A Second Chance for True Love

"No, baby!" Lisa wailed. "You can't throw me out!"

Seeing his opening, Kim bolted upright to make his exit. Lisa tried to stand, and with his hands on her shoulders, he held her in the chair as he disengaged himself.

I shouted at his retreating form, "I'm not finished with you, Lil' Kim! Planet Earth ain't big enough for you to hide from me!"

To Julie, I said, "Save my number and let me know she's safe tonight." Hearing this, Lisa cried harder.

With a wailing Lisa in my wake, I left The Better Bean as Kim Marshal zipped out of the parking lot on a cafe racer looking more like a kid's Transformer than a real motorcycle. "Later, dipshit!" I called out.

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The next twenty-four hours were a harried, emotional frenzy. First, I blocked Lisa's phone and also blocked her on my social media. Next, starting around midnight, my friend Mike, his wife Andi, and I packed Lisa's things. We packed her things using boxes left over from their recent move, finishing around sunrise. They slept in my spare bedroom, and we all awoke around 2:00 p.m. I called Julie, and she, her boyfriend Michael, and Lisa would show up around four to get Lisa's things. I made myself scarce, and Mike and Andi held down the fort while my ex-fiancée moved out.

The condo maintenance tech on duty changed all the keyless entry codes for an extra hundred dollars. The weekend rate, the tech explained. It was money well-spent. Knowing Lisa would come looking for me, I stayed with my brother, Addison, who lives in Hall's Junction. That was also therapeutic because this second breakup in two years threatened to shatter me. One thing Addison and I both agreed on was no booze. Been there, done that.

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Diane Haig

I smiled as I fed the last several papers followed by the empty, red folder into the whirling, stainless steel teeth of the document shredder. Destroying the remainder of the month's-old dossier signaled the end of my last-ditch effort to right a terrible wrong. It began with so many unknowns and potential pitfalls, but against all odds, all but the last piece fell into place. That last piece was going to be the hardest. There, my efforts would ultimately succeed or fail. Tentatively, I smiled and felt some measure of joy for the first time in more than twenty months!

The shredder stopped. The once bulging dossier was no more. Relieved, I exhaled and looked fondly at the photo staring up at me from where it lay in my opened bottom desk drawer. I whispered, "Soon, my darling!"

My massive office door opened with a polished whisper. "Ah, Bets, good morning!" I said.

"Good morning, Diane. Mr. Lloyd is here to see you," my attractive, brunette Executive Assistant announced with a knowing smile. Betsy politely beckoned him to enter, and as he stepped through the ornate, red oak door marked, 'D.T. Haig - Sr. Vice President, Operations,' he hesitated for a moment.

I created my office, my world, and my work persona to have that effect. That was going to change as soon as this meeting was over. The New Diane Haig would no longer be that woman.

I closed the bottom desk drawer before I approached him. "Good morning, Mr. Lloyd." My tone was professionally pleasant but guarded. "I assume Betsy took care of you while you waited." He nodded and did not attempt to shake my hand, and I didn't offer mine.

He carried a crimson mug emblazoned in gold letters with 'The Haig Group.' I inquired, "Do you need your coffee refreshed, Mr. Lloyd?" Nodding at the crimson serving set on the credenza along the nearest wall, I said, "There's a carafe of that same dark, French roast. The concierge dropped it off not ten minutes ago."

"No, thanks," he replied, clearly intimidated by my presence. 'Keep 'em off balance. Make 'em play defense,' Mother always taught me. But that would change, even if I didn't retire from this lofty position.

All business, I motioned to the two plush, red-leather chairs facing my large desk, which my previous EA said is nearly the size of a Nimitz Class fleet carrier. "Have a seat, please." Curiously, he chose the chair furthest away. I mused, 'How could this milquetoast of a man even pretend to take away Clark's woman?'

Realizing that Lisa Mertzon was that easy for Clark to dump made me want to cast off my stoic Haig reserve and do the happy dance! However, I realized with a twinge of fear that Clark wasn't in my bed yet. Burying my fear, I made my way back to my desk.

Once Lloyd was seated, I slid into my tall, custom desk chair, which placed me higher than anyone seated before me. I touched the intercom button and said, "Betsy, please bring me the packet Althea delivered this morning?"

Althea Morrissey is one of The Haig Group's talented 'fixers'; she is my strong left hand, the same way Betsy Troxell is my strong right hand. In Latin, the word for left is 'sinister.' That thought made me smile, and Mr. Lloyd nervously looked away. He stared out the window at the Brockton Center penthouse across the street.

