Chapter 9

Monday morning’s staff meeting had me sporting a pale pink silk chiffon scarf tied around my neck. Not a typical look for me.

“Hiding a hickey or something,” Chris teased me.

“I should get so lucky,” I laughed. I was feeling out of sorts and was thrilled it was Monday and I was back at work.

“So, I had a very interesting meeting in the clubhouse on Friday afternoon after the Breast Cancer Resource Council golf event and I think we’re going to have the opportunity to bid on a really interesting series of Public Service Announcement videos.”

“New client or for the BCRC?” asked Jonathan Mills, our Director of Copy and Creative Services. Jonathan was our storyline guy for the videos. I would take his script and come up with the look and then we’d hand it off to production to cast, direct and create the video.

“Yeah, a totally new client. They’ve been around for a few years and the brand has really taken off. They manufacture workout clothing for women who have had breast cancer,” Chris explained.

“C-Kicker?” The question was out of my mouth without thinking.

Chris looked surprised. “Yes, C-Kicker. You’re familiar with them?”

“Yes, my friend, Jill, who I work out with is a huge fan. She wears them all the time. The outfits and styles are really cute and their materials are very bright and vibrant. She’s always raving about the comfort.”

“That’s good that you are familiar with them, it’ll give you a good sense of direction to go with this. They’re looking for a few things; a series of PSA’s to run during National Breast Cancer Month in October, focused on women being vigilant about going for mammograms and doing self-exams, and they also want to shoot a series of videos to embed into their website that are real-life stories. We’re meeting with them in two weeks, so we’ve got time. I’d say the best place to start is their website. I think we’ll be able to get a lot of the answers right there.” He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Donna. “Donna, this is the info for the CEO’s assistant. Let’s have you be central coordinator on this. If any of you have any questions, have Donna send them over.”

My mind was spinning, the two ends of the project were so different, public service announcements versus marketing. I couldn’t wait to start my research.

“Okay, let’s win this,” were Chris’ last words to us as we emerged from the conference room.

Their fabrics were so bright and happy. The colors just made me smile. All I could think of was rainbow sherbet from when I was a kid. I loved that their photos showed women of all shapes and sizes, from tiny fit women like Jill to women who were older and just beginning their journey toward health.

Peppered throughout the site were motivational stories. Open, compelling and raw, I sat at my desk crying and silently cheering on the strength of these women. How many people did I personally know who were in some stage of fighting or recovery of breast cancer? Too many. Too damn many.

With every line I read, I became more and more committed to being part of a team that joined in with this awesome start-up company. They had been in existence for only five years and between corporate ethos, customer-centric dedication, and a quality product with a fair price point, C-Kicker was kicking butt in the fashion industry and putting a smile on the faces of those who had faced darkness.

Good for them, I thought.

I continued to go through the website: About Us, Our Mission, Give Back, Latest Styles, Contact Us. The rest was pretty generic stuff you find on a website.

For a fleeting moment, I thought to myself that the C-Kicker proposal and presentation had truly been a divine gift; the timing could not have been more perfect. I needed a wonderful focal point that helped me to re-center my priorities, move past the debacle of a weekend I just had and make a positive impact. I was all in.

Next step on my mission was to gather more intel so that I had a better feel for the company, and then Jonathan and I could lock ourselves away in a room and start working on the mock-ups of several concepts and story lines to present to the potential client. If we were to bring on the client, once they agreed on a particular campaign, then Jamie Newfield, head of our production team would join us and we’d begin the process of casting, finding locations, scripting, music and all the pieces that would make each piece a short film.

After thoroughly combing through their website, was the Google part of the search. I found that it was often in the “soft” stories that were in the press that I would find what really made a company tick, and at that point, visual concepts would start flooding my brain and Jonathan and I would get down to brass tacks. I loved the research piece of my job, or company stalking, as I liked to kid.

