I rolled my eyes and stood up, wiping the part of my desk where her ass had been.
“But, since I know your secret about Aubrey now, you can know one of mine,” she said, lowering her voice. “Sometimes, in the mornings, when she would bring you your coffee and shut the door, I would stand outside and listen…” Her eyes lit up. “And I would just pretend that it was me…”
“Pretend what was you?”
“Aubrey,” she said. “Clearly she was good enough for you to break the ‘I don’t f**k my employees’ rule.” She stepped toward the door. “I knew the second she started here that you liked her.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course I don’t.” She looked over her shoulder. “But I do know that the second she quit, you’ve been a shell of yourself. You have yet to realize that you’ve been wearing the same blue suit for two weeks straight.”
I took a long swig of scotch from the bottle, numbly staring at the images that were playing on my television screen. A little blond girl playing in the rain—stomping her red boots in every puddle she could find.
“It’s time to go, Emma…”
I winced at hearing the sound of my old voice, but I continued watching the scene.
“Five more minutes!” She begged with a smile.
“You don’t even know what that means. You’ve just heard me say it…”
“Five more minutes!” She jumped into another puddle, laughing. “Five more minutes, Daddy!”
“It’s going to rain all week. Don’t you want to go home and—”
“No!” She stomped her feet in a puddle again, splashing me. And then she smiled innocently into the camera before running away—begging me to chase her.
I couldn’t bear to watch anymore. I turned off the TV and knocked the DVD player to the floor.
Fuck…
Walking down the hallway, I straightened the “E” and “H” frames that hung on the wall—trying my best not to look too hard.
I didn’t need to make myself another drink tonight. I needed someone to talk to.
I grabbed my phone from the night-stand, scrolling down my contacts for the one person who’d once kept the nightmares at bay. Aubrey.
It rang four times and went to voicemail.
“Hi. You’ve reached Aubrey Everhart,” it said. “I’m unable to take your call right now, but if you leave your name and number I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
The second the beep sounded I hung up. Then I called again, just to listen to that small snippet of her voice. I told myself that I wasn’t being pathetic by calling her five times—knowing damn well that she wasn’t there, but when I called the sixth time, she picked up.
“Hello?” she answered. “Andrew?”
“Hello, Aubrey…”
“What do you want?” Her voice was cold.
“How are you?”
“What do you want, Andrew?” she asked, even colder. “I’m busy.”
“Then why did you pick up?”
“It was a mistake.” She ended the call.
I drew in a sharp breath, shocked that she hung up on me. I started to type up an email, chastising her for being so rude, but I noticed that she hadn’t responded to my last three in months:
Subject: Your Resignation.
Even though the last two words of your resignation letter were ridiculous and unprofessional, I’d like to take you up on your offer to f**k you.
Name the time.
—Andrew.
Subject: My Suit.
Since you have yet to pick up your final check, should I assume that’s your way of letting me keep it to replace the suit you ruined?
—Andrew.
Subject: BALLET.
I stopped by your dance hall earlier. You weren’t there.
Did you quit that, too?
—Andrew.
I decided that I needed to replace her. Fast.
I grabbed my laptop from my nightstand and logged into LawyerChat, looking for another Alyssa-type.
I spent all night roaming the chat rooms, answering questions left and right—gauging the personalities of the askers, but none of them grabbed me. Still, one woman who was listed as a high profile lawyer with ten years of experience seemed promising, so I clicked on her chat box.
“If you have ten years of experience, what could you possibly need help with on this site?” I typed.
“You’re never too old to learn new things…Why are you on here?”
“I’m looking for a replacement.”
“You’re trolling for an employee?”
“No, just someone I can talk to and make cum occasionally.”
She blocked me.
I tried talking to a few other women—keeping my true words to myself, but ultimately they just wanted to use me for information. They weren’t open to talking about anything else, and since LawyerChat had expanded its site recently, there seemed to be an influx of law students using it as a complaint board about their professors.
I shut the laptop and took another swig from my bottle—immediately realizing that there was only one “Alyssa-type”: Aubrey…
Maybe I made a mistake…
Out the corner of my eye I spotted an envelope under the slit of my door. It hadn’t been there when I first arrived home, and it hadn’t been there a few hours ago when I ordered my dinner.
Confused, I walked over and picked it up.
It was an official court summons to testify in a New York hearing, but it wasn’t addressed to my new name. It was addressed to Liam Henderson.
Remedy (n.):
The means to achieve justice in any matter in which legal rights are involved.
Aubrey
The Firebird.
Jewels.
Swan Lake.
I wrote down the roles I wanted to audition for in my planner, smiling as I ran my hands across my acceptance letter for the umpteenth time. I had ten copies of it—two of them were framed, seven were for inspiration whenever I was feeling down, and one was for my parents. (I just hadn’t had the time or energy to draft an “I f**king told you so” letter to mail with it.)
