The Good Girl's Guide to Bad Men (28 page)

The world around me was suddenly in black and white. There was no more color. I blinked rapidly, but it didn't help. I felt like I was stuck in one of those Pl-style photographs that John had delivered to my office earlier today.

Oh, God, had that really been
today?
Had all of this happened to me in one fucking day? The universe couldn't possibly hate me
that
much. Or maybe it could. Maybe this was all a game. And I was just an unfortunate contestant in some type of cosmic reality show. Like those people who audition for
American Idol
and honestly think they can sing. Meanwhile, everyone at home is laughing their asses off. Maybe God was laughing His ass off at me right now. Sitting on His couch with all His heavenly buddies, drinking beer and ridiculing the fact that I
think
I can survive in this world, when clearly I don't have a clue.

I could barely feel my feet as I stumbled back down the stairs and outside to Sophie's car.

"So? What happened?" she asked anxiously before my whole body was even in the front seat.

"Just drive," I replied numbly as I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes.

But the engine didn't start. The car didn't move. Sophie just sat there, staring at the side of my face. "Jen," she commanded sternly, "tell me what happened. What did he say?"

"You were wrong," I said, feeling the moisture start to sting the backs of my eyelids. "It really is too late."

Sophie tried her best to console me on the way home. She even offered to let me sleep on her couch again so I wouldn't have to be alone. But it was no use. I was inconsolable.

"At least let me come in and stay the night here," she said as she pulled up to the curb in front of my building.

I shook my head. "No, I'll be fine, Sophie. I just want to be alone."

But that was a lie. I didn't want to be alone. I couldn't even fathom the thought of it. Which is why I didn't actually go home. After Sophie dropped me off, I slipped down the stairwell into the garage and headed straight for my car. As soon as I was out onto the street, I pulled my cell phone out of my bag and navigated to the address book.

I didn't have the heart to tell Sophie the truth. That it wasn't about wanting to be alone. It was about not wanting to be with
her.
It wasn't personal. There was only one person I could talk to about this. And it was the last person in the world I ever thought I would call in a time of crisis, let alone a
relationship
crisis.

"Hello?" the male voice answered after two rings.

"Dad?" My voice was weak, frail, probably not like he had ever heard it.

Alarm immediately registered in his tone. "Jenny? What's wrong? What's the matter? Is it your mother?"

I held the phone tightly against to my ear. "No," I assured him. "Mom is fine. But I need to talk. Can you meet me?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone. No doubt a stunned one. When was the last time his daughter ever called him up at eleven-thirty at night to "talk"? Or better yet, when was the
first
time?

"Of course," he finally responded. "I'll meet you in the lobby of the Huntley Hotel."

"Okay," I replied, flipping my car into a U-turn to compensate for the new direction. "I can be there in seven minutes."

I drove in silence. No radio. No cell phone conversation. Nothing. The streets were dead. And the stillness of the deserted night seemed to add an extra level of eeriness to the unusual quiet in my car. As if the world around me were taking pause, stopping to acknowledge the sheer rarity of such an occasion.

Jennifer Hunter, driving through the night to speak to her previously estranged father about her broken heart.

Definitely something you don't see every day.

But the truth is, he knew a thing or two about betraying loved ones, messing up relationships, regrets. He was really the only person who made sense right now.

What did Sophie or Zoë or even John know about stuff like that? They didn't. So they couldn't help. Because they couldn't even begin to understand what I was feeling right now.

My problems were officially out of their league.

I cruised through every stoplight, passing only a handful of moving cars along the way, until I finally turned right onto Second Avenue and pulled into the valet station of the Huntley Hotel.

It had always been one of my favorite hotels in Santa Monica. Set back two blocks from the ocean, it was sort of a hidden gem. While most L.A. visitors opted for the beachfront properties like the Loews or Shutters or Casa del Mar, the Huntley's lack of beach-going tourists made it feel slightly more upscale. More exclusive.

I handed my keys to the valet attendant and headed inside the pristine, modern lobby. My eyes swiveled, searching for a familiar face. I spotted my dad reclining awkwardly on a striped leather chair that looked like a hollowed-out mushroom cap.

He struggled to push himself to a standing position and walked over to me.