C-Kicker was all over the press, having participated in many breast cancer events as well as sponsoring others. The first link that caught my eye was from last fall’s U.S. Open Tennis Tournament. The title read, Cancer Survivors Ace the Open. Arthur Ashe Stadium, Forest Hills, N.Y. – C-Kicker, the hot sports clothing company whose line of workout clothes are specifically designed for women recovering from breast cancer… The article cut off and I clicked to open and read the remainder of the NY Post article.

The page opened and below the headline was a grainy B&W photo. The caption read, GRAND SLAM CANCER KICKERS, C-Kicker CEO, Wes Bergman and breast cancer survivors, Sherri Altman and Maureen Politano raised …

I didn’t see the rest of the photo’s caption, my eyes kept darting back and forth between the grainy picture and the words C-Kicker CEO, Wes Bergman. Using my PC’s snipping tool on the picture, I saved it to PhotoShop and attempted to remove the grain. Able to clear some of the digital noise, I sat there for a long time smiling at the man who was smiling back at me from my computer screen.

I rang Donna’s extension, “Do you know the name of the man from C-Kicker that Chris met?” I hadn’t even bothered to begin the phone call with a simple hello.

“Yeah, hold on, let me find the card with the info. Okay, here it is. Umm, he met the CEO. His name is Wes Bergman.”

“Okay, great, thanks. That’s all I needed to know.”

Staring at the now blown up, fuzzy picture on my screen, I shook my head. So, Chris was drinking with you on Friday afternoon, huh? One degree of separation again. I wonder how many times that has happened. I guess it shouldn’t be surprising, but now, after all this time, for some reason, it really is. And with your company headquartered in Manhattan, I doubt you are still living in Los Angeles.

Going back to Google Images, I looked for more pictures of Wes. He still had that gorgeous thick head of hair, but it looked like now there was a little bit of gray in it. Just as I had predicted, this man was better looking now than he had been in his twenties. He still wasn’t your standard good looking. He was sexy and charismatic. I’ll bet women trip over themselves for his attention. He just had It. He had always had It. But now with the experience and confidence only time can bring as part of his cache, just looking at his picture was making me melt.

The only man I’d ever stayed up with until dawn talking the night away was going to be sitting across a board room table from me in two weeks.

Wes. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Or stop the overtime beating of my heart. Wes. I never got to say goodbye to him and now I was going to get to say hello again.

Wes. Will you even remember me? Or have you had a million talk until dawn chats with women since our night together?

What if he doesn’t remember me? It was a long time ago. But if I closed my eyes, I could see it like yesterday. I could smell the sea air. I could feel my heart soar. I could feel what he made me feel. But what if he doesn’t remember?

Picking up my cell, I dialed Laynie’s number.

“Have you slit your wrists yet?” was the way she answered her phone.

I had to think for a moment to process what she was talking about. Oh, Matthew. Fuck. That already seemed like a million years ago. Matthew who?

“No wrist slitting here. We have to buy me an outfit I don’t own yet,” I informed her.

“I’m intrigued. Go on.”

“You are absolutely not going to believe this. I can’t believe this. What if he doesn’t remember me?”

“What are you talking about, Tara?” Laynie sounded annoyed and confused.

“Have you heard of C-Kicker?”

“Of course I have. They make the cutest workout clothes. My friend Fawn loves them because she can wear them with or without prosthetics.”

“Well in two weeks we are pitching them for a series of projects.”

“That’s great news.”

“That’s not the news.”

“Well then, what’s the news?” Patience had never been Laynie’s strong suit.

“Do you remember a gazillion years ago, before I met Frank, I went on a Windjammer Cruise?”

“Of course I remember, I lent you the jade outfit for that trip. I loved that outfit. It was a size two,” she reminisced.

“Aww, the jade outfit.” I was right there with her. “That was so gorgeous, with the cropped jacket and pants.”

“It was my only size two ever,” Laynie lamented.

“It was the only night in my entire life that I ever fit into a size two,” I confessed, remembering Wes’ face when I walked out in that outfit. It was stunning and although he never said anything to me, his face and eyes had said it all.

