Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2) (6 page)

To my surprise, Ben was still up, sitting in the living room with a platter of cookies and some milk. Luisa was scuttling about, plumping up pillows and re-arranging tchotchkes. When it came to maintaining my grand apartment, she was a tireless, obsessive-compulsive.

“What are you doing up, bud?” I asked, joining him on the couch. While I was still burning with rage, seeing my son cooled me down a bit.

“He couldn’t sleep,
Señor
Golden,” chimed in Luisa, dusting a picture frame with her apron.

My heartbeat accelerated and worry pulsed through me.
Another nightmare?

Before I could inquire, Ben took a sip of his milk and asked, “Daddy, can I ask you about something?”

The hesitant, sheepish tone of his question rattled me. My knee-jerk reaction was that he had met Cassandra. Every muscle tensed.

“Sure, buddy,” I said in my calmest voice as I ruffled his hair. “Shoot.”

“A girl in my class told me she loved me and said she wants to marry me.”

My brows lifting to my forehead, I practically keeled over. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry with relief or burst out in laughter. My adorable little boy was already a heartthrob. In no time, he’d have women at his feet. With a big smile, I gave him an affectionate noogie and helped myself to a cookie. Fuck it was good. Melt-in-your-mouth orgasmically good. Did Luisa know how to cook anything badly?

“What’s her name?” I asked after swallowing another chunk.

“Jordan.”

Jordan
. That must be Lisa’s daughter. Maybe the love affair began at the movie theater.

“Do you like her?”

“She’s okay for a girl I guess.” He took another sip of his milk and then looked at me thoughtfully with his soulful long-lashed green eyes. “Did you love Mommy when you married her?”

I almost choked on my next mouthful. The memory of seeing the psycho bitch last night came at me like a spear, obliterating the one of seeing her for the first time clad in a bikini on a beach in Saint Tropez and falling head over heels in love with her beauty. My stomach twisted while words stayed trapped in my throat. I had to answer this question carefully. Both Dr. Zimmer and Ben’s psychiatrist felt strongly that it was important for my son’s well-being to believe that our tragic marriage was rooted in love.

“Y-yes,” I finally stammered.

He broke into a small smile before consuming another cookie. I told him it was his last one. But he wasn’t done with the questions. If his first question about my ex was like a punch to my gut, this one was like a knife to my heart.

“Do you love Sarah?”

My heart clenched painfully. Should I tell him I was no longer seeing her? Refraining, I answered his question with another question.

“Do you like her?”

A dimpled cheek-to-cheek grin lit up his face. His green eyes twinkled with mischief. “C’mon, tell me,” I nudged him, eager for his response.

“I think you should marry her. Luisa thinks so too.”

His words collided in my head like bumper cars. But instead of making me dizzy, they knocked some sense into me. The truth hit me hard. I wanted Sarah in my life as much as I did Ben. Scratch that. I
needed
Sarah in my life because my son needed a mother. My son’s happiness was my number one priority and I needed to fight for him. I was raising him to be a winner just as my father had raised me. And winners didn’t lose.

With another smile, I gave my little man another fatherly noogie and told him it was bedtime. I called out to my housekeeper, who was still scurrying about. “Luisa, would you get him ready for bed,
por favor
, and I’ll be in shortly to tuck him in.”

“
No problema
,” she replied with a wink, obviously having overheard our conversation. She padded our way to usher Ben to his room.

After they disappeared, I devoured another cookie and then headed to Ben’s room to tuck him in. It was too late for a story.

“Night buddy. I love you.” As I gave him a kiss on his forehead, a realization hit me. I was capable of saying those last three little words.

After tucking him in one last time, I exited the room and thought about something that my father had taught me. To succeed in business, know your competition.

I made a phone call.

Fuck Sarah’s boyfriend. I was taking him down.

