The Big "O": A Romantic Comedy (22 page)

She could easily cover all of the payments due, for the next few months. It was future potential costs and the lack of immediate income that was freaking her out.

She lay back on the bed and rubbed her eyes.

It occurred to her that she could work night-and-day, like any other serious start-up business, get all of her samples made, the look book finished, and hit the ground running and pitch her stuff.

Don’t panic, she told herself. Terror wouldn’t help.

Her phone buzzed. She snatched it up.

It was a text from Edwin. He wanted to confirm their standby dinner. She would cancel. Edwin would understand, he was a business man, he blew her off all of the time.

Although she hated to break their date, she didn’t think it was a big deal. He probably had stuff to do himself.

I’d better forget dinner and figure this stuff out, she decided, feeling panicked. She dialed her cell phone and waited impatiently while it rang.

“Mon chéri, I have to break our date. Something came up and—” Isis said into her phone, “uh, no, work related. Yeah.”

Inside of his penthouse office, off of the Avenue of the Stars, Edwin looked at his calendar, which was quite full.

“Well, can we reschedule?” Edwin asked. Am I whining? just a bit, he wondered to himself. He felt an emotion that was something that he’d never felt during all of the time that he had been with Isis and something that he’d rarely felt in his life.

What is that feeling? he wondered. Oh, he realized, my God. I’m vexed with Isis. It felt so awkward to be irritated with her. It was almost unseemly. She’d always been there for him, he realized. What a dope he was. He had been taking her for granted.

What kind of a man expected his woman to fit into his calendar, like a regular dental visit? I’m so predictable. He had a flashback to being a small child and unexpectedly receiving a pony when he was five years old. He had refused to ride it.

He was a control freak, he realized. He never let his guard down with anyone. He tried to control everything and everyone and he always had, since he was a little kid. How could Isis stand him?

“Can we reschedule?” Edwin asked again, and noticed that his voice sounded strange. Then all he heard was dead silence on the other end of the phone line. He strained and listened hard. Was she still there?

“Uh, let me see what I’ve got…” Isis finally said and Edwin breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t hung up. While he waited for Isis to check her calendar his brain was racked with questions.

Did she sound weird? No. Did she sound upset? No. Had she ever jerked him around? No. Was she the kind of person who would hurt him on purpose? No, not at all.

Edwin felt deep relief to realize that there was probably nothing going on. Isis was really and truly doing exactly what he had done on numerous occasions. She was putting her business first.

Isis distractedly gazed around the design studio, her former bedroom. She had a million-and-one things on her to-done list yet Edwin wanted her to reschedule him right that minute. She tried to think.

Isis glanced at her calendar, which was overly full.

Would, Edwin be too terribly upset, she wondered, if she, sort of backed him off for a few days and tried to get some stuff done?

He probably wouldn’t mind, she decided. He'd done it himself, in the past. She would feel so much better about her business and life if she focused on the task at hand. Immersion was her favorite approach to work.

In fact, the immersion approach, focusing almost exclusively on what needed to be done, whether a single task or project, was the way in which she got things accomplished faster.

Edwin understood the real world, she decided. She doubted if he would notice her absence over the longer term. He was just adjusting. He was used to having her available for their regular weekly dinner out. But he had a ton of things that he could do instead. He could get in an extra workout or meeting, even.

He would adjust, as long as she stuck to her guns.

In the short term, she would have preferred to have a gorgeous dinner out with her man, with wine, at some swanky restaurant.

But then again, the meal would only last 90 minutes or so after which they might take a stroll and then canoodle or possibly even spend a couple more hours together and that would be it. The evening would be over all-too soon.

She’d had loads of evenings like that. They were not life-changing.

In the long term, if she stayed in and worked on her projects, it would totally and entirely change her life for the better.

Her mind was immediately flooded with full-color, moving images of her first fabulous fashion show, or herself dropping off her own designs to a swish tiny boutique, or possibly even one of her designs on the body of an up-and-coming celebrity.

“Hello, Isis?” she heard her man say.

“Uh, yes, sorry, just checking my schedule…” she said.

“Okay,” he said, incredibly relieved that she had answered.

“Uhm, my schedule is jammed, darling,” Isis finally said.