As we came face-to-face, I could tell that he wasn't sure how to greet me. This was a very unorthodox event in the history of our relationship, and proper protocol had yet to be established. But I didn't hesitate. I fell into him and buried my head against his chest. My dad responded immediately by wrapping his arms around my body and squeezing tightly.

As much as I thought it would feel uncomfortable, foreign even, it was the exact opposite. I felt right at home. As though I had been waiting seventeen years to do exactly this. And the strange part was, I always assumed a moment like this would come after some kind of unexpected reconciliation between us. Where he apologized for everything that he'd ever done to our family and swore on his life that he had changed and become a better person.

But now that the moment was here, I realized that it wasn't
him
who had changed. It was me. And all this time, I had worried that Jamie might be just another version of my father. But in actuality, I was the one who had lied. I was the one who had broken my promise.

I
was the replica.

And that's how I knew that my father was the only person in this city who wouldn't judge me right now.

The tears started to fall and soak into my dad's unadorned gray T-shirt. He bent and gently kissed the top of my head. "Shhh," he cooed. "It's okay. Let's go sit down and talk."

He led the way through the lobby to an empty lounge. The bartender was just finishing his nightly cash-out procedure, and upon seeing us, he sighed and his shoulders slouched.

My dad waved away his concern. "We're just going to sit. We're not going to order anything."

We found an empty banquette in the back, and I plopped down onto it while my dad fetched a stack of cocktail napkins from the bar. He handed me one, and I wiped the skin under my eyes. "Thanks," I said, sniffing.

He waited for me to speak, keeping his eyes glued to my face. Almost as if he were afraid to blink in fear that he might miss something.

"It's Jamie," I finally managed.

My dad let out a small laugh. "I figured as much." Then his eyes softened. "Did he cheat on you?"

I kept my head down as I shook it. I couldn't bring myself to look into his eyes. "I cheated on him," I whispered.

My dad sucked in a sharp breath, and I finally lifted my head and look at him. I could see the struggle on his face. This was a blow that he wasn't quite expecting. Although I was never able to read my father the way I was able to read other men, tonight it wasn't hard. He was blaming himself.

But I knew that my actions were my own, and I hadn't come here to pass the blame.

"Dad," I urged softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, "this has nothing to do with you."

He smiled at my attempt, but I could tell he didn't believe me. And for a moment, as I stared into his eyes, I swore I saw tears forming. But he blinked them away before I could be sure.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he finally said.

I nodded. I did want to tell him. I wanted to tell him everything. But I wasn't sure how much he would want to hear. How much he was ready to hear.

"All of it?" I asked softly, my voice breaking.

"Yes," he confirmed, sounding confident. "All of it."

So I took a deep breath and started from the very beginning. From the moment I first walked in on him cheating on my mother. The moment I've always felt defined me and every choice I've made since. I had never told anyone about that night. Not my mom, not my friends, not even Jamie. And certainly not my father.

I watched his reaction carefully as I spoke; his face was emotionless, but his eyes gave him away. They showed remorse. And although it wasn't my motivation for telling him, it still felt good to have him acknowledge it.

But I didn't stop there. When I reached the part about becoming a fidelity inspector, his face finally registered. He didn't say anything, but I knew right away that he understood. And that he didn't blame me for doing what I did. For becoming what I had become. In fact, a small piece of him blamed himself.

I kept going. Talking until I reached the bitter end. Until I arrived right here, right now, at this very moment. As the words poured out of me, the relief came with it. Never had I told this story from start to finish. It had always been bits and pieces here and there, doled out on a need-to-know basis, depending on who was listening and what role they played in my life.

But sitting in that darkened, empty lounge, telling my dad everything, I knew it was exactly what I needed.

When at last I stopped, I took a deep breath and waited for him to speak. I didn't know what he would say—in fact, I hadn't a clue— but for the first time in my life, I wasn't scared. I wasn't cringing in anticipation of his reaction, the way I had when I first told Jamie what I did for a living or when I first told my friends. I was afraid of the way they would look at me. Afraid of being forever changed in their eyes.

But not now. Not here. Not with him.

I felt safe.

Wordlessly, my dad pulled me into his arms and held me. I snuggled into his chest and allowed myself to feel vulnerable. Wide open.

He began to sway gently back and forth, as if he were rocking a newborn baby. And the comparison wasn't too far off. Everything felt new right now.

