Jackpot! (3 page)

Drew would follow me into my office every day after the lottery and make small talk. Over the years, the two of us had talked about pretty much everything under the sun, including politics, sports, celebrity gossip, Chicago hot spots, my career goals, his career goals, and his love life.

The conversations always stayed casual, very friendly and superficial, and that wasn’t by accident. I made sure to keep Drew at arm’s length, letting him get to know me only to a certain extent, and never taking things even to a remotely more serious place. Drew was my colleague. He was an acquaintance. And even though I sometimes wondered (quite often, actually) what he looked like naked, I saw no point in dipping my pen in the company’s non-Jewish, noncommittal ink.

All that said, seeing Drew hang around my office pleased me immensely, to the point where I was dependent on his visits. I thought of him like the little pink spotted teddy bear I had when I was two. Just like with
Pinkie
(that was its name), I always felt the security of Drew by my side. Sure, if I was occupied by some task or project, I would forget about him temporarily, but if Drew happened to take a day off from work and didn’t make an appearance at my office door, he was definitely missed. Today, as usual, he came by.

“So, are you watching the Cubs game tonight?” he asked, standing in the doorway.

“Uh…maybe,” I replied, barely looking up, pretending to be more interested in checking my e-mail.

“What do you mean, maybe? Do you realize that this is game two of the playoffs and that the Cubs haven’t made it this far in over fifty years? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“I guess,” I answered nonchalantly while reading e-mails on my computer screen.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he joked.

Finally, I looked up. “Yes, I care about the Cubs, okay? They’re just not my number one priority in life right now.”

“Well,” said Drew, as he inched his face up to mine and gave me a wide grin, “Maybe you’d be a happier person if you moved them up on your list.”

I was now forced to look right into his eyes since they were so close. Was it my imagination or did his green eyes look especially green today? My heart started to pound as I thought about how if I moved just a few inches closer, my lips could actually touch his. Did I want that? Panic began to set in. Could Drew see that a window had briefly opened up, and that if he planted a kiss on me at this moment, I might surrender?

I quickly looked away and once again focused on my computer. “Yes, I probably should pay more attention to the Cubs instead of focusing on how much rejection I’m getting from agents who don’t know a good screenplay when they see it. Listen to this…” I then proceeded to read Drew three rejection e-mails from Hollywood agents.

“They’re all a bunch of idiots,” said Drew, “Someone will see your talent someday, Jamie. It’s only a matter of time.” He smiled and literally patted me on the back. “You’ll see.”

“You are a total sweetheart!” I wanted to gush. Instead, I gave my friend a polite smile and went with, “Thanks,” keeping things status quo.

It was a good thing Drew Conrad believed in my ability to become a screenwriter because I was starting to lose faith. Flipping lottery numbers was never my long term career goal. I had gone to school to become a film maker, and instead had met the station manager of WGB at a Bulls game several years earlier. The guy instantly wanted me for the lottery drawing. Why? I had no clue. Rumor at the station was that I had a good voice and a nice butt.

I had always wondered why having a nice butt qualified someone to be the lottery host. Did anyone even see it on camera? Nevertheless, I had taken the job because I got to quit my then current position, which was a production assistant for the
Jerry Springer Show
. Plus, part of the job was to write and edit news stories, and that was something I liked doing. I swore to myself, though, that this would only be temporary. Half a decade later, I was still here.

“Hey, isn’t your birthday next week?” Drew asked, “We should go out and celebrate.”

“How do you know when my birthday is?”

“I know a lot about you.”

The traffic guy was walking by and happened to hear Drew. “If you know a lot about her, you know she’s not interested in you.”

“Shut up” said Drew.

“It’s true, Drew,” I said, my tone sympathetic.

“No, it’s not.”

“Does the name Max mean anything to you?” I asked him.

“That lawyer guy you’re dating?” he asked, “You’re not into him.”

“Not into him?” I asked defensively, “Just fyi, I am very into him.”

“I don’t think so.”

We debated this point back and forth a few more times, and as much as I was trying to sell Drew on the idea that I really was in love, the person who really needed convincing was me. For a very long time, I had been trying to talk myself into the idea that Max was the one. I had a strong feeling I was getting engaged tonight, and the thought of it was making me physically sick. I had thrown up after breakfast and after lunch, and I wasn’t sick, pregnant or bulimic.

I logged off of my computer and started to gather my things.

“Where are you going?” asked Drew, as I basically pushed him out of the way.

“Manicure appointment. Then dinner with Max later.”

“Skip the manicure,” he yelled after me, “Let’s get a drink.”

The traffic guy walked by again and mumbled, “Get a life, dude.”

“Dude, shut up,” he answered.

I stopped and took a few steps back to Drew. Now I was standing so close to him that I could smell what I suspected was his soap or his deodorant, and it was making me inappropriately weak in the knees. My heart began to flutter, and the look on Drew’s face was telling me he knew this.

“Listen,” I managed, my voice shaking a little bit, “I really am taken. In fact, I think I’m getting engaged tonight. I’m sorry. Please move on.” Then I moved on. Quickly. I was walking so fast, I almost felt like I was jogging.

Drew yelled after me, “Congratulations!”

I never turned around.

The receptionist later told me that Drew made an announcement to the five people sitting in the newsroom, just after I got on the elevator.

“The engagement…” he called out, “It’s never going to happen.”

The receptionist also told me no one was really paying attention to him.