“Are you upset? Is that it?” Edwin asked and gasped to realize that he felt like crying. Was she really not going to reschedule?

“Edwin, don't be silly. I want to see you, but I have these other commitments that I already made,” Isis said with great love.

“Let me at least make dinner. You have to eat. You could sleep over,” Edwin said.

Instead of exciting her, the prospect reminded her of all the times when Edwin left her at night when she had longed to remain in his arms.

“I never stay at your place,” Isis said awkwardly. It was all so weird, Edwin was dangling a sleep-over like it would be catnip for her sexy kitty self. It kind of turned her stomach.

He didn’t say anything in response and Isis shrugged. Maybe she was imagining how weird things seemed to be getting.

“Anyway, I can't,” she said, with obvious regret in her voice, “I won't have time to come across town in the morning. I have an early appointment and I have to be up late tonight. I'm just having a protein shake. The next thing I have open is a couple weeks away. Does that work for you?”

“You booked something else for this time, next week?” Edwin asked and his voice quavered. Isis paused and thought about how peculiar Edwin’s voice sounded just then.

“Not on purpose, it was the only time available and I’m just so seriously behind,” Isis replied. Edwin could hear that her voice was matter-of-fact, she wasn’t being mean.

Edwin updated his calendar.

“Okay, then. Two weeks from tomorrow night it is,” he said.

“Goodnight, darling,” Isis said.

“Good-night, I love you,” Edwin said and Isis almost fell off of her bed at his words.

“You too, darling,” Isis said and then hurriedly said good-bye.

Edwin and Isis hung up at the same time.

Isis took a couple of minutes to think over the conversation. Edwin had been weird, especially at the end. He was not prone to admissions of love except after late-night intimacy.

She didn’t know what to think about how Edwin had sounded or how he had ended the call, with late afternoon declarations of love. He had seemed almost controlling.

It crossed her mind that he might have told her that he loved her in order to achieve some end, to get some effect; the thought was horrifying.

She looked down at the bed.

The swatches of fabric that lay before her sent her mind in an entirely different direction. With a sigh of joy, she decided to push and really apply herself, until she got results. She went back to her work immediately.

Edwin, confused, stared at his phone and his calendar.

He felt edgy and not at all like himself. He wondered if Isis were actually staying in that night and working, as she had claimed.

Where is all of this paranoia coming from? He wondered. He picked up the telephone and dialed again.

An hour later, Isis was lost in thought comparing a sheer, gauzy light purple fabric to one that was lavender when her apartment doorbell rang.

That’s weird, she thought, the doorman hadn’t rung up to let her know that she had a visitor.

It couldn’t be Edwin; he wouldn’t bug her after their convo. Would he? No, she decided. It had to be an unexpected delivery.

She peeked through the apartment door peephole.

Wow, it was a floral delivery service. Her heart pounded and she smiled.

She opened the door and stared at the delivery girl.

“Delivery for Miss Isis Jones,” the girl said.

“I didn’t realize you worked this late,” Isis said happily and leaned over to sign for the gorgeous vase of two dozen long-stemmed red roses and gold beribboned box of chocolates.

Only for our special customers,” the girl said. Isis tipped her, expressed her gratitude, then carried the large vase of red roses and chocolates into her apartment. She closed the door by bumping it with her hip.

She put the flowers and sweets down on her dining table and stared at them. The petals of the long-stemmed roses were soft and velvety.

She pulled a tiny cream envelope from the vase of roses. The card read:

Roses for the rose of my heart… Love, Edwin

For a long moment Isis was tempted to call Edwin back and say that she’d changed her mind, that she would in fact be delighted to join him for dinner. But the minute that she had the thought, she was aware of feeling exhausted. She pondered the significant drop in her physical energy.

It’s a no, she realized. She determined that the loss of energy meant that she had not truly changed her mind. She didn’t want to see him that night.

It was sweet that Edwin had thought of her, but nothing had changed. How curious it was that Edwin was being sweeter to her, more romantic than ever, when she was too busy to see him. How weird was that?

Men were such strange creatures. You give them all your love, were totally available, and they could hardly be bothered to see you. Then the minute you shifted your focus to your own life, focused upon your goals and dreams, the gent was all roses and gourmet dark chocolates.

After admiring the roses for a moment, Isis returned to her former bedroom and once again immersed herself in her work.

