Falling in Love (38 page)

After a hard workout, I occasionally stopped at the gym’s juice bar. But if a guy glanced at me, I always panicked and quickly changed my order for a juice to go. As another birthday present to myself, I decided that just talking to a guy probably wouldn’t sail me into the gutter. So the next week, dressed in a very plain blouse and slacks, I dared to sit down at the empty juice bar and ordered my favorite, a Berry Blast Smoothie.

“Good workout?” asked Alison, the juice maker.

I nodded. I liked Alison because she reminded me of Dede, bubbly and cheerful and only needed a listener to have an interesting conversation. Midway through her amusing story about why her new workout wasn’t working, I barely noticed that sitting down beside me was a good-looking guy in gym shorts and a tight T-shirt that displayed his ripped upper body. He was immediately caught up in Alison’s story.

During a pause, she asked, “The usual?”

He nodded, “Please.” He turned to me with a brilliant smile. “I juice before every workout. A glass of carrots and parsley gives me so much energy.”

I tried to smile back. I admitted, “Mostly, I like the smoothies.” Another milestone, Sherry! You are actually making small talk with a guy!

He held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not a health nut. I love smoothies, too. I’m Sam.” He extended his hand.

“Sherry,” I said, shaking his hand.

“You like the bike, right?”

I nodded. Then suddenly, I heard a voice that made me suspect that I really was going crazy.

“Excuse me,” the voice said again.
It can’t be real!
Scared to death, I turned around to see a handsome man in a three-piece suit, looking very nervous. It was Paul!

“Hi. I’m Paul,” he said. “I am an associate with the Wall Street law firm of Crown and O’Leary, and I’m in a twelve step program for codependents.” He swallowed, and then in a shaky voice, he continued talking. But I could barely hear him above Alison’s whirring juicer and the blood coursing through my body making my head feel like it was going to explode.

Sam turned to him and snapped, “Hey, Man? We’re talking here.”

Paul ignored him, still staring at me. He was saying, “I would like you to be the mother of my children and one day help me spoil our grandchildren. But I only live one hour at a time and I wondered if you’d have a cappuccino with me, and we’ll see how that hour goes.”

I was suddenly more scared then I’d ever been in my life. Except for getting sober and playing soccer, every move I’d ever made in my life had been wrong. Every one! I was petrified that within that hour I would be back in the gutter. Maybe I was ready for a date, but not with Paul! That was risking everything! It could kill me! I wanted to run away but Paul was blocking my exit, waiting for an answer.

Sam was appalled. He asked me, “Do you believe this guy?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of Paul, seeing the look in his eyes that I’d see so often in the mirror—a look of pure terror. Paul was taking the same lifetime risk. I tried to answer Paul but couldn’t speak while looking at those terrified dark eyes. I turned to Sam and heard myself say, “I don’t know. But I’m willing to find out. It was nice meeting you.”

Sam stared at me, absolutely stunned. I almost tripped as I got off the stool and clutched the bar for support.

Without a word, Paul and I headed for the door. Behind me, I heard Sam say to Alison. “I am an account executive with the Madison Avenue firm of Cranston, Halston and I’m in a twelve step program. I would like you to be the mother of my children and one day help me spoil our grandchildren. But I only live an hour at a time and I wonder if you’d have a cappuccino with me, and we’ll see how that hour goes.”

Alison replied, “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Sam exclaimed, “That’s what I thought!”

Outside, Paul and I headed up the block, walking without a word. I had no idea what to say but I desperately wanted to have some contact with him, something to tell myself that this was actually real.

As a couple passed by us, Paul moved closer to me and his hand brushed against mine. He jerked away from me and I felt poisonous. Then realizing what he had done, he gently took my hand and softly squeezed it. We continued up the street holding hands. His grip felt so warm and so comfortable and that for the first time in my entire life, I felt like there was a chance, however small, that one day, I just might again feel joy. And love.

EPILOGUE

Sherry looked pale and completely drained as the bright morning sun bathed her face. The beautiful young woman that I had met on Friday now looked years older, aged by her story. Yet she had an eerie calmness of having faced it, told it and, once again, survived it. Suddenly, she began sobbing.

When she finally looked up, she said, “I haven’t talked about my life with Paul, my son, my reconciliation with God.” She paused, then added, “And with my mother.”

“We have enough for a book,” I said softly. “Editors loved sequels. If you are willing to go through this again?”

She looked relieved.

She was late for her plane and quickly gathered herself together. I walked her over to Lexington Avenue and hailed a cab which swerved to a screeching halt beside us. Sherry hugged me. Then she said the words that I had heard several times before. Words that I had dismissed when said by celebrities with the final say and a phalanx of managers, agents and lawyers to protect them. But now the words bore into me. “I’m trusting you with my life.”

Then she disappeared into the taxi and it shot forward. I watched the cab head down Lexington folding into the stream of traffic until its top was reduced to a tiny fiery reflection of the early morning sun. Then it was gone.

I was left with only her story. How good it was would be for readers to decide.

But for my money, Candice had gotten it right.

###

Stephen Bradlee is a pen name for a Hollywood film executive. He has ghostwritten celebrity autobiographies and has worked primarily as a script doctor. He is married and lives with his wife, their daughter and their dog.

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