Chapter 2

As I was walking into
Morton’s
to meet Max for dinner, I had the strangest thought. Why would he want to propose to me at a steakhouse? I didn’t eat red meat. It made no sense. But neither did the fact that a ring was about to be presented to me, and the thought of that was making me feel worse than I did the day I found out Jennifer Aniston and John Mayer broke up (the first time).

When I reached the entrance to the main dining room, Max was already seated at our table, drinking a dirty martini and straightening his tie. I watched him for a second. He seemed nervous. Here was my guy, on the heavy side, but decent looking, with his dark, curly hair, dark skin, and kind eyes. He was sort of nerdy, but dependable, which was in hindsight, the main attraction.

As I watched my boyfriend for a second, nervously moving his diamond pinky ring back and forth on his thick finger, I thought about his other appealing quality, wealth. Max had serious cash, which made my mother fall in love with him unconditionally. Not me, though. Yes, his money was a huge draw, but honestly, the thing that had gotten me to where I was tonight, (about to be engaged) was that Max was sweet to me. He made me feel truly loved. He worshipped me. Again, a huge appeal to my mother, who always told me that my husband should love me more than I love him. But the question I kept buried inside the nine hundred dollar Prada bag he’d given me for Hanukah last year was, did I really love him?

Max was about to officially become my fiancé, and eventually, my husband. My second husband. I had been down this road before. I’d already made one mistake and couldn’t help think I might be embarking on mistake number two.

Max would make a wonderful husband and father, but something was telling me it wasn’t right. Max just didn’t seem like the one. Still, these past few months, I had decided I would make him the one. With Max I felt safe and shielded. I’d had no father growing up, and a husband who lied and cheated, and that made Max the perfect catch. My ex-husband, John, was gorgeous. Max was not. John was charming. Max was not. John was soooo… good in bed. Max was not. John cheated. Max would not. That was the bottom line.

“Honey, over here,” Max called to me while waving.

I gave him a big smile and walked up to the table. He was definitely a nerd, but a sweet one.

“Don’t get up,” I said, just before kissing him on the cheek and sitting down.

“You look amazing, as usual,” he said with a nervous smile.

“Thanks,” I answered. I had to admit, my heart wasn’t into this, but I sure felt hot in my back-less red halter dress and
Manolo Blahnik
sling backs.

“I ordered mussels. Is that okay?” he asked.

“Perfect. How about some wine?”

Thank God, the waiter was on the ball. He had my drink order in no time, and quickly brought me a much needed glass of Pinot Noir. There was so much awkwardness it felt like a first date. For a second, I thought maybe I could be wrong. Maybe there was no ring. Suddenly, I began to have an appetite. That is until Max got up from his chair. That’s when my heart went into my stomach. He actually got down on one knee.

“Jamie,” he said, his voice soft and shaking, “I think you are the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world.”

A Tiffany’s ring box appeared. The color in my face disappeared.

“Will you be my wife?” he asked, his sweet, round face filled with hope, “Will you marry me?”

‘Where the hell is the waiter?’ I thought. Couldn’t he see my wine glass was empty?

I took a deep breath and managed with slight enthusiasm, “Yes, Max. I will.” Then I gave him a big grin and hugged him. Diners at neighboring tables started to clap and cheer. I had to admit, it was really cute. I suddenly felt maybe I was doing the right thing. Maybe my doubts were normal for a girl getting married the second time around.

Max opened the box and pulled out the ring. Now my jaw fell to the ground. I was in shock. He had gotten me the most perfect three carat oval diamond I’d ever seen, set on a band of tiny oval diamonds.

“Wow!” I exclaimed. This time my voice was much more enthusiastic. “Thank you, Max, it’s stunning.”

Max put the ring on my finger, got up, and sat back down in his chair. The waiter returned with the mussels and I ordered another drink. The two of us ate in silence for a while, till my now husband-to-be reached for my hand.

“Let me see this again.” He pulled my hand about half an inch from his eyes to get another glance at the rock. “This is gorgeous,” he continued, “It cost me a ton, but I said what the hell.”

“It’s really nice, Max,” I beamed.

Max’s voice started to rise. “Nice? What do you mean nice? It’s huge!”

Annoyance began to seep in. Yes, it was nice that Max sprung for the big rock, but was there really a need for praise, which I sensed the big spender was looking for? Again, where was the waiter when I needed him? Another cocktail was now a grave necessity.

“Yes, Max. It’s huge. Okay?”

Max’s voice went up another notch. “I would think you’d be happy, considering your first ring was the size of a pinhead.”

“So what?” I responded, trying not to grit my teeth, “John wasn’t making a lot of money at the time. That’s all he could afford.”

“Why are you defending your cheating ex-husband? Admit it, it was a teeny tiny pinhead ring.”

The same people who were clapping and cheering were now watching with concerned looks on their faces. My drink finally arrived. I took a big swig, stood up, took the ring off and slammed it down on the table. “You’re such a jerk!” I shouted. As I headed for the door, I could feel the stares.

Max stayed seated, but shouted after me, “Maybe you should get back together with your slimy ex-husband and get your teeny weenie ring back!”

As I was practically running out of the place, all I could think about was how angry I was at Max for the low blow. Why pick on John? Max should be thanking him. After all, it was John who led Max to me. John was the reason we met. Not that I was defending John, the lying, cheating, scumbag of the earth, but why would Max feel the need to bring up John, especially tonight?