Love Nouveau (16 page)

“Sleep on it for a night or two,” he says as he hands me Mr. Ramirez’s business card with his cell number written on the back. “then give him a call and just hear him out.”

I spin the card mindlessly through my fingers. The thought of working with such a skeezeball sends shudders down my spine. Surely my dad picked up on Mr. Ramirez’s affinity for his daughters over the years?

“Please don’t be angry with me,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I just know how hard it can be to find a job after graduation. I thought you’d be relieved knowing you could get your start at such a reputable place like the MCA. You could really make a name for yourself there, Ivy.”

The more he speaks, trying to justify his actions, the angrier I become.

I reach out and take my dad’s lowball of whiskey from his hands. Never breaking eye contact with him, I throw back his drink in one swift gulp and relish in the burn as I feel it move through my body. I place the business card inside the now empty glass and slam it down on his desk.

Then I leave without saying a word.

THE NEXT MORNING, I DECIDE to lay low in my bedroom, desperate to avoid my family and their disapproving looks. I have no intention of calling Mr. Ramirez. My dad can fill him in, or leave him wondering for all I care.

I find myself mindlessly flipping through the TV stations looking for a distraction, and put down the remote when an image of Baby carrying watermelons with cousin Billy fills the screen. I love this movie.
Dirty Dancing
always makes me think of Rachel and the night we reenacted the Mickey and Silvia
Love is Strange
sequence in our living room after a few too many vodka tonics on a random Tuesday night. We laughed until our bellies ached. Then our bellies ached so much we both threw up. Ah, the memories.

I’ll never understand why Patrick Swayze said “Nobody puts Baby in a corner” in the film. First of all, she was arguably in the best seat at the table since it faced the stage head on. Secondly, it’s not like anyone forced her in that chair. Baby probably chose to sit there knowing her sister was about to make an ass of herself onstage and she wanted the best possible view so she could partake in a lifetime of mockery. Hell, if I knew Genevieve was about to partake in something ridiculous, you bet your ass I’d pay top dollar for the best seat in the house. And let’s not even attempt to count the times that Baby willingly seats herself in a corner throughout the entire movie. The iconic line is so ridiculously flawed.

As the credits roll across the screen, I look at the clock and decide it’s late enough in the morning to call Phoenix. I want to unload about my dad’s job offer, but I don’t want to give him any false hope about me staying local while he’s up here. I decide to keep this news a secret for now.

I turn my TV off and grab my phone with a smile.

“Good morning, gorgeous!” Phoenix croons into the phone. He’s in an awfully good mood today.

“Hey, you! How’s it going?”

“Not too bad. What do you have going on today? Any absurd wedding duties to fulfill?”

“I’m excited to report that I have absolutely nothing planned. In fact, I may not even bother putting on pants.”

“That’s kind of hot, Ivy.”

I grin, liking playful Phoenix.

“Yeah, well a day like today isn’t worth putting on a bra, either, Mr. Wolfe,” I reply, trying not to come off too much like a phone sex operator.

“So … what
are
you wearing?” he purrs seductively. I try hard not to laugh into the phone. He sounds absolutely adorable.

“Just a tank top and underwear,” I say, my voice laced with hunger.

“Lucky tank top. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?” The smile in his voice radiates through. “So really, what are your plans today?”

“Nothing, actually. I think I’m just going to lounge around and watch eighties movies.” With any luck, Jake Ryan or Lloyd Dobler will show up at my house and save me from my family. Johnny Castle was a welcomed distraction already, though I found my mind drifting off to Phoenix and the memory of doing our own dirty dance throughout most of the film.

“Well … I’ve got an idea. But it would require you leaving the house and actually putting clothes on.”

“I’m listening,” I say, encouraging him to continue.

“Can you be ready in an hour? I need you to go somewhere for me.”

What the heck? Am I running errands on his behalf like a personal secretary? Could he be more vague?

“Oookay?”

“Go get dressed. I’ll text you the location in a minute. Do you think you can be there in an hour?”

I want to put up a fight and be lazy, but his boyish charm and excitement win out. “As long as it’s not across town, sure.”

“Perfect. I don’t think it’s very far from you. I’ll call you in an hour.”

I’m intrigued by the prospect of this mystery location and what’s in store for me today. Wouldn’t it be amazing if he were there waiting for me? I quickly shut down that thought, knowing he needs to be in St. Louis this week to complete his plans for the prospective client.

By the time I’m done pulling my hair up into a loose ponytail and changing into my favorite yoga pants and a well-loved, Depeche Mode shirt, my phone chimes, notifying me that I have a text message.

Rather than sending me an address, Phoenix has texted me directions to follow to my destination. I instantly recognize the place he’s referencing as it is walking distance from my parent’s house. Tossing on a baseball cap, I grab my keys and my phone and head out the door toward Lake Michigan.

It is truly a magnificent day. It makes me wonder why I’m so content spending so much time inside. The sidewalks are crowded with families enjoying the sunshine as cyclists and runners weave in and out of the crowds. I follow the lakefront running trail south toward Castaways, a beachfront bar and grill designed to look like a beached cruise ship. On beautiful days, like today, it turns into a meat market for all of the local trixies.

His directions take me right along the lake to a remote section of land that juts out from the main shoreline on the backside of the restaurant. For being so out in the open, it sure is secluded.

I check the time and sit down on the ground, listening to the sounds of the waves and distant laughter while I wait for Phoenix to call. I extend my arm and take a quick photo of myself with the lake in the background and send it off to Phoenix so he knows I'm here.

Minutes later, “Everlong” fills the air and my heart skips a beat. I quickly answer.