He looked back as Betsy strode in, her runway-model-like walk as bold and refined as everything else in this office suite. She ignored him until she cast him a sidelong glance that made Robert Lloyd's face cycle through several typically male permutations within a split second.

"Thank you, Betsy!" I smiled. Before the tall brunette left my office, I added in a serious tone, "Hold my calls unless it's Mother." The two of us shared another one of our knowing looks.

"Yes, ma'am," Betsy snapped with her glowing smile and a wink. Betsy's eyes said, 'That's such a cliche!'

For a few awkward moments, I gazed implacably upon the tall, gangly man, who I thought appeared rough and slightly roguish. That made him perfect for what he accomplished on my behalf. 'Althea is a true genius!'

"Well, Mr. Lloyd, I must say, you delivered the goods more capably than I ever dreamed," I gushed. My smile exuded genuine warmth for a few moments before I dialed back the thrill. It was hard not to gloat! He continued smiling, more relaxed but far from comfortable.

Dramatically, I reached into the packet, an old battered Coach briefcase, and retrieved a large Manila envelope. Reaching as far across my desk as my long-armed 5'10" height would allow, I handed it to Robert Lloyd, who leaned forward nearly to the extent of his 6'1" to accept it. 'My big assed desk, indeed!' I thought wryly.

This guy possessed no poker face, or at least he didn't with me. Realizing what the bulk of the package was, his face lit up. I intoned deliberately, "Missster Lloyd... there's forty-thousand in used hundreds, fifties, and twenties, all rubber-banded into 54 bundles of various amounts." He looked up at me like a kid on Christmas. "And," I sailed another smaller envelope right into his lap, "Here's another ten-grand. In nearly new, non-sequential hundreds."

"What? More?" Lloyd asked in shocked but gleeful surprise.

"For a job well done!" I smiled warmly and continued, "I believe in rewarding excellence."

Robert Lloyd fully relaxed. Fifty-large, tax-free for a month's work. Plus, the rest we previously agreed to, mostly to get him out of the city.

He started to speak, but I cut him off. My voice was gentle but commanding. "Remember, you signed a non-disclosure, and you also have until Friday to leave town." Almost playfully, I tossed another, even lighter envelope to him. "United Economy Plus to LAX at 11:34 a.m. Friday and a firm job offer from EID Films to edit and do post-production work. Margie and Althea both tell me your work is good, but there's no similar work in this city. So, this is a new start for you."

Robert Lloyd looked up, speechless. "I don't... I mean..."

"The job?" He nodded. "Althea's people in L.A. stumbled into that. But your professional resume sealed it. Let's call that goodwill on our part, but EID Films was also impressed with your work." I didn't mention that EID wanted our business for the endless stream of training films Haig requires.

Smiling, I continued, "Oh, there's also confirmation for four weeks at the Embassy Suites right off the 10 Freeway near EID Films. The auto transporter will drop your car there on Sunday night."

Genuinely moved, Robert Lloyd said, "Thank you! I'm really... I mean, I don't know what to..."

"Don't mention it. You helped me out, and it's nice to see a deserving guy get a break." I asked, "Is everything tied up on your end? Anything else we need to do? Now's the time to talk about it because when you walk out today...." I didn't need to finish.

Lloyd looked down at his feet. "Yes, everything is good." He laughed drily. "Better than good..."

"I feel a 'but' coming, Mr. Lloyd," I prompted.

He studied the antique Persian rug. Looking up, he said, "Ms. Haig, I feel kind of bad. It's... I mean, Lisa was a nice girl, and..."

"That's understandable," I interrupted. "I'd be worried if you took joy in what you did. However, it was a role you played. An important one, too," I stated, trying to assuage any guilt or fear he might have. He wanted to say more, so I listened.

"You sure this guy, Clark Preston, won't find me? I mean, he was hellaciously pissed. The look in his eyes was in-freakin'-tense!" 'Oh, I've also seen that expression, Bucko!' I thought, imagining those fiery grey eyes of Clark's. I nodded sympathetically as my heart remembered hurting Clark!

"He thinks I'm married and work for some art supply company, so I doubt he can find me, right?" I shook my head confidently in confirmation. "I mean, this guy scares me," he said.

I relaxed and presented a calm demeanor. "Mr. Lloyd, let's look at this logically. Your name was made-up, a product of Ms. Morrissey's fervent imagination. There was even your made-up wife." I nodded at his college class ring, which he wore again on his left ring finger.