Sarah

O
nce again, sleep eluded me. I spent most of the night, gazing up at the ceiling and thinking about my decision to stop seeing Ari. My pack of lies haunted me. I had hurt him. Hurt him terribly. I hated myself for what I had done almost as much as I hated Catherine for the things she had done to Ari and his son. I finally dozed off, but soon afterward, Jo-Jo woke me up, nuzzling his head against my chest and meowing loudly. I dragged myself out of bed and knew I had to pull myself together. Today was Catherine’s big boys’ toyline presentation to Ike and the design team, and I was going to have to be the one to pull it together and make her look good. What I really wanted to do was sic a pack of rabid dogs on her.

After a feeding Jo-Jo and downing a cup of coffee, I debated whether to go for a jog. I was tired but stressed. And depressed. In the end, I decided to go for a quick run in the park, in lieu of my neighborhood, hoping that it would lift my spirits.

The decision was a good one. The air was cool and invigorating, and the early morning light that beamed through the trees along the lower loop was almost magical. All I thought about was running and making it through the countless hills and vales of this verdant path. The circle was a little under two miles and took me less than fifteen minutes to complete. I got off at Sixth Avenue and Central Park South. Watching out for cyclists, I bent over and stretched my calves.

“Well, Sarah, fancy you here.” At the sound of the familiar voice, I straightened up immediately, my eyes traversing a pair of very long, lean, toned legs. Every muscle in my body tensed as my gaze met hers. Standing before me was Ari’s twin sister, Gwen, dressed for a jog in black runner shorts and a sweatshirt that said Wellesley. Her flaming red hair was gathered in a ponytail.

“Hi,” I said nervously, wanting to get away from her as fast as I could.

Her eyes narrowed at me. “So, have you thought about my offer?”

“I’m not seeing your brother anymore.” My voice was stiff, masking my sadness as well as my contempt for her.

She flashed a smug smile. “I knew you’d come around. I’ll draw up a settlement offer later today and send it your way. Does two million dollars sound fair and reasonable?”

Two million dollars?
I gulped. Two million pennies would have sounded like a boatload of money. Gosh! I could do so much with that much money. Get a brand new apartment! Quit my job! Start my own company! Buy a car and pay off my bills! And best of all, pay for my mother’s cancer treatments without a worry!

The temptation was great. So many of my problems would be solved. Yet, there was something so very wrong about accepting the money. This was not how my mother raised me. She raised me to be a kind person, with a good heart and a strong moral compass. I was taught to be honest and work hard for the things I wanted in life. “Remember the three’s P’s,” my mother always said. “Be
P
ersistent. Be
P
atient. Be
P
assionate.” In my heart, I knew my mother would rather die than have me accept a bribe.

And there was the one thing all the money in the world could not buy me. The man I loved. Ari.

I looked straight into Gwen’s eyes. Without a blink, I hissed, “Keep your money. I don’t want it.” Her jaw fell to the ground. I ran off without looking back.

By the time I got back to my apartment, the temperature had risen. I was hot and sweaty. After a quick, cold shower, I hastily donned my work uniform—a mid-calf peasant skirt, a T-shirt, and my combat boots, and then at the last minute, changed into one of the floral sundresses Ari had bought me for our Hamptons getaway. I still wanted to be attached to him in any way I could. Slinging my messenger bag across my body, I grabbed my skateboard and flew out the door. I had no regrets about any of the decisions I had made this morning. Not even the one to leave my apartment pantyless.

###
♥
###

There were no flowers waiting for me when I got to my desk. And I had a feeling there would be no phone calls from him today either. Guilt mingled with sadness. I had hurt him last night. Scarred by love before, he was not looking to become a trainwreck again. My Trainman was out of my life. Gone forever. It was the price I had to pay.

