Your Big Break (20 page)

“Good riddance,” she says. “At least you've got him out of your hair. There's no hiding from Evan.”

“Boston's a big city,” I point out, turning to pick up my purse.

“Don't leave,” Sophie says. “We could hang out for a while. Order a pie or something?” She gives me a shy smile. “It'd be nice to have the company.”

“Sure,” I tell her. “Should we rent a movie, too?”

“Yeah!” she says enthusiastically. “We can pick up a pizza on the way back.” She scoops her car keys off the end table and heads toward the door. “I don't have a Blockbuster card. Are you a member?”

“Don't worry,” I say, putting my arm around her shoulder. “I've got the hookup.” I realize that Craig is rubbing off on me.

I take Sophie to Sean's Blockbuster on Commonwealth Avenue in Boston.

It's a bit of a haul from Cambridge, but the rentals will be free. We crank the stereo up and sing along to U2 as we cruise down Massachusetts Avenue. I'm surprised to discover that Sophie and I have the same taste in music.

“You can't live in Boston and not love U2,” Sophie screams over the blare of
Mysterious Ways
. “This is practically their second home, next to Dublin.”

The traffic's surprisingly light for a Saturday night, and we arrive in record time. Sophie drives around for a few minutes and locates a parking spot on the street. We hop out of the car and head into the store. “We can get our videos free here; my brother's one of the assistant managers,” I tell her as we walk through the front door.

“Older or younger?”

“Younger. He's twenty-five.” We make our way over to the front counter, where Sean's busily sorting through a stack of DVDs.

“Hi, Dani,” he says. His eyes widen as he takes in Sophie.

“Sean, this is Sophie. Sophie, my brother, Sean.”

Sophie leans across the counter and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

His face goes bright red and he drops her hand like a hot potato. “Can I, uh, help you, uh, find something?” My brother's hardly a smooth operator. He's only dated three girls in his life, and most of his free time is spent in front of the TV or the computer. The last time he got up close and personal with a woman as striking as Sophie was probably while watching
General Hospital
.

“We'll have a look around and let you know,” Sophie tells him, flashing a friendly grin.

“Why don't you browse by yourself for a minute?” I suggest. “I need to talk to my brother.”

“No problem.” She trots off toward the new arrivals section.

“Where'd you meet the supermodel?” Sean asks, his eyes trained on Sophie.

“Work. Anyway, about Mom's boyfriend—”

“She must be a real heartbreaker.”

“No, not
Mom,
you idiot.” He guffaws. “
Sophie!
Man, she's hot!”

“Actually, Sophie was the dumpee, not the dumper.”

Sean lets out a low whistle. “What kind of man would let her get away?”

“A man who has five more women just like her lined up outside his door.”

A customer needs Sean's attention, so I go join Sophie, who's moved on from new arrivals and is now browsing in the center aisle of older movies. “What are you in the mood for?” I ask, sidling up to her.

“Something intriguing,” she says. “But not too serious.”

After some deliberation, we settle on the latest James Bond flick.

We head to the counter and wait in line. When we get to the front, Sean comes over to ring us up on his account. Thankfully, he's much more composed this time. “You know who you look like?” he asks as he scans our videos.

She shakes her head.

“Irène Jacob.”

“Who?”

“She's a beautiful French actress. You look exactly like her, except her hair's a lot darker.”

“Sorry, I don't know who she is.”

“Trust me, it's a compliment,” Sean says. He turns to me. “Dani, have you heard of Irène Jacob?”

“No.”

“Come on, you two must have heard of her. She played the starring role in
Trois Couleurs: Rouge
. It's an incredible film. It has some of the best cinematography I've ever seen. And the dialogue is brilliant.” Sean rattles off a few lines in French.

“You speak French?” Sophie asks.

He laughs. “Only what I've picked up from movies, but I'm thinking of taking a course in it. I'd love to learn conversational French. There are so many amazing French films, especially the
Trois Couleurs
trilogy.”

I stare at him blankly.
Is this really my little brother, the dorky guy who loves
CSI
and
General Hospital
? Since when has he developed a taste for fine cinema?

Sophie smiles, obviously impressed. And, much as it surprises me to admit it, I am, too.

“Hang on, I think we've got a copy in the foreign film section.” He runs around the counter and hurries across the store. A minute later, he resurfaces with the video. “Let me know what you think.” He finishes scanning the movies and places them in a bag.

“Okay,” she agrees, giving him a little wave as we make our way out of the store. “Nice meeting you, Sean.”