We stayed like that for longer than I can remember. For a moment, I might even have fallen asleep. Right now there was such a hazy, blurred line between sleep and awake, they almost seemed to be one and the same.

When I started to come back to awareness and take note of my surroundings, I opened my eyes and caught sight of the deserted bar. The empty bar stools, the bottles of wine that lined the shelf, the cash register. And that's when our current location first struck me as somewhat odd. Why had my father agreed to meet me
here
? Was he afraid of waking Simone? But this hotel was at least eight miles from his house in Malibu. I had been so distracted by my grief when I called, I didn't even stop to think about where he had suggested we meet. It was only a seven-minute drive from my house in Brentwood, but he had been waiting for me when I got there. Had he already been here?

Oh, God, I thought with sudden panic. Was he here with another woman? Was he having an affair here?

The realization made me feel sick to my stomach. And I felt my old instincts start to kick in once again.

Don't ask if you don't want to know. Avoid the subject. Avoid. Avoid. Avoid.

But those days were over now. I had just spilled my entire life story to the one person who, up until a year ago, didn't know anything about my life at all. I think it was safe to say that we were well past avoidance.

I lifted my head and looked up at him. "Dad, why were you at the Huntley?" I asked point-blank.

My dad bowed his head in shame, and I felt the queasiness start to overtake me. I was right. He
was
here with another woman! And God knows what I had interrupted when I called.

I fought to keep my eyes glued to his face. To not look away. Because that's what my gut was telling me to do. What I had always done.

"Simone and I are over," he admitted softly. "She kicked me out last week. I've been trying to call you to let you know, but you haven't been answering your phone lately." He stopped long enough to give a quick nod toward the tears on my face. "Clearly, you've had a lot on your plate."

I felt some relief. Immediately followed by guilt. "So you're not here with another woman?"

He let out a sarcastic laugh. "No. I'm here alone." Then, after a beat, he added, "Although, since we're being honest, I should probably tell you that Simone kicked me out because I cheated on her."

I nodded, finally understanding. I'm just not sure why it took me this long to accept it. My dad was never going to be the sitcom father I used to watch on TV. He was never going to be the home at six, flowers on special occasions, faithful, loving husband I always wanted him to be.

But you only get one father. And he was mine.

And I wasn't really one to throw stones. Especially when the glass house I had inhabited for so long was now lying in shattered pieces at my feet.

"So what happens now?" I asked, wiping under my nose with a crinkled cocktail napkin. "Does she get the house?"

He nodded. "Yeah, it was the least I could do. She was so crushed. And honestly, Jenny, I was, too. I really thought this time was going to be different. I loved her differently. It just felt right. But I guess it was me who wasn't different."

"It's okay, Dad," I said, reaching out and patting his shoulder. After all the consolation he had given me in the past hour, the least I could do was return the favor. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

He chuckled at that. "Right."

"You just need to stop getting married. Or you'll never find a permanent place to live."

He smiled at my attempt to lighten the conversation. But it was fleeting. His face suddenly turned serious again. "Actually, that's something else I needed to talk to you about."

His tone sent a shiver through my body. Although I couldn't imagine how he could drop anything worse in my lap than "I cheated on my
third
wife and she kicked me out."

But apparently, I was wrong.

"I'm moving to Paris."

"What?" I choked out, feeling the room start to spin. Just when I thought I had finally gotten that spinning problem under control. "You're doing what?"

"My firm wants me to head up their new offices out there. I just found out last month. I wasn't going to take it. Simone wanted to stay here. Apparently, she's been thinking of starting an acting career, I don't know. But after what happened between us, I figured, why not? Fresh start. New country. And besides, infidelity is practically expected over there. So I suppose I'll fit right in."

A small laugh escaped my lips, but my head was reeling. He couldn't leave. He couldn't go to Paris. Not after everything we'd just gone through in the past . . . well, ninety minutes! We had finally made some kind of breakthrough. We had finally reached the point where I thought we could have a
real
relationship. Not the fake, artificial, don't-talk-about-anything-personal kind that we'd been having for the past year. And now he was going to leave?

"I know it's bad timing," he said, responding to my stunned silence. "But I think it's for the best. I just need a change of scenery. You understand that, right?"

I nodded. I did understand. More than he knew. If anyone needed a change of scenery, it was me. If anyone needed a fresh start in a new country, it was me.