I turned on my computer and checked my emails. The usual, absurd “To Do” list from Catherine, née Cassandra, popped up on my screen. I hated this snake-tongued woman with a passion. She had ruined Ari’s life. And now she had ruined mine. I told myself that I would talk to Human Resources later today and see if I could transfer to another department. There was no way I could continue to work for the sick bitch and respect myself. The chances of getting a different position were slim, but I had to give it a try. Sadly, the chances of winning back Ari were none. Another horrible wave of sadness swept over me.

With Catherine still not in the office, I had the opportunity to make a couple of personal phone calls. First, I called my mother, who was looking forward to seeing me tomorrow. The sound of her voice, which was growing stronger every day, temporarily cheered me up. I so wanted to tell her about everything that was going on in my life, but the last thing I wanted to do was worry her. By the end of the short phone call, I felt depressed and anxious again, knowing I still hadn’t figured out a way to pay for her treatments. Or a way to break the bad news to her about the research grant running out. The fact that she was getting better made it exponentially more difficult. As much as I looked forward to seeing her, I dreaded it. For a brief moment, I second-guessed my decision to turn down Gwen’s outrageous offer. But then my moral compass flexed its muscle and I knew I’d done the right thing. I remembered once again that my mother believed that good things happened to good people. And no matter how fucked up my life was, I had to believe that. I had to!

With renewed strength, I called Lauren next. She sounded much better, in fact, chipper. Whatever “happy pill” they were giving her, I wanted it too. Babbling non-stop, she told me how delicious the food was, just like a five-star hotel, and informed me that she had flushed Taylor’s five-carat engagement ring down the toilet. So like her to do that—my drama queen friend. The most exciting news was that her hospital suite was the one Beyoncé had stayed in when she gave birth to Blue Ivy. “Oh my God! Can you believe I’m sleeping in the same bed as Queen Bee?” she squeed. Lauren was definitely on the road to recovery.

Just as I ended the call, Catherine came flying in like a storm. She was out of breath. “Ike just called me and moved up the concept meeting to nine o’clock. Let’s go.”

I was barely able to hang up the phone. Grabbing the file, I followed her as she raced down the hall to the boardroom. The clickety-clack of her sharp heels sounded fast and furiously. When we got there, Ike and the design team, including Fernando, were already seated around the large conference room table.

“Good morning, everyone,” breathed Catherine, taking a seat and looking perfectly groomed and composed. “I’ve come up with several very exciting concepts for the next big boys’ toy.”

I gritted my teeth as I handed her the file.
I’ve come up with
…You mean,
your assistant
has come up with. The psycho bitch had no problem stealing anything from me. Including the man whose heart might have been mine. The hatred I felt for her intensified.

Every muscle in my body clenched with rage as the spawn of Satan stood up and, one by one, went through the concepts. Dressed in another one of her classic Chanel suits, she was a dynamic pitch person, a skill she likely cultivated during her modeling days. Fernando once told me she could sell a dick to a dyke. I believed him.

Ike sat at the head of the table, listening attentively to each idea. His expression was impassive, making it hard to tell if he liked any of them. There were two concepts left—Fancy Pantz and Combat Wombats.

You could tell that Catherine was very high on Fancy Pantz, the ludicrous boys’ fashion dolls concept that Fernando had created as a joke. While the two of us mentally rolled our eyes at each other, she rattled off all its high points.

“Just imagine the tie-ins to top fashion designers as well as the merchandising and licensing opportunities. I can already see a whole line of grooming products for little boys!”

I glanced at Ike. As an animated Catherine continued to reel off all of the possible product extensions of this “breakthrough boys’ lifestyle brand” including a father-like-son clothing line, his eyes widened. I couldn’t tell if the idea for a boys’ fashion doll line amazed or appalled him.

Finally, Catherine pitched Combat Wombats. I must say she pitched it with conviction, showing enthusiasm for the environment-protecting marsupial action figures and the product line extensions I’d fleshed out—including the Wombatmobile and the Mutant Pollutants, the evil villains. She told Ike and the team that the idea was inspired by her recent trip to Australia.