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.”
Uh-oh. He can’t mean . . .
“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 foun
d 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.”
“That’s beside the point! What if they ask—”
Jason shushes me as his mother returns. She seems to have rounded up half the wedding party. “This,” she announces, gesturing toward me, “is the girl who wrote The Da Vinci Code.”
“You’re a millionaire!” someone exclaims.
“I didn’t write it. I just sold it,” I say meekly.
“Do you have any other notable clients?” someone—the best man, I think—asks.
“She’s handling a celebrity novel right now,” Jason pipes up. “It’s very exciting. You wanna tell them about it, honey?” He squeezes my shoulders.
No, I do not want to tell them about my “celebrity novel.”
But everyone’s staring at me expectantly, so I take a deep breath and blurt out the first name that comes to mind. “John Tesh.”
“John Tesh is writing a novel?” Jason’s mother exclaims. Judging by the look on her face, I might as well have just said Bigfoot’s publishing his memoirs. “What’s the title?” she asks.
“I’ve Got the Music in Me,” I fib.
“Is it a musical book?”
“No. It’s a thriller,” I start. Think, Dani, think!
“Like Da Vinci?”
“Not exactly. Tesh’s work is a little . . . edgier. His narrator’s a crime-fighting saxophone player who winds up investigating the murder of a . . . a homeless . . .” Prostitute? Exotic dancer? It all sounds so clichéd. “Drag queen,” I finish.
Someone—Jason, I believe—bursts out laughing.
Damn. I should have gone with prostitute.
Fortunately, the bride and groom pick this moment to make their grand entrance.
I’ve never been so thrilled to see any two people in my entire life.
Before long, it’s time to cut the cake. The attention is off me as everyone focuses on the bride and groom. I stand away from the pack, watching the festivities from the sidelines. Jason is next to his brother, beaming. Finally, at long last, he has their approval. And he’s lied to get it. Why does he have to lie to feel loved? I think of Garrett and the wedding that never was, all the plans we had that didn’t materialize. We were supposed to be married this summer. For a moment, I feel overwhelmed with emotion.
I quickly talk myself out of it.
“Potential clients,” I mumble under my breath. Sure, Jason’s brother and his new bride may be happy now—but in six months, they’ll likely wind up in my office, seeking my services. All relationships end. I’m living proof of that.
We manage to make it through the rest of the reception without incident, although a few people do, incredibly, hit me up for John Tesh tickets. And the best man slips me a disk containing his unfinished screenplay, Crapshoot.
We’ve just said our good-byes and are leaving the reception area when Jason’s mother, Catherine, taps me on the shoulder.
“I’ve Got the Music in Me,” she says. “When’s it coming out?”
And here I thought I was home free. “We don’t have a firm release date yet,” I lie.
“I was thinking.” Catherine eyes me thoughtfully, and I’m afraid she’s about to blow my cover. “It really says something about John Tesh’s life experiences that he’s writing about drag queens.”
34
She’S Got Some Nerve
“He thinks I’m fat.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I tell the overweight woman sitting across from me.
“He thinks I’m a beached whale.” She takes a drink of her Frappuccino.
“Kevin would never say a thing like that,” I say soothingly. I’m about to launch into my spiel: Kevin still loves you, but he doesn’t think you’re right for each other. Kevin hopes you’ll stay friends. Kevin wishes only the best for you.
But instead I say, “He’s an ass.”
She stares at me in surprise.
“He thinks he can do better than you, thinks he can get laid by some nineteen-year-old Playboy Playmate of the Year. That’s why he’s dumping you. He wants to sleep around with younger women.”
“Can he?” she asks. Renée’s lower lip starts trembling. “Can he get a Playboy Playmate?”
I snort. “No. Not even. He’s not going to find anyone better than you.”
She buries her head in her hands. “Then why? Why dump me?”
“Because he’s a moron.” I say. “Some men always think they can get more women, always think the next big thing is right around the corner.”
