Artificial Love (The Goodbye Trilogy #2) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Mrs. Emily McDonald

(SIX MONTHS LATER)

My neighborhood friends always referred to me as Betty Draper from the television show, Mad Men. Do you know that character? She appeared quite put together on the show at first, so of course I was flattered. After I watched three episodes of her being a walked on, self-pitying, pest - I realized that was not a compliment at all. I was being mocked, as usual, so I simply smiled when they would bring it up again.  Plus! That main character, Don Draper, was extremely promiscuous and didn’t care about his family at home.

Of course, that was not at all like my nice home. Michael, my adoring husband, cherished me and our home. Michael, however,
did
enjoy the show very much. He became an avid fan and that was kind of disheartening. I thought he would be just as disgusted with the cheating but we both knew better. At least, I did.

Cheaters had to have their own place in hell right next to liars – where I would end up, no doubt about that – if hell even existed. Being nice does not mean being honest, just in case you’re wondering. I imagine I’ve lied just about every day of my life. Doesn’t sound so nice? Quite the contrary because everything I do and say has always been to please everyone else. I’ve always believed in God but hell? I already live in it. It certainly couldn’t get any worse than my existence.

Now, now. We can’t be unpleasant for that long, so I put that smile back on my face now that I was headed in to town.

Michael and I lived in a beautiful home in Wakefield, Massachusetts just north of Boston. We bought it, tore it down, and then rebuilt it to meet our ideas of what the perfect home would be. We had a nursery all set up for whenever he told me it was time to stop using the diaphragm. We had a play room with pool and air hockey tables, as well as a bar for when we had our parties. Those were my favorite nights. I had a chance to meet all of Michael’s coworkers from his financial firm downtown.

Michael worked late nights so I always had a five course dinner waiting for him in the microwave. That way he would eat. I think he didn’t always get the chance seeing as he was a very busy lawyer for a financial firm, so I made sure that he got all of the necessary food groups in his one meal at home.

Today, I decided that I would make a lemon Bundt cake and bring his lunch to him. I put my hair up in a nice twist I had learned to do on You Tube. I made sure to wear my red cashmere sweater that he bought for me for my birthday. He said it accentuated my breasts which made me turn just as red as the sweater. Yes, I was top heavy but I hadn’t realized he enjoyed looking at them so much. Today I was sure that I was going to surprise him by wearing it. It really was a nice gift. All of Michael’s gifts were nice. He was nice to me from the moment I met him at University of New Hampshire. He was in our brother sorority and one night he asked me to dance at a party we were holding at Phi Theta Phi. The girls were supposed to ask the boys to dance but I was too shy so I sat in the corner, sipping on a wine cooler, and watched everyone. It was a nice night. It only got nicer when Michael danced with me song after song.

Five years later, we still danced in our living room from time to time. He was such a nice lover and a perfect gentleman when we were out on the town. He treated me like gold. When he told me that he didn’t want me to work, I jumped at the chance to make his meals, clean our house, and spend time thinking about our future together. It was only going to get better and I knew it.

I pulled out of our garage in the rain and immediately plugged his work address into the navigation system. The British male voice that spoke to me calmed my nerves immediately. I always got lost in Boston so I made sure the man would tell me exactly where to go. The aroma of the food was making my mouth water. I couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face. I had only done this one time before and he was elated to say the least. He even took the rest of the afternoon off to take me shopping.

Pulling into the parking garage, I rolled down my window to get the parking ticket from the automated machine and parked on the second level, three spots from the elevator. I worked my purse and the food with caution. I made my way down to the ground level and right into the Tower of Boston building where Michael worked on the seventh floor. I received the requisite badge from the security guard and headed up.

My smile was stretched so far across my face that when I came to the receptionist desk, she smiled brightly back at me.

“My husband, Michael McDonald, please,” I said in a nice tone. I was nothing but nice with people.

Her smile fell as she gave me the directions to his office, which I already knew but I nodded my head with politeness and made my way. His assistant, Terry, wasn’t at her desk so I assumed she had gone on her lunch date. I knocked softly on Michael’s door before I pushed it open, all food containers in my hand.

