Your Big Break

  Red bird, blue flame,

  to you they look the same.

  Green light, Rainbow Brite

  doll I had when I was young.

  Orange sun, yellow moon,

  pink roses in bloom—

  all these colors you can’t see.

  But, Ma, can you see me?

  Walter ends the poem with a flourish, dropping down to one knee and thrusting his arms skyward. I look around the room to see if I’m the only one who finds this amusing. Apparently, I am. A guy in the back claps and says, “Good job, Walter. That took a lot of courage.” I turn around to see who spoke and my eyes lock on an attractive, dark-haired man in a pair of black slacks and a gray button-down shirt.

  Brady Simms.

  I glance down at the picture in my hand for confirmation. Yep, it’s him. He must have snuck in late.

  “Would you like to go next?” Sal asks Brady.

  “Sure.” Brady makes his way to the front of the room. “Hi, everyone. I’m Brady.” He smiles brightly.

  My heart starts to race. I feel as though he’s looking directly at me, as though he knows what’s about to happen.

  “I appreciate your listening. Ever since my father died two weeks ago,” Brady begins, blinking rapidly to hold off tears, “I’ve had a really hard time dealing with things.”

  I jerk upright in my chair. What? His father died two weeks ago? Did I hear that right?

  Obviously, this is some sort of mistake! Erin can’t possibly want me to ditch Brady. She must be confused. Maybe she thinks I’m some sort of a relationship counselor, hired to patch things up? Deep down, I know that’s bullshit, but I can’t think of a better explanation.

  I start to panic. What should I do? Should I talk to Brady? Should I bolt?

  I decide to confront the situation head-on. As soon as the readings are over, I jump up and make my way to the back of the room. Brady’s sitting by himself, leafing through a notebook.

  “Hi, Brady, my name’s Dani!” I say brightly. My face turns red. I’m talking too loudly, being too enthusiastic. I’m thrown off my game. I can’t seem to focus. “I’m a friend of Erin’s,” I finally manage.

  He looks up, surprised. “Erin Foster-Ellis?”

  “The very same.”

  “Nice to meet you, Dani.” Brady shakes my hand. “Any friend of Erin’s is a friend of mine.”

  Now that I’m face-to-face with Brady, I can’t think of what to do. I realize that I’m staring at him, and my mind races desperately for something to say.

  He eyes me quizzically. “Is everything okay?”

  Not even close! “Of course! I was just hoping you and I could catch up on a few things tonight.”

  “Catch up on what? We’ve never met before,” Brady points out.

  “True.” I’m really digging myself a hole here. “But now’s a great time to get to know each other!” I sound like an idiot. “Like you said, any friend of Erin’s—”

  Brady opens his mouth, and I think he’s about to question me when Walter yells, “Hurry up, Simms! Time’s a-wasting.”

  “I’ve gotta go,” he apologizes. “We have to do critiques.”

  “No sweat. So I’ll catch you after the critique?”

  “Okay, see you then,” he says, walking off to join his group. He throws a confused glance over his shoulder as he goes.

  I kill time browsing through Barnes & Noble’s magazine aisle. I cast periodic glances at the meeting-room door, waiting to catch Brady the minute he emerges. I made such a fool of myself, I want to remedy it. More important, I need to find out if what Brady said is true—if his father really did die two weeks ago. Maybe he meant to say two years ago. Or maybe he was using poetic license? The poem he read wasn’t that good, but the fact that it was about his dad who had just died gave it added effect. . . .

  I need confirmation of the facts to figure out how to proceed.

  I’m halfway through a magazine article when someone taps me on the shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  “Yaaaa!” I shriek, dropping the magazine. I didn’t hear him come up behind me.

  “You seem flustered,” he says.

  “I’m fine,” I chirp, red-faced. I can’t believe I’ve lost sight of my own target. “Is your critique finished already?” I ask. It’s only been about ten minutes.

  “I ducked out early.”

  “You did?”

  “I wanted to talk to you. Did Erin send you here to look for me?” he asks.

