What You Wish For Pt. 01

Then I started writing another novel. It didn't come as quickly this time, though. It took me almost a month to get the complete list of what ifs set up and answered to my satisfaction before I was ready to start the outline.

The end of that month, having already received eleven rejection letters from a slew of agents, I decided to go out. No, not to get laid. Just go out and get something to eat and have a few margaritas and watch people have fun.

"Still alone I see," the voice behind me said as sipped my second margarita.

I didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

"How are you, Susan?"

"Very good," she said, snaking between the chairs and sitting opposite me. "And I thought you'd forget."

I smiled. "Hard to forget your first time."

She laughed.

I flagged down a waitress, pointed to Susan and then to my nearly empty glass. The waitress only nodded before rushing to the bar to fill our drink order.

"Thank you," Susan said. She didn't look much different than when I'd seen her those many months before. Same killer body, encased this time in a tight white dress, and her dark hair seemed a little straighter and a little shorter. Otherwise, it was the same Susan.

"So what brings you here?" I said, grinning and raising my eyebrows as I said it.

She smiled and shrugged in return. "Probably the same thing that brings you here."

I shook my head. "Not this time. I'm a little tired of that."

Her eyebrows went up, her face saying she didn't really believe me.

"Seriously," I said. "I just . . . you know . . . guess I'm not really built that way."

"You seemed built just fine," she said. "Sure I didn't just turn you off to the whole thing?"

I laughed. "Oh no. I've had my share of . . . others. And they were good, don't get me wrong. But . . . I don't know. I guess it's just not for me."

Her face went soft, and she leaned over the table and placed her hand on mine. "It was pretty obvious at the time, tell you the truth. You're one of the good ones, you know?"

"How so?"

"You're marriage material. It's against your grain to just keep going with a string of different women. You need more."

"And you could tell that from just that one evening?"

She nodded. "Even before we left here to go back to your place. Plain as the nose on your face, Tyler."

"You remember my name," I said, surprised.

She laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. "I don't remember a lot of the names. Your name, though, I remember."

I felt puffed up by this.

"I was that good?"

She laughed, merriment and a twinge of regret in her eyes. "In ways you'll never really know, babe. Yeah, you were–and are–that good."

Our drinks arrived and we were silent for a few moments, sipping and watching the dance floor.

"Don't you have any friends around here?" she said out of the blue.

I was silent before answering, thinking about how to take the question.

"Some. People I work with. We go out sometimes. After work. Maybe a few house parties."

She shook her head. "Not like that. I mean friends, not just acquaintances you see every day and talk to about work and stuff. I mean buddies you watch football games with, go hunting with. People like that."

I shook my head. "Guess not."

"Pretty sad," she said. "I mean, you're a nice guy. Easy to talk to, seem to give a shit about people. So what are you doing when you're not working? I mean, you're not out chasing women anymore. What're you doing with all of your time?"

"Writing," I said. "Books. Just finished one a month or so back."

"You're a writer?"

I shook my head. "Bond salesman. Vice President at McDaniels Smyth."

"A bond salesman who writes books in his spare time," she said. "A bit out of the ordinary."

She pondered this, giving me an appraising look.

"So when do I get to read this book?" she said.

I laughed. "Probably never. I doubt anyone's really going to publish it."

"Then why do it?"

"Because I like writing."

"More than you like people?"

That was a tough question, and I mulled it over in my mind.

When did this happen to me? I'd been surrounded by friends–real friends; close friends–in high school and college. I didn't even know what any of them were doing anymore. We'd all lost touch. I'd lost touch. And when I was married, Kristin had seemed enough. Between work and home, I'd never had any real time to make friends.

I'd been in Florida for more than six years, and I didn't have a damned friend for five hundred miles.

"Sorry," Susan said after a few moments of silence.

I tried to smile. "No. That's okay. It just made me realize a few things."

She tried to smile, but it was a sad smile. "This isn't really going so well, is it?"

I smiled. "It's going fine. Really. Let me get you another drink. If you're not in a hurry or anything."

"Sure," she said.

I motioned for fresh drinks, and the waitress was back with them in a flash.

"So you're a lawyer," I said, breaking the silence.

"Uh huh."

"You know any agents by chance? Maybe one that will give me at least a reading? A shot?"

I know. I was pushing it. But it seemed worth a shot, and her face told me she was mulling it over. Then a flash went across her eyes, and a few seconds later her lips broadened into a grin. A lascivious grin.

"I might," she said. "What's it worth to you?"

"I told you. I'm out of that game."

She shrugged. "Then what've you got to offer to make it worth my while?"

"Money?"

She shook her head. "Got that."

"My undying gratitude?"

"Not good enough."

"Dinner?"

"You've already eaten."

I looked at her. "What's it going to cost me? Just tonight?"

She put on an exaggerated look of hurt. "Am I that bad?"