“This spot is beautiful!” I melt into the phone. I’m thankful that no one is around because I am certain I sound like an overeager goofball.

“It looks like you found the place easily. I’m glad you got there,” he says, the smile in his voice evident.

I look out over Lake Michigan and watch a sailboat, full mast, dipping with the waves in the wind. It reminds me of Monet’s
Sailboat
series and the serenity it brings. I want to reach out and place this image, this moment in a frame.

“So why on Earth did you have me come here?”

“Do you remember what you told me the night we first met?”

We talked about a lot of things that night. I rake through my mind and don’t recall mentioning Lake Michigan at all.

“No, but in fairness we talked about a lot of things and there was a good amount of alcohol involved. So while some things are foggy, I definitely remember meeting one of the hottest, sweetest guys I’ve ever known.” I bite my lip, figuring a little flattery will do him some good.

“Well, the night we first met, you told me that the Gateway Arch is your favorite place to be in St. Louis. So that’s where I’m calling you from. And right now, you’re sitting in my absolute favorite place in all of Chicago. So rather than call each other from the confines of our own homes, I thought this afternoon we could share our favorite places with each other while we talk.”

My heart sighs in delight. This boy. He does things to me I never imagined possible. He makes me feel emotions that I’ve fought to shut out for years. It’s almost too much.

I’m rendered speechless as I listen to him softly breathing into the phone, his breaths falling into the pace of the soft lake waves. It’s calming and rhythmic. A soft smile plays at my lips as I realize that this moment by myself, with him on the line, is the epitome of perfection. Or about as close as perfection can get without him physically here with me.

“Thank you,” I finally muster in a whisper at his thoughtful gesture. Even though we’re hundreds of miles apart, he has found a way to connect us on a deeper level. I have no idea what I’ve done to be deserving of such a wonderful man, but I want to claim him as mine.

“The landing today is stunningly beautiful, Ivy. I can’t believe I’ve never actually been down here before. It’s not nearly as touristy as I thought it would be, although you couldn’t pay me to go up in that thing,” he says, suppressing a nervous laugh. I would never have guessed he was afraid of heights.

“The arch towers to insurmountable heights and there is a blinding reflection at the top where the steel begins to curve back down toward the Earth…”

I close my eyes and listen to him describe his surroundings to me in great detail, my imagination becoming his canvas. I can feel the height of the arch above me, soaring up and over and down. I can see the family attempting to fly the kite on the windless day, with little success. And I can almost smell the flowering bushes along the path in the park at the foot of the arch. But when he tells me about the elderly couple sitting hand in hand on a nearby bench, I smile. And I can hear the smile in his voice too.

“They have to be eighty years young,” he says. “And after all this time they are still so in love.”

I smile thinking back to Delilah’s bench in Madison and I suddenly feel overwhelmed with emotion. We both release a quiet sigh at the same time.

We’re fortunate to be sharing the same blazing sun, with nary a cloud in the sky. I imagine Phoenix sitting in the shade of a large oak tree, shoes off, digging his feet in the soft, damp grass. What I would give to be sitting there beside him.

“Tell me about the lake. What do you see?” he asks.

I look out across the lake and admire its vast beauty. It’s hard to believe that living here for two decades I’ve never come out to these break walls. It’s so close to my parents’ home and such a welcomed escape. As I look into the green waters, I suddenly feel as if I am in a gallery, looking at a painting. Not examining it objectively, but focusing on how this moment, like artwork, makes me feel.

Sitting here on the edge of the city, it’s like I’m sitting on the edge of the Earth with my feet dangling off the side. I feel small and insignificant. Not in a bad way, though.

I notice that no matter what, the water always returns with each and every delicate wave. Even after being repeatedly pushed away from the shoreline, the water always comes back, beating its rocky edges, smoothing them out, wearing them down over time. It’s kind of romantic—after an infinite number of rejections, the water doesn’t give up. Nature wills it to return. Beyond its control, it just keeps coming back. It’s a bit like love.

My eyes focus on a small stone a few feet away from me. I crawl over and reach out to pick it up, feeling the smoothness of its sides between my fingers. While on my hands and knees, I catch a glimpse of myself in the water’s surface. I look completely different, happy even.

“I … I see the work of persistence. Forces beyond our control breaking down the sharp edges, making the hard lines soft.”

I realize this wasn’t the response he was anticipating, and that he has no idea that I’m holding the result of innumerable years of work by Mother Nature in my hand. That I’m looking at myself in an entirely different light due to the intangible work of Cupid’s arrow. My eyes examine the stone more closely and I can’t help but realize how perfectly insignificant it is, how insignificant I am.

How can something so incomprehensibly great have such a profound impact on something so insignificant?

We both fall silent and our breathing falls into pace with one another.

It amazes me that this spot exists right in the heart of the downtown bustle. It’s so calming and peaceful and humbling. It’s not a place that you would think to come to either and it makes me wonder how Phoenix stumbled upon it.

“How did you discover this place? I grew up less than a mile from here and never once followed this path out this way.” I close my eyes and lie down against a large rock, listening to the waves gently lap up against the break wall and feel the cool air slowly warm as the sun spills over the horizon.

“It had to have been three or four years ago. I was in Chicago for the weekend with …Annie, my girlfriend at the time.” There is an uneasiness to his voice when he mentions her name, and I realize this is the first time since our date in Madison that he’s talking about his past. “I was training for a marathon and—”

“Wait, what? You run marathons?” This comes as a surprise. I know he frequently runs, but it seems a bit silly to run a stupidly far distance for fun. Maybe he
is
insane.