and forgot the defective can be more than the entire.
—Thomas Hardy
Reese is convinced I’m a player and nothing I can do can change her mind.
She suffers from what the French call l’dée fixe—an almost pathological belief that I’m a skirt chaser and womanizer.
It’s ironic since it’s a marketing ploy she invented to stir interest in me and my books.
Apparently the woman not only believes her own press but willingly believes the worst about me.
The atmosphere between us is frosty since I tried confronting her this afternoon after a book signing. That was a mistake.
I suppose I’ll have to endure the celeb party that’s scheduled to launch my latest book—but after that’s done, I think I might finally be done with her.
I can’t go on aching for a relationship when she can’t even see how hopelessly I’m in love with her.
It’s just too painful to endure.
The cocktail party’s in full swing by the time we arrive.
I spot Meredith Baxter, surrounded by a group of admirers. Meredith’s in her fifties, but still gorgeous and elegant. We’ve become friends and I just love talking to her.
As soon as she spots me she breaks away from her group and gives me a warm hug.
“Tanner,” she smiles, “I was hoping you’d be here. I needed to talk to at least one person who’s real.”
Reese rolls her eyes, grabs a glass of champagne and downs it—then, reaches for another.
Meredith is beaming, and doing what she usually does—gently massaging my shoulders, getting the knots out.
“Poor boy…you are really stressed—what has your publisher been doing to you lately?”
Before I can answer, Reese steps in. “He’s been working Meredith—some of us still have to do that, you know.”
Then, she fixes me with her get-down-to-business glare.
I get the drift. “Uh, I better start circulating—I’ll catch up with you later, Mer.”
Meredith smiles compassionately. Whenever she does that, I feel caressed.
I’m worried though about leaving her alone with Reese, so I don’t go far—I stay out of view, but within earshot, so I can monitor things.
“That poor boy, I never saw a man so haunted.”
“Yeah, he’s haunted all right—needing to expiate past sins. Don’t make him into a choirboy, Meredith.”
She takes another gulp of champagne.
“Oh, I know Tanner’s shortcomings, Reese—but he’s still a good man.”
Reese’s eyes flash and I groan inside. She’s been building to this all day and now Meredith is going to reap her wrath.
I want to intervene and smooth things out but I don’t have any coping juice left.
If things go south I’ll probably just run—that's what I usually do. Nothing will change the way Reese sees me so why bother trying to work things out?