Chapter 2
Leaning over the railing that ran around the rooftop garden, I was awestruck by the fabulous view--the expanse of Lake Michigan and the incredible skyline that defines the windy city. I could see the dark, sparkly Sears Tower (it’s technically the Willis Tower now, but in every Chicagoan’s mind it will always be the Sears Tower) and the shining jewel that is Trump Tower off in the distance. Both were surrounded by other skyscrapers that attempted to rival their height and beauty. Lake Michigan’s deep blue waters spread out on another side of the garden. As a surburbanite, these Chicago staples were part of everyday conversation for me, but now I was seeing them in a whole new way. And to think, this was essentially my new backyard!
I could have looked out over the city for hours, but I turned my attention to the rooftop itself. Comfy woven wicker chairs and chaises with kelly green cushions were scattered around the terrace. The garden itself was enchanting, with deep, green-purple vines covering the red brick walls and snaking around dozens of pots, filled with flowers. I noticed perennial pink asters and stunning clumps of Purple Dome asters, but my favorites were the yellow, purple, bronze, and white chrysanthemums, flowers of harvest, flowers of fall.
Barbara shared all this with me as she explained, “It’s important for everyone in the house to know the flowers and to make sure they’re watered and cared for correctly.”
My eyes were drawn to the big table spread with a red checkered cloth and covered with assorted crackers, cheeses, sliced baguettes, olives, and prosciutto with melon.
Two women who appeared to be in their mid-twenties came sauntering through the roof-doorway, carrying trays of glasses, a bottle of champagne, and a glistening pitcher of orange juice. I knew from looking at their Facebook photos that these were my new roommates, Ivy and Ella.
“Bobbie!” Ivy plopped her tray down on the table, rattling the champagne glasses as she ran up to me and introduced herself. Ivy was petite, with ivory skin and high, prominent cheekbones. But it was her mischievous energy and her big, gorgeous blue eyes—so striking in contrast with her long black hair—that would keep me sneaking looks at her. As a modeling agent, I’m always drawn to unusual beauty, and she had it—in spades. Automatically I reached out to shake hands with her, but she quickly drew her hand back and grabbed me in a hug instead. “We’re friends now,” she said decisively. “None of that hand-shaking crap!” she proclaimed emphatically.
“It’s great to meet you, Ivy,” I said, hoping what she said was true. Would we be friends—or merely roommates? It’s not like you can just decide these things. Making friends post-college was never as easy as it was in school.
Ella, on the other hand, came off as cool, but I had a hunch she was just shy, like me. Her straight, silky brown hair just touched her lean, muscular shoulders. She was as pretty as Ivy, but with a delicate simplicity and a cat-like expression. I noticed how graceful her movements were as she relinquished the pitcher to Barbara, then wiped her slender hands on a cloth, and walked over to join us. She gave me a hug too, if somewhat less exuberantly than Ivy.
“You are now an official resident of 721 Dearborn,” Ella proclaimed in a quiet, ironically official voice. “Welcome.”
“Thank-you,” I said. I put my hand over my heart and looked at each of them in turn. “I’m so glad to be here.” And I meant it.
Barbara, who was pouring drinks, called, “I’ll drink to that!”
Now that the five of us were all together, the energy level on the terrace suddenly tripled.
Ivy handed me a mimosa. “Cheers, roomie!” she said, tapping my glass.
“Welcome to the family!” Barbara raised a glass to me. Meryl and Ella followed suit.
“Wow, this is amazing, you guys,” I said. “Thank you so much for everything. Barbara, this house, this rooftop, it’s just so magical. And this drink isn’t bad, either.” As I looked at Barbara and back at the girls again, my eyes almost teared up in gratitude. It was an emotional day, and I tried to get a grip. I did not want to lose it in front of these people I barely knew. And I certainly did not want to lose it in front of Charlie, who had just emerged from the stairwell.
As usual, when Charlie appeared, the setting suddenly took on the glamorous aura of a Vogue photo shoot. With his slouchy, elegant sexiness, Charlie’s manner seemed off-hand, almost sleepy, while at the same time dangerous and ready to pounce. All the women present, from the oldest to the youngest, responded--arching, lifting, purring. Even Meryl, who didn’t like Charlie, was not unmoved.
The spell was shattered when Due emerged from the corner at full speed, barking ferociously. “Oh Due, be quiet!” Barbara attempted to hush the little puppy who skidded to a stop and stood valiantly, and very vocally, between Barbara and Charlie. “He’s my champion,” she said. “As I just told Bobbie, he barks when he first meets someone to make sure they are friendly. With that statement she looked sternly at him and said, “Due! He’s Bobbie’s friend.” With that, the little dog stopped barking and came forward to sniff Charlie’s ankles.
Charlie looked down at Due but made no move toward the pup. I pulled back my shoulders and forced a smile. I felt tired and stiff, but the little dog’s marked difference in attitude towards me as opposed to Charlie made me feel a bit more cheerful. I hoped my low energy didn’t show. I wanted the girls to know how much I appreciated the warm welcome, and I wanted Charlie to think I was nothing but excited and thrilled to be starting my new life. Without him.
“Everyone,” I said, “This is my boyfriend, Charlie. He’s helping me move in.” The word boyfriend rolled almost unnaturally off my tongue. Ex-boyfriend is what I should have said. But the moment had passed.
“Well, hello handsome,” Ivy twirled over to him, offering him a girlish handshake and a blazing smile. I had a hunch she wasn’t on her first mimosa.
