The next morning I woke up to fifteen messages on my cell phone. It appears that I had made my way right on to the dreaded “Page 9” of the Daily Story. It was a great picture of me, looking as sexy as ever, standing outside Hut 17 with Sandy by my side. The caption under the photograph read, “Writer David Michaels accompanied by socialite girlfriend Sandy McBride at last night’s Manhattan party”.
Message one. 7:17 AM. Sandy. “Fuck!! Fuck! Fuck! Shit! Fuck! (Inaudible rambling)”
Message two. 7:19 AM. Sandy. “Fuck! Did you see the paper yet?”
Message three. 7:21 AM. Sandy. “Wake the fuck up! (Banging the phone on something) WAKE UP!!”
Messages four through thirteen sounded frighteningly similar.
Message fourteen. 8:36 AM. Sandy (calm). “Jim finally saw the picture this morning and confronted me about it. I told him everything, David. Everything. I even told him about New Year’s. I told him it was just a matter of time before he drove me away, and that I have wanted to leave him for years, and being with you finally gave me the guts to do it. He told me not to wait one more second. He’d give me a divorce if I wanted it. I told him I wanted it.” (Message cuts off)
Message fifteen. 9:06 AM. Karen (happy). “Hi David. I can’t believe I’m up so early. I’m at the airport. I can’t wait to get the hell out of LA. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be with you last night on your big day. I hope you had a good time at the party. I’ll be back in town tonight. Why don’t we get together and celebrate on our own? I should be back in the city by five, so why don’t you stop by my apartment around eight. Bring us a couple of bottles of wine. We have a lot of celebrating to do.”
Oh, shit. I didn’t know what to do next. Should I call Karen back and tell her to skip tonight? She was probably on a plane by now. Fuck. Should I call Sandy back and see what the hell happened over there? That was going to be some scary stuff. I didn’t really want to call anyone back. This is the problem with being a procrastinator; you keep putting off stuff until it all catches up with you. I should have just stuck to my plan - break up with Sandy. Not take Sandy to a swanky party and then sleep with her. Everything was so clear last night before that party. Fuck you, party.
But, I still had other things to do today. I had to call Jason Hoffman back, negotiate a book deal, and get over to Sneaker Heaven and actually go to work. My cell rang again. Unknown. God damn it. I hate those unknown numbers. Doesn’t everyone know by now that I have a screening problem? I picked it up in haste.
“Oh, is this the prince that finally woke up from his precious slumber?” Sandy was on the line.
Fuck you, unknown.
“Yeah, well – ”
“Did you even bother going through your messages?” She asked, pissed at me.
Didn’t she realize this was too early in the morning for me?
“Yeah, I heard them. I can’t be-” she cut me off.
“I’m coming over, I’ll be there in five minutes,” Sandy said. Then I heard the dreaded click.
I sat down and took a look at the article written around my picture. I was pretty impressed:
New Writer Makes Debut In This Month’s The Manhattan Magazine.
New York – Mr. David Michaels was spotted yesterday with socialite girlfriend, Sandy McBride, at Hut 17 on the same day that his short story ‘Sh*t.Falls.Up’ hit the stands in this month’s The Manhattan magazine. Sources have linked the pair for the past few months, despite McBride’s long-term marriage to businessman, Jim McBride. The couple has also been seen on numerous occasions in Chinatown, and gallivanting about the Upper East Side.
I could not believe what I was reading. I was becoming tabloid trash. Wasn’t it bad enough I was someone’s bitch? Did I have to sink to tabloid trash as well? I didn’t even have a chance to read about anyone else when the doorbell rang.
“Let me in,” Sandy barked, pushing at the door.
I opened the door and got ready for some fireworks. “So, Jim knows everything. That’s it. He’s moving his shit out and heading over to our house in the Hamptons to live until things are settled,” she explained.
“I’m sorry. I can’t believe we got caught because of the Daily Story. Page 9 is the last place I ever expected to find myself this morning. Before yesterday, I was a manager at Sneaker Heaven. Today, I’m Tabloid Trash,” I said.
“I’m kind of glad this happened. I mean, I knew some picture of us would show up somewhere. I’m not that naive. But, to actually write about our affair like that, for the world to see. That put everything in perspective. It was time to leave Jim. That’s what I realized this morning. This mistake gave me the strength I needed to finally end things with him. Now, we can finally be together. We get to start our own life now,” Sandy said apprehensively, trying to convince herself what she was saying was true.