I smiled. "You know better than that. It's just that– "

"The weekend," she said, her eyes fixing on mine. "Starting right now."

"But it's already Saturday night," I said. "So when you say the weekend. . . ."

"I mean I want to actually sleep with you. In your bed. Wake up with you. I wanna know what that's like, okay? And then spend tomorrow with you. Through dinner."

"But you could get that from half the guys here," I protested.

"But you're not half the guys here," she countered. "I don't feel cheap when I'm with you, okay? I want to know what a guy like you–a guy who looks at me like something more than a receptacle to get his rocks off–what a guy like that is like to spend time with."

"You want to date," I said.

She shook her head. "Sorry, sport. My situation's not really changed much. I'm still on the road half the time and burning the midnight candles when I'm back at home base. So I'm not dating material. No, I just want to know–even if just for a day–what it is I'm giving up here."

I thought about what she had said. Truth be told, I felt sorry for her. She was successful, that much was apparent in her jewelry and dress, which had to cost a pretty penny. And she was on the road to do her lawyering, so she had to be with a bigger firm that probably handled bigger clients and bigger cases. So she had achieved all of her dreams, and now she wanted to know what they had cost her.

Frankly, I'd let her spend the night on these terms without the quid pro quo. Still, if she was willing to help me and all.

Does that make me a whore?

* * * * *

I could tell she was awake. Her breathing was softer and more rhythmic, none of the soft hum of her light snoring from only a few minutes before. She was laying on her side facing me, her long black hair cascading over her face and the pillow. I could still see her face through the soft tangle, though, and I watched her lips twitch and her eyes scrunch closed even more.

"Please tell me you're not watching me," she whispered.

"I'm not watching you," I said.

She opened your eyes. "Liar."

"You're just as beautiful this morning as you were last night."

She snorted her disbelief.

"I'm serious," I said. "So peaceful and quiet and calm."

Her features softened.

"And last night," I continued. "Well, let's just say you got some serious snoring in. It was like sleeping with a . . . well . . . . Ouch!"

She slapped the side of my head. "Careful, buster."

We laughed together. Then I leaned in to kiss her.

"No," she said, backing away. "I've got morning breath."

"Suit yourself," I said, sliding out of bed and moving toward the bathroom.

Done getting rid of four margaritas and the multiple glasses of water that had kept my energies going the night before, I started brushing my teeth.

"Mind if I join you?" she said.

I turned to see her standing in the doorway wearing one of my old sweatshirts. And nothing else.

I waved her in before rinsing my mouth.

"Spare toothbrush in here," I said, opening a drawer and pointing at five toothbrushes still in their wrapping.

"Someone has a serious toothbrush fetish," she said.

"Amongst other fetishes."

"Tell me about it," she laughed, her fingertips trailing to between her legs. She saw me looking, turned beet red, and jerked her hand away.

We shared the sink, her flossing then brushing her teeth while I shaved.

Then we showered.

Together.

And it was really, really, really nice.

* * * * *

So did we spend the whole day screwing each other silly?

Sorry. That's pure fantasy. Twice the night before had almost emptied me enough to prevent the morning's activities.

Instead, we spent the day walking the beach and having a burger at a beach shack for lunch.

Then we went back to my apartment for a nap. Before taking the nap, though, she convinced me–nay, proved to me–that I'd had enough time to recharge the batteries. And it was the best sex I'd had since before Kristin left. We knew each other well enough now, Susan and I, that direction wasn't necessary. I knew her buttons, and I particularly knew the most effective way of working her main button. And based on my rejuvenated John Thomas, she knew my buttons, too.

So it was a long, foreplay intense session of mattress mambo. Go at it, stop and lick and suck and touch some more, go a little longer, back to those little pokies on the ends of her breasts, and so on.

We were both ready for the nap by the time it was over, and I spooned her as we slept.

Her movement two hours later awoke me from a sound slumber filled with the happiest dreams I'd had in a long time. Peaceful dreams. Dreams that left me content when I awoke.

When I opened my eyes, a lazy smile on my lips, Susan was sitting on the side of the bed staring at me. And she was sad.

"You ever wonder if you've made the wrong choices in life?"

"Every day," I said.

"Not just the little things," she explained. "I mean the big things. Things like– "

"I know exactly what you mean," I said. "And I've spent every day for the past year and a half wondering whether my great job and great pay were really worth it."

She nodded, sympathy flooding her features before sadness returned.

"This was a mistake," she said.

"Why?"

"Because," she said. "Before last night, I had these twinges, y'know? These fleeting thoughts that there was more to life than just my career. Maybe a family. A husband I love." A tear trickled down her cheek. "Waking up with someone I love and spending a day just like we spent today."

She turned away, and I sat up and stroked her back.

"But now I know what I'm missing," she continued. "It's like I've seen what I could have, but I can't really have it."