Renée squares her shoulders. “Screw him! I can sleep around, too!”
“Come on, Renée. Be honest. You don’t want to do that.”
“You’re right,” she sobs. “I don’t. But I wish I could run into Kevin at his bar with some hot guy on my arm. That’d fix him!”
My eyes catch sight of the Red Sox pendant on her shirt.
“You don’t know any single guys, do you, Dani? I don’t want a boyfriend, just a guy who’s willing to help me show up Kevin.”
“Hmmm,” I say. “As a matter of fact, I might.”
I’m typing out an e-mail message to Jason Dutwiler when I hear a knock on my door. I look up to see Erin Foster-Ellis standing in the entrance to my office.
“What do you want?” I ask, quickly minimizing the screen.
“I have another job for you, Danielle. I was hoping we could get started on it today.”
Is she kidding? “You specifically requested that I no longer handle your business.”
She grins, not in a friendly way. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“You can’t keep switching between me and Trey,” I say, feeling my anger swell. “You’re going to have to pick a communications specialist and stick with them.” And don’t pick me, or you’ll be sorry.
“I’ve spoken with Craig McAllister. He approved the switch.”
Thanks, Craig. “Fine. What’s the job?”
Erin strolls into my office and sits down. “I need you to convince Brady that we should get back together.”
I nearly fall out of my chair. “Let me get this straight,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “You want me to reunite you and Brady?”
She nods.
“Why?”
“That’s none of your business,” she begins, “but I’ll tell you this much—I’ve realized that what Brady needs is a strong, motivated woman who will set him back on the right track. He needs someone like me in his life.”
“As much as I’d love to help you,” I say, mock-sweetly, “I can’t.” I give her a cold smile. “We don’t do fix-ups, only breakups.”
“Oh, you’ll do it. I’m not giving you a choice in the matter.”
She’s got some nerve. I keep my tone even. “I’m not obligated to take on cases I don’t want. Ask Craig; he’s the boss, and he’ll tell you the same thing.”
Erin looks me squarely in the eyes. “Maybe you don’t understand, Danielle. If you don’t do this for me, I’ll have you fired.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh, please! Like you have that kind of power.”
“I do. You’re forgetting something. You lied to
me—a client! And I paid you for a service that you did not deliver.”
“I delivered.” I stare at her defiantly. I’m not backing down.
“That’s not how I see it. Look at the facts. You did not pick up all of my personal items from Brady’s apartment, and you did not break things off with him in person. Those were the conditions that we agreed upon, and you violated them. And you did it all because you were hoping to land a date with Brady. You were motivated by lust, and you put the name of Your Big Break Inc. on the line. I don’t think your boss will look too favorably on that.”
When she puts it that way—when she adds it all together—she makes me sound horrible.
“You’re oversimplifying,” I argue. “When I explain everything to Craig, he’ll understand.” Even to my own ears, this sounds weak. There’s a good chance I will get fired!
“Will he? Because you don’t look so sure.”
I’m not. “Things with Brady were complicated.” I struggle to explain. “I did the best I could under difficult circumstances. If you hadn’t decided to ditch him two weeks after his father died, it might have been different.”
“That’s not your call. Your company has a rule about being an impartial adviser. And there’s another policy about not getting personally involved. You broke both of those. I have half a mind to report you to the Better Business Bureau for false advertising.”
She’s got me. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. There’s nothing I can say, no point I can argue. Craig’s a stickler for our five rules, and I’m in total violation of all of them.
“All right. I’ll do it.” I hope my voice doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels.
“I suspected you would.”
I feel sick. How can this be happening? Brady has completely avoided me since our disastrous dinner two weeks ago. Now I’ve got to approach him and convince him to get back together with Erin? I’ve got to bite my tongue, suppress my feelings once again. I’ve got to pretend I don’t care about him.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Erin says. “The easiest way for Brady to forgive me is if he thinks our breakup was all one giant misunderstanding.”