly round but has this little squared wedge I adore. These are the perfect shoes.
“Jo, wow! Ashlynn was right—every woman should own a pair of shoes like this at least once in a lifetime. Now, the dress.”
Once the fashion lust is satisfied, we order Thai food and eat it on the coffee table of her living room, sitting on a rug and some cushions.
“So, what are our plans for tomorrow?” I ask Tracy.
“The morning is dedicated to the first stage of your makeover. I am going to have you scrubbed, waxed, and massaged into perfection. For the afternoon, I thought we could just walk around and chat some more, and then we’ll meet with my usual crowd for dinner and drinks. Not too many for you, because we want your skin rosy and healthy. Saturday we have a free morning, and the afternoon is dedicated to hair and makeup.”
“You’re a Nazi, worse than Ashlynn.”
“I want results and I get them. Do you know for sure if Liam is going to be there?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” I lower my chopsticks, my stomach suddenly churning. “And the angel, too.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“Mildly terrorized, to be honest.”
“I’m so sorry I cannot be with you—”
“Are you joking?” I interrupt her. “You’re going to be on ‘Project Runway’! It is so cool they picked blogs as inspiration for a challenge, and bloggers as models. I hope you’ll get a really good designer. Do you get to keep the dress?”
“I’m not sure…I should ask them, maybe later when the show is over. But you know how sometimes they reuse gowns for challenges and other things.”
“Only if it’s a losing gown, though.”
“You’re right. I hope I don’t get one of those.”
“What time do you have to be there Saturday?”
“Two p.m. I’ll barely have time to accompany you to meet Keira and stay for the consultation.”
“Keira?” Knightley?
“The best hairdresser in New York!”
“Oh, ha.”
“Do you already know what style you’re going for?” Tracy asks.
“I was thinking of a romantic, loose updo.”
“Mmm, no. With hair this beautiful, we need to showcase it more…you’ve never had it so long.”
“I know, I haven’t had it in me to cut it since I came back. Do you think it’s too nineties?”
“No, I love it, and you don’t have bangs…how about a side sweep? This way you will have one shoulder covered by the dress strap, and one covered in hair. Very elegant!”
“I think I like that,” I agree, suppressing a yawn.
“You’re falling asleep on me. Let’s go to bed. We have a couple of pretty intense days ahead of us.”
“What time is my wakeup call tomorrow?” I ask, getting up from the floor.
“Is eight too early?”
“No, it’s perfect.”
“You’re this way.” She guides me toward the guest room.
We hug goodnight, and I barely have the time to change into my pajamas and brush my teeth before I pass out.
37
Angels and Demons
I arrive at the Museum of Natural History in a yellow cab. I know, not exactly a black limo. I ask the driver to drop me a few yards away from the entrance, as there is a small assembly of journalists and photographers outside. It’s true that this is the most glam event in the literary world, but I’m surprised the press is here at all. I pay for the ride with my credit card and walk toward the group of people feeling confident. Yes, my insides are a tangled mess of nerves, but my outsides really look their best tonight.
Tracy’s team worked wonders. My hair is swept on one side as she commanded with a nice ‘do at the back. I have eye-lined cat eyes with nude lips an
d a rosy blush, my gown is fabulous, and my shoes are something else. I look beautiful, I feel beautiful, and I am ready to conquer my fears. However, I try to approach the small assembly being as inconspicuous as possible. As I take my first step up the stairs, I think I’ve made it unnoticed. That is, until a journalist fires a question at me.
“Miss Price, one question please…how do you feel about being here at the same time as Liam Grady? Is this the first time you’ve seen each other since the wedding?”
I’m about to reply with “No comment” when she adds another question.
“Will you ever tell the public what really happened on the island?”
That makes me stop. I turn around a give her a huge smile. “Actually, yes.” I don’t know if it’s the dress, the makeup, the shoes, or something else entirely, but I feel invincible tonight. “I wrote a book on the subject, and Price Publishing will have it on the shelves within the year. It’s mostly fiction, but there is some truth, too.” I can’t believe I just announced it; now there will be no backing down. Claire will be happy with me.