“Hi Charlie,” Ella said with a little wave.
Barbara and Meryl uncovered the trays. “Eat, honey!” Barbara commanded me. “You too, Charlie.” I was too overwhelmed to eat anything, but didn’t want to be rude, so I got up and made myself a plate. I caught myself as I was about to ask Charlie if he wanted me to fix him one, too.
Even though I appreciated the gesture of the party, I felt uneasy with all the attention focused on me, the questions hanging over me and Charlie. But everyone seemed so gracious and kind. Then it hit me: these women and this place were now my life.
“So, Bobbie, how long have you two been dating?” Ivy asked with a cheek full of food.
I glanced at Charlie. “Two years,” he said before I could answer.
“That’s cool. You guys are such a hot couple.”
“Thanks Ivy,” I said. “But officially, you know, Charlie is the pretty one. He’s the model. I’m just his agent.”
“So that’s like—your girlfriend is your boss!” Ivy slurred.
“No. The client is the boss, not the agent,” Meryl said.
“Are you sure? Then how come the agent can fire the client?”
“The client can fire the agent too. Right, Bobbie?” asked Ivy. “It works both ways. Doesn’t it?” You would think so.
“It’s been great meeting you all,” Charlie said. “But I think I’ll go carry the rest of those boxes in and leave you girls to it.” He gave a nod to the girls and without looking at me turned for the stairs.
I was tempted to reach for him, not wanting him to leave me yet. I sat down with my plate and proceeded to swig back my first mimosa. I didn’t have much of an appetite, but the drink went down fast and easy.
“Ok girls, another roast—I mean, toast—to the newest member of our family.” Meryl held her glass high. “The beautiful Bobbie Bertucci, long-time friend of mine, and one of the greatest girls I know. You’re going to fit right in here, Bobbie, and we’re happy we can be a part of this new chapter in your life!”
The ladies whooped and hollered, clearly eager to embrace any excuse to celebrate, all except Ella, who stood there qu
ietly, lowering her long dark eyelashes over her smooth cheeks, studying her drink. Meryl had warned me that she would be more reserved than the others.
“And now, it’s time for the cake!” Barbara announced.
“There’s cake, too?” I held the back of my hand to my forehead and pretended to swoon. The mimosa had loosened me up a little. “You’re right, Meryl,” I said. “I won’t be able to fit into my skinny jeans, but I’ll fit in here!”
Ivy put her hands on her hips and pouted. “Are you sayin’ we’re fat?”
“Not us. Just you,” Ella smiled like a pirate.
“Who wants coffee?” Barbara asked.
“I do,” Ella said.
“Only if you’ve got Bailey’s,” Ivy replied.
“Down girl,” Ella said, lightly slapping Ivy’s arm.
“What? It’s Sunday.”
“Barbara,” I said, “can I help you in any way?”
“You just keep your cute butt in that seat,” Barbara hollered. We could hear her singing all the way to the door of her apartment.
I was on my second mimosa when Barbara came back with a giant cake, homemade whipped cream, and a bowl of mixed berries. “My famous pound cake!” she announced with a flourish. “Bon appetite, doll faces! The coffee will be ready in a sec.”
“I hate to be rude,” I said, “but will you all excuse me for a minute so I can say goodbye to Charlie?”
“Go, go!” Meryl waved at me, nodding.
“Do your thing!” Ivy said.
I sprinted down the steps. All my boxes were inside the apartment, and I found Charlie outside. He slammed the tailgate of his Land Rover and turned to me.
“That’s the last of it,” he said, all business, as he wiped his hands on his dark grey jeans. “You going to be okay?”
I nodded. Something seemed to have taken hold of my throat.
“Don’t cry, Bobbie.” Charlie took my shoulders in his hands and leaned forward to press his forehead into mine. God, he could be so sweet sometimes. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so connected to him, but I knew it was an illusion. I knew his sweetness was an act, and I knew better than to let my emotions get the best of me. I was making a bold move here. This was the right decision. The only decision. I pulled my shoulders back and sucked up the tears. My heart was sinking again, and I found it hard to swallow.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, not for the first time.
But I do, I thought. I do need to do this. Doesn’t he get that? His selfishness angered me.
Charlie wrapped his hands around the back of my neck and gazed into my eyes. He poured out all the power of that expensive, soulful expression, as if a photographer was aiming a camera on him. Give it all you got, Chance. That was his professional name. Chance. Oh, yes, just to look at him, no one could deny he was intensely gorgeous. He was a sadly stunning character, irresistible and vulnerable beneath his gaze. Smoldering even. But his fingers felt ice cold to the touch against the warmth of my neck. I shivered.
“Thank you for helping me move,” I said, pulling away. “I’ll see you at the office.”
“Is that how it’s going to be now, Bobbie? You treating me like a client?”
“That’s what you are, right?” I murmured. “A client.”
His eyes grew cold and he set his mouth in the hard expression I had come to know so well. It was the same expression he’d worn in the French cigarette advertisement, the same one he always turned on me when he was frustrated or angry. “Figure out what you really want, Bobbie,” he said. “Because otherwise you’ll never be satisfied. I’m not going to hang around and be some knight in shining armor for you every time you create a crisis for yourself.”
“I think you should go now,” I said, feeling my face grow hot. He leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my cheek.
He threw up his hands. “Fine—have it your way, babe,” he said. “See you around.”
The last thing I would remember in this moment were my own words stuck in my head like a bad song playing over and over again--you asked for this. Now go find something better.