The Big "O": A Romantic Comedy (16 page)

Isis stared at the collection of roughly nine garments, made up of shades of gray and black, in various autumn and winter weights and textures, hanging on a rack in front of her. She glanced at the accessories which she had chosen to accompany her collection.

She had a scarf in a delicate shell-pink and pale gray fabric, a thin cut black leather belt with a silver buckle, pearls and rhinestone jewelry, as well as a watch, with silver setting, and pairs of stockings in fishnet or sheer black with a seam up the back.

It was thrilling to look at the designs that she'd run up.

She hadn't lost her touch. They weren't perfect machine quality but they were very, very good and it was the look that mattered most. She knew that, with patterns, expert seamstresses could copy these and that they would come out perfectly.

Staring at her work made her nervous but what made her more nervous was the idea that she had to get some orders and start manufacturing as soon as possible.

She'd looked at her money that morning and it was really frightening to see her savings diminishing every time she paid a bill.

Isis went into her tiny kitchenette and made a cup of tea. She went into the tiny dining/living area to sit and drink it.

She grabbed a pad and some paper and tried to think of ways to cut her expenses. Emily had done an initial business plan for her. The plan had laid out very clearly the kind of orders, or sales, that she needed to make it work.

But those numbers had been based on matching her hospital administration income. If she could find a way to cut her expenses, it could buy her some time.

Isis was really starting to get why Emily had cautioned her about quitting her day job.

Her diminishing bank account balance felt like a ticking time bomb.

Mon Dieu, she thought to herself, and hoped following her dreams wasn't a crazy idea.

She was trying to figure out what she could cut, and there really wasn't much that she could find, when she got a call from Edwin.

She was delighted to realize that she was genuinely thrilled to speak with him. She couldn't really remember their last convo. She'd been working late, getting things done, until she fell exhausted onto the pull-out couch and immediately fell asleep for so many days in a row that the days and nights had begun to slide into one.

She wasn't even pulling the couch out any more. It seemed like a waste of time. She just wrapped up in a sheet and blanket, put her head on a pillow, and fell asleep straightaway. Although she was tired, she was happy. I just need a little variety in my routine, she decided

“Hey, you,” Edwin said.

“Hey,” Isis said. She was so tired that she couldn't think of a single thing else to say.

“How are you?” he asked when she didn't say anything further.

“Oh, a little tired,” she said and wondered where her sex kitten self had gotten off to. She must spend some time on herself, she thought. That idea lasted for a second, and then she thought, nah.

She was having too much fun, rolling the dice on her professional dreams and ambitions. Even staying up until she was exhausted, working on her stuff, making slow but steady progress, was exhilarating.

Her business was herself and she was in the homestretch, if she could only come up with an infusion of cash. It took her a moment to realize that Edwin was talking again.

“Not too tired to meet me for an early supper I hope,” he asked hopefully.

“Ooh, that sounds like a dream, Mr. Jameson,” Isis said seductively and, just like that, at the thought of a little tête-à-tête early dinner with Edwin, her kitty goddess self was back.

They met at a little French restaurant that Edwin knew that she liked. Isis wore a strapless gold knit tube dress that she had made herself. She paired it with a lightweight fine wool pashmina that she'd sewn into a kind of ruffled, blousy, jacket shrug thing. She wore small thin, beaten gold flat hoop earrings with a matching neck collar, past gifts from Edwin, and a pair of matte gold pumps.

When Edwin saw her it took his breath away. He had almost felt like Isis was trying to keep him away from her apartment, because she had said that it would be easier if they met at the restaurant. But then he could tell by the way that she kissed him hello that things were good with them.

They had a fantastic light supper. Edwin was surprised to realize that he felt terribly sad that Isis had to keep it short. She had promised to baby-sit for Emily.

“Have you seen her lately?” Isis asked between courses.

“No,” Edwin admitted.

“You won't believe it. She's lost all that baby weight, and she's almost finished their new book,” Isis said happily and took a bite of her food.

“That's great,” Edwin said and meant it. Emily was a wonderful woman.