It was nearing midnight. Edwin hadn’t managed to leave his office. He’d tried to focus on getting caught up on work, reading international finance publications, advance preparation for upcoming meetings and such.

He hadn’t gotten as much done as he’d thought he would.

The floral deliver service had confirmed delivery of the long-stemmed roses and chocolates yet Isis hadn’t called to say thank you. She had sent a simple quick text a couple of hours after she had received the flowers. He had kind of hoped that the flowers would make her realize how much she missed him. He'd halfway thought that she might then come out for dinner after all.

Edwin doodled a heart with "Isis and Edwin" written in the center of it.

I can’t do it, he decided. I cannot possibly wait two weeks to see her.

E
ARLY THE NEXT morning, two Astro Cafe coffees in hand, Edwin used his key and entered Isis’ apartment. He stared in shock at the complete and utter transformation of the living space.

He looked around and headed toward the bedroom when he realized that his woman wasn’t in the living room or kitchen.

Isis, wearing kitty ears, worked furiously at her computer. Several design mock-ups were pinned together and hanging on the clothes rack behind her. Edwin entered the room and looked wildly around.

The room had been entirely transformed into what was obviously now a fashhion design studio. Isis looked up at Edwin in surprise.

ldquo;Mon dieu, what are you doing here?” Isis asked him. He stared down at her and noticed how adorable she looked in the kitty ears and short, silk delicately patterned kimono that she wore.

“I wanted to see my busy pretty kitty,” Edwin replied.

He looked around, shocked by what her bedroom had become.

ldquo;What happened to your bed?” Edwin finally asked.

ldquo;I needed an office. I'm using the pullout in the front room for sleeping,” Isis said brightly.

Edwin hugged Isis, who was still distracted by her work.

She had been costing out fabric lots and searching online for local seamstresses who would do piece work. She’d come to the conclusion that she was seriously underfunded. Unfortunately, even though she’d believed that she could, she couldn’t float for long on personal credit.

Emily had warned her that the number one reason that new businesses failed was that they didn’t have enough capital. Other reasons were lack of a strong business plan and/or failure to execute that plan.

Emily had made it clear that she would need to get in the game and told her that she should expect to strike out a few times before she managed to hit a home run.

ldquo;Sorry, darling, I'm working on something,” Isis said, then yawned.

Edwin stared at Isis. Was it possible that his woman had stayed up and worked all night and hadn’t gotten any sleep? She did look more tired than normal.

ldquo;Can't it wait?” Edwin asked a bit plaintively.

Isis yawned again and tried to gather her thoughts.

ldquo;Actually, no. Not for long. I'm happy you stopped by but I really need to focus. I guess I could have a coffee, though,” Isis said.

She took one of the coffees from his hand. She sipped the drink and sighed happily. It was her favorite: a mochaccino with sugar-free chocolate and a splash of maraschino cherry syrup.

She thought it so sweet that Edwin had thought of her and brought her favorite coffee to her.

Edwin rubbed up against her like a cat and growled a bit in her ear.

ldquo;Kitty cat have time to play?” Edwin said.

Overly tired, all that Isis could think of was that she needed to sleep for a couple of hours and then get back to her work. She didn't feel remotely turned on or sexual in that moment.

In fact, what had seemed like a sweet gesture, moments ago, now appeared to be manipulation. She didn’t think it was manipulation, but it seemed like it could be.

Did I come across as needy or, even worse, like a man-hungry bitch all those times I was so desperate to get his attention or a proposal from Edwin? she wondered.

Ick. The thought made her feel sick.

ldquo;Mon chéri, I appreciate the gorgeous coffee but I need a quick nap and then I have to get back to work,” Isis said.

Edwin was immediately, uncharacteristically, deeply disappointed.

ldquo;Are you off today?” he asked. It was weird that she wasn't rushing around getting ready to go into the hospital.

ldquo;I'm working from home on a special project,” she admitted.

For a moment she thought about telling him the rest of it; that she'd given notice, but she wanted to wait until she accomplished something of significance, like getting an order, before she told him that she'd started her own company. Edwin bought and sold companies all of the time. He wouldn't be impressed by her tiny little start up.

ldquo;If you took a personal day, don't you have just a little bit of time for me? I pushed back my morning meeting,” he wheedled.

