Charlotte Chronicles XXXVII

July 17, 2014  | Charlotte Chronicles  | (0)

Charlotte

The tension hits me the minute I walk into the suite that Christian’s family is currently staying in. Despite the hefty per night price tag, this place is too small for Christian, Peyton, and their two year old. I make a note to move housing up to the top of the list. Ideally Peyton and their child should have stayed behind while I looked for the right property and Christian met with his new team. 
I’m not sure whose idea it was to have the whole family here but no one is happy making the large three room upper story suite feel like a stifling linen closet. My eyes slide from the scowl lined face of Christian to the tense one of Peyton. Only Peyton even attempts to smile at me when I arrive.
“How is sweet Christie doing today?” I announce as I advance toward the sofa and scoop up their beautiful baby girl into my arms.  I rub my nose against her baby soft skin enjoying the pats of her tiny hands against my cheek. 
“Fine despite the ungodly flight. I don’t understand why they didn’t send the team plane for us,” Peyton says with a dark look.
“Babe, I couldn’t ask for that.”
“You asked for the trade,” she shot back. “Maybe think about your family next time.”
I settle onto the sofa next to Peyton. “Hey, Peyton. I’m here. I’m going to take care of everything. You will love it here. The beach and the sand will be awesome for Christie. And the Commandants are a great family organization. You know Shelly Hoffman, too, so it’s not like everyone here is a stranger.”
Some of her anger is deflating. “I haven’t talked to Shelly in forever,” she admits.
“I’m sure she understands.” Why wouldn’t she? Being the significant other of an athlete is its own special club, harrowing, exciting, but with a lot of emotional baggage. 
“Thanks Charlie,” she gives me a hug. We play with the baby for a little while longer until Peyton takes her off to have a mid morning snack in one of the other rooms giving me time and privacy to talk to Christian.
“It’s a mess,” he admits when we sit down at the table. “Get us out of here asap. And go to Tiffany’s. This is something Pey Pey has been wanting for a while now. I was going to buy it for her birthday but…” he trails off. He’s worried that she won’t be around for her birthday. A bracelet isn’t going to convince her not to leave, but I’m not a couples counselor. I am an errand girl though. I take a photo of the diamond and gold bracelet he has on his phone. “Do your magic.”
“I will. You concentrate on making this trade worthwhile.” We run over a few broad ideas of what he wants in a home and a personal trainer and then I dismiss him to get into the details with Peyton. Having facilitated their move two years ago on an opposite coast, I’m able to show her three properties. 
“I’m thinking Rancho Santa Fe. You’ll be living next to other athletes, bankers and even the occasional movie star. There’s not a lot of racial diversity, but it’s better than it was say ten years ago.” 
Peyton presses her lips together. “I’m having my mother move up. She wouldn’t have liked Baltimore, but San Diego would be okay.”
“See,” I nudge her slightly. “This isn’t so bad. I’m sure Christian was thinking of you when he asked for the trade.” 
When she gives me a don’t bullshit me glare, I raise my eyebrows and move on. We both know Christian thinks of his career first and his family second but I do think he loves Peyton. They’ve been together five years which is like thirty in real life terms. After contacting a real estate agent as well as giving Peyton instructions on two different parks and an indoor play area that she can take Christie to, I head over to the Fashion Valley Mall and the Tiffany store.
When I get there, I pause to peruse the small black box displays of necklaces and watches. I haven’t seen mom and dad in months what with my business taking off. I need to get back to Chicago. I talk to them once a week but it’s not the same. A delicate necklace with a citrine oval unfaceted gemstone with tiny delicate gold leaves curling around the edges catches my eye. It has my mom written all over it and the price tag is one that even I could afford without dipping into my trust. Just beyond the black display block mounted on a thin steel pole, my gaze is arrested by a tall, broad shouldered man leaning over a counter. As he straightens and his dark, military short hair comes into view, my heart skips a beat. 
No, Charlotte. It is not Nathan. Not every tall, dark haired male in San Diego is Nathan. 
But I can’t tear my eyes away. I will him to look at me. The sales assistant is pulling out a tray and setting it in front of him. He lifts a shiny object from the tray and holds it up, turning slightly so that the light catches it. And I see it. And then him. The drumbeat in my ears is so loud it’s as if the percussion section of the entire band is standing right next to me. My breath is becoming shallow and harsh but I can’t wrench my eyes away. I eat up this glimpse of him. My eyes hungrily rove over his lovely face, the strong nose and square jaw and full lips that are pursed slightly. His head cocks to the side, as if he’s trying to peer around the window display…at me? I duck to the side, pressing up against the gray granite exterior that frames the glass windows. Numerous mall shoppers walk by, probably staring at the strange girl plastered flat against the wall unmoving. Minutes pass but I can’t leave. Nor can I go inside. 
“Miss? Miss? Miss? Lady!” 
The last word filters through the muddled brain and I look up to see a police office and mall security guard standing in front of me. Their hands are on their hips, close to their weapons and they appear confused and unhappy.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m just leaving.” The security guard follows me all the way to the parking lot. When climb into my rented Ford Focus, though, I’m still too shaky to drive off. Instead, I fumble in my purse and grab my phone. The second speed dial button is Nick.
