“I’ll be back in a little bit,” she says. “I would tell you to come up, but I don’t want you to have to see my work persona.”
“What’s the difference between your work persona and your normal, everyday self?” I ask, hoping for some common, more boring ground.
“It’s about the same as my everyday persona, but there’s a lot more talk about markets and acquisitions and sweeps week and that sort of thing. I wouldn’t want you thinking I’m just another businesswoman,” she says, adjusting her dark purple wig in the mirror.
“Not much chance of that,” I tell her. “I’ll find a spot to park and I’ll text you its location.”
“My hero,” she says, and gets out of the car.
I find the entrance to the parking garage and park in an open spot and text the space number to Grace.
The one thing I hadn’t counted on with tonight was the waiting.
Ever since I found that video, I’ve done my best to keep my mind occupied. When I don’t, invariably, I end up watching it again or trying to think through how I’m going to get my content life with Melissa back.
The worst part is that I know that content part of my life is over and that even if I could get it back, I simply don’t want it anymore.
Still, it’s like going to camp: you can’t help but miss being back home.
I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t need to watch the video again to remember why I don’t want to go back to the downtrodden eunuch I’ve been for the entirety of my professional life, but I’m about half a breath away from calling Melissa right now and asking her what I can do to make things right.
It’s idiotic and I know it, but this is the life I’ve spent so much time building. Isn’t it natural that part of me would want to hang onto that, preserve that as long as possible, even if I know that the whole thing is doomed to failure?
A text message comes in, and I’m just hoping that it’s Grace telling me she’s on her way back out, but I’m not so lucky.
It’s Yuri, writing, “Hey boss, I’m probably not going to be able to make it in tomorrow.”
This has happened every Sunday night since I hired her. All things considered, I probably should have fired her a long time ago, but she does have an incredible way of building rapport with the patients, and when she’s not completely shirking her duties, she’s actually a phenomenal assistant.
I write back, “Why’s that?”
A couple of minutes pass before I get another message.
I look down at my phone, reading, “I want to have sex tonight.”
I’m relieved when I look at the sender to find that it wasn’t Yuri’s text, but it’s from a number I don’t know. The answer’s on top of me before I even have time to wonder, though.
Just to be certain, I check the message that Melissa sent her boss and, sure enough, it’s him texting my phone, somehow having gotten my number confused with hers.
I guess it’s not that hard to figure out: this is the number from which he got the video.
Grace is coming out of the building and scanning the lot, looking for my car, and I’m not sure what to do here.
It’s entirely possible that Melissa simply hasn’t gotten a hold of Ty yet to tell him that their relationship or whatever it was going to turn into is over, but I’m nowhere near hopeful enough to believe that kind of nonsense.
I pull out of the parking space and drive over to where Grace is standing, still looking for my car.
If anyone would know what to do here, it would be her. I may not know her that well yet, but she’s the one that figured out Melissa was cheating on me in the first place.
She’s got to know what to do.
Grace opens the passenger door and gets in, saying, “That went quicker than I expected.”
“How’d it go?”
“Quicker than I expected,” she repeats. “We really do need to work on your listening skills, you know that?”
“I meant, was your meeting or whatever a productive one?”