"The sales calls you made at Southmore Art & Graphics were on behalf of a bogus company, which Ms. Morrissey went to great expense to present as legit. She returned your Kim Marshal apartment to the temporary housing company that owns it last Monday." I was awed at how Althea's people wiped down the apartment to remove any fingerprints and ensure no trace of Lloyd remained.

"Your Kim phone, your social media. Gone. Erased. Althea created, and Althea erased. Same with that car and motorcycle - gone. No trace."

"Your real, Robert Lloyd apartment was rented to new tenants on the first of last month. No trace of the real you or the made-up Kim Marshal is left for Mr. Preston to find, much less connect." I smiled confidently as if Lloyd and I shared a private joke. "Don't worry! Okay?" I didn't mention that looking for Robert or the mythical Kim would never appear on Clark's list. I would make sure of that!

Lloyd relaxed, smiled, and said, "You're right. Thanks, Ms. Haig."

"You're the invisible man. Friday, you leave the Ramada Inn, fly to L.A., and land as Robert Lloyd, newly-minted film editor!" His smile mirrored mine. "I look forward to reading your name in the credits very soon!"

A changed man now sat before me and said, "Yes, ma'am... it was hard, and I feel bad for Lisa, but everything else you've done for me... I don't know what to say, Ms. Haig."

I stood and stepped confidently to his side of the desk. Folding my arms and leaning comfortably against its bulk, I towered over him, commanding. He looked up at me with dilated pupils. I was so happy that I choked back a smile to remain in character.

"'Thanks,' is plenty, Mr. Lloyd," I said. Standing erect, I unfolded my arms, and seeing this, he knew the interview was over. After stuffing the envelopes into his old backpack, he rose, and we silently shook hands.

As the young man opened my office door, I added firmly, "Just remember the terms of that NDA are legally binding. Your notarized copy is in the first cash envelope." The expression on my face was that of a no-nonsense, high-powered Vice President of a multinational corporation. My raised left eyebrow, half-smile, and firm gaze effectively warned Robert Lloyd that walking away and shutting his mouth was invaluable advice.

Less than two minutes later, the executive floor elevator swallowed the unremarkable form of Robert Lloyd and began its 33-floor descent to the A-Lobby. Betsy and I rushed into each other's arms in gleeful abandon.

"I'm back in the game, Bets!" I shouted, all my executive pretense shed in the blink of an eye. "This time, I won't let my ego and pride fuck things up!"

Althea emerged from the boardroom and turned our embrace into a group hug.

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Clark Preston

The next few days after my breakup with Lisa were a whirlwind of emotions. Tense and emotional discussions with Lisa's parents and my parents prolonged the anguish. Nobody was happy, but everyone understood that Lisa had crossed a hard line. I tried to reimburse Mr. and Mrs. Mertzon for some non-refundable wedding items, but they politely declined. Hell, they were wealthy and embarrassed by Lisa's actions, and they ate the cost.

I was still stuck with a two-week, deluxe honeymoon cruise that was non-refundable. I offered it to Mike and Andi. With their business in the middle of several projects, they could not take time off. Mom and Dad turned it down, too. I told them all to ask around. If it came down to it, I'd give it to someone at work.

Truthfully, in addition to the sadness and melancholy washing over me, I also felt relieved. This feeling evoked some real guilt, but intellectually I understood I dodged a bullet. Lisa was high-maintenance, and the dread of a lifetime of spousal emotional maintenance was one of those ongoing concerns I suppressed for months. I didn't want to risk a 70/30 relationship of dizzying highs and grinding lows that threatened such a toxic potential.

However, the sadness of the earlier breakup, the one before Lisa, returned to me with a vengeance. That breakup sent me stumbling into Lisa's arms, or perhaps into "Lisa's web," is more appropriate. The last eighteen months began to feel like an asylum visit compared to my previous relationship. The contrast between the two failed relationships was stark. Even the two breakups were opposites.

Lisa cheated, but my other fiancée walked away because... Just thinking about it made me ill. It was all egos -- mine and hers. Again, I was my easy-going self, and she got comfortable getting her way, so she assumed I'd give up my profession and become her kept man. A consort, a pollinator. "What a fucking idiot I was. She was. We were," I whispered sadly to the star-dusted sky over my brother's comfortable patio deck.