Isis flirted with Edwin and he felt warm and excited and it was like they were in harmony again. He laughed and chided himself mentally. He'd been so wrong. Things were fine with them. Obviously they were the kind of couple who didn't need to talk on the phone every night or text all day long or even see each other all of the time.

Then her mobile phone rang. The caller ID said Robert or Roberto something-or-other, he couldn't read the last name, and as she snatched it up so quickly, he wondered if he wasn't just a big idiot. I've got to make my move, he thought, as he watched her silence the call.

“A work thing?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

“Yes,” she said happily and smiled and he could see that she was telling the truth.

“I'm working on a new project and it's really amazing,” she said.

Edwin wanted to ask her more about that and to specifically determine who Roberto was; if Isis and he were working closely together and how often, but the dessert plate arrived.

Before he could initiate a deeper conversation, Isis was nibbling from the gorgeous little tray of decadent chocolate macaroons, dark chocolate ganache-filled miniature cakes, truffles and fruits, fresh raspberries and strawberries with cream. Then the check came, and, with a quick kiss, his goddess in gold took a cab and headed off to Emily and Max's home.

Emily opened the front door of her home and let Isis in. They hugged.

“Thanks for coming,” Emily said.

“Of course, ma chérie,” Isis replied nonchalantly.

“I'll be back before he wakes up,” Emily promised.

“It's okay either way,” Isis said and smiled. She meant it.

She was looking forward to taking care of a little person all by herself. She didn't have a lot of experience with young children. She'd tucked colored pencils and an art pad into her shoulder tote so that she could conceptualize and create while the little guy slept.

Ooh-la-la. You look utterly stunning,” Emily said to Isis, “obviously self-employment agrees with you.” She meant it. Isis was glowing and more beautiful than ever.

Merci, darling,” Isis said happily, “You look especially pretty today yourself, girlfriend.”

They hugged and then Emily grabbed her purse and turned to leave.

Emily had her hand on the front door, trying to remember if there was anything that she'd forgotten. There were premade snacks for the toddler in the refrigerator, and notes about various scenarios that might occur, on a magnetic pad of paper, stuck on the fridge. Nope, she realized, there was nothing else to do or say to make sure that Isis and the little guy would be okay.

Isis ate a very particular diet and Emily knew that she'd probably brought her own snacks anyway and that she would forage, mostly in the fresh produce, if she got hungry herself.

Max arrived just as Emily was about to walk out the door. It was very awkward.

“Honey… Isis. What's up ladies?” Max said with surprise.

Uh… not much. What about you?” Isis said.

“Oh, I was hanging with Edwin and Victor,” Max said nonchalantly.

“Oh... that's odd,” Isis said coolly, yet pointedly, “I just left Edwin.”

Max didn't say anything. In fact, he appeared to be thinking hard to come up with a response. Fuck, he thought to himself. What do I say? What do I say? He wasn't ready to admit he was in therapy. He wanted to think through that conversation in his mind, get clear about how to approach it, and he sure didn't want to admit that he'd sought professional help in front of Emily's girlfriend Isis.

“He said he saw you much earlier,” Isis added and then waited. If Max was a snake, and his weirdness seemed to indicate that he might be, she was cutting him no slack whatsoever.

Emily watched their repartee, dying inside just a little bit, hoping that her heartache, her stricken feelings, didn't show on her face, and didn't say a word.

“Uh, yeah, that's right. What I meant was Edwin and I were with Victor earlier…” Max said backpedaling.

Isis looked him up and down and shook her head. He looked up and away.

What was this? The third degree? From his wife's girlfriend? Wasn't a man allowed his own private business? Plus, he was going to tell her when he was ready. He felt an unaccustomed burst of rage at Emily and Isis both. He didn't need this crap with everything else going on. And where did Emily think she was going anyway?

“Oh,” Isis said to Max, obviously embarrassed for Emily. Max hadn't embraced his wife or given her any kind of a greeting and he looked like crap.

Emily, on the other hand, looked more polished and put-together than she had in a good long while. She was slenderer, carefully made up, had obviously trimmed her own blonde hair effectively, ever-so-slightly, accentuating her natural long pixie cut, and wore a sweet little sundress.

