Your Big Break (29 page)

“It's better that you know,” Erin says, touching Brady's arm. She squeezes around him. “Call me if you need a sympathetic ear.”
Sympathetic ear?
Last time I checked, Erin hated Brady's guts. But I guess it's true, the quickest way to make a person want something is to rub their face in the fact that they can't have it. As soon as Erin's out the door, Brady heads to the kitchen. I follow him. He shuts off the oven and takes out the chicken. He sets it in the sink.

“Brady?”

“I think you should go.”

“Don't you want to talk about this?”

“Not really.” He opens the refrigerator and takes out a Coke. “I want to be alone.”

I touch his arm and he jerks it away. “Maybe if I explain things—”

“I don't want to hear it.” Brady walks back into the living room and shows me to the door. “I really think you should go. I'll call you.”

“I'll call you?” I repeat. “You're not doing that typical guy thing where you say you'll call but you really won't, are you?” It's meant to be a joke, but Brady doesn't laugh. And he doesn't answer me, either.

“Do you want me to walk you to your car?”

“No, it's right downstairs. I can manage.”

He seems relieved. “I'll see you later, Dani,” he says, practically booting me out the door.

I stumble down the stairs and make my way to my car. The whole thing went down so fast, my mind can't fully process it. My night went from perfect bliss to utter hell in no time flat. As I climb into my Volvo and pull out of the parking garage, I glance up at Brady's apartment. I see him watching through the window, checking to make sure I made it to my car safely. Even after everything, he's still a perfect gentleman.

He's a perfect gentleman, and I've lost him.

 
 
As soon as I get home, I write an e-mail. I keep it short and sweet.

 
I hope I'll hear back from him before I go to bed. I surf the Web for an hour, periodically checking my Yahoo inbox. Nothing. After another thirty minutes online, I'm going stir-crazy. I need a distraction. I drag myself away from the computer and make microwave popcorn. Then I settle down on the couch and turn on the TV. Nothing's on, so I dig out a couple of DVDs. Exactly one and a half Sandra Bullock movies later, I get back online. I'm 99.9 percent certain I'll have a return e-mail from Brady.

Point-one percent wins out.

Damn.
I come up with a new e-mail.

 
I finish the second Sandra Bullock movie and then flip off the TV and change into my pajamas. I check my e-mail one last time before I crawl into bed.

My inbox is empty.

A few days later, he sends this e-mail:

 
An entire week goes by and I never hear back from Brady. His “I'm going away for a few days” line was a lie. I've got to talk to him, plead my case. I have to come clean to him, apologize for lying, and beg his forgiveness. Why couldn't I have been honest with him from day one? If I'd told him the truth about Your Big Break, the truth about my job and myself, none of this would ever have happened. True, he might not have dated me, but that was a choice I had to let him make. I tried to take control of everything, and it backfired. I need to explain.

But how, since he won't see me willingly? I run through the options in my mind. There's the poetry workshop.
No, that's where I went to break up with him.
His school?
No way. I don't have a hall pass; I don't want to end up in the principal's office.
After Erin spilled my beans, Brady's apartment is off-limits, too. I can't come up with a winning scenario.

What I need is one of those movie-perfect moments. Something romantic. Like if Brady were to inexplicably tumble into icy-cold water and I had to strip naked and revive him with my body heat. Once his base temperature returned to a healthy 98.6 degrees, he'd be so grateful I saved him from hypothermia that he'd forget all about the breakup service. I heave a sigh. This has no chance of coming true.
I guess I could shove Brady into the Charles River and hope for the best. . . .

I'll have to come up with something else.

33

Dumping Jason Dutwiler, Part 2

“I wasn't expecting
you,
” Jason says warily, looking to see if anyone's behind me.

It's Saturday morning and the stage is set for Dumping Jason Dutwiler, Part 2.

I smile and slide into the seat across from him. I'm carrying a duffel bag, which I place beside my feet. This time a letter from Krista is inside it. I clear my throat. “Krista asked me to talk to you.”

“This can't be happening!” Jason wails, banging his head on the table. “Not again!”

“Krista doesn't feel things are working out.”

“She hates me!” he shrieks.

“Krista doesn't hate you,” I reassure him. “But she does think you two have no chemistry.”
Actually, she thinks you're freakishly obsessed with your ex-girlfriend
.

“Does this mean the wedding's off?” he asks, his face racked with desperation.

“Krista doesn't think it would be appropriate to go as your date.”

“Noooo!” Jason cries. “I can't show up
alone
.”

I motion for him to keep it down. Other Starbucks patrons are staring at us.

“My brother Mark's wedding is
tomorrow
,” he hisses. “Don't you have another friend I could take?”

“No. I'm all friended out,” I tell him. “Sorry.” I pick up the duffel bag from the floor. “Krista wanted me to give these to you.” I hand it to him.

“I can't believe I've already ruined another relationship. I'm destined to die alone.”

“No, you're not, Jason.”

“
Yes,
I am.”

I open my mouth, knowing I'll be breaking rule #3: Avoid cheesy euphemisms. “You'll find the right girl soon.”

Jason juts out his lower lip. “Right now, I'm not concerned about finding the
right
girl. I'm concerned about finding
a
girl. I cannot show up at my brother's wedding alone.”