Here is where it got a little tricky. I obviously wanted to dump Sandy on her ass, leaving me free to be with Karen. The problem was, Sandy submitted my story to The Manhattan and, as Carl pointed out, she had a lot to do with any success that may follow. Sandy, basically, ushered me in as a writer. But, I was the one who wrote the story. On the other hand, because of my new-found celebrity, Sandy was losing her marriage. I wasn’t quite sure what the time frame was for dumping someone whose marriage you helped end. I was guessing it wasn’t a couple of hours. I needed some help.
“Sandy, I have to use the restroom,” I bolted to the master bathroom, and quickly dialed up Jon on my cell.
“Dude, did you see Page 9 this morning?”
“Yeah. Holy Shit! Jim is going to freak,” Jon said.
“I got news for you. Jim already freaked. Jim and Sandy are getting a divorce,” I said.
“What -!?”
“But, here’s the thing. I have Sandy in my apartment right now. She says she wants to be with me, but I really like someone else that I’ve kind of been dating on the side,” I said.
“What -!?” This was too much for Jon.
“Dude, I want to get rid of Sandy. How long do I have to wait until I can dump her?” I was grasping for straws here.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re sick. Sick! You know that. Oh, man - ,” Jon just kept babbling.
“I have to go,” I hung up the phone. Jon was no help. I quickly dialed Lisa.
“Hobart and Klein, Lisa Thompson speaking.”
“Lisa, it’s me. I’m in the bathroom of my apartment and I have a big problem,” I started.
“What’s the problem?” Lisa was confused.
“You know how me and Karen are kind of dating?”
“Yeah,” Lisa sighed, already exasperated with me.
“Well, there is sort of a problem” I was trying to get to the point, but I also was very
confused. “I’m kind of seeing someone else. Well, I was seeing her before I met Karen, and then-”
“Do we really have to go into this right now. I’m in the middle of some important stuff. We’re not all big-time writers and have all day to – ”
“Can you kill the dramatics? I need help! I have to dump this other woman, but I’m not sure how or when to do it.”
I couldn’t dump her right now that was for sure. I could probably dump her next week. That would be more than enough time, I thought.
“No time like the present. Just dump her. You say, ‘This isn’t working out. We’re through’. Seems pretty simple to me,” Lisa said, half listening. I could hear her typing on her keyboard.
“Well, obviously you didn’t see Page 9 this morning. The girl I’m seeing is Sandy McBride,” I said.
“You’re on Page 9!”
“That’s not the point,” I said. “The girl I am seeing is Sandy McBride!”
“Sandy McBride, the socialite? Isn’t she like 50?” Lisa was floored.
“Yes, the socialite,” I said, ignoring the dig.
“I thought she was married to Jim McBride, the business guy,” Lisa deduced.
“Well, she was until this morning when the two of us showed up together in the newspaper. Now she’s leaving him to be with me,” I said.
“Is everything okay in there?” Sandy called in the bathroom.
“Everything is fine. I’m just finishing up,” I called back.
“Is that Sandy?” Lisa said.
“Yes that was her,” I was whispering. “I have to go.”
“I can’t believe it, Sandy McBride is right out –” Lisa was star struck, but I cut her off.
I hung up the phone, and stood there looking at the Roman tub. What was I doing? I flushed the toilet, threw some water on my face and headed back into the lioness’s den with absolutely no help from any of my friends.
Five steps out of the toilet, Sandy threw her arms around me and hugged me, whispering in my ear, “We’re finally free, David. We’re finally free.”
I just stood there shaking inside when I formulated a new, life theory: Hugs Kill.
Sandy eventually left to get in some therapeutic shopping. For the time being, she was still Sandy McBride, which meant she could buy anything and everything that suited her fancy and charge it to Jim’s account. Shortly, she would be “finally free” of Jim. Maybe she wanted to have some new clothes for divorce court. I’m sure that wasn’t going to be any fun.
I still had some things to take care of. I tried to stop and think about what I needed to do first. Okay, priority number one. I had to call Jason Hoffman. I moseyed over to the kitchen where I poured myself a small glass of scotch to calm my nerves. I looked around for the business card Jason gave me. I finally found it buried in the back pocket of the swanky, black suit pants that I wore last night.
I dialed the number. “Jason Hoffman speaking,”
“Hi, Mr. Hoffman. It’s David Michaels.”
“David, glad you called. I just got out of a meeting about turning your story into a full-length book. We were all very excited, and we have some great news for you. Could you come in around three today so we can chat about things?” Jason explained.
“Sure, I just have to stop in at work for a little while. I’ll try not to be late,” I said.
“David, after today you probably won’t be heading to your old job any more. Make sure you get here at three. There are some people I want you to meet,” Jason explained.
