“But who are you really dating?” another of the women in the shop asked.
And you know what I did? I was such a wreck, my eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, boy trouble.” She nodded with understanding. “You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you get your prince.”
“There’s a lot of fish in the sea,” another offered.
“Don’t let them see you sweat,” another advised. Pearls of wisdom swirled around me.
“There, now.” Bess spun me around in my chair for my final reveal. She’d done a fabulous job. I had cheerful, light waves of hair cascading around my face in long, loose curls. “You’re a knockout!” she declared. But then she did lean in and whisper, “Get rid of the sweat suit.”
“I will,” I promised her, thanking her for her artistry, vowing to follow through on her advice. They were right, all of them. There was a time for sitting on the couch and contemplating Honeycomb. But that time was over. I’d taken a punch to the jaw. A couple of them, really. But now it was time to dust myself off and start all over again.
I hung out for the rest of the afternoon while my mom worked, helping out as I could here and there, working the register, sweeping the cuttings. It was therapeutic, returning to my roots. I’d headed to the shop almost every day after school growing up, doing homework in the back, listening to the gossip, fetching coffee and treats on request, straightening and tidying and checking inventory.
“You want a streak?” Mom asked me as she was painting some blue into a woman’s hair.
“I’m good,” I smiled. Maybe another day. But today I had plans. I’d start thinking about next steps. I didn’t know what they were, exactly, but I knew some people in New York. Maybe it was time to start reaching out, see about arranging a meeting or two. Blue hair could wait until after I’d found my next job.
“I’ll be done in a half hour,” Mom assured me.
I wondered what Heath would think of it all. I’d been around enough high-end L.A. glitz and glam to see my mom and her salon with different eyes than I had growing up. This wasn’t a high-end shop. Her clients were single moms living paycheck to paycheck and taking a much-needed breather to focus on themselves for a change, or older women on a fixed income coming in for the social connections even more than the hair. Now that I knew Heath’s roots, I wondered. Would he look down on it all? Would it look cheap to him, the faded sign out front or the slightly chipped flooring that needed to be replaced?
What would he think of my mom? I watched her work and as always, I was struck with how pretty she was, slim in her tight jeans and tasseled high-heeled boots. But she was Jersey through and through, complete with big, big hair like it was still 1985. It had embarrassed the hell out of me when I was a teenager. I’d tried to talk her out of it, but she’d just snapped her gum and told me to mind my own business. She was an unabashed 80s girl and I could just deal with it. Would Heath turn his nose up? Think she was low class?
Well, no point in wondering about all that. He’d never meet her or step foot in this salon, anyway.
“Let’s go grab a slice!” Mom finally declared an hour and a half later. I was used to salon time, where a half hour meant three times that. She’d always take a walk-in, always fill in for a stylist if she had to cut out early because her kid got sick in daycare. I linked my arm in hers, and we set off down the sidewalk to go get some real East Coast pizza.
“You wouldn’t believe what they try to pass off as pizza in California,” I told her, making her laugh over all the gluten-free, dairy-free variations I’d been subjected to.
“Good to see a smile on your face, bunny.” She reached over and lovingly touched a strand of my newly-golden locks.
“Thanks for letting me crash with you, Mom.” My damn eyes teared up again. There must be something wrong with them. “I promise, it won’t be forever. I’m going to figure out my next steps.”
“You take as long as you want.” She gave my arm a squeeze, and I had to wipe my eyes a little.
“I know I’m kind of a mess,” I confessed. “I thought I had everything together. And then it just all fell apart.”
“That happens sometimes. Ooh, that’s cute.” She pointed to a studded jean jacket displayed in a store window. “It would look even better with Whitesnake embroidered across the back.” She gave me a wink.
She cracked me up.
“Seriously, though, Vi. I’ve been watching you these past few years, off in L.A. jet-setting, power-lunching, climbing up the corporate ladder. You’ve put a lot of pressure on yourself.”
I nodded. I didn’t know if I’d put it exactly in those terms, but I definitely agreed about the pressure part. That’s what had felt so great about the weeks in Vermont. It was like all the pressure had just evaporated and I could breathe again. Well, that was one of the things that had been so great about my time in Vermont. Also, the orgasms.
“You’ve spent a lot of time being successful. Now maybe you can spend some time being happy?”
I followed her into the pizza place, thinking my mom was both a tough and a smart cookie.
§
Be happy. Be happy. The words repeated in my head as my feet met the pavement. I’d laced up and headed to Palisades Park for a run. We were having unseasonably warm winter weather.