Can’t answer the phone. Text me because I don’t listen to vmx. 
Ignoring his instruction, I babble a message. “I’m in San Diego. I saw Nate at Tiffany’s. He was buying a ring. Or looking at one. Is he getting married? Is he really getting married and no one told me?” 
Hanging up before Nick hears me sob on his message that he might never listen to, I start the car and drive back to my hotel. I could call Aunt Grace, his mother. I could call my mother. Both would know the truth about Nate’s relationship status. Unless…unless this is some woman he’s kept secret from the whole family and will marry her and spring her on us the next time we all get together as a family.  
Finally, I break down and call Reese. “I need you to come here,” I say without preamble. 
“You having problems with Christian?”
Oh god, Christian and Peyton. The bracelet I’m supposed to buy to soften the trade is still unpurchased and the whole to do list for them sits untouched in my purse. Sitting up, I fumble for my bag and find the little orange notebook that I’ve picked out for Christian. Opening it up, I glance unseeing down the list. I can’t concentrate. Throwing the book across the room, I say, “No. Not yet. That’s not important. I saw him.”
“Who? Christian? You’re supposed to see him. He’s your client.”
“No, Reese. Pay attention. Nate. He was in Tiffany’s looking at diamond rings.” I start crying, sobbing really. “He’s getting married.”
“Back up the horse, honey, what happened? Start with why you are even at Tiffany’s.”
Hiccuping, I try to get myself under control. “I had to go to buy a bracelet for Peyton. She’s pissed about the trade. Christian was trying to buy his way back into her good graces. When I glanced in the window, I saw him. He was a staring at a tray of engagement rings.”
“You don’t know that,” Reese says. “He could have been buying something for his mom—like a cocktail ring or something. Why do you think it was rings?”
“He was holding one up as if he was trying to decide if it was big enough.”
“She’s probably a huge bitch and they’ll be divorced within the year.” Reese tries to comfort me. 
“Maybe.” But for the time I was in San Diego, what if I ran into them. He’d be all smiles and wanting to introduce me to her. She was probably tall and really, really blonde. Like a Nordic goddess. I needed a barrier, something or…someone to deflect some of that pain. “Come here. Be my boyfriend,” I beg.
“Oh honey. You know I don’t swing that way.” 
“No, I mean, come to San Diego, and do this job with me. That way if I run into him and his fiancé—“ I almost gag at the word, “—I can smile and say, here’s my super hot boyfriend Reese. Nice to meet you.” 
I hear rustling and then a zipper being pulled. “Okay, I’m packing. I’m not posing as your boyfriend though. That never works because according to all the books I’ve read, you’ll fall in love with me and then I’ll have to break your heart.” I start laughing just as Reese intended. “But I am flying out on the first plane because I love you and you’re my best friend. At the very least we can stalk him and find out exactly who this wench is and then you’ll be all prepared for a random meet and greet. How hot is it there?”
“Really hot.” I answer. Drawers are being opened and shut as Reese selects his Southern California wardrobe. 
“How many guys you been with since him?” he asks suddenly.  I can’t answer because but he reads the silence perfectly. “Charlie. No.”
Defensively, I say. “I dated.”
“You’ve been separated for how long?”
“Nine years,” I mumble. 
“Nine fucking years?” He yells into the phone. “You haven’t played hide the sausage in nine years?  Charlie, I’m so disappointed!”
“I’ve done other stuff,” I stammer. “I tried but whenever it came down to it, I couldn’t do it. I felt like I was cheating on him.”
“No wonder you are hung up on this guy. I’m packing right now. We are going down to the Gaslamp District and you are going to get laid. Dr. Reese prescribes at least three one night stands. Then we can think about a nice guy that you will date for a period of six months or so before moving on.”
“Why three one night stands?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
“It takes at least two to actually enjoy it.” A zipping sound signals he’s done packing. “You are a grown ass woman but you’re still stuck on your high school sweetheart because you don’t know what kind of sex you can have with a man. Let me tell you that being with a guy who actually knows his way around a body is a hell of a lot different than a teenager. Plus, older guys have more stamina and are just way more damn creative.”
Telling Reese that I thought Nate was pretty amazing as a seventeen year old would only result in more lectures about boys versus men so I keep my mouth shut. 
Reese sighs. “Repeat after me. I’m a grown ass woman.” 
When I don’t immediately parrot his sentence back, he barks, “Say it Charlotte.” 
“I’m a grown ass woman.”
“I’m a grown ass woman and I deserve to have an adult relationship.”
“I’m a grown ass woman and I deserve to have an adult relationship,” I repeat obediently. “What’s the point of the one night stands.”
“Shock to your system. It’s like a cleanse. You need to flush the bad toxins out of your system and put new, good ones in.”
“Isn’t a cleanse like fasting which I’ve done for, oh, nine years,” I point out.
“Unfortunately for you, the cleanse has gone on for so long, that you’ve been revirginized. A one night stand will or three will wake you up to the possibilities. Shit, you’ve enshrined this guy for so long. You’re going to need three one night stands. First guy who even breathes on your lady parts is going to set you off.”
“Okay, that image is kind of gross, particularly coming from you.” 
“I’ve got more where that comes from. Prepare yourself,” he sings into the phone before he hangs up.
Reese’s irreverent attitude is just what I need. Picking up the discarded notebook, I start in on the list of todos. My business is what saved me these last three years. Letting myself fail at this is not an option.