  Oh my God, he’s onto me! He knows I’m here to dump him! “Why do you ask?” My voice comes out in a squeak.

  “It seems odd that we’d both end up at the same poetry workshop, and that you’d approach me the way you did. I don’t recall ever meeting you before tonight.”

  “Well, we haven’t met before—”

  “Then how did you recognize me?”

  “Well . . .” He’s staring at me. I think furiously, and then I say, “Erin told me her boyfriend took this great poetry workshop and suggested I check it out, because she knows I’m interested in poetry. I knew what you looked like because she showed me your picture.” I feel a warm glow of professional pride. My lies are coming out smoothly. “If I’d known it would freak you out so much, I wouldn’t have come,” I throw in, with what I hope is an inviting smile.

  Brady smiles back, relaxing. “Sorry about the third degree. It’s the lawyer in me talking.”

  “I thought you gave up law.” I say before I can stop myself.

  “I did,” he admits. “But legalese has a nasty habit of sticking with you. I overanalyze everything.”

  “Was it weird changing careers? High-priced attorney to high-school teacher seems like a pretty big leap.”

  “Erin told you?”

  “She did. Why the drastic move?”

  Brady stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Do you know much about the legal profession, Dani?”

  “Only what I’ve seen on Law & Order.”

  He laughs. “Trust me, it’s far less glamorous in real life. Extraordinarily long hours. Endless piles of paperwork.”

  I picture Evan Hirschbaum’s desk, with its mile-high stack of manila folders.

  “It’s a brutal, brutal profession,” he continues. “Lawyers square off in court, play every dirty, backstabbing trick in the book on each other. Then they walk out, shake hands, and make a date to play golf.” Brady sighs. “I left work every night feeling like I’d been beaten up. It got to the point where it just didn’t make sense to put myself through that anymore.”

  “Then why did you go into it in the first place?” I ask.

  “The short version of the story is I did it to make my parents happy. My teaching career”—his eyes light up—“I’m doing that to make myself happy.”

  “That sounds fascinating; I’d love to hear more about your new job sometime.”

  He flashes me a grin. “How about we grab a cappuccino? My treat.”

  Cappuccino. At the mention of coffee, my mind flashes back to Your Big Break Inc. I have to find out the facts about his father before I drop Erin’s bomb on him. “I’d better not,” I say. “I’ve already had nine cups of coffee today.” This is actually true. Given my job and rule #1, I drink enough caffeine for a small army.

  “You want to help me find a book, then?” he offers. “Since I started coming to this workshop, I buy at least one new novel every week, always on someone’s recommendation. Tonight, you can pick something out for me.”

  “Sure, sounds fun.” We stroll over to the fiction section. “What are you in the mood for?” I ask him.

  “Anything,” he says, and it makes my heart flutter a little to meet his eyes. “I’m at the mercy of your decision.”

  “Are you, now?” I say coyly.

  “Yep. Whatever you tell me to buy, that’s what I’m getting.”

  “Hmm . . . what if I purposely choose something really strange? You know, like Smart Women Finish Rich. Would you read it?”

  “It??
?s not a novel.” Brady chuckles. “But, yeah, I’d read it. Trust me, you can’t top Walter. I let him pick one week and he chose a kids’ picture book. Baby Duck Goes to the Circus, I think it was called.”

  I laugh.

  “Oh, it may seem funny now. But I accidentally left the thing in my briefcase and it fell out in the middle of a pretrial meeting. The guys at the office never let me live it down.”

  “All right, no baby ducks,” I promise, patting him lightly on the arm.

  He winks. “I knew I could trust you.” He pauses and then asks, “What’s your favorite novel?” His light blue eyes are still studying my face.

  “High Fidelity,” I say.

  He brightens. “I loved the movie; never got around to reading the book.”

  “The book’s better,” I chide.

  “High Fidelity,” Brady repeats. “So that’s your favorite novel?”

  “I don’t know if it’s my all-time favorite, but it’s really good.”