Isis sighed. All she wanted to do was pull out the sofa and take a nap.

ldquo;I’m on a deadline. I know it’s self-imposed but it’s necessary… and I love you. So, what's up?” Isis asked, doing her best to sound understanding.

She knew that there couldn’t possibly be anything going on with Edwin that was urgent, business or family wise, or she would have heard about it from Emily or Max.

Edwin realized that she really was both seriously tired and busy.

ldquo;Not much, really. I missed you. Guess I'll go,” Edwin said.

ldquo;You're on my calendar,” Isis said sweetly and kissed him.

Edwin held Isis tight and found that he really didn’t want to let go. I was an idiot, he realized. I probably need to work through this in therapy. I either need to propose or let her go.

Edwin and Isis kissed good-bye.

ldquo;I’ll see you in a couple of weeks,” Isis told him, “It’ll fly by. I’ll have made real progress and won’t be distracted. Anyway, don’t you have that thing to focus on?” She put down her coffee.

ldquo;What thing?” Edwin asked and struggled to remember.

ldquo;That merger thing,” Isis said and tilted her head sideways to look at him. Edwin laughed and felt awkward for a moment. He did have a thing to focus on. Isis walked him toward the front door.

ldquo;Oh, right, the merger,” he said, “By the way, your apartment looks great.” It was so interesting how Isis had entirely made it over. It felt like a different place entirely. He could really see her design skills in the new décor. She smiled and told him thank you.

He surprised himself and Isis when he still didn’t move to leave.

Two weeks, two weeks,” she said and wiggled her head back and forth and laughed. Edwin got the film reference. She was pretending to be the character played by Arnold Schwarzenegger in the science-fiction movie
Total Recall
, when his character was landing on Mars, stating how long he was visiting for, and his fake head was about to explode.

ldquo;Two weeks,” Edwin said and laughed politely at her joke. It really was funny but for some reason he felt sad instead of amused. A second later he departed, closing the apartment door behind himself.

With a sigh of relief, Isis yanked out the sleeper sofa, set her phone alarm for two hours later, and plopped into bed.

She spent the next two days in a whirlwind of activity, stopping only to nibble a bite to eat, take bathroom breaks and grab a catnap here and there. She brainstormed and sketched and cut up fabric and was able to finish a couple more pieces for her tiny couture collection.

Her designs were every bit as chic, sleek, elegant and modern, with a vintage style edge, as she had hoped. She made a silent prayer that the up-and-coming contemporary business woman with fashion sense would want to wear her grey, shell pink, rhinestone and pearl accessorized, designs.

She spent the last of the day on the telephone, booking appointments to drop by Los Angeles boutiques that were interested in seeing the look-book of a new, local designer. After a quick glance at her wardrobe, she drank a smoothie, took a hot bath and soaked in lavender bath salts. She then went straight to bed.

After sleeping for twelve hours straight, Isis woke up, delighted with her progress and booked herself a rare treat.

As if he intuitively knew that his lady had slipped off for some pleasure, after so often dodging him for “work,” Edwin decided to call Isis.

Edwin grabbed his cell and dialed his girlfriend’s telephone number.

Inside of a mauve and pale teal massage room, faintly lit by glowing candles, ensconced in pink, crystal votive holders, Isis lay face down on a massage table. A handsome masseur rubbed her body.

Something buzzed. She ignored it. It continued to buzz.

With a sigh, irritated that the buzzing was preventing her from listening to the tinkling bell-like music playing on the sound system, Isis opened her eyes.

She leaned off of the teak massage table, as the masseur continued to knead the calf of her lower right leg, and pulled out her phone and checked the caller ID.

Seeing that it was Edwin, she powered it off and lay back down.

The masseur kneaded her tight muscles and they melted like butter. In a half daze, Isis realized that she was getting very close. She needed to finish the collection and increase her prices and then find the market that would happily bear the cost.

Edwin stared at his phone. Impulsively, he decided to pop by Isis’ apartment.

He had a running patter in his mind, that he was only vaguely aware of, which essentially was insinuating that Isis was igrnoring his calls and actually, most likely, at home... in bed with someone else.