“So, do you remember I told you about a guy that I met that I had stayed up all night talking to and I really liked him?”

“The Marine?” she asked.

“No, not the Marine. I slept with the Marine, but I never slept with this guy.”

“The guy with the actress girlfriend?” Laynie had an amazing memory.

“Yes! Him!” I was so excited she remembered. “I really liked him. Well, you are not going to believe this.”

“What?”

“He is the CEO of C-Kicker. And I’m seeing him in two weeks. Oh my God, Laynie, I was just so taken with this man. I don’t know that he’ll even remember me.”

“Of course he’ll remember you, Tara. His memory might need a little nudge to place you, but then he’ll remember. And you’re right, you do need a brand new outfit, because we are going to make sure that he never forgets.”

Not even an hour had passed when Laynie called me back.

“Okay, so I’ve been stalking him on social media. It is so wild. So many of my friends are friends with his friends. This guy is like right there. Like if you reach out, he’s there and he doesn’t seem to be married.”

I immediately logged onto Facebook to take a look. Pulling up his page, the profile picture was a shot of him taken at the U.S. Open event, but it was a different image than what had appeared in the NY Post. This picture was both clear and in color. Wes was smiling. That smile. The smile that made my heart feel like a pinball careening off the walls of my chest.

“Mmm,” it just came out of me.

“Did you mewl? Did I really hear that?”

Laughing, “I know, don’t get sick. It was gross. But just look at those lips and that hair.”

“He’s really attractive,” Laynie agreed. “You can see even in a picture that the guy is really charismatic.”

I sat nodding at her words as I scrolled through his Friends’ list.

“Holy shit, Layn, did you see who he is friends with? He’s friends with your crazy friend Fawn.”

We had been at a mutual friend’s wedding and Fawn ended up sitting next to me. For nearly two hours I said “Uh-huh” and nodded at appropriate intervals as Fawn went on and on and on about all kinds of crazy shit. Spying Laynie across the room I mouthed, “Save me.” Very goodhearted, Fawn would give you the shirt off her back, but then you’d be forced to listen to a lengthy dissertation on her latest get rich scheme.

“I’m texting Fawn now to find out if she really knows him or if he’s just someone on her Facebook page, because as we well know, she collects people.”

As I waited for Fawn to answer Laynie’s text, I stared at his full lower lip. It still had the same effect on me – all these years later. Closing my eyes, I could feel that dark, star-filled night wrapped all around me. It felt like yesterday. And I was listening to Wes’ melodic voice.

“Okay she said. ‘Yes, he’s a friend from the Hamptons and Fire Island. Really good guy. Haven’t seen him in a long time. Do you know him?’”

“No, but a friend thought she might.” Laynie responded.

“Well if Wes was spending summers out on Fire Island, he must’ve moved back from the coast a few years after I met him,” I conjectured, suddenly sad that our one degree of separation didn’t bring us together back then.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Laynie’s tone was chastising. “But remember, back then GOOGLE and the internet weren’t what they are today. And you might’ve already been with Frank and no longer single by the time he returned from the coast.”

Flipping to another picture of him, I acquiesced, “You’re right.”

“I’m always right.” And she usually was.

“It appears the company turned five last year. So, they are a fairly new group. Nowhere in these articles does Wes talk about why, what was the catalyst that made him start C-Kicker. Yes, it’s a great idea. And yes, it fills a much-needed hole in a marketplace niche. But it just feels to me like someone would start a company like this when they’ve personally been touched, when they’ve watched their wife or their mom go through it and thought why is no one making clothes designed for their post-surgical needs? Why is no one out there making something useful and comfortable for them? And then saying, I’m in this industry. I have the contacts. I’ll start the company.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that is not very close to what happened, T. But the question is whose illness motivated him? It had to have been someone he loved very deeply.”

My heart hurt thinking about Wes in pain, but I also knew that I now had the opportunity to help in this quest, in my little way. And I prayed he picked our company to produce the videos.

