Regrets Only
Regrets
Only
M.J.
Pullen
August
2012
Atlanta,
GA
Regrets Only
Copyright © 2012 by M.J. Pullen
Cover Art © 2012 by Marla Kaplan Design (
www.marlakaplandesign.com
)
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, brands, media and incidents are either works of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Trademarks and copyrights mentioned in
this work are the property of their respective owners and, unless otherwise
noted, are used without permission.
Contact the Author
Web:
www.mjpullen.com
Twitter: @MJPullen
Email:
[email protected]
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/MJPullenbooks
This
book is dedicated to the memory of my parents, and to my wonderful husband and
sons.
I don’t regret a single day with you.
Regrets Only
And
then, after a quarter of an hour's conversation, let the lady release the
gentleman from further attendance, by bowing to him, and turning to some other
acquaintance who may not be far off. She can leave him much more easily than he
can leave her, and it will be better to do so in proper time, than to detain
him too long. It is generally in his power to return to her before the close of
the evening, and if he is pleased with her society, he will probably make an
opportunity of doing so.
—Eliza
Leslie
The Ladies' Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners
or, Miss Leslie's Behaviour Book
Atlanta,
Georgia—March 2008
Suzanne
Hamilton toyed with a cherry stem while she waited for her date to arrive at
the restaurant. She’d ordered a cosmopolitan on a whim after getting a message
that Rick would be late, and wolfed it down far faster than she intended.
Never
more than one drink with dinner
, her mother’s tinkling Southern drawl
reminded her.
And for heaven’s sake, Suzie, order a salad. Men don’t want to
marry a girl who eats like a wild boar.
She
caught herself clicking her shoes together under the bar and hurriedly changed
positions. The new Beverly Feldman pumps had been special ordered from New York
and had to stay scuff-free until at least after the Dylan Burke benefit at the High
Museum. It wasn’t the three-hundred dollar price tag that concerned her so much
as having to admit to her assistant Chad that he had been right, that she
should save them for the gala.
The
bartender approached her. “Can I get you another, Barbie?”
She
shook her head, ignoring his attempt at humor. Tall and thin (and tonight with her
long platinum blonde hair in a ponytail), she knew she should be flattered by the
comparison to the doll, but she wasn’t. He returned to drying glasses and
talking about football with a large man in a suit at the other end of the bar.
Restless, she pulled out her phone and dialed Marci.
“Hey,”
her best friend greeted her after two rings. “What are you doing calling on a
Friday night? Don’t you have a date?”
“First
of all, 6:30 is not Friday night. It’s happy hour. And, I do have a date; he’s
just running late.”
Marci
did not answer immediately, and Suzanne could hear Marci’s husband Jake
whispering in the background. “Right…okay,” Marci said finally, sounding
distracted.
“Hello?”
Suzanne said.
“Sorry,
honey. Jake says ‘hi.’”
“Hi,
Jake. Look, Marce, you’ve got to keep talking to me until he gets here. Sitting
alone at the bar is just so
pathetic
.” Two seats away, a man writing in
a spiral notebook shot her a withering look. “Sorry,” Suzanne mouthed to him.
“So
who are you waiting for? Is it the basketball player? What was his name?”
“Damian.
And, no, I stopped seeing him weeks ago.”
“Oh,
no! I liked him!” Marci protested. Then, to Jake, “She broke up with Damian.”
In
the background, Suzanne heard Jake’s familiar voice, sounding disappointed.
“Aw, man. Ask her if I still get my tickets.”
“No!”
Marci squealed, in that flirty way girls do when they are pretending to rebuff
the attention of an attractive man. Suzanne heard a soft smacking sound that she
could only guess was Marci hitting Jake in the chest or shoulder, followed by
rustling and giggling. “Ow, Jake, quit it. I am trying to talk to Suzanne.
STOOOOP.”
Ugh
.
Suzanne
held the phone away from her ear and stared up at the track lighting over the
bar.
Fucking newlyweds.
You would think after three years of marriage
they’d be past this intolerable stage by now. Finally she said in her least
sincere sweet voice, “Alrighty, then, I can hear that you guys are busy, so
I’ll just let you go.”
“No,
Suze, I’m sorry. I can talk.” Marci sounded genuinely apologetic. “I’ll banish
Jake to the office. What happened with Damian? He seemed so great.”
“Nothing
happened. He’s too young for me, for starters.”
“Oh,
come on, he adores you. And he was only, what, five years younger?”
Thirty-three
minus twenty-two…
“Nine. Wait, no! Eleven.”
“Oh,
really? And playing professionally already? Well, I still think you should’ve
held onto him.”