“Don't you have any friends you could ask?”

He shakes his head. “Dani, you're my only hope.”

“Jason, I'd love to help you, but I honestly don't know anyone you could take.”

“That's not true. There is one person.”

“I already told you, Krista's mind is made up.”

“I wasn't talking about Krista.”

“We're practically friends now. You could
pretend
to be my girlfriend.”

“Jason, I can't.”

“Please, Dani!” He eyes me pleadingly. “If you do this, my brother and parents will stay off my back. And I'll never ask you for another favor again. I swear!”

I sigh. I know I shouldn't do this. It's against the rules. But I'm wracked with guilt and regret over what I did to Brady, over the way I've been lying to him and to everyone else. Going out with Jason won't make up for that, but it could be a start. I can turn over a new leaf. “What time is the wedding?”

 
 
The following afternoon I'm wearing a pale blue dress with spaghetti straps and a soft, billowy skirt—the same one I wore to my cousin's wedding last spring. I'm cruising with Jason along Route 3 South toward Hyannis, Massachusetts. It will be nearly a two-hour drive down the Cape.

It's a beautiful day, and the traffic is thick. We arrive just as the ceremony is getting underway. The wedding is being held on the grounds of a beautiful inn. A huge reception tent has been erected next to the makeshift pews. Rather than head up front to sit with the groom's family, Jason and I slide onto a bench in the second-to-last row.

“Don't you want to sit up front?” I whisper.

“No,” Jason leans over and whispers back. “I'm sure my family didn't save me a seat.”

I look. He's right.

After the ceremony, we make our way over to the reception tent. Jason is holding my hand in a death grip. “You're cutting off my circulation,” I say, which causes him to squeeze harder.

“This is when the going gets tough,” he cautions. “When I introduce you to my family, be on your best behavior.”

I shoot him an annoyed glare. “I'm doing you a favor. I don't
have
to be here.”

His tone softens. “I'm sorry, Dani. I'm really stressed-out.”

I force a smile. “All right, I'll be on my best behavior.”

“By the way,” Jason says as we walk into the reception tent, “you're a literary agent.”

I stop dead in my tracks. “I'm a what?”

“A literary agent,” he repeats. “I couldn't tell my family you're a breakup artist.”

No, I guess not
. We continue walking.

“I can't keep up a lie like that,” I say. “Do literary agents even live in Boston?”

“Just do me this one little favor.”

“Being here is favor enough!”

“I already told them you were a literary agent from New York!” Jason looks so desperate, so pathetic.

“Oh, all right. I'll do my best!”

He lowers his voice as we near our table. “I said we met when I was down there on business. And, a few weeks from now, when we ‘break up,' I'll say it was because I couldn't handle the strain of a long-distance relationship.” He beams. “See, I've thought of everything.”

Everything except the most important thing.

“Who do you represent?” Jason's mother asks, as soon as we're seated at the family table. There are eight spaces in all, but so far only Jason's parents have joined us.

“Represent?” I repeat.

“Yes,” she says, taking a sip of wine. “Have you sold any books we'd have heard of?”

Oh fuck
. I stare at at Jason. “I don't like to talk about my clients.”

“Why on earth not?” she demands.

“I have so many. If I mention one, the others feel left out.”
Lame!

“She's kidding,” Jason says, flashing a big, fake smile. “Dani doesn't like to brag.”

“C'mon,” Jason's dad chides. “Give us one name.”

The only book I can think of is
High Fidelity
, which depresses me. I miss Brady.

“Just one name,” Jason's dad prompts.

I'm about to make up a title when Jason blurts out, “
The Da Vinci Code
!”

I stare at him in horror.
The Da Vinci Code
? He could have said anything, and he picked
The Da Vinci Code
?

“Are you serious?” his mother asks, eyeing me skeptically.

I'm about to tell her that it's a joke, that I represent textbooks, when Jason says, “Absolutely. Dani's a huge,
huge
agent. She knows everybody on the New York scene.”

“Wow!” his dad says. “That's incredible!”

“I'm going to grab Rebecca,” his mother says. “
The Da Vinci Code
's her all-time favorite book. Becks!” She jumps up and jogs off across the yard.

Jason's father lets out a low whistle. “I've gotta hand it to you, son. When Lucy left, I figured that was it for you, sport. It was all downhill from there. But I can see I was wrong. You've traded up.” His dad gives him an exaggerated wink.

“I'm really lucky to have found Dani.” Jason slips an arm around my shoulders. The look on his face nearly breaks my heart. It's like he's about to burst from happiness. At long last, he's finally made it in the eyes of his family.

I have two choices. I can blow this for him, or I can play along. I take a deep breath. “I'm the lucky one.” I hug him back.

“You guys want something to drink?” his father asks, noticing our empty glasses.

“That'd be great,” Jason says.

The second his dad's out of earshot, I start in. “
The Da Vinci Code
?”

“It was either that or
Tuesdays with Morrie
! They're the last two books I read!”

“You might as well have told them I discovered
Harry Potter
.”

“Too unrealistic,” he says dismissively.

“And
The Da Vinci Code
isn't? I haven't even read it yet,” I grumble.

“Ooh, you should. It's a great book.”