  “I’ll buy it tonight, and I’ll let you know what I think.” We find a copy, then walk over toward the register. “Did you enjoy the poetry reading?” Brady asks as we get in line.

  “It was an interesting experience,” I say honestly.

  “I’ll let you in on a secret.” He leans close. “I love reading poetry. I detest writing it.”

  “You do?” I ask incredulously.

  “Erin’s the one who encouraged me to join the workshop. When I first started coming, I hated it. But I fell in love with the people and the atmosphere here. Now I really enjoy myself.”

  I’m speechless. “It was Erin’s idea that you take this workshop?” I finally ask.

  He nods. “Her last boyfriend used to write her love poems. She wanted me to do the same.” Brady groans. “Everything I write sounds stiff and unnatural.”

  “I thought your poem was sweet,” I tell him, semi-honestly. We move forward in the line.

  “How did you and Erin meet?” Brady asks.

  This is it, the moment of truth. This is where I’m supposed to tell him. I hesitate. How can I do this? How can I break his heart? It’s never bothered me so much before. But I think about his father—about my father—and all the pain that comes from being betrayed.

  “We met at Starbucks,” I lie. That’s a safe bet, isn’t it? Everybody goes to Starbucks, right?

  “How long have you known each other? I don’t remember her mentioning you.”

  “Oh, we’ve known each other for a while now. We weren’t that close at first. But we’re starting to become better friends, practically best friends.” Even to my own ears, this sounds made up. Fortunately, Brady doesn’t seem to notice.

  “So I guess she told you about my father, that he passed away two weeks ago.”

  So it is true. “No, I only found out tonight when you said something. I’m so sorry, Brady. That’s awful.”

  “Erin’s been acting kind of weird since it happened.” His face clouds over. “She’s been distant, for lack of a better word. To be perfectly honest, I’ve been sort of worried.”

  “There’s no need to be,” I quickly reassure him. “Everything’s fine! Erin loves you very, very much.” Now, if only it were true!

  “You really think so?” he asks.

  “Absolutely.”

  Brady steps up to the cash register and places High Fidelity on the counter. A salesgirl rings up his purchase and drops it into a bag.

  “Thanks, Dani, you’ve really helped me out,” he says.

  Then, holding up the Barnes & Noble sack, he adds, “In more ways than one.”

  9

  Starbucks Redux

  I dial Erin Foster-Ellis’s cell phone the second I get out of Barnes & Noble. It rings four times and voicemail picks up. I leave a brief message: “This is Dani from Your Big Break Inc. Call me as soon as you get this!” A few minutes later, I dial again. And again.

  After seven tries, she finally answers.

  “Hello?” She sounds annoyed.

  “Erin, this is Dani from Your Big Break Inc.—”

  “Who?”

  “Dani, from Your Big Break Inc.!”

  “Oh!” I hear the recognition in her voice. “Danielle. Right, now I get it. Did you just call me?”

  “About ten times.” I sit down on small ledge outside the building.

  “That’s a tad rude,” she says. “Sometimes when a person doesn’t answer her phone, it means she’s busy.”

  And sometimes a person might be a heartless shrew. I don’t say this, of course. Instead, I say, “I’ve got to talk to you immediately.” Come hell or high water, I’m going to convince her not to dump Brady Simms.

  “So talk.”

  “Not over the phone.” Am I becoming like Evan Hirschbaum, demanding in-person meetings? First my brother, and now Erin. “Can you meet me somewhere tonight?”

  “It’s awfully late.”

  “It’s only nine o’clock,” I argue.

  “I guess I could spare a few minutes.”

  “I’ll be quick, I promise.” I feel desperate to fix her relationship with Brady. As if patching things up between them will somehow patch things up in my life. “I’ll come out to your house.”

  “No,” she says. “That’s not necessary. I’m spending the night in Back Bay.”

  “Back Bay?” I repeat. Back Bay is a trendy little area of downtown Boston.