A couple of flashes blind me, and the journalists fire a million question at me, all talking at the same time.
“Will you speak about your breakup too?”
“Is Liam in the book?”
“Are you on good terms?”
“Joanna, are you still single?”
Luckily, in that moment I spot Isabel and her husband coming up the stairs, and don’t waste a minute in shifting the attention toward her.
“Tonight is not about me, or my upcoming book. We should focus on Isabel and her wonderful novel,” I respond when she gets by my side. “We’re here to celebrate her work, and hopefully bring home an award.”
They shout a million other questions about Liam and me, but this time I do give them a “No further comments,” and move up the stairs to enter the museum.
The Milstein Hall of Ocean Life is just to the left of the main entrance. I head there together with Isabel and her husband. The atmosphere in the Ocean Room is magical. The lighting is a dark blue speckled with purple and lighter shades that give the impression of being underwater. Hanging from the ceiling there’s a life-size Atlantic whale that runs down the entire length of the room. The sides of the hall are decorated with sparkling crystal curtains that enhance the sensation of having entered an underwater realm. For a few seconds I am so mesmerized by the setting that I don’t worry about anything else, but as soon as the shock wears off I do a quick scan of the room to see if Liam and the angel are already inside. They aren’t.
I check the seating arrangement for the ceremony, and notice with pleasure that the organizers had the good sense to put me as far away from Liam as possible. I quickly cross the room and strategically position myself in the opposite corner to the entrance. I decide to stay here for the entire duration of the opening cocktail hour so that I can keep an eye on who is entering the room, and not bump into my ex-husband and his new wife with no forewarning.
The first half-hour passes in a cozily uneventful fashion. I make conversation, sip champagne, and mingle with different crowds. I’m talking to another small independent publisher, Gary Preston, when I see them entering the room. A Victoria’s Secret Angel arm in arm with my very own demon. My heart stops. I keep nodding politely at Gary, but I don’t register a single word of what he’s saying. I retreat farther into the darkness of my corner and follow Liam and his wife with my eyes as they make their way into the room.
My heart is beating too fast, and my palms feel sweaty all of the sudden. Liam is as handsome as ever in his impeccable tux, and the angel doesn’t look like someone who just had a baby. As she turns around and shows her back, I choke on my drink. I’m not sure she’s aware that we aren’t at the annual Victoria’s Secret show, but at a book award ceremony. Her gown is unfortunately almost the same color as mine—a pastel, shinier shade of blush—and also floor-length, but that’s where the similarities end. Her dress has a scandalously low neckline, and almost no back. It’s made of a very unforgiving material, probably silk, but the angel apparently doesn’t have anything to be forgiven for, and it suits her perfectly. I hate her.
They start moving in my general direction, and I feel like a trapped animal, paralyzed with fear. Luckily, in that moment a speaker takes the microphone and asks the guests to take their seats as the ceremony is about to begin. I excuse myself from Gary and disappear behind the crystal curtains to follow a private, hidden route toward my table. Why am I so nervous? Why? I’d better remind myself I’m over Liam.
I sit next to Isabel and stare at the tablecloth for a good ten minutes before even attempting to have a look around the room. When I finally lift my head and dare to take a peek, it’s a mistake because my eyes immediately meet Liam’s. When they do, I feel an electric shock go through my body. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice his wife turning her head and following his gaze over to me. I lock eyes with her, and her stare is so glacial it burns. She gently steers her husband toward their table, and I turn my head so quickly that I think my neck could snap. This is worse than high school. And I’m up against the popular, mean cheerleading captain.
“Is everything okay?” Isabel whispers while affectionately squeezing my knee under the table.
We have become friends, so I can be honest with her. “It’s hard to see them together. I mean, it’s one thing to see the pictures, but flesh and bones…a different thing.”
“I’m sorry you had to be here.”