Michael had his pants down to his ankles. His bare ass greeted me first as it pumped into what looked like his brunette secretary’s bottom. They were having sex in that way- they called it Doggie Style. What a disgusting term for making love. Terry, the suspecting woman, moaned out my husband’s name rather loudly until he slapped her on her bottom. My heart jumped, which made me gasp and damn if I didn’t drop all of the food everywhere. The next minute was frantic as I tried to pick up the mess of food and they began shuffling about to get themselves dressed.

Michael’s apologies and excuses rang through the office, but I blocked them out so not to make any more of a scene. I should’ve called. I made this mess and being so worried that his lunch would be spoiled, it didn’t dawn on me that my husband was cheating on me with his secretary. That was a cliché, right? Did I really just see what I’d known for all this time? I shook my head to rid the thought of him slapping her.

“Here, let me help with that, sweetheart,” Michael said as he knelt down to gather part of the lemon Bundt cake.

“I knew it was your favorite and see? I wore the red shirt you like, too,” I proudly showed off my sweater, sticking my chest out a bit.

“It looks very nice on you, Emily,” he agreed enthusiastically. He delicately smoothed back a loose piece of my blonde hair that had gotten out of place. Terry walked by in a flourish but I stopped her.

“Terry, are you hurt? My husband, Michael, my God, he just hit you. Are you okay?” I asked in confusion.

She
looked
okay on the surface but she also looked troubled; maybe even a little embarrassed.

What
she
didn’t know was that my husband, Michael, has been cheating on me since before we were married. I knew the signs and my friends had come out and said they saw him with strange woman from time to time. I hadn’t ever seen it close up, until now.

“I am fine, Mrs. McDonald,” she said with a disheartening tight smile before shooting a strange look to Michael. I turned to see that he was holding his head in his hands. I pulled one hand down and searched his eyes.

“Are you in love with her, Michael?” I asked. I had no idea where that question had come from but I suppose some part of me needed to know. I wasn’t even sure if I was ready for him to answer.

“I am so sorry, baby. My sweet Emmy,” he pleaded. “She means nothing to me.”

A slight gasp came from just outside the door. I looked up to find Terry with tears in her eyes and her hand over her mouth.

“What is it, Terry?” I asked her with sincerity.

“He told me he would leave you. He told me that we belonged together,” she cried. “You bastard! How could you do this to
her
and then to me?”

She was angrily crying and my gosh, it was an unpleasant sight. I cautiously looked around to see if we had drawn any attention to our little exchange. I pulled out a tissue from the purse Michael had purchased for me. It was a lovely gift and I remembered how delighted he was when he saw my reaction. I handed the tissue to Terry and gave her a sad smile.

“Michael doesn’t make love with just you, honey,” I assured her. “He has
many
women.” I don’t know why I’d finally acknowledge this, but I certainly wasn’t mad about it right then. I was numb. I wanted us all to be friends somehow. I didn’t want a scene. I only wanted us all to go along with our days - in a nice way. If it got ugly, well – I would be alone. I couldn’t be alone.

“How…why…what do you mean there are other women?” Michael examined me, looking aghast.

For the first time in possibly seventeen years, and ever since being with Michael, I rolled my eyes at him, surprising us both. I got up off the floor and blew the loose strand of hair out of my face. I smoothed the red sweater down with my free hand and Michael watched me in disbelief.

I had seen movies and I had talked with women who were enraged to walk in on their husbands having sexual intercourse with other women. This was not the normal reaction I was supposed to be having. I remembered one show about cheating on Dr. Phil and knew I needed to say it.

“There’s something missing from our sexual or emotional relationship that makes you seek that void from other women. You have been disloyal to me since before we were married, so before I go do what Dr. Phil said I should and visit my lawyer to start the divorce papers, please tell me. What is it about me that caused you to do this?” I started to shake.

I knew I wasn’t going to like what he had to say, but I was too good for him to continue being with other women behind my back. The moments passed long and time seemed to stop completely.

“I or rather, you aren’t willing to try different things in bed. You never get angry. You’re so perfect that I need to find women willing to let me let loose. You…are just too nice,” he whispered.

I felt like he had punched me in the stomach.

Too nice?

Too nice!

I couldn’t breathe as the tears started to fall. It wasn’t that my marriage was ending. It was the fact that I, Emily McDonald, was a nice person and it was
that
characteristic that ruined my life once again.