“You have to come meet me over by my office for lunch,” Laynie was insistent later that week.

“Why?”

“No questions. Just come. Thank me later.”

“Give me an hour, I’m working on some designs for the C-Kicker presentation.” I was so focused on my screen that I laughed out loud when I got a text from Laynie forty minutes later telling me to leave.

On my way. I texted back.

Meet me in Saks in shoes.

The shoe department in Saks Fifth Avenue certainly sounded like a fun lunch, but I wasn’t sure it was going to include food.

Laynie was trying on silver gladiator sandals when I arrived at their fourth-floor shoe department. Sitting down next to her, I was instantly envious of her long legs.

“You need them,” I egged her on without any provocation.

“I do,” she agreed and told the sales girl she’d take them.

“Where are we going?” I asked. The store was packed for a weekday.

“Just across the floor. There’s something I need to show you.”

As we walked toward Women’s Clothes, my eye couldn’t help but be drawn to the vibrant palette of spring and summer clothes lining the racks. The flowers on the sheath dresses made me feel that if I held the fabric to my nose the scent of lilacs and roses would waft up right from the crisp material.

“So what did you want to show…” I didn’t even finish my sentence, because as we stood before it, I knew. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know, isn’t it.”

“The color…” I was still speechless.

“It’s exactly how I remember the jade outfit.”

Nodding, “Me too.” Reaching forward I let the silk knit dress slide through my fingers. “It must have some small percentage of spandex in it, I can’t wear this, it will cling to my body and I’ll look like a beast.”

“Shut up and try it on.” Laynie was halfway to the dressing room with the dress slung over her shoulder.

Grabbing it from her, I let the try-on room attendant lead me to a corner room that was larger than some studio apartments in New York City. Holding up the dress in front of me I could see the jade outfit in my mind’s eye. I wore it to the one fancy dinner we had on the windjammer, and I remember catching Wes looking at me approvingly when he thought I wasn’t looking. Slipping the dress over my head, it fell over my body and hung. It didn’t cling, it hung.

Stepping out of my room, Laynie was sitting in a white and gold boudoir chair texting. Hearing my approach, she looked up and shook her head, no.

“How much weight have you lost?”

“I don’t know. I was watching what I ate for the last few weeks before I met that asshole, Matthew, and then again this past week when I found out about Wes. And I’ve been working out with Jill early in the mornings.”

“Well, it shows.”

The attendant approached and offered to bring it in a smaller size. When she returned, I held the new one up in front of me. “Not a chance in hell,” was my assessment.

“Go try it on.” Laynie had no patience for me.

Slipping the new one over my head, I stood there in front of the mirror in shock. The dress actually fit and the way it hugged my curves made me look sexy, not fat. Standing on the balls of my feet to simulate heels, I turned sideways and looked in the mirror. Pulling my hair up, the look was sophisticated, feminine and hot, in an understated way.

“So?” I asked, when I walked out of the room.

“So…I hope he’s really not married or you’re going to be a homewrecker. That dress looks amazing and if he doesn’t remember you, I know it’s going to jog a long buried memory.”

A few minutes later I emerged with the dress back on its hanger. “Do I get fed now?” I asked.

“Not yet, I was thinking about something.”

“Uh-oh, that worries me.”

Standing by the register as I paid, “No. Just hear me out. Our senses play a huge role in creating and recalling memory, right?”

“Yes.” I swiped my credit card.

“You can hear a song and within the first few notes, you’re totally transported back in time to that place where you were listening to it. And it’s everything, the visual image, the smell, the temperature. So, we’re hitting his brain with a very specific color. Do you remember what perfume you wore back then?” We walked toward the elevator.

“Salt Air & Sweat,” I joked.

“Were you wearing the scent Ollie was obsessed with?”

“Oh my God,” I laughed, grasping Laynie’s forearm. “I hope not.”