“Thanks
for your input.” Suzanne was colder with her best friend than she intended. She
was thrilled, of course, that Marci and Jake were finally together after all
these years. But it was beginning to feel more and more important to them that
she, too, should be happily paired off. “Trust me, it wasn’t going to work out
with Damian.”
“So
who is it tonight, Alex Rodriguez?”
“Oh,
I’m working my way through the entire Yankees roster tonight. That’s why I have
to start so early.”
Marci’s
laugh was real, and Suzanne smiled too. “Actually, his name is Rick, and I met
him at that big conference I planned last month. He’s in medical sales. We’ve
only been out a couple of times, but he’s very cute.”
“Awesome,”
Marci said. “Can’t wait to meet him.”
“Yeah,
I think he has potential,” Suzanne said in a noncommittal tone. “He’s so
different from anyone I’ve dated recently. I mean, he does have a little of
that ‘aging frat boy’ quality about him, but it’s not terrible. He’s just a
little laid back. But smart and funny.”
“Mmm-hmm,”
Marci muttered, obviously not listening.
“So
for our third date, we’re going to get hammered and get matching tattoos,”
Suzanne said. “I’m thinking about a full sleeve with a
Wizard of Oz
theme. Munchkins everywhere. Do you think I can still wear a strapless gown to
the gala?”
“Sure,
sounds fun.”
“MARCI!!”
“Oh,
God, Suze, I’m sorry. Jake just…”
“It’s
okay,” Suzanne lied. “Rick is here so I need to run.”
“Okay,
sweetie, I’ll talk to you—”
She
snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the bar. The guy with the notebook
rolled his eyes. Before she could respond, the phone rang almost immediately.
“No, Marci, I am not mad at you,” she answered.
“That’s
a relief.” Chad sounded less than amused. “I have the Friday wrap-up before I
go. I’m off tomorrow, right?”
“Yep.
Big plans tonight?”
“No.
Just some party David is dragging me to. But of course, thanks to you I don’t
enjoy parties anymore. I’m always noticing that the drinks are watered down or
the cocktail napkins don’t match the theme. God, I
have
to get another
job.”
“Love
you, too, Chad.” Suzanne said. After four years together, they both knew the
only thing Chad liked more than working for her was complaining about working
for her.
He
let out a deep sigh. “So, anyway. Betsy Fuller-Brown called about meeting next
week. She wants to go over the schematics for the Firefly Gala on Monday
afternoon. Your calendar was clear, so I told her you were available. Meeting
at Rathbun’s at four.”
“Perfect,
thanks.” Suzanne loved that Betsy, the hummingbird-sized development director
at the High Museum, always wanted to have their lunch meetings at a steakhouse.
“Couple
of potential new projects. UPS is having some formal thing at the aquarium;
they apparently really liked what you did for them last year.”
“We,”
she corrected.
“Hey,
you’re the face of this operation. I’m just the hired help. Anyway, the other
one is an Internet company I’ve never heard of, doing an IPO party. Have we
ever done that before?”
“Eh,”
Suzanne said. “I have. Those things are so hit or miss. Sometimes they get a
little theme-crazy. We’ll look up their executive team. If there’s anyone
exciting, we’ll send them a high bid and make it worth our while.”
“Cool.
Your mom called,” Chad went on, “to ask whether you were going to ride with her
to the League Annual Meeting or drive separately. I thought you weren’t going?”
“I’m
not. It’s the day before the gala. I told her that.”
“She
called me ‘Christopher’ again,” he whined.
“Sorry,”
Suzanne said, waving at Rick as he entered the restaurant. He wore dark-colored
khakis and a slightly-sweaty yellow golf shirt. She wrinkled her nose. To Chad
she said, “Look at it this way: at least she’s moved on from calling you ‘that
nice gay boy who works for Suzanne.’ That’s progress.”
Rick
approached, reaching for her, and Suzanne held up a finger. “Um, sure,” Chad
said, unamused. “Last thing. That girl Penny called again about internship
opportunities. What do you want me to tell her?”
“Oh,
right, I forgot about that,” Suzanne said. “What do you think? Do we want an
intern?”
“By
‘intern’ you mean some clueless person who would follow me around all day
asking stupid questions and getting in the way?”
Suzanne
laughed. “Probably. Though she might be good for some of the grunt work.”
“Not
worth it,” Chad said. “This office is small enough already.”
“Fair
enough,” said Suzanne. “Okay, I gotta run. Call her back Monday and give her
our sincerest regrets. Don’t worry about Mom; I’ll handle that one myself.”