Chapter Three

Johnny

“What’s the set list for the night?” Dex, the drummer of our up and coming grunge band, Love Sick Ponies, asked in a slight annoyed tone. Ethan and I stopped our bickering over which note he needed to end “One Leg Up” in.

I tossed the set list to Dex with a growl and turned back to find Ethan walking away from me. Was he? Was he fucking whistling? Was he mocking me? Did he really think we were done talking? I took a deep breath. I was ready to pounce, to freak out on someone tonight. Suddenly, I felt like the band was a fucking joke.
The end.
Dex sighed loudly and I looked up at him to see he was boring daggers into my face with his arms tightly crossed.

His tattooed arms were more colorful today than I had ever seen before. Dex was known for getting tattooed like me, but going full sleeve was a new level of ink commitment.

“Did you get more ink?” I wondered out loud, squinting at his arms. I tried to make out the different images.

“Hey yeah, fuck nuts. I got this work done six months ago. Now if you would get your head out of the ghost of Jules’ ass, you would’ve known I got new ink because I wanted to fill up my arms.” He was seething. He was more than seething.

“And Ethan can’t hit that note, you ass bucket. He’s a dude. Julia has a higher range because she’s a chick. And just so we’re clear, because I’m not so sure that you got the memo, Julia doesn’t work for this band anymore,” Dex emphasized firmly as he poked me in my shoulder.

I thought back to my sessions with Dr. Screw Up. He had asked me about my friends multiple times. I’d told him that Dex and I were tight. Now, I wasn’t so sure. We hadn’t been as close as we had been before Jules left.

“He’s the best friend people look for all their lives,” I had announced to the doctor. He gave me a slight smile and wrote down maybe two words on the pad of Johnny.

The reality of that lie came crashing down on my brain. Dex and I hardly talked anymore. I suddenly felt inferior to him, like he knew more about what the hell was going on with the band and I was Johnny
Fucking
Lennox. I was the face of the band. I was instantly jealous that maybe he had taken sides; Ethan’s instead of mine. I mean, I had no idea if Dex had been writing, if he had been dating someone – shit, I didn’t even look at his ink. How had I become so blind to my own best friend? What else had I missed over these past months?

I hadn’t heard any of his new songs that he had written because I wanted to play our old shit. Nostalgia, I called it.  I briefly wondered if he was still writing, after one day I mentioned that one of his songs didn’t have our sound. What was the name of it? “I’m Not Me Anymore” was good, but was it Love Sick Ponies’ sound?

Ah, hell. I was a shitty friend and we both knew it. Besides rehearsals and at the stage somewhere in the New England and Pennsylvania area, we barely said two words to each other anymore. Most of the time, I was fucking with Ethan’s head and tried to make him feel as unwanted as I felt. It didn’t seem to grind. Ethan was a powerhouse. He had opportunities elsewhere yet for some reason he adored Love Sick Ponies. He was tailored for this band, despite how much garbage I gave him on a daily basis.

“If you give that guy anymore shit, brother, you are the one to go. He is about to quit because of you! Fucking shit, man! Why? He’s the best vocalist we will ever find,” he snapped at me.

I snorted. “You wouldn’t kick me out of this band. I
am
this band since
she
left,” I firmly stated as I pointed my finger at him, furrowing my brows in disgust.

“Like a fucking thunder clap. Split second lightning. Gone. Poof!” Dex clapped his hands and flashed a sinister smile.

Seconds later, his eyes were dead on mine and he wiggled his fingers in the air showing me the scattering little pieces of nothing I would become.
Ass hat fucking dramatics.
 

I stood there with my jaw cemented to the floor. There was no way in hell that I was going to quit or get the boot from this band. It was my band that I started. Well, Jules and I did. We started everything I loved in our little apartment back when we were living off Ramen Noodles and playing dive bars for pennies. The name of the band was my memory. Jules and I watching My Little Pony while tripping our asses off on mushrooms. That night I sealed the deal with Jules, making her mine…for a little while. I told her with my body that I had loved her from the moment I first saw her. I was… love sick.

I sprinted after Dex in a haze of memories and the now and all the noise in between.

“Dex, what can I do? I’m so sorry that I have been a shit ass but seriously, life has not been that kind to me, ya know?” I pleaded with my bloodshot eyes from yet another night of overindulgence in alcohol and orgasms. I
needed
him to see that if I lost the band, my life would be officially over. I couldn’t live off of memories and cheap whiskey.

