Brenda Janowitz - Scot on the Rocks

Walking into the bedroom, I took a deep breath. It smelled just like Douglas. Woodsy and manly and dark. The bed was unmade and I smiled, thinking about how Douglas and I never had the time to make it during the week. I picked up his pillow and inhaled.

Then, remembering Vanessa waiting downstairs in a car for me, I quickly took out the step stool and grabbed a suitcase from the top shelf of the closet. I didn’t need too many things. I would be back.

I went through the closet and heard a key in the door. A smile crept onto my lips. That unmade bed was about to come in very handy….

If lipped the suitcase shut and headed toward the bedroom door as I heard a voice on a cell phone. A woman’s voice.

“I’m at your apartment, baby,” she said as I stood frozen in my tracks. I couldn’t believe that Beryl had the nerve to be there. The day after Douglas threw me out. A thousand thoughts flooded my brain — should I hide in the closet? Under the bed? What should I do? Even if I hid myself, the suitcase was still there in plain sight. With all of my things in it. And anyway, who was I — Lucy Ricardo?

There was nowhere to go. It was just like that scene in No Way Out where Kevin Costner’s photo is coming up on the computer screen and he’s about to be revealed as the bad guy, but really, he’s not the real bad guy, someone else is the real bad guy, but he’s totally stuck inside the Pentagon with nowhere to go.

“Pastis?” I heard Beryl say. “I’d absolutely love to!”

The room began to spin. He was taking Beryl to Pastis, a fabulous ultra-trendy French bistro downtown in the Meatpacking District. A favorite of local celebs and the New York Euro scene, Douglas used to call it “our place” since we had spent so much time there over the years.

I sat down on the unmade bed and laughed at myself. I couldn’t believe that up until a few weeks ago, I used to indulge this pathetic little fantasy that Douglas would propose to me there. Actually drop down to his knees in the middle of the restaurant and proclaim his undying love to me in front of his friends and our waiter and the other diners and any celebrities who happened to be there that night. I would giggle like a schoolgirl and jump down to the ground to throw my arms around him, all the while kissing him and screaming, “Yes, yes, yes! I will marry you!” Of course, the crowd would applaud and the waiter would bring a bottle of champagne to our table. We would laugh and drink champagne and I would blind the other diners with the sheer size and brilliance of my new diamond ring. As my relationship with Douglas crept up to the two-year mark, my outfits on the nights we were going to Pastis got more and more “special” as I deluded myself further and further into thinking that my fantasy could become reality.

I used to tell myself that it was okay to have harmless little fantasies like that. Who were they hurting, anyway? And who wouldn’t have such fantasies? But Douglas wouldn’t be taking me to Pastis or anywhere else anymore. He was taking Beryl.

I heard the apartment door slam shut and I hurriedly threw more clothing and assorted pairs of shoes into my suitcase. I was packing so fast that I had no idea what I was putting inside the case. Somehow, I remembered to grab my jewelry, which I threw on top, zipped the suitcase shut and wheeled it out of the bedroom. When I walked into the living room, I saw an enormous crystal vase filled with three majestic calla lilies, arranged neatly. That was what she came here to do, I thought. She brought in fresh flowers. I looked to the windowsill and saw that the picture of Douglas and me was gone.

I rushed back to the car, threw myself into Vanessa’s arms, and cried the whole way back uptown.

From: “Brooke Miller”

To: “Douglas MacGregor”

Subject: I miss you

Do you miss me, too?

Brooke Miller

Gilson, Hecht and Trattner

425 Park Avenue

11th Floor

New York, New York 10022

*****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE*****

The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht and Trattner by return e-mail to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance.

Delete.

It was the fourteenth e-mail message that I’d drafted and then deleted so far. But it wasn’t as if I could concentrate on work two days after Douglas threw me out of our apartment. My assignment for the day — talk to Douglas and clear this whole mess up.

From: “Brooke Miller”

To: “Douglas MacGregor”

Subject: hey

We need to talk.

Brooke Miller

Gilson, Hecht and Trattner

425 Park Avenue

11th Floor

New York, New York 10022

*****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE*****

The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht and Trattner by return e-mail to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance.

Too angry and defensive. Men hate angry and defensive.

From: “Brooke Miller”

To: “Douglas MacGregor”

Subject: hi

Can we talk?

Brooke Miller

Gilson, Hecht and Trattner

425 Park Avenue

11th Floor

New York, New York 10022

*****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE*****

The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht and Trattner by return e-mail to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance.

Send. A screen popped up asking, “Are you sure you want to send this message?” Normally, I just click Yes as a matter of fact, but this time it gave me pause. Did I really want to send this message? It was as good of a question as any, I supposed. My life had changed in an instant and my computer wanted to know if I wanted to take a step in making it back the way it was.

I clicked Yes and walked down the hall to Vanessa’s office to discuss the breakup.

“Do you think that we’ll get back together in time for Trip’s wedding?” I asked.

“You asked the man why he hates America,” Vanessa said, barely looking up from the document she was typing.

“Mistakes were made,” I said.

“You think?” Vanessa asked me, still typing away furiously on her computer.

“I can’t believe that I have no boyfriend,” I said. I eyed the photograph of Vanessa and Marcus at their college graduation that was on her bulletin board. They were holding on to each other for dear life, cheeks pressed together, smiling like two little kids. It was the day Marcus proposed to her.

“And apparently,” Vanessa kindly pointed out, “you may be a racist, or a nationalist. Or some sort of Scotsman-hater in general.”

“I just wanted the man to wear pants. Who knew that once you found a man in Manhattan who was straight and single, you then had to worry about whether or not he wanted to wear pants?”

“The things we take for granted.” Vanessa sighed.

“Are we still talking about Douglas?” Jack asked, walking into Vanessa’s office, balancing three coffee cups in his hands. I picked a paper clip up off of her desk and began to unravel it. Vanessa’s desk was always neat and ordered with everything in its proper spot. The paper clips had their own tiny tray right next to her stapler and tape dispenser. She kept her pens and highlighters in a Howard University mug, right next to her Rolodex, right next to her In and Out boxes. I always marveled at how she could keep herself so organized since my own office always looked as if it had been recently hit by a tornado. I hadn’t even seen my own Rolodex since I was a first-year associate.