Red Blooded Murder. Laura Caldwell

      “But he’s older than his years. He’s been working since he was in high school. He went to college for a year. Stanford, I think. He has his own company.”

      “Train wreck. In the best way. Believe me, I think you need this kid. He’s going to get you all hot and bothered and loosen you up. It’s exactly what you require after all this seriousness with Sam.”

      We grinned at each other, and I had to admit, I kind of agreed with him. And despite the wisecracks, it was nice to have Q back the way we used to be.

      “And I want to thank you,” Q continued. “I have been so bored lately, and now I’ve got a front-row seat for this show.”

      “Why have you been bored?”

      He sighed. “You know how it is. I was miserable when I was working, but …”

      “Excuse me?” I put my hands on my hips. “You were miserable when you were working with me?”

      “No, no. You know I loved working with you. I just didn’t love the work I was doing. I wasn’t meant to be a legal secretary.”

      “But you’ve been taking acting classes again since we left the firm.”

      “I quit. I’m too old for it now.”

      “You’re in your early thirties!”

      “And you should see everyone in these acting classes—they’re in their early twenties. Like your boyfriend.”

      “Shut up.”

      “I am so going to love this show.”

      I moved away from the dresser. “There’s no show, and there’s no train wreck.”

      Q swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood. “Yes, there is, and, honey, I’m going to be here until the last curtain call and the last crash.”

      7

      I looked at Jane across the table. “Jane, I’m … Well, I’m kind of shocked.”

      She blew on her half-full mug of coffee, clearly annoyed, then pushed it away.

      We were at a coffee shop on Chicago Avenue. And after Jane gave me a bunch of details about Trial TV—the mission of the network, what I’d be doing there, instruction on landing news stories and writing them—she just announced that yes, she’d gone home with that writer last night, and no, as Zac had said, it wasn’t the first time something like that had happened.

      “Why are you shocked?” she asked.

      “I don’t know.” I stirred a few Splendas into my second green tea. “I guess because I thought you were on top of it.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “Don’t get mad at me. I’ve seen you get dragged around by your agent on occasion, but generally you seem like someone who’s got it together.”

      “Izzy, nobody has everything together.” She shook her head and glanced away from me. When she turned back, she looked suddenly exhausted. “Nobody’s perfect. Didn’t you find that out when Sam disappeared?”

      “Yeah, but I know why Sam did what he did.”

      “And if you’re so fine with that, then why aren’t you back together?”

      A good question. One Sam had been asking me, one I’d been asking myself for months.

      A few years ago, when Sam and I discussed getting married, I had journaled about it, I had visualized it and debated the pros and cons. I talked to Sam about it, and I talked to my friends about it. And the conclusion I came to in my heart was … Yes. I wanted to be married, and I wanted to be married to Sam. But the big wedding Sam desired and my mother supported entirely had completely overwhelmed me. I was just about to talk to Sam about scaling it back, maybe even cancelling it, when he disappeared. So much had happened since then, and now something felt stuck in our wheel, dragging Sam and me slower and slower.

      “I guess we’re not back together,” I said to Jane, “because it would have to be a hundred percent. I wouldn’t be dating anyone else. I wouldn’t be sleeping with anyone else.”

      “Don’t judge me because I had sex with that writer last night.”

      “Actually, I’m not judging you at all. When Sam was gone and I had no idea where he was, I kissed someone else. My friend Grady.”

      “See? And a lot of times I don’t sleep with these people, by the way.” She picked up the mug and took a sip. “A lot of times it’s just a make-out thing.”

      “Does it matter, though? I’m really not judging you, I swear. God knows I’m spinning around, trying to figure out my life, so I’m the last person to judge anyone. I just think that cheating is cheating.”

      “Oh God, are you one of those people who think that even kissing someone else is cheating?”

      “Yeah.”

      “So you cheated on Sam when you kissed that other guy?”

      “I’m not proud of it, but yes, it was technically cheating.”

      Jane’s expression was now one of disappointment. “Izzy McNeil, I wouldn’t have thought you were such an innocent.” The word innocent had a bite; it wasn’t meant as a compliment.

      I was quiet, watching Jane, processing these new bits of information about her. Jane was right—no one was perfect. But she was wrong to say I was an innocent, because I’d learned the hard lesson that no one in my life was exactly who I’d thought they were, a fact that had unsettled me at first. And yet, with distance and time, the altered images I now had of those people delighted me in a strange way. They made me realize that there was no end to the random flotsam of traits, beliefs, habits and secrets that were hidden under the controlled exteriors people wore. Which meant that the world was a mystery and always would be. Although this fact had initially depressed me, had nearly taken me down and left me there, I’d finally decided to see the wonder in it and be amazed.

      I knew that Jane prized honesty, so I said, “Here’s my thinking on the topic. Maybe it’s old-fashioned, but I think if you’re fooling around with someone other than the person you’re committed to, then cheating is cheating. Whether it’s kissing or rolling around or sex.”

      Jane leaned forward, her eyes lighting again. “Okay, so go with me for a second. Let’s say you and Sam are together, let’s say you’ve already gotten married, but you need a break, and you decide to take a vacation with a friend. Who’s your best girlfriend?”

      “Maggie Bristol. You might know her. She’s a criminal defense lawyer.”

      “Martin Bristol’s kid?”

      “Grandkid.”

      “We should get both of them on Trial TV. But anyway, let’s say you and Maggie decide to go to South Beach, okay? You head down there with some other girls for a weekend. You’re just gonna tear up the town, drink too much, dance your asses off, have bloodies by the pool in the morning.”

      “Sounds great.”

      “Exactly. It’s just you and the girls. But of course, you’re going to talk to guys at the pool. I mean, you can do that, even if you’ve got a boyfriend or a husband, right? That’s not cheating.”

      “Sure.”

      “Okay, and when you see the same group of guys out that night, you’re going to talk to them again, aren’t you?”

      “Yes, Jane, I talk to men. What’s the point?”

      “Stay with me. So there’s one guy in particular who thinks you’re incredible. You know how you can tell when a guy thinks you’re sexy?”

      I laughed. “I