The Ex Chronicles

Miriam arrives at Bella’s loft and lets herself in. Looking around the apartment, she drops her bags in the living room and goes to Bella’s bedroom. She doesn’t knock, just opens the door. The air is stale. The TV is on but the sound is off.

Miriam says a cheery hello, then walks to the curtains and opens them, and then she opens the window. Bella is sitting in bed staring at the silent TV. Her hair is a tangled mess and the dark circles under her eyes could rival a raccoon’s.

Miriam sits on the bed facing her. She opens her bag and takes out a cigarette. She lights one and doesn’t say a word until she’s smoked it down almost to the filter. Then she stubs it out in the water glass and pushes Bella’s bangs out of her eyes.

Bella focuses on her mother for the first time since she’s entered the room. She’s shivering. “Mommy, I’m so cold.”

Miriam takes her hands; they’re moist and clammy. She rubs them in hers, warming them. “It’s okay, Mommy’s here.”

Miriam runs a hot bath, undresses Bella, and puts her in it. She then goes to the kitchen searching for food. Pulling out a can of chicken broth, she puts it in a mug and nukes it. She then puts it on a tray with some crackers and brings it to Bella.

The hot water has brought some color back to Bella’s cheeks. As she drinks the broth she starts to feel a little better. She can’t believe that her mother is sitting on the edge of her tub feeding her soup.

“Good, you’re looking back from the brink,” Miriam says, taking the cup. Bella spies the pack of cigarettes and asks for one. Miriam takes two out, lights them, and gives one to her daughter. They smoke in silence, using the cup as an ashtray.

“Now that’s funny, I always thought it was you ignoring me. You and Daddy always had such a good relationship; I usually felt like an interloper.”

“I didn’t know how to talk to you,” Bella says. “You were always so perfect. Your hair, your clothes, the house—everything. I am completely opposite of you: messy, imperfect, a failure. I felt like I couldn’t do anything right,” she sniffles.

“If I’m so perfect, why is Daddy leaving me?” When Bella doesn’t answer, Miriam says, “Isabella, you’re human. Me too. We all have our problems. It’s how we handle them—that’s what makes us grow. But sometimes we can’t handle them on our own. If we’re smart we’ll get help.”

Bella sits silent for a moment, not quite knowing how to put it into words. “I need help, Mommy. I have a problem with drinking and drugs.”

Miriam strokes her hair. “I know, and it’s partly my fault. No fifteen-year-old should be allowed to drink at dinner with her parents. We’ve enabled you with too much money and not enough to do. If I hadn’t married Daddy I’d probably be just like you.” Miriam laughs bitterly. “My parents believed girls shouldn’t work; they should be wives, the perfect wives. That we should take the backseat to our husbands.” Coming out of her reverie, Miriam turns to her daughter. “So what are we going to do about your drinking and drug problem?”

“I’d rather strangle a kitten than give up my vices, but they seem to have gotten the better of me and I’m hurting people because of it and feeling so bad.” Bella sighs, “Rehab, I guess,” she finishes dejectedly.

When Bella looks at the impostor who’s taken over her mother’s body, Miriam smiles and says, “Don’t ask me how I know that.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you cook anything,” Bella says, amazed at her mother’s ease in the kitchen.

Not expecting Rosaria, they look at each other when they hear the lock on the front door open and someone enter the apartment. They go into the living room and stop when they see Julius.

Julius is a little shocked that Bella isn’t alone; he has to think on his feet. “I just wanted to come by to see if you were okay.” He didn’t expect anybody other than Rosaria or Bella to be there, and the older lady looks like she could be Bella’s mother. He’s not sure how to play it, so he puts on his best act. He nods to Miriam. “Hello, ma’am.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, ma’am,” he says, hurrying across the room to take her hand, but Miriam waves him off.

“Don’t bother.” Her look is withering. “I don’t like you and I won’t pretend to, so don’t waste what you think are your charms on me.”

Julius stands there, speechless. “My daughter has given you keys to her apartment.” She holds out her hand. “I want them back.”

Julius is stunned but tries to recover. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” he asks, getting in her face. Miriam squares her shoulders and steps toward him.

“You, young man, are a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Me, I’m the wolf. So unless you want to spend the next several years in jail for dealing drugs to my daughter, you will give me the keys.”

Miriam is steely. Both Julius and Bella are stunned. This is not the mother Bella knows, but whoever she is, Bella likes her. Visibly panicked, Julius drops the keys in her palm.

When Julius scurries out Miriam turns to Bella. “He’s nothing, I eat jokers like him for breakfast.” Bella laughs so hard tears stream down her face.

Hope walks in and drops her bag on the couch. For the first time in months she’s left the office and gone home while there’s still light out.

Hope, your typical obsessive-compulsive control freak, is usually a hands-on micromanager, but lately she’s been depending more on her staff and on Keysha. She’s also found Fiona to be a very good ally and is utilizing her more, giving up the control she’s always fought so hard for. Surprisingly, it’s working out for the best. She now deals less with Jackie, and is allowing her editors more autonomy—and they are doing her proud.

Slipping out of her coat and kicking off her shoes, Hope heads straight for the kitchen. Opening a bottle of wine, she pours a glass. She opens the fridge and looks in; although it’s filled with food, she doesn’t feel like cooking. Normally Hope orders in when she works late, but leaving early has completely discombobulated her and she’s not quite sure what to do. When her stomach growls she tries to silence it by draining her wineglass.

