Page 13 of The Loves We Lost
I say no more but eat and pay quickly, Halo grumbling about being rushed.
“I could have done this on my own,” I say as we make the short walk to the Marriott hotel in Times Square. The smell of steamy yeast and rotting garbage hits me hard. Fucking New York City in a heat wave.
Halo marches beside me. “Where would the fun be in that? Plus, I’m not letting you go on your own.”
I shake my damn head. “Always the good guy.”
“Not always. I was a real bad guy with Penny and Daisy last night.”
“Brave man. Can’t deal with Daisy’s squirting. It’s a pain in the ass to change the bedding.”
I’m jolted forward by Halo’s firm hand slapping my back. “I take the squirting as a personal commendation of a job well done. But she likes it in the ass on those days you don’t want to sleep in a swimming pool.”
“I wish there wasn’t logic in those statements.”
“I’m a logical man, which is why I’m here. So, tell me about Vi Graydon.”
“Fuck my life,” I mutter. Halo never lets thing rest; he’ll rile and rile and rile me some more until he finally knows. “She’s my ex. And she also writes porn for chicks. And one of her books is about the two of us.”
Halo starts to laugh. “Fuck me.”
I look up at the big building and second-guess my reasons for being here. Ever since I found out what she’s writing, it’s been dredging up old memories. I’m not sure there’s even value in thinking about them.
Yet here I stand.
“Excuse me,” a woman says, and I step to one side. She’s wheeling a crate behind her filled with books. Most of the ones on the top have half naked men or couples on the cover with titles likeOne Day Like ThisandJust One Tease.
Two more follow with bursting backpacks and arms full of books. A gray-haired woman who looks at least sixty wears a denim vest with patches on it that sayI like big books and I cannot lie, andMaster Marcus is mine!
“What the fuck is this?” Halo asks.
“Apparently it’s a conference for cat ladies with porn tastes.”
“Not this.” Halo looks serious as he gestures around us. “You and Vi. I can read the vibes. She’s a lot more than just an ex if she wrote a book about the two of you, right?”
Halo looks like he could be on the cover of one of those books. Long hair, broad build. We’re the same height, though I’m leaner. Faster. He could knock me out in a fight if I stood still. But all the skipping I do keeps me on the balls of my feet and nimble.
“I proposed to her. She turned me down because of this.” I slap the patch on my cut.
“Shit,” Halo says. “So why are we here?”
I look over to a group of women squealing as they get out of a minivan. They’re all dressed the same. Stretchy capri pants, oversized T-shirts, and sneakers. I tell him the story of seeing the old ladies reading the book. Of realizing the connection between me and Vi and the story within the pages. Of pretending to be Sophie.
“Jesus. You’re worse than Spark,” Halo says finally. “You want her back?”
“Fuck. No. What I want is to hear her admit that us breaking up was a bad fucking idea. That telling our story to the world is the worst kind of invasion of privacy. Maybe even ask her for a share of the royalties, given it’s my fucking story too. I want her to see who I became. What she missed out on. Then I’m gonna grin in her face, turn around, get back on the bike, ride back to the club, and go fucking drown in Daisy’s squirts.”
As I say the words, they become more resolute. What Vi and I had in the past was special. But we’re different people. Is my need for acknowledgement ego driven? One hundred percent it is. But I’m not going to move on without seeing her one last time. “Let’s go.”
I lead the two of us in. There’s a big screen saying the book signings are on the lower level in a ballroom. We stride through the lobby, and there are fans everywhere. Never seen this many books in one place in my entire life.
“They can’t possibly have read all the books they’re toting like they’re first-born children or shit, can they?” I ask.
“I just saw Jodi Ellen Malpas in the elevator,” a woman screams.
A young woman near us scrolls through her phone. “Look. I got a selfie with Natasha Madison and Corinne Michaels in the bar last night.”
Someone yells at the volume of an NFL coach at the Super Bowl that a person called Kennedy Ryan just arrived.