  “There’s a Starbucks on Newbury Street,” she says. “It’s next to—”

  “I know it,” I say, interrupting her. I know every single Starbucks within a 100-mile radius. I often joke that my real office is a coffee house. If they made frequent-drinker cards, I’d have earned enough points to open my own store. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” I promise, snapping my phone shut. It’s funny. Earlier tonight, I told Brady that I’d first met Erin at Starbucks. Now here I am, going there to meet her. Does that make my lie the truth?

  Newbury Street is just a short walk from Barnes & Noble. I hoof it down Mass Avenue for a few blocks, then cut over to Newbury Street. Even though I make it in less than ten minutes, I arrive to find Erin already waiting, a tall latte in hand. I spy her through the window as I walk inside. She’s decked out in another Prada outfit, different from the one I saw her in earlier today. It’s been only a few hours. I can’t believe she’s already changed clothes.

  I’m about to walk over to Erin’s table when a Starbucks staffer flags me down. “Tall iced nonfat mocha!” she shouts, waving the drink in the air.

  Erin stares at me as I make my way to the counter.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while, Dani,” the barista says as I pay for my drink on my Starbucks credit card. “What’s it been? Four or five days?”

  I hear Erin laughing in the background. “Sounds like somebody has a little coffee addiction,” she quips as I walk over to the table. “Good for you for ordering nonfat,” she says approvingly. “You definitely don’t need the full.”

  I ignore her snide comment. We’ve got important business to attend to. “You can’t break up with Brady,” I announce, sitting down across from her. “I think—”

  “I can do whatever I want,” she cuts me off. “Thanks for your concern.”

  I fold my arms across my chest and stare at her. “I saw Brady at Barnes and Noble.”

  Erin takes a few sips of coffee before answering. “How’d he take it?”

  “He didn’t. I couldn’t.”

  Erin wrinkles her brow. “You didn’t tell him I want to end things?” She squints at me. “I thought you said you would take care of it.”

  Here we go. I take a deep breath and look her straight in the eyes, defiantly. “I couldn’t go through with it. As soon as I heard about his father’s death—”

  “Oh. That.” She wads her napkin into a ball and shrugs her slim little shoulders. “He passed away a few weeks ago. He was in his early sixties, I believe.”

  “And you left out this information because . . . ?”

  She cross
es her long legs. “I didn’t think it was relevant.”

  “You didn’t think it was relevant?” I ask incredulously.

  Erin narrows her eyes. “Honestly, Danielle. I don’t owe you an explanation. So Brady’s father died of colon cancer a couple of weeks ago. It’s tragic, but it doesn’t really have anything to do with our relationship. The two are completely unrelated. That’s his family life. I’m not involved in that.”

  “What do you mean you’re not involved in that?” I ask. “You’ve been dating the guy for two years! How can you not care about what happens to his family?”

  “Family’s overrated,” Erin says, waving her had dismissively. “Only saps care about that kind of thing.” She pauses. “You act as though losing your father is a big deal.”

  I want to punch her. How can she say a thing like that? Losing your father is a huge deal. My God, I ought to know. . . .

  I don’t say anything, and Erin continues: “Brady’s a grown man; he’ll be fine.”

  She’s unbelievable. Why any man would want a shallow girlfriend like Erin is beyond me, but Brady obviously sees something in her that I don’t.

  “Don’t you kind of think dumping Brady right now would be”—I pause, choosing my words carefully—“insensitive?” I feel so bad for him. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to ruin his world.

  “The timing’s not great, I’ll give you that.” Erin takes another sip of coffee. “Did you get to hear any of Brady’s writing?” she asks, shifting topics.

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Brady read a showstopping poem about his father. His late father.” Showstopping might be stretching it a bit, but I’ve got to work all the angles. “Brady said you were the one who encouraged him to take that poetry workshop,” I say.

  “You and Brady-boy did an awful lot of talking tonight,” Erin notes, raising her eyebrows. “A shame you didn’t talk about what I paid you to talk about.” She smiles in a patronizing way and looks around the coffee shop. “I suggested he take that poetry class because I wanted to have Thursday nights free.”