Ollie was Laynie’s prized long-haired dachshund. Like most pets in loving homes, Ollie had no clue he was a dog. He was a little man with a big attitude. A lifelong dog lover, at first I could not understand why this dog ignored me. Ollie would literally dis me every time I walked into Laynie’s apartment, until Trésor. For years, I had been wearing Estée Lauder’s White Linen perfume and on a trip to the cosmetics counter for a new bottle, a very persuasive sales woman convinced me to also buy Trésor. What was in the perfume that turned Ollie on, I’ll never know, but from the first time I walked in wearing it, he would jump up into my lap and stick his long snout into the nape of my neck, sniffing and licking it. He could go for hours. And not in a good way.

“I seriously don’t remember wearing any perfume that trip. It was pretty grubby. Hawaiian Tropic was probably my fragrance du jour.”

Exiting the elevator on the very crowded main floor, Laynie directed me. “This way. Let’s get you a rollerball perfume that screams beach and summer. You are going to assault his senses until his memory becomes his reality.”

“My nose is useless. I can’t smell anymore,” I declared, after the fourth or fifth perfume. My nose was stuffing up. Talk about assaulting the senses.

Laynie continued on her quest, stalking the rack like a cougar on a mission. Reaching out she swiped the next bottle from the display, then the next one.

“Oh too bad, I liked the name and packaging on this one.” I held up a bottle of Beach Walk. “There’s just something strong and overwhelming in the fragrance that I don’t like.”

We continued spraying little cards and parts of our arms until Laynie said, “Did you smell this one?”

Handing me the bottle, I sprayed the inside of my wrist and waved it in the air until it was dry before bringing it to my nose. Inhaling the clean scent, I immediately looked at Laynie, my smile giving here the answer.

“It’s perfect. It’s light and citrusy and it just sings beach on a sunny day.” I brought the rollerball up to my nose for another waft. “Perfect.”

“Buy it and let’s go eat.”

Chris held a prep/rehearsal meeting prior to the C-Kicker team’s arrival the following Friday morning. Jonathan and I were set-up to play the videos on the projection wall and review general campaign concepts. We’d done several mock-ups that featured different storylines and if given the go ahead, we’d go into full production with Jamie. Joining me, Chris, Jonathan, and Jamie in the meeting were Chris’ admin, Donna and account executive, Kim Decker, who would handle day-to-day on the account, if we landed it.

“Did we get a roster of attendees from C-Kicker?” I asked Donna. “We haven’t thrown their names and info into the presentation yet.”

“No, and I asked for it a few times. I have some info, but not a formal list. I know it’s going to be the CEO, Wes, VP of Operations, Julien and a Director of Public Outreach named Renata.” She rifled through her notes.

Taking down the info, I typed it into the presentation. Do we have last names on Julien and Renata?”

Shaking her head, “No, sorry and Camilla, Wes’ assistant said something about a marketing person with a scheduling conflict, but that Wes had told her to change it. I’m really sorry, I don’t have the info.”

Donna was so competent I worried that C-Kicker might prove to be a difficult partner.

Getting up to go back to my office Chris remarked, “That is a great color on you.”

Back in my space, I closed the door and took a deep breath. Why was I so nervous? So what if I were going to see a guy I knew for a very short period of time a long time ago. Chances were he would have no memory of me or our night talking until dawn. Breathe deeply, I told myself. If you were seeing an old friend from high school, you’d be psyched and not nervous.

But it was Wes. Wes who spent his life one degree of separation from me.

I felt as if I were to reach out my hand and he extended his, our fingertips would be mere inches apart and that is how they had been for our entire lives. We were so close yet, remained on opposite ends of a bridge that neither of us could get across. Yet somehow we had come together, just once, and touched for a quick moment in time before being flung back to our rightful, separated places and now our parallel lines were about to converge again.

Oh God.

Reaching into my purse, I pulled out the rollerball of Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue that Laynie and I had bought and rolled a touch below each ear and then a longer line in my cleavage. Breathing in, the beachy scent calmed me.

Okay, let’s do this. I gathered everything I needed and made my way back to the conference room. Donna was setting out an air-pot of coffee and cups, before going to the front to be there to greet the C-Kicker contingent when they arrived.

