Wet

Hey, Melanie, it’s Paul McNeill.

Mom gave me your number after you guys ran into each other. She said you’ve moved back to L.A. Let me know if you’d like to meet for coffee or drinks. It’d be cool to catch up.

I leave her my number and realize that my heart is thundering after I end the call. Damn. I’m really not in the mood to get ignored by her again. But she made the gesture, so she sure as hell better return my call. The text arrives ten minutes later.

Hi Paul

How about drinks tomorrow night at Osteria Mozza. 7pm.

As I reply that I’ll see her there, I realize all the implications that her choice suggests: her choice of restaurant is on trend, in sophisticated and hip Hancock Park, highly ranked food, and expensive as all hell for a plate of spaghetti. That’s Melanie. She’s probably never eaten at In-N-Out.

I arrive early to the restaurant so I can pick our seating and have my bearings before she arrives. I’m swirling the Jamisons whiskey in my glass when a feeling comes over me. I just know under my skin that she’s here. Sure enough I turn and it’s as if there is a beam of light just above her as she gracefully works her way through the crowded bar. I’d forgotten how tall she is, and between the long platinum-blonde hair, and her sleek ivory dress, she stands out in a crowd—not just stands out, she fucking glows. All she needs is a long flute of champagne to finish the picture of how the better half lives.

She gives me a quiet smile as she approaches, and slides into the chair next to me before I have a chance to pull it out for her. She looks amazing. Not that I expected anything less but every gesture seems perfect. Like the way she sweeps her sheet of satin hair over her shoulder so it cascades down her back.

I smile at her. “Good to see you, Melanie.”

“And you,” she says with a nod as the bartender approaches. “Martini, extra dry, extra olives on the side.”

The essence of the Melanie I remember is still there, but now just more polished and confident if that’s even possible . . . more of everything, really.

“New York was good to you, I take it. You look great.”

“Thanks, New York was amazing. It was hard to leave since I found I’m really more of a New York kind of girl. Believe me, it had to be a huge opportunity to get me back here.”

“I’m sure. So where are you now? Mom couldn’t remember.”

“Christopher, Roth, and Reiss. They were especially interested in me because they’ve just landed two huge corporate identity projects. It’s all very exciting. We have meetings in China week after next.”

“Did you do a lot of traveling in your last job?”

She nods before taking a long sip of her martini. “Quite a bit, especially to Australia. Our partner agency was there.”

“Cool. I’ve always wanted to go there.”

We order small plates from the bar and feast on mussels, octopus, and several exotic cheese presentations as she tells me about her favorite projects. I realize when we order our second round of drinks that she hasn’t asked me a single thing about myself. I also haven’t smiled other than those fake smiles you give when you want people to think you’re interested in what they’re saying even though you’re not.

“Do you travel much for work?” she asks, and I have to regroup to realize that she’s actually addressed me.

“Not really unless you call trekking down to Orange County traveling. We mainly do projects in this region, although the partners are doing a big project in Dallas.”

“So how did you end up in landscape architecture as opposed to building architecture? Wouldn’t that be more lucrative?”

“I suppose, but I’ve loved trees and working the earth since I was a boy from hanging out with my dad on jobs. Besides, there’s lots of cutting edge design happening in landscaping. A good design enhances the building.”

“Your dad’s a gardener, isn’t he?” she asks, her gaze wandering off to some people at the bar.

Her tone is condescending like there’s something wrong with what he does.

“He’s an irrigation specialist,” I reply.

“Irrigation. Right,” she says nodding with an intent look on her face. “So do you think you’ll stay in L.A.?”

“I imagine so. My family is here, and I like L.A. It suits me.”

“Hmm, interesting.” She waves the bartender over for a third round. I really feel that two was plenty but before I can say anything the bartender has turned away and starts preparing our order.

She’s a few sips into her fresh martini when I finally see her loosening up. Up until now this tall drink of water has had quite a tolerance for gin. I’m hoping the conversation gets more interesting now that she’s getting a little more relaxed.

“So did you have to leave a boyfriend in New York?” I ask taking the final bite of burrata from the plate of cheeses.

She’s fishing the rogue olive out of the bottom of her glass. “He’s one of the reasons I came out here. I was tired of waiting for him.”

“Waiting?”

“He’s married, and kept telling me he was leaving his pathetic wife.”

I feel a wave of disgust. “Oh, that kind of waiting.”

“And I’m sure she suspected us . . . I mean, all those late nights we ‘worked’ together on projects. I think she just didn’t want to let him go.”

“You worked together?” I have to focus to keep my expression neutral, as much as my stomach is turning. The illusion I had that Melanie is perfect has just faded like a photograph left in a su

“He was one of the partners. I got spoiled with those long trips to Australia and having him all to myself.”

“Wow. That’s quite a story.”

“And I know he wanted me. I’m sure of it. But he just was afraid of the divorce and how it would affect his kids.”

Oh Jesus. She’s unbelievable.

“Right. So he has kids?”

“Four kids! Can you believe it! One’s just a year old. She got knocked up with that one when I was on a business trip without him. It was just another one of her desperate attempts to hold onto him.”

Wow. So now a man having sex with his wife is cheating on her? The wife did not impregnate herself. He would’ve had to want to have sex with his wife. I guess she can’t accept that.

“So that must have pissed you off.”

“You have no idea. I broke up with him for almost a month that time.”

“Why did you get back with him?”

“He needs me. I’m who he should be with—he’s an incredible, dynamic man and she’s just a housewife.”

“Actually, she’s a mom, and that’s a big job . . . with four kids that’s a really big one, I bet.”

“Whose side are you on?” she asks with a stern expression. I suddenly notice that up close her skin isn’t so smooth after all.

“Side?”

“Oh, let me guess you want kids, too.”

“I do. So I take it you don’t.”

She purses her lips as she shakes her head. “No, I don’t.”

As I watch her sip the last of her drink I marvel that I was once so crazy for this woman. She just seemed so intriguing compared to the other girls in high school. She projected the feeling that she had important things ahead of her and the talent and confidence to get her there. And I have to admit that she was the only girl I ever wanted who didn’t succumb to my charms, so that made her all the more desirable in my eyes. Now that I’ve got her full attention she’s a two dimensional woman with apparently no soul, and not the slightest bit interesting to me.

She looks up at me with one eyebrow arched like she knows a secret. “So I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Paul.”

Wait . . . did she just bat her eyelashes at me? Oh hell no.

“Yeah, what did you hear?”

“That you’re quite the beast in bed.”

I almost spit out the ice cube that’s been rolling around on my tongue.

She leans toward me and speaks in a soft voice. “It is true that you partake in orgies?”