I looked at the clock on my wall and checked my phone, trying to suppress the butterflies that were fluttering around my stomach.
The guy I was now dating, Brian—a fellow dancer in the company, was supposed to call me with something important he wanted to talk about.
Ever since I met him, he’d been trying his hardest to woo me—taking me on dates in between rehearsals, joining me as I danced on rooftops and icy park benches. He was kind, sweet, funny, and the perfect example of what it meant to be a gentleman.
He was like the nice guy in the Old Hollywood movies, the type that held your hand for no reason at all, the type that walked you to your door and waited until you were completely inside before stepping away. He was the type that kissed you—softly and tenderly, whispering that he liked your lips, but never taking things any further.
In other words, he was nothing like Andrew.
Nothing like.
Even though his kisses never left me panting and wet, and his touches never set my nerves on fire, he never made me feel like shit.
My phone vibrated and I looked at the screen. Brian.
“Did you receive the roses I sent you today?”
I grinned, looking over at the red and white blooms on my fireplace.
“Yes.” I texted back. “Thank you very much. I love them.”
“I placed something else in the vase for you, too...You should use it to relax tonight. I’ll be calling you after I get out of rehearsal.”
“Looking forward to it.” I added a smiley face at the end of my text and walked over to the vase, lifting the flowers up by their stems. There was a huge packet of pink bath beads and rose petals with a handwritten note across the front:
“The next time you take a bath…Think about me…
—Brian”
My heart fluttered and I couldn’t help but want to immediately take him up on the idea. I slipped out of my clothes and headed into the bathroom, tossing the beads under rushing water.
As I let down my hair, I turned the volume on my ringer to the highest setting, and before I could set it down, I noticed a new email. Andrew.
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest, as it always did when one of his sporadic emails or calls graced my screen.
Everything in me told me not to open it, to continue ignoring him, and to let him feel just how alone and underappreciated I felt months ago, but I couldn’t help it.
Subject: Thoreau & Alyssa.
You once said that you missed when we were Thoreau and Alyssa because I supposedly treated you better. I don’t think I treated you any differently. I just really wanted to f**k you. But when we did meet in person, I unfortunately wanted to f**k you even more.
I personally prefer us as “Andrew & Aubrey” because on a night like tonight, when there’s nothing I would rather do than f**k you against my balcony until you cum, at least I can actually picture what your pu**y feels like and no longer have to imagine.
Pick up the phone…
—Andrew
I shook my head and set the phone down, mentally erasing that message and stepping into the tub.
I lay back and let the hot water rise to my chest, exhaling as it warmed my skin.
It was becoming easier to avoid thinking about Andrew now that I was talking to Brian, but it was harder trying to force myself to forget. I still thought about him late at night when I was in my bed, often wishing he was inside of me.
Nonetheless, I wasn't running back to him and his ass**le-ish ways, and I would never allow him to come back to me.
Never.
I scrubbed myself clean with a soft loofah, trying my best to ignore the intense throbbing between my legs that always came when thinking about Andrew. I filled a ladle with water and poured it over my head—unable to push away the thought of Andrew washing my hair in the tub, of him telling me to stand underneath the streams and hold the wall as he grabbed my waist and f**ked me from behind.
My fingers found their way to my clit as I remembered him bending me over the vanity in his bathroom, saying “I need you to f**king take it…All of it…” as he palmed my br**sts and kissed his way down my spine.
I rubbed my clit in circles—shutting my eyes as I pictured his lips on mine, moaning as it swelled with every caress.
“Ahhhh….” I felt my ni**les hardening as the water cooled, and I was close—so close, to coming, but my phone rang.
Andrew?
I immediately stood up and wrapped myself in a robe, rushing to answer it—telling myself that I could pick up his call “just this once.”
“Hello?” I held the phone up to my ear without looking at the screen.
“Aubrey?” It was Brian.
“Hi…” I sighed, trying to mask my discontent. “How are you?”
“Is this a bad time? You sound kind of upset.”
“I’m not upset. I was just getting out of the bath.”
“Oh, well good,” he said. “Did you use the relaxation kit I bought you?”
“I did.”
“Did you also think about me?”
“Yes…” I lied, feeling slightly guilty. “How was rehearsal?”
I walked to my dresser and slipped into a T-shirt, listening to him recount the many ways that Mr. Ashcroft was the devil reincarnate.
“He’s worse than Mr. Petrova.” I pulled my hair into a ponytail.
“Worse than Paul Petrova?” He laughed. “I don’t believe you. I’ve seen that man’s documentary, seen him make grown men cry.”
“Well, maybe years ago. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still rude and overbearing, but he has a layer of softness that Mr. Ashcroft lacks.”
“I’ll take your word for it…” He cleared his throat. “How tired are you right now?”