He tried to tell himself that it wasn't possible that she was screwing around and that, if she was, he shouldn't just show up unannounced at her home. Wild with jealousy, he was unable to stop himself from going over. A few minutes later he was there. The doorman let him in and, as relieved as he was to find that she wasn't sleeping with some other guy, he was terribly disappointed to find that Isis wasn’t home.

It was a Saturday. Where could she be? Who was she with? Why did she keep putting him off? He'd barely seen her for ten minutes that week. He'd brought her coffee and then she'd practically kicked him out.

He felt angry with himself that he’d gone along with it each time she had begged off on their standing weekly dinner date or said that she couldn’t get together on the weekend.

Oh, sure, they’d had a few quick drinks here and there, and coffee this week, although he hadn't drunk his and it had been a very brief interlude, but he felt like he had hardly seen her since that long-ago Saturday Bar-B-Q at Emily and Max’s house.

She always had a perfectly good reason for why they couldn't get together but he had really begun to wonder if she were about to give him the brush off. It put him in a very bad temper.

It had happened before, that some woman in his life had decided to blindside him and end it. But the difference was that he had never really cared before. It had always made sense. Usually, he was prepared for it.

In fact, it had been easier. Certainly he’d enjoyed spending time with those women but he hadn’t been madly and passionately in love with them, at least, not the way that he was with Isis.

With a sudden panic, as he stared around his beloved’s light, white apartment, he felt icy dread and certainty that he was on the verge of losing the love of his life.

Inside of Max and Emily’s home, in their home office, Emily typed a moment, finalizing her marketing plan. With a sigh of relief, she pushed print and pulled it from the printer, as Max entered.

“Oh, it's good that you finished it,” Max said.

He took it from her and looked at it, then handed it back.

“Is that all you've got? No comment?” Emily asked and didn’t bother to try and mask the irritation in her voice.

“It looks alright. Will it really net us more sales?” Max queried.

“That's the idea and what I've been doing is working so far,” Emily said.

She handed him another thick, printed document. It was the first draft of their manuscript.

“What’s this?” Max asked with surprise.

“It’s the rough draft of the new book. It's done,” Emily said.

Her husband’s eyebrows raised. He grinned at her and she smiled back. He was obviously surprises and quite happy.

Before he could comment, Max's cell phone rang.

He turned away slightly, trying to be nonchalant, but Emily could see that he did so in order to check the caller ID and prevent her from seeing who was calling him.

To her horror, Emily saw that it read "Simone."

Her expression turned sad as Max walked out.

“I have to take this. It’s about an appointment,” Max called over his shoulder as he left the room.

Kathryn Daniels paced in her New York office.

Emily’s face appeared on Kathryn Daniels’ giant computer monitor screen. Kathryn held a copy of the marketing plan and the manuscript.

“This is great, Emily. It's just what you need. What does Max think?” Kathryn said.

“If you didn't like it there'd be no point in getting Max on board,” Emily admitted. “He saw it, of course, but he hasn’t reviewed either document.”

“That makes sense,” Kathryn replied and continued to flip through the marketing plan.

Emily waited for several long moments as Kathryn finished perusing the marketing plan and put it aside.

“What did you think of the manuscript?” Emily asked, unable to patiently wait for one second longer.

“Well, I love it... both the book, which I read last night, and the marketing plan. Show them to Max and implement the marketing plan. I wanna see you and Max climb that list and finally get on top,” Kathryn said.

“Done,” Emily said, “I figure we’ll take another pass at the book and then, if you think it’s ready, send it on in.”

“Have Max do his bit and then do your own pretty pass and submit it,” Kathryn said.

“Will do,” said Emily.

After brief pleasantries, they hung up the phone and said their good-byes.

Emily was happily surprised and thrilled that Kathryn liked the first draft. She knew for certain that the new book would only improve with Max’s attention.

It was weird how he hadn't seemed to process the fact that she'd actually finished the first draft of the book.

After her husband did a pass, she figured that she would ask Edwin to take a look at the manuscript. His background in finance and years in the business world meant that his comments, and opinions, would be of tremendous value.

When she thought about it, Emily felt quite shocked that she’d finally finished the first draft. She’d been so exhausted.

The first draft was always the hardest part.

Even though he’d been a pain in the butt, the last few weeks, she could understand Max’s resistance to getting bum in chair and helping her write the book.