Tempted (51 page)

I dash into my bedroom to plug in my phone on the nightstand.
 
Oh no!
 
Now it’s gone too!
 
Murphy, you and your law have gone too far this time!
 
Persephone chooses this precise moment to go on an annoying barking binge.
 
I am not in the mood to get her ball from underneath the bed.
 
In fact
,
I’m never in the mood to do that, but especially not now.
 
Her barking persists
,
and when I march over to give her what-for, she buries her head under the bed’s dust ruffle, her bottom up in the air and tail wiggling.
 
I need to think
,
but can’t do so with the racket she’s making.
 
I assume the same position she is in and flip up the dust ruffle, all the while cursing the day she was born.
 

“Persephone
,
I love you!” I squeal as I
retrieve my phone from under the
bed.
 
There it was, just like Persephone was trying to tell me.
 
She looks to me gleefully, anticipating what sort of treats she’ll get in reward
,
and does not appear amused when I opt to make a phone call instead.
 

I go to my contact lists to select Alex’s name, but can’t find it anywhere.
 
Panicked, I try looking under all of the icky, sticky, sweet nicknames I’ve called him, just in case I had changed his listing.
 
And then I remember.
 
I deleted his name, all of his beautiful texts, voicemails and any call notifications from him
,
just after blocking him on Facebook, the day I found out about The One.
 
I try to recall his phone number, but can’t even think of the area code, having only punched it in the one time when I initially added him to my contacts.
 
Damn you speed dial!

While the phone charges, I go back to the computer to see if he’s accepted my friend request.
 
Nope.

I begin pacing and the menagerie becomes agitated.
 
Birds are flying about, Persephone is again barking
–
this time at Jasper who is taunting him from a ledge
–
and Daphne is pacing along with me, narrowly missing being stepped on in the process.

A thought occurs to me.
 
I race back to the computer and look through all of my Facebook messages with Alex
,
in search of his phone number.
 
In doing so, I find scores of digital love letters and poems, quotes and ‘I love you’s’ from Alex.
 
The tears flow.
 
My Kleenex stock should be soaring this month.
 
At last, I give up my search when I realize that I had messaged him my phone number, not the other way around.
 
In utter desperation, I send him a Facebook message.
 
Not sure if or when he’ll ever see it.
 

12:44pm

Claire Nichole Eden

Alex.
 
I don’t know what to say.
 
I have been a four-l
etter F word in the worst way…
an utter FOOL.
 
Please forgive me and contact me as soon as you can.
 
I am so sorry and... Ugh, please just get ahold of me.
 
I will be waiting by the computer until you do... however long it takes.

I head back to the bedroom, an emotional wreck.
 
So much for my promise to stay glued to the computer.
 
Deceitful wench!
 
I throw myself on the overly fluffy bed and howl into my pillow.
 
What have I done?
 
Out of sheer frustration, I go back to my phone
,
which is now completely charged.
 
I unplug it and sit on the bed staring at it blankly, willing it to reveal some secret information.
 
And then
...
right then
...

Like an inexperienced explosives specialist diffusing her first time bomb, I fumble with the phone, afraid if I make a wrong move the whole thing will blast to pieces, taking me with it.
 
Jasper crawls off his pillow now and starts rolling around on his back purring and begging for tummy rubs, right where I am trying to operate the phone.
 
I tap this screen and that, licking my lips
,
which have gone instantly dry under the stress of the moment.
 

There it is.
 

My outgoing call
list – the last bastion of hope, peeking out from the ruinage of my
once-
idyllic universe.

A place it never occurred to me to remove him from.

If I’ve made any calls to him
,
they will show up with his area code
instead of his name,
since I’ve already deleted him as a contact.

I find c
alls
made
to several area codes I don’t recognize.
 
One stands out in particular.
 

518

It might be him.
 
It
must
be him.
 
I race to the
computer to check an area code
directory
.
 
This would not be a good time for me to reach a wrong number in my manic state.
 

YES!

I trip over myself in my haste to get back to the phone.

I call.

It rings.

...
and rings.

......
and rings.

He answers softly, gently, “Hello.”

“Alex, I’ve been such a buffoon.
 
I don’t know what to s
ay.
 
I am so incredibly sorry.”

“
Cariña
...
”

“You have been nothing but wonderful and perfect and
...
Alex I love you!
 
I know it took me far too long to realize it.
 
And you have been so patient with me, but now
...
”

“Shhhhhhhh
...
Cariña
...
come.”