“Nice meeting you, too,” he says, blushing. “And thanks for making it a Blockbuster night!”

21

 
 
Sunday night, the phone rings. I quickly grab it. “Hello?”

It's Sean. “I just had a heart-to-heart conversation with Mom, and I have some great news!”

“You did?” I ask. “And you do?”

“Yeah, isn't that amazing? Just when things seemed bleakest, Mom and I went out for coffee and conversation.”

I groan inwardly. Looks like my coffee habit is spreading to the whole family. “How did it go?”

“It was awkward, but I have to admit it was also kind of nice. I don't feel like I've ever really gotten to know Mom as a person, if that makes sense. She's always just been my mother. But I feel like we're really starting to communicate as adults.”

I blink in surprise. My brother never used to talk like this. He sounds mature. I guess a family fiasco will do that to you. “So, what did you talk about?”

“Oh, everything. Work, career goals, life, true love.”

“True love,” I say, feeling like a bashful teenager. “You and Mom talked about true love?”

“Yeah. We talked about her relationship with Dad versus her relationship with Jude.”

I'm in shock. “Was it weird?”

“Not as weird as you might think. It was good to be so honest for once.”

Honest
. I gulp. That's one area where I have a real problem.

“Mom says her relationship with Jude is nice, but it lacks passion! We can make this work to our advantage.”

That
is
good news
. “So all we have to do is convince her to go back with Dad and our problems are solved?” I'm twenty-eight, and maybe it's wrong of me to be depressed about the possibility of my parents splitting up. But I don't want to face two Christmases, two Thanksgivings. If I was twelve, it might make more sense. But I
do
care, and it
is
depressing. I want everything to remain the same.

“Now for the bad news.” He pauses. “And before I tell you this, I just want you to remember, things are really looking up for Mom. So don't get too discouraged by this downturn. We'll just consider it a bump in the road, okay? Unpleasant, yes, but our family can overcome it.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay, I'm ready.”

“I found some pretty upsetting e-mails on Dad's computer.”

My brother's turning into a regular sneak. “What did you find?”

“Dad erased the folder of Gretchen's e-mails off the desktop. But I managed to run a recovery and pull up all the messages he tried to delete. I'm forwarding you the e-mails.”

“I don't want them,” I jump in.

“Too late. Message sent.”

“I'll delete them,” I warn, playing with the phone cord anxiously.

“No, you won't.”

He's right. I won't. I pull the phone closer to me. “I don't want to read Dad's pornographic e-mails.”

“It's not porn, but it's pretty bad. I thought you should see them for yourself. Dad mentions us a bunch. Not by name, but he talks about his ‘daughter and son.' He talks about wanting to introduce us to Gretchen. He also talks about . . .” Sean's voice trails off. “Never mind, you've gotta read them for yourself.”

We chat for a few more minutes, and then I hang up the phone.

I wander into the living room and survey my surroundings. The refrigerator hums from the kitchen, and I consider digging into yesterday's Chinese takeout but decide against it. There's nothing I can eat, or read, or watch, or do that will change things. My laptop computer sits on my desk, taunting me to switch it on and read the recovered e-mails. Before I can change my mind, I sit down at my desk and turn it on. It hums to life. I log on to my Yahoo account and go to my inbox. Thirteen new messages. Three of them are advertisements for penile enlargement, Prozac, and loan-consolidation schemes, one's from Krista, and all the rest are from Sean. My hand wavers for a second. I'm about to open the first of Sean's e-mails when a new message pops into my account. When I see who it's from, my heart skips a beat. Brady wrote! It's only been a couple of days. I didn't think I'd hear from him so soon.

 
I quickly type a reply and hit send.

 
I don't want to appear overeager, so I don't suggest a firm date for us to get together. I'm not expecting to hear back from him, but a few minutes later, another e-mail comes through. I decide to focus my attention on Brady and ignore Sean's e-mails of impending doom.

 
I note how his signature has evolved from Brady Simms to Brady to B. I'm doubly glad things didn't work out with Sophie. . . .

 
I hit send and immediately start second-guessing myself.
Am I being too forward? Was it a mistake to comment about the “date”? And why did I capitalize the word?
That's like screaming out: “I'm so desperate for a DATE that I'm latching on and not letting go!”
And what was I thinking, suggesting tomorrow? What is that saying? Absence makes the heart grow fonder. In that vein, shouldn't I be putting him off for five days or something?
As I debate this in my head, nearly twenty minutes pass and there's no return e-mail from Brady. I refresh my inbox several times a minute, hoping to see a new message. At long last, he responds.