Breaking up with Lisa was like snapping out of a trance. Now, the pain of the earlier breakup was as raw as it felt when I met Lisa. Lisa was a Band-Aid, now unceremoniously ripped off. It was as if Lisa never existed. This realization drove me deeper into despair.

The upside was that I evolved. This time, I resolved, no booze crutch. The pain of two failed relationships, I dealt with cold turkey.

"Uncle Clark! Momma says supper's ready!" My niece, Lucinda, shattered my maudlin reverie. Her six-year-old enthusiasm jump-started me, and before I knew it, I displayed a carbon copy of her smile. Except I wasn't missing two front teeth.

"Okay, Kitten! Let's go wash up!" She grabbed the first two fingers of my left hand.

"Re-memmm-ber, Uncle Clark," she chimed, "when we wash our hands, we have to wash them for as long as it takes to say our ABCs! You do what I do, and you'll be juuust fine," she promised.

"You lead on, Kitten," I responded. And lead she did. My niece led me to the downstairs bathroom, through my ABCs, and, most importantly, out of my despair.

There would be a rough period going forward, but I knew I would be okay. The following weekend, I resolved to move back to my condo and hire a decorator to change the place. Create a new space devoid of anything but my presence.

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As I left work Friday, my assistant, Anne Meyers, gave me a sad and understanding smile. She knew it was a terrible week, and the irony was apparent. Exactly a week before, my life with Lisa Mertzon came off the rails.

"Have a good weekend, boss," she said with a warmth neither of us felt. I thanked her and offered her my honeymoon package again.

"I'd love to, but Jay is all out of vacation." Her sad eyes matched mine.

"Will you ask around?" I said.

"Will do, Clark. Have a great weekend! Okay?" It sounded like a plea.

"You too, Anne!"

I walked through the basement parking garage, dodging the others who worked past five o'clock on Friday. I trudged along, head-down, weighed down by an emotional week and some challenging work issues. In reality, work was my balm, my refuge. The problem was my broken heart, and it wasn't newly broken, either.

As I contemplated an ugly scuff on the right toe of my shoe, I caught a whiff of a rare, custom perfume. The exotic scent, which exuded a powerful top note, told me the woman who owned that unique fragrance refreshed it only minutes ago. Instantly, olfactory memory made the thrilling association. Before I could look up, I heard the voice. "Sometimes, all a person can honestly say is, 'I love you! I'm sorry! Please forgive me!'" Her voice cracked on that last word.

My eyes met the intense, slightly almond-shaped, hazel eyes of the only woman I've ever truly loved. Shock and surprise gave way to intense relief, happiness, and.... yes, absolute love. The emotional hole in me these past twenty months and eleven days suddenly filled with that missing piece. A Diane Haig-shaped piece.

She pushed away from my truck and rushed into my embrace. Before our arms stopped wrapping around the other, the words of Emily Dickenson bloomed true and prescient upon my heart:

Long Years apart can't make a breach

That seconds cannot fill.

The absence of the Witch does not

Invalidate the Spell.

The embers of a Thousand Years

Uncovered by the Hand,

That fondled them when they were Fire --

Will stir, and Understand.

I swept Diane off her feet and spun her around in a way Ms. Dickenson would've undoubtedly approved.

"I'm sorry!" we both choked simultaneously. We laughed and said, "I love you!" This was right. No explanations were necessary.

I inhaled her scent -- the expensive, custom-made perfume and the womanly scent that was both old and new. We spiraled lazily into the future through the wide-open portal of the moment.

"Diane," I whispered, "What are you doing for ten days beginning two weeks from Sunday?"

"Whatever you want. I'm yours forever, my darling. I'm riding with you to the end of the line."

"It's a... uhmmm... a honeymoon cruise, so we'll need to..." I began.

She hugged me tightly, her laughter pure and spontaneous. "Yes, Clark, I do! Let's get the license Monday. We can have a small ceremony with judge Spivey at Mother's next weekend or get the captain to marry us!" I smiled as I realized Diane knew which Saturday to avoid. "Have I told you in the last minute that I love you, Clark?"

"I love you, Diane," I said as I drank in the scent, the feel, the whole essence of my one true love.

She leaned back in my arms and fixed me with her eyes, which brimmed with joyous tears and sparkled with love. "Going forward from this moment, Clark, it's whatever you want, my darling. You lead, Clark, and I'll follow." She kissed me again and whispered, "'For whither thou goest, I will go' until death do us part."

I tried to respond, but her fiery lips had much better plans for my mouth.