“Please don’t be,” I reassure her. “I want to be here. I’ve wanted to be here since majoring in English. This is an editor’s dream—my personal life is secondary tonight. I’ll be fine. It will pass in a minute. I just hope we win the award. Tonight is all about you, not me. Try not to worry, okay?”
“Okay.” She gives me another encouraging squeeze.
“Ladies and gentlemen…” The board’s director has taken the stage and is making his introductory speech.
As he talks, I relax a little and, as the award announcements come closer, I’m finally able to concentrate on what this night is really about. I push Liam and the angel momentarily out of my mind.
38
Winner Winner Chicken Dinner
“…and the winner of this year’s Adawell Prize for Fiction is…Isabel T. Mercer, We Fall Together!”
I think my heart could explode with pride!
Isabel is immediately in tears. She hugs her husband, then me, and finally goes on stage to collect her trophy. I feel teary myself. I hope this makeup is waterproof, or I’ll be a mess.
“Hi everyone,” Isabel says into the microphone. “I had prepared a long, sensible speech in case I won tonight, but now I seem to have forgotten it altogether…”
She stops, overwhelmed by her own emotions. The public responds with a warm applause of encouragement.
“Thank you.” She resumes her speech. “The important bits, however, were that I thank my family for bearing with me through every writer’s block and rejection letter, and for always being there to support me. My husband Patrick, more than anyone. I love you.” She blows him a kiss. “This organization, for taking a chance on a first time author—this award means the world to me. But most of all, I would like to thank Joanna Price, my editor and publisher. She was the first person to believe in my writing, and she took a leap of faith with me. Joanna, thank you—this award is as much mine as it is yours. To Joanna Price…”
Everyone starts to clap, and I am forced to stand up to acknowledge the audience. Luckily, there is a blinding spotlight pointed straight at my face so that I cannot possibly see who is—or isn’t—looking at me.
“You made me cry,” I complain to Isabel once she’s back at our table.
“And you made me win an Adawell!”
“Let me see it.” I take the glassy trophy from her and stare at it in awe. “I’m crying again. I need to go to the ladies’ room and check my makeup. I’ll be back in a sec.” I excuse myself and leave the ta
ble.
I need a moment of privacy to recover. This night is so intense, it’s overwhelming. When I enter the museum’s restrooms, I check my face first and note with satisfaction that Kelly, the makeup artist, did use waterproof everything. I stare at myself in the mirror. You did it, my image says back. Yes, we did it! It still seems so unreal. I retouch my lip-gloss and decide to actually use the toilet before I leave. I was so nervous during the ceremony, I hadn’t noticed how badly I needed to pee. I’m also slightly tipsy. Champagne seemed the best cure for my nerves tonight, and maybe I abused it a little bit.
I lock myself in one stall and begin negotiating with my gown a way to do this with no wardrobe malfunctions. It takes me a while, but I finally reach a compromise. I’m about to flush when I hear someone enter the room.
“It’s been a ‘orrible night,” a woman says with a South American accent I recognize only too well. “No, Liam didn’t win—his ex-wife did with her new publishing company.”
There is a long silence, so I have to guess she’s talking to someone over the phone.
“I know, but you should ‘ave seen her all smug, looking at him…”
Smug? Me? I don’t think so! Train wreck of emotions, more likely.
“No, she is a very beautiful woman, and smart too. I know he misses her, I can tell. It was one thing when she was dead, but now she is very much alive and here. I caught them looking at each other—it made my blood boil.”
The angel thinks I’m beautiful, and she wishes I was still dead. Not very angelic.
“No, no. He told me he ‘as no intention of leaving me for her.”
Ouch, that hurt.
“No, it is just that they ‘ad this deep connection. She works with books. I think sometimes she understood him better than I’ll ever be able to. I don’t know anything about literature, and she won tonight. Me ajuda, she got stranded on an island, lost her husband, got fired, and she bounced back as if nothing happened. I mean, I don’t think I can compete with her. I am so jealous it makes me sick.”