“Johns, you’re not the only one that misses her. God, I loved her like a sister and in an instant she left us. She didn’t leave just you. Life sucks. I’m reminded of that fact—daily—when I look at your hollow self. My life hasn’t been that great either, but you don’t see me trying to rip heads off and fuck every dark haired girl in New York City. Get your shit together. I am serious, man. Jules isn’t worth this,” he firmly stated, pointing his drumsticks down my body and back up to my face. I looked at Dex and his sticks and nodded. Lord, please help me if he sticks one of those in my eye. 
I was paranoid. I was losing it. She was all that I wanted. Jules was all I craved. An addiction that clearly trumped any other addiction I ever had. This would be the worst detox in the history of detoxes. Intervention, however small it was, maybe worked. Maybe Dex was my best friend after all. He cared enough to tell me to grow a pair, right? I had faced the fact that Julia Delaney was gone forever but I still hadn’t gotten me back. Maybe that’s why I hated Dex’s new song so much. I wasn’t me anymore. I was far more fucked up than I’d ever been. I scrubbed my day old scruff on my chin and nodded in consent. I had to acquiesce. I had to focus on what was right in front of me. I had my bass, my voice, and I had to get the hell out from doing stupid shit daily.

I made my way to the back stage lounge area to set up my bass and get ready for our gig at the Max. It was yet another sold out show and to be honest, this surprised me. If I missed Jules so much, certainly her fans did, too. There was some hype about Ethan, though. He was the new kid on the block and I had seen his stupid mug in a few magazines with blondes hanging off his arm while getting a latte at the local Starbucks. Whatever. How cliché.

Danielle ran up to me, looking like her head was about to spin off her body before exploding into a million bloody pieces. I smiled at the thought. That would be so cool.

“I have an Emily McDonald on the line for you,” she said as she pinched her ear piece to put it on mute.

Emily McDonald? I shot Danielle a quizzical look. Her return stare was one of extreme frustration.

“Who the fuck is that?” I snapped. She shrugged in return, looking harried. Show nights always dumped an overabundance of bullshit on her. I really didn’t envy her job.

I shook my head. “No, don’t know who she is,” I confirmed as I started to walk again. I heard her mumbling from behind me before she grabbed my shirt to redirect me back to her.

“She says she’s best friends with Julia and needs to speak to you,” she supplied in a rush tone. Danielle didn’t like personal phone calls either. She was all business when we were on tour. Sure, we were only doing a New England tour right now but she was still far away from her LA condo.

“Jules doesn’t – um didn’t have best friends…anymore,” I stammered at how to answer to that statement.  I walked away. I heard Danielle give the girl information that I didn’t care to hear about. Something struck me about the call- did anyone else find it weird that calls for Julia were still coming years later? Obviously, this girl lived in a cave somewhere along the Appalachian Trail and had no idea that LSP no longer employed said bitch lead singer. I wasn’t bitter but if I ever saw her again, I had a whole letter ready to give her, which I had written in therapy.

I had just sat down on the leather couch and grabbed my guitar when Danielle came in and threw a slip of paper at me.

“Here’s Emily’s phone number if you’re ever interested in knowing what that was all about,” she snapped as she rolled her eyes.  With that she was off to fight another tour related battle. We needed to give her a raise. I hadn’t really paid much attention due to my attempts to make Ethan jump ship but Danielle was a smart, loyal tour manager. I would have to bring that up with the band if we ever did find a moment to be together.

I crumbled the paper into a tiny ball and threw it in the trash can. I went back to setting up my bass and tuning my vocals, since I was back up on some songs. Ethan came back a while later and announced that people were already entering the venue and we were on in thirty minutes. I looked out to the crowd and smiled. Oh, how I loved the sight of thousands of fans in one small area wanting to hear us play. It was fucking fantastic. Tonight, I would play like the fucking rock star I was. I loved our fans, our loyal fans post Jules. I was here for the people that were here, front and center, and who cared about me this very moment. That was all that mattered.

With a quick shot of vodka and a fist bump from Ethan and Dex, we took the stage large and loud. We were all spot on. Rocking a stage was the best damn place to be. Nothing in the world beat its angst ridden energy. I bathed in it every time and never imagined a life without the stage.