“Okay, I’ll try my best. See you at three,” I tried to sound professional, even though I was bouncing off the walls at this news.
I hung up the phone and called Carl. I needed some advice before I showed up at my King Life appointment.
“Carl, it’s David,” I said, as he answered his phone. “David Michaels.”
“David,” he said. “Hi. Great party last night.”
“I had a blast. It was great. Look, Carl, I spoke to Jason Hoffman a minute ago and he said he wanted to talk to me at 3 o’clock about a book deal. Is there anything I should know? Could you come with me?”
“David, I have been getting calls all morning about you,” Carl, who was an older man and who always spoke calmly, was getting very excited, “At least five publishers called trying to get your information so they could offer you a book deal. They were throwing seven-figure numbers around. I wouldn’t sign anything with King Life just yet. There might be a better way to go about finding the right publisher for you. Maybe you could run a silent auction for the rights to your first novel. That way you can ensure that you get a fair price for the book,” Carl said.
“Silent Auction? Where? How?” I said. How was I going to run a silent auction?
“It’s not all that complicated. Look, I can help you if you want. I have a good friend who’s an agent. I’ve worked with her for the past twenty years. She’s more than capable. She can run it for you. She’ll call back the interested publishers, tell them to prepare a written bid for your novel and submit it to us by 5:00 p.m. tomorrow. The highest bid wins.”
“Wow, okay. Can we have the bids sent to your office?” I asked, shaking with excitement.
Carl laughed, “Sure. Look, I’ll call my friend and have her run the auction from here. Don’t worry about it. You head over to King Life at three, and let them know the deal. This will be very exciting,” white haired, blue-eyed Carl had to be brimming with excitement.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t sign anything with them? What if it’s too good to pass up?”
“It’s up to you, but it seems to me you have some options and you might want to explore them all. I’ve been around publishing for a long time, they’ll probably try to get you on the cheap. Dangle some cash in front of you I don’t think you can do any harm waiting.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Thanks, Carl,” I said and hung up the phone.
I still had to head over to Sneaker Heaven and check up on things. I was neglecting my job, and that was unacceptable. I took a shower, put on my khakis, threw on a referee shirt and headed over to the mall.
When I walked in the door, the employees looked at me like I had ten heads. Peaches ran over to me and pushed me into the back office.
“Where the hell have you been?” Peaches said.
“I know, I know, I’ve been neglecting the store,” I said.
“Neglecting the store? Damn, David, you haven’t been here for days, and when you did come in it was like you weren’t even here,” she said, pointing her finger in my face and shaking her head back and forth.
“I’m sorry. But things got nuts,” I started to explain the whole story thing.
“You know what’s nuts? You getting paid for work you’re not doing, and I’m working my ass to the bone here every day,” Peaches was pissed, her head was weaving all over the place.
“But I – ” I didn’t even have a chance to speak.
“But you’re the manager, and that’s cool, and we tight, so I made sure no one knew what was going on. I covered for your sorry ass,” Peaches said.
I almost welled up with tears, “I can’t believe you did that for me. That was so nice.”
“Well, you are a good guy - I guess. And, I saw you on Page 9! You’re famous!”
“Oh, Jesus,” I mumbled.
“Can I get an autograph?” Peaches winked at me.
“Sure,” I walked over to the register to pick up a piece of paper and a pen.
“I’m kidding! I don’t want your autograph!”
I walked back over to Peaches and pulled her in for a hug.
“Damn, what you doin’?” she said mid-hug.
“Come on, give me a hug, you know you love it.”
We embraced. I really had a lot to thank Peaches for. After all, she saved my ass and didn’t rat me out to Corporate.
“All right, now get back to work,” I said.
“Damn, I should have had your ass fired when I had the chance,” she smiled slyly and returned to the sales floor.
I sat in the back for a good three hours. I had a drink, played a few games of Madden. Some quiet me-time. It was nice to be away from everyone for a spell, but I was having trouble taking it easy. I couldn’t just sit here. I walked out to the floor and took a peek over at Coffee Kiosk. Not much of a line. Since this was going to my last day here I broke my rule and left the store. I walked over and mingled with the MILFs.
A good-looking woman behind me in line tapped me on the shoulder, “Was that you on Page 9 this morning?”
“Yeah, well, yeah,” I said.
“I thought that was you!” Some other ladies in the line must have heard. They started pointing. Maybe a little notoriety wasn’t going to be so bad.
“Home wrecker!” shouted one lady.
On second thought, maybe fame wasn’t going to be so great.