She was looking more like her old self.

“If you're going to be here, then Isis doesn't need to be,” Emily said to Max.

It was obviously a question so he gave a nod to acknowledge that he would there and Isis could leave. Emily nodded back.

Isis watched curiously as Max and Emily communicated without words. He looked at Emily with his eyebrows raised, obviously asking his own question. Emily nodded. Isis figured that he must have been asking her if she was going out.

The dynamic between her friends really surprised Isis. Emily and Max were communicating non-verbally, in nods, and little sounds. That Max actually grunted at Emily weirded her out especially; it didn't seem like a good thing.

Dear Lord, she had hoped that married life was more than that. In her mind she thought that being married to someone that you loved deeply was like two hearts and souls joining together to sing in harmony for all the rest of their days.

Max and Emily's situation made the entire concept of marriage seem like a burden, troublesome, like an emotional ass-kicking which no one, in their right mind, would purposefully choose.

Their curious and unpleasant dynamic really made Isis think.

I really need to focus more on how I feel around Edward, she decided, how he treats me, how he communicates, and much, much less on how I feel about him.

There was no doubt that she was crazy about the man. She really loved him. Yet, when it came right down to it, she didn't miss seeing or hearing from him as often as they had been interacting before she had quit her job. She was seriously buzzed on creating and was ready to start networking at fashion events. It felt so good to be busy, to be a selfish bitch, about her own goals and dreams.

She loved the hard work.

She didn't mind that not everyone she met was supportive or nice. You had to work for something extraordinary and not everything was going to be easy.

Emily touched her arm and Isis realized that she'd been lost in thought, daydreaming about the life that was no longer her fantasy, the life that she was now living. She decided that she would spend the evening looking at numbers. She needed to figure out some credit to be able to have small lots of her first line, which was nearly designed and finished, run up.

“I'll see you out, then,” Emily said to Isis.

Isis grabbed her things and practically ran to the front door. She didn't say anything else to Max. He shrugged and went into the house and back toward the home office. Emily walked Isis out and the two women hugged good-bye. Emily struggled to hold back tears.

“Emily, he's un sac de merde couché,” Isis said flatly, having made up her mind that he was lying and, most likely, cheating on her best friend.

“I never understand you when you speak French…” Emily said, “but, oddly, I understood that. Yes, it would appear to be that my husband is a lying sack of shit.”

“Talk to him. Maybe he's not screwing around. I know that he wasn't with Edwin and now he knows that we both know that. Maybe he'll tell you the truth. Maybe it's a work project or something else. He may not have a little piece on the side,” Isis said and hoped desperately that, for Emily's sake, that was the case.

“He better not be,” Emily said, “because, unlike in horseshoes and hand grenades, there is no 'almost' in fidelity. If he's cheating, I'm done.” Isis was impressed to realize that her friend had strength and fortitude to deal with the possible end of her marriage.

Isis left and Emily reentered the house.

Emily entered the home office. Max looked up at her. Before he could stop her, she unzipped his backpack which was full of the sex books and videos, which he'd called research, from the night before. Emily stared Max down.

“I don't understand why you need this and why you keep disappearing?” Emily said, her voice devoid of emotion.

“I told you that it's research,” Max said, not attempting to minimize or hide his exasperation. He snatched a copy of the MOM WOW book from her hands.

“This... this stupid book” he said loudly, almost shouting at her, and waved it in her face, “is the biggest obstacle to our success… and one of us has to focus on how we're going to sell books.”

“Are you saying I'm not focusing on that?” Emily said and her face and tone-of-voice morphed from flat to furious in 15 seconds flat.

“I created a new marketing plan, which I've been executing, and we're seeing an obviously related significant surge in digital sales and consulting inquiries... and am nearly finished with the new manuscript draft. I'm working my butt off here and you... you're never home at all... I don't see you doing a darn thing. You've hardly done any social networking or other marketing, unless I involve you in some unplanned, extemporaneous thing. You never ask me what I'm up to or how you can contribute, what your role in this could be... you bark orders at me, yell at me, demean or ignore my efforts, and meanwhile, do next to nothing yourself.”