Breathing in the sunshine, I picked up the pace. I hadn’t gone for a run in ages. Back in L.A. I’d adhered to a strict exercise regimen, but never anything so mundane as going for a jog. Typically, I joined in whatever craze had taken the city by storm. It kept things fresh and interesting, plus it always gave me something to talk about. Everyone in L.A. was trying a new diet or excited about the latest fitness trend. I’d tried classes with stripper poles, weighted ropes and ballet bars. I’d devoted hours to the next big thing like Beat (drumsticks + pilates + isometrics) or Monkey Jam (parcour + capoeira + breakdancing).
But right then, I had to say, nothing beat a run. Just my sneakers and me, forging a path alongside the Hudson River. This was what I needed to do. I needed to strip away the gimmicks, the distractions, and figure out what I really wanted to do with my life. Where did I want to head next?
Straight into Heath’s arms, of course. I missed him like I had a hole in my chest. I woke up at night shivering, missing his touch. I couldn’t even count the number of times each day something made me think of him. “I’ve got to show that to Heath!” I’d think, then remember. There would be no more showing things to Heath, no more talking and laughing and kissing.
It fucking sucked, and some days I thought about trying to get in touch with him again. Maybe as time passed he was feeling less angry? I sure was. I’d yelled my head off when I’d last seen him, accusing him of lying and tricking people. I’d called him names. I at least wanted to apologize for that. I’d been wounded and frightened and I’d lashed out, but when I really thought about it, he hadn’t lied. He’d never told me things that weren’t true about his past. He simply hadn’t talked about it.
We’d really only spent about three weeks together. They were an intense three weeks. We’d gotten right down to business. Even during my jog, I could feel my heart skip a beat at the memory of the night I’d first met him, how it had felt up on his lap in his truck, his hands on me so slick and fast and right.
Maybe, over time, he would have opened up, told me more about himself and his family. I knew he was a private man. He kept to himself. It made sense it would take him a while to share, especially when he didn’t exactly come from an ordinary background.
Thankfully, I hadn’t heard anything more about the Hot Off the Grid exposé. I hadn’t seen any more teasers. No trailers or promos appeared, and no news on the release. I didn’t know what had happened, but it seemed as if plans for the show had been slowed down and maybe even cancelled. I’d exchanged a few emails with people back in the office, but no one knew anything, and I’d heard nothing from Sam. I’d never counted him as one of my inner circle of friends, but we’d spent hours and hours together
cackling over coffee and gossip, or rolling our eyes at each other during endless meetings. I’d expected more from him.
But maybe sometimes it paid off to keep your expectations low. Take my former boy-toy Vincent, for example. I hadn’t expected much from him and I’d gotten exactly what I’d expected. When I’d left L.A. I’d called him to tell him I was moving back to New Jersey. It had gone to voicemail, so I’d left him a message. He’d sent me an e-card in response with a “good luck” message. Peace out!
I didn’t know what would come next in my life, but I did know I wanted more substance even at the expense of style. Vincent had looked ready for his screen shot at all times and had been happy when I showed up camera-ready by his side, but never seemed to notice when I didn’t. With Heath, I wore reindeer hats and no makeup and still he held me and looked at me as if I were the most beautiful woman in the world.
I paused at that, taking a moment to breathe and stretch at the waterfront. The New York City skyline stretched out before me, across the river yet close enough you felt as if you could touch it. The George Washington Bridge offered passage up ahead.
Tomorrow, I’d cross on over, a Jersey girl having lunch in Midtown. I’d emailed a woman I used to work with. She’d taken a job with a network in New York a couple of years ago. She’d gotten back to me right away and tomorrow we had a meeting on the calendar.
I didn’t know exactly what I’d say to her other than “can I have a job?” But maybe it was OK that I didn’t have all the answers? Maybe I could just be honest and let her know I had a lot of experience and ideas and was looking for a new, better home for it all?
Who did I want to be? It was an interesting question, and the last time I’d really asked it I’d been a celebrity-crazed 18-year-old. I’d been overwhelmed and thrilled to be out in L.A. on my own, wanting nothing more than glamour and nightlife.
I wasn’t exactly ready to say good-bye to all of that now, but I knew I wanted more. I wanted something I felt excited about, like the show I’d envisioned coming together up in Watson. Something real, not just reality TV.
Across the river, New York City called to me. Tomorrow, I’d take the plunge.