Following my call to Alex, his concise command
,
and attendant waves of orgasmic deliciousness
,
my wits return and I am a flurry of productivity.
 
First thing, I check the flight east I’d purchased a few weeks back, to see if it has come and gone already.
 
I’m in luck, for once.
 
Thanks, Murphy.
 
It takes off two days from now, which should give me just enough time to get my affairs in order.

I’m bombarded with emails concerning my meltdown on-air yesterday.
 
Seems it’s the greatest thing that has ever happened to my show, other than my Mom becoming part of it.
 
The communiques all say basically the same thing.
 
They have never witnessed a broadcast so raw, so real.
 
I am a breath of fresh air
in the stale realm of today’s politically correct
talk shows.
 
My vulnerability is refreshing and charming, on and on.
 
I even gain a new sponsor
–
Kleenex!

Jill from Frank Jergins’ realty company proves to be my savior, taking care of every detail concerning the house.
 
Since I already pay all of my bills online, there is no mail I need to worry about.
 
In fact, it will be nice to get away from the letters still coming to me about David.
 
For a moment
,
I think of Giselle, and say a little prayer for her.
 
And what the heck, David too.
 
After all, he seems to be the one who needs it most.

It’s my last night with the menagerie
,
and I am a basket case of emotion.
 
These little critters have been with me through some of the most challenging and rewarding moments of my life.
 
From business to family to roommates and love, they’ve endured it al
l.
 
And at this point
, they are my family.

The next morning
,
I pack them all up, complete with toys and treats and everything they love most.
 
After a long
,
deep breath, I start the car and head to Redwood Meadows.
 
Ma’am Delores is waiting for me
–
the main entrance door and her arms, both wide open.
 
Within minutes of my arrival, the place is buzzing with excitement and the hallways are packed with residents come out to greet my darling pets.
 
There is a lump in my throat that just won’t go away, but I smile in gratitude at the love these little creatures are inspiring.
 
It’s clear they will not want for attention.

There is much yet to do, so my stay at The Meadows is very brief.
 
Just as well, lest I make a big
,
sobby scene.

Back at home
,
I finish packing.
 
I have no idea how long I’ll be gone or even if I’ll be coming back.
 
As such, I am at a loss as to what to pack.
 
I opt for a little bit of everything that fits with the season.
 
I love the fact that I will get to use hats and gloves and coats.
 
It occurs to me I will be there just before Christmas.
 
I should most likely arrive bearing gifts.
 
What does one give this man who has everything and wants nothing?
 
Cheesy as it may seem, the answer is clear.

I return from shopping with a beautiful vintage Santa hat and sever
al yards of four-inch wide, red
satin ribbon.
 
I just hope when the time comes I can figure out how to tie it.
 
All that’s left to do now is eat, shower, sleep, or rather, try to sleep.
 
I call Alex to wish him good night, at his behest.
 
He is l
oving and sweet and oh so sexy
, and makes me swoon and sigh endlessly.
 
He asks what I will miss most about leaving home, other than the menagerie, of course.
 
I tell him I’ll miss going to tea in the city.
 
He says we will have to
remedy
that, at which I squeal.
 
I love afternoon tea in New York, especially at the hotels.

As our call winds down, I become more and more nervously excited
,
and I ask him to send me a salacious message to take the edge off during the five-hour flight.
 
It’s been ages since we indulged the intimate desire for one another that first brought us together nearly a year ago.
 
He vows to see what he can do and says he wants to ‘tuck me in,’ which he does perfectly by speaking softly of his love for me, as I drift off into what I hope will be my last slumber without him
beside
me.

* * *

Next morning
,
there is no time to be anxious or fret about tasks left undone.
 
The town car arrives promptly at 6am and I am all set, confident I’ve forgotten nothing, calm and assured.
 
This may very well be the best decision I’ve ever made.

After check-in at the airport, I head straight for the Starbucks to grab a Grande
Mocha
.
 
There was no time for breakfast and cl
ean
up, and besides, this is a tradition of mine.
 
It feels wonderful to sit and relax for a bit, after all the running around the last couple of days.
 
I open my laptop with no real intention in mind, other than killing time.
 
I see a message from Alex on Facebook
,
and remember what I’d asked of him the night before.
 
I grin wickedly in anticipation of what looks to be a long
,
and no doubt, luxurious tome.
 
Resisting the urge to read it now, I download it onto my computer so I can access it easily
,
once we take off.