Kim looked up at me from her laptop screen and dabbed the corner of her eyes. “I love what you and Jonathan did. I hope I don’t start crying when we show these roughs to them.”

“You liked it?”

“Tara, you could see the two of you had your heart in this. Pinch me or kick me under the table if I start to cry.”

I laughed, “It’s a deal.” They’re going to love her as an account exec was my last thought before I heard voices heading our way.

Wes and his staff were here.

Standing, I smoothed down my jade dress and came around the table. Breathe, Tara. Chris entered first. He was partially turned around talking to a beautiful Hispanic woman. My guess was that must be Renata. She wore a coral suit that drew everyone’s eyes and then didn’t let go with its short skirt showcasing her toned, tan legs. Chris laughed at whatever she was saying.

Wes entered next in a deep navy suit with a pale blue shirt open at the collar. Just as I had predicted on the night we met, this was a man who grew into his looks. He owned his charisma now, knowing exactly what to do with it. And he still had all his hair. It was a perfect mess of loose curls with the first hint of grey shyly peeking out at the temples.

Behind him there was another woman, but I couldn’t have told you what she looked like. I could only watch Wes as Chris introduced our team to him. He was shaking hands with Jamie and then Jonathan.

“And this is our Director of Graphics, Tara Collins.” Chris introduced me.

Our eyes met and I smiled at him, my reaction totally visceral and out of my immediate control. I was looking at Wes. I could feel my cheeks rising as my smile continued on its uncontrollable path.

“Tara,” he nodded, extending a hand. That voice…

“Wes.” I didn’t break eye contact as I took his hand, a slight tremble in mine as our fingers touched, no longer separated by the infinite degrees of the universe. I tried to read what was in his eyes, but he wasn’t giving me an answer. And maybe he didn’t even have a question.

Do you know who I am? Anything? Something. “It’s me, Wes,” I silently pleaded, begging for his remembrance. “It’s me, Tara.”

Our hands broke contact and I could feel the space as we were back on our respective sides of the bridge again. But there was no longer one degree separating us or tying us together. It wasn’t Chris or crazy Fawn that was the one degree binding us in our separation. We had breached the gap. Again.

As Wes introduced his staff, I was still smiling, just listening to that melodious voice. It didn’t feel like a million years since I had heard it last. No, it felt as if the sound had always been surrounding me, pulling me in tight.

Shaking hands with Renata Oliveras, I complimented her on her lovely suit and told her how nice it was to meet her. Next to her was another woman, Kelly Dennis. I was speaking to these people, but I was listening to Wes, hyper-focused on his every word, as my wildly beating heart cut a hasty path toward the surface of my chest and the keyhole neckline of my jade dress. I was a bundle of emotion, trying to appear cool and engaged, but every cell in my body had discovered a new faster frequency on which to vibrate.

Then Wes introduced the tall, good looking man on the end, the last of his employees. I had been so focused on Wes, I hadn’t even noticed the man entering the conference room.

“And this guy here,” Wes began, “is my right hand and second in command, my VP of Operations, Julien Matthews.”

The smile on my face immediately dissipated and I had to consciously tell myself to close my agape mouth and assume a fake grin. It took all the strength I had to prod myself just to breathe. I couldn’t freaking breathe, and I wasn’t sure that I even wanted to, because sustained breathing ensured the continuation of this moment.

The man extended a hand, “Tara, is it?” his tone was mocking. As one brow rose, his smile rapidly morphed into his signature sneer.

I forced my hand up to meet his and his sneer deepened as he greeted it with a hard squeeze, causing me to shudder. His pale blue eyes bore into me, transmitting ice cold energy.

And in that very second, I felt my heart stall as I realized that this particular degree of separation would not serve as a connector for me and Wes, but rather threatened to disconnect us, as he was the self-appointed toll taker at the only bridge in sight, the one that crossed over a nearly impenetrable chasm.