"It's not too late, you know," I said softly. "You can still have those things. I mean, you're what? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven?"

"I'll be thirty in three weeks," she said.

"Thirty's the new twenty," I said, pulling her back into me and holding her. "I don't know you very well, but I do know at least a few things about you."

"Like what?" she said, snuggling back into me as I brushed the tears from her face.

"Well, I know you can accomplish whatever you set your mind to. You've done it in your career so far, right?" She nodded. "Then you can learn to quit working so damned hard and make the adjustments and give yourself a chance to meet someone special, right?"

"It's not that easy," she said.

"No. It's not. I'll give you that. It would probably mean you'd have to work somewhere else. For people who don't all work themselves to death seven days a week. But there are places like that, right? Even lawyers, I suppose."

She laughed, then her voice went soft. "You make it sound so easy."

I was silent for a minute. "It's not."

"What's not?" she said.

"It's not easy," I said. "If it was, I'd have done it by now. In my own life."

"Is that why you're divorced?"

I didn't really know how to answer that. Frankly, I still wasn't sure why Kristin was gone. Sure, there was Randy Walters and, now, their new baby. But which came first? Me working too much or Randy Walters?

"I don't really know," I finally answered. "At least in part, I guess. Probably a large part. But I don't really think that was all of it."

Susan turned and faced me, kissing me full on the lips before hugging me in a death grip.

"Well she sure made one hell of a mistake, Tyler Whatever-Your-Name-Is."

"It's Collins," I said. "Tyler Collins."

"And I'm Karapova," she said. "Susan Karapova."

I gave a mock gasp. "You mean I'm sleeping with a Commie?"

She giggled into my neck and pulled me back to her.

"The Wall came down awhile back," she said.

"Whew. I'm just sayin', y'know?"

Her giggling intensified. "You shit."

* * * * *

I made us a cheese omelette and toast for dinner, and we ate in near silence. But it was a comfortable silence broken only when the phone rang.

Mom, I thought. I'd missed the call that morning.

"Hello?"

"Tyler," Dad said, his voice choking.

"What's wrong, Dad?"

"Your mother," he said. "She's . . . she had a . . . she's in the hospital. It's– "

"You called Benny?"

He tried to choke out a no.

"I'll call him," I said. "Then I'll get there as fast as I can."

"Hurry," he said. "Please."

"I promise," I said, but he'd hung up.

"What's wrong?" Susan asked as I turned to face her.

"My mom," I said. "I don't know."

I was choking up. And scared.

She was quick and confident in the crisis.

"Benny your brother?"

I nodded.

"Call him," she instructed, pulling a cell phone from her purse and walking toward the bedroom. "I'll book you a flight and get you packed."

"Chicago," I said. She turned and looked at me quizzically, and I repeated it. "Fly me into Chicago. It's only an hour away."

She nodded, punching numbers into her cell phone before wheeling and turning back to the bedroom.

* * * * *

"Your book," Susan said as she drove me to the airport.

"What?" I replied, turning back to her.

"Your book," she repeated. "Where is it?"

I only stared, not understanding.

Her eyes were on the road, her face concentrating on the traffic, but I could see her features soften.

"I promised to get your book to an agent," she said. "I'd like to keep my end of the bargain."

"You're kidding, right?" I said. "My mom's . . . well, it's real bad. Maybe worse than bad. And you're worried about our bargain?"

"No," she said. "I'm not really worried about it. And I know you sure have more important things. But while I'm down here, I want to do something for you, Tyler. Something to maybe, I don't know, maybe take some of the load off of you. To maybe give you something to keep your mind off things." She was crying now. "And I don't know what else I can do. I just want to– "

"There are some copies in my den," I said, fishing into my pockets for my apartment keys. I started pulling the front door key off the ring while I continued. "They're in a box on the floor next to the computer. It's called 'Long Gone.'"

She nodded, wiping the tears from her face and trying to smile.

"Okay," she said. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks."

"And give me your cell phone," she said.

"Why?"

"I'll program my number into it."

"Why don't you just give me your number and I'll do the programming," I said. "You can concentrate on the road."

She gave me her number, and I dutifully typed it into my contacts list.

"You want my number, too?" I said.

She nodded. A tight, brisk nod, like she was afraid to ask for my number.

She handed me her Blackberry, and I added myself to her contacts.

Ten minutes later, Susan saw me off at the post-911 security lines.

"I hope it all works out," she said, hugging me tightly.

"Me, too," I choked, hugging her back just as fiercely. "Some date, huh?"

"You sure know how to show a girl a good time," she said, tears welling into her eyes.

I dabbed her eyes with my thumb.

"Thanks for everything," I said. "You were a lifesaver tonight."

"And you were a lifesaver, too. Maybe my whole life."

I kissed her, got in line, and didn't look back. I didn't trust myself to look back.