the place where the shit hit the fan and started a massive shit storm for the Bruels. “I mean, The Pierre. You know The Pierre is my favorite hotel in New York.” Emily’s eyes close for a second as I see pain etched in her pursed lips, and I knew my big, stupid mouth fucked me up once again.
“Was the song for Jeff? Are you guys still, you know…together?” She manages to flip a switch and change the subject back to me.
“Yeah, I guess every song is about Jeffery. My heart wants any part of him that he is willing to give me. Apparently, the only part he wanted to share with me is his penis,” I say with a wicked grin as we both finally crack a smile. Conversations about Jeff and myself never end well. I should therefore try to avoid them at all cost like I always do. The truth is, I sometimes don’t even know what’s true and what’s a lie when it comes to Jeffery Rossi.
“Sara, he’ll never leave her. They’ve been married for years and they have kids, and you know who her parents are. He isn’t going anywhere.” She sounds sincere and I know she means well, but if she only knew the truth. When it comes to my heart, there are only two people who are in the know. It has always been that way and that is how it needs to always stay.
“Emily, I know. I’ve had a front row seat to his life. I know what’s important to him… Anyway, can we drop this shit? What did you want to talk to me about?” I need this Jeff conversation to stop. Talking about him won’t change anything. I see the pity pass in Em’s narrowed eyes, and I don’t need her pity. I did this to myself.
“I know I keep telling you this, but something great is waiting for you. ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’ by Journey. You will find happiness even if it’s not with Jeffery Rossi.” Happiness without JJ is not happiness, it’s purgatory, and I know it all too well.
“Okay, my optimistic BFF. It’s Friday, I have the day off today, so spill the beans.” I need to hear someone else’s problems. I’m sure I’m about to hear an I-need-to-find-a-new-nanny story that in Emily’s world is the equivalent to mayday.
Emily looks around the empty bar as if making sure the drunks don’t hear us, and whispers almost inaudibly, “I met a man while I was in St. Lucia running away from my overactive imagination.” I’m not sure I heard her right.
“What?!” Okay, so maybe I keep misjudging my best friend. Clearly she’s not as innocent as I think she is. This should be interesting; drama that, surprisingly, doesn’t belong to me.
“Just Can’t Get Enough” by Depeche Mode
“Wait, I need to hear every fucking detail of this. If you think of leaving out even one nuance of what happened in St. Lucia, I’ll show Louis the video of our sixth grade talent show, where you sang ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ and did an interpretive dance.” Em doesn’t know, but I even had that video copied and downloaded on my laptop to make sure the priceless extortion jewel never gets lost.
“You wouldn’t! You swore on a George Michael poster and a Wham cassette tape that you would never, ever show that video to anyone.” The look on Emily’s face is priceless. She really cares if someone sees that adorable video that I love.
“I’m a lawyer, I lied.” I’m joking, but the truth is I’ve always lied. Anyway, this little bitch better tell me everything, and I mean everything, that happened in St. Lucia. I need someone else’s life to think about. My own life is not worth fiddly.
“Okay, fine, I’ll tell you everything, but this information does not leave this bar, got it?” She tries to scare me, which is a joke…Emily couldn’t scare a fly. I nod my head and she proceeds. “This is what happened; I arrived in Le Spa in St. Lucia, which was recommended to me by some random porter at the airport. So I clearly didn’t know where I was going.” Emily stops, takes in a few deep breaths.
“Keep talking, you got to this spa place, hotel, whatever…then what happened?” I’m intrigued by where this story is going. My imagination conjures up images that need validation with Em’s words. Emily closes her eyes and I can see her quietly freaking out by the rapid breaths she