Leaving the kitchen with the wine bottle, she walks into the living room and sits on the couch, enjoying the soft light in the room. A moment later a wonderful aroma wafts past her nose. It smells delicious and is making her stomach growl again. She follows the aroma to her backyard terrace. Opening the door, she steps onto the deck.

Mmm, it’s some kind of delicious sauce and it’s coming from downstairs. Hope has an idea. Walking back to the kitchen, she gets another wineglass. She then grabs the wine bottle and her wineglass from the coffee table and heads to her back deck and down the spiral staircase to the basement apartment. Before she can change her mind she knocks on the French doors. A moment later Derrick appears in paint-splattered jeans and a T-shirt. When he sees Hope he smiles.

When he opens the door Hope holds up the wine and glasses. “Whatever that delicious smell is, I hope you made enough for two.”

Derrick steps back and invites her in. “You kidding? I’ve got two kids—I only know how to cook in bulk. I hope you like spaghetti sauce.”

“Only if it’s full of garlic.” Hope smiles, walking in. She sees that he’s set up an area in the bedroom with a drop cloth, easel, and a small TV table, on which sit markers, tubes of paint, and brushes. “How’s the work coming?” she asks.

Derrick shrugs. “I’ll let you know when it gets here,” he says, closing the door and walking into the kitchen. Hope follows him and takes a seat at the granite counter. She pours two glasses of wine while he stirs the tomato sauce on the burner and adds pasta to the boiling pot of water. When he’s finished, he wipes his hands on his jeans and takes the glass. Making a toast, he says, “Here’s to you, Hope.”

Two hours later Hope and Derrick sit back, holding their stomachs and smiling. Pouring the last of the wine into their glasses, Hope realizes she’s tipsy.

Hope shrugs. “Lately I’m realizing that the magazine won’t fall to pieces if I’m not there or if I leave before eight o’clock. I’m finally understanding that I have a great staff that knows what they’re doing.”

“Good girl. I’m proud of you. You’ve worked hard enough as it is. I’m glad you’re learning how to let go a little bit.”

“I’ve got you to thank for that, Derrick. The day you made me turn off my cell showed me that I could do it without terrible things happening.”

When Derrick takes a sip Hope sneaks a look under her lashes at him lounging on the sectional across from her. He has his bare feet up on the coffee table, his T-shirt hugs his chest, and his jeans outline the muscles of his thighs. This is the most relaxed she’s ever seen him, and the most relaxed she’s been in a long time.

As she watches him Hope isn’t sure if the warmth she’s feeling is from the wine or from how sexy Derrick looks. An image of him lying naked on the couch comes to her; she then pictures herself naked under him, held tightly against his chest. She smiles, then almost spills her wine when she looks up to see Derrick looking intently at her, his eyes roaming slowly over the outline of her body in the silky dress.

If she doesn’t do something soon she’s going to be in his lap in a minute. Hope clears her throat. “You know, uhm, I went down to visit my friend Suki, who is the curator of the gallery I told you about.

“Yes, the Robert Miller Gallery; it’s in Chelsea. Remember, I sent Suki images of the three canvases at your mom’s.”

“Hope, why would I want to talk to her when I don’t even have any art for a show? I might not even be able to re-create the images you sent her. I did those years ago.” He takes a deep breath. “And who’s gonna want to see art by me, anyway?”

“Suki is an authority on these things; her shows are always well attended and get tons of press. And if she likes your work it bodes pretty well . . .”

“It’s too soon. There’s too much going on with me right now,” Derrick says, abruptly standing up and taking the dishes into the kitchen. “My apartment isn’t even cleared out yet. How am I supposed to make sure my girls are okay and make art for a show nobody might even attend?”

“This is the chance of a lifetime, Derrick. You can have everything you want, while you do something you love.”

She stands behind him at the sink. “Just talk to her. I’m going to leave her card under your door—just talk to her, please,” she begs.

Hope stands her ground. “Only because I know you can do it, Derrick.” Her eyes plead with him. “You’ve raised two wonderful girls. You’re smart and talented—you can do anything. I know you can. I believe in you, Derrick.”

Hope has her hands on his arms. Derrick stands there looking at her. She’s so close he can smell the light vanilla scent in her hair. He slips his arms around her waist and pulls her to him.

“Sometimes more than I believe in myself,” she says, barely finishing before Derrick kisses her. Scooping her up, he carries Hope into the bedroom and lays her down. Standing above her, he strips off his T-shirt. He has strong shoulders and a chest with curly dark hairs tapering down to his stomach and then disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.

When he unbuckles his jeans and steps out of them his legs are thick and strong and slightly bowed. His skin is like smooth dark chocolate and Hope wants a taste. He slips back onto the bed next to her and leans over her on his elbow.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since you got here,” he says, untying the belt of her wrap dress and slowly separating it to expose her silk bra and panties. Unfastening her bra, he traces a finger across her nipples, then down her breasts. Lingering, he licks a trail moist and hot down from her neck to her navel. Stopping at the waistband of her panties, he hooks his fingers into the elastic and slips them down, easing them off her legs as Hope moans and writhes beneath him.

At six a.m. Hope wakes up in Derrick’s bed. She knows he’s left to get the girls and take them to school. When she sits up and stretches she sees on the pillow next to her a sheet of sketching paper. On it is a simple line-art sketch in marker of Hope naked and sleeping tangled in the sheets. Brown and red watercolor is the color of her skin and lips. It’s titled Hope in the Morning.