The Blandishment of a Broken Heart

I have everything under control.

At least that’s what I try to tell myself as the holidays approach: the time of year that tests those very notions; and this year I tell myself I’m ready, I will be victorious against the heartbreak that has held me captive for the past several months. I do my best not to laugh at myself as I load up my journal full of self-empowering affirmations, make mood boards full of powerful, self-assured women in those smart, perfectly tailored business suits, who own the companies, that have the banks accounts flush with cash they made on their own, that stand above the patriarchal societal structures built against them and laugh; and they make me think, “hell yeah, that’s me, I’m that person.”

But I’m not that person.

I’m doing my best after Adam. We had dated for 5 years and I thought that maybe he was a forever partner. He seemed so perfect. But things fell apart five months ago when he met Tammie…a former assistant of mine and it’s fine. 

I’m fine. 

It sucks but I understand. Adam wasn’t meant to be and I was heartbroken but I don’t have the luxury of time to process what happened with Adam. I just need to move forward. 

Recently I've been taking out some of that grief and anger on myself because it’s easier; focusing on things I need to change about my physical appearance because that’s what he didn’t want, right? I was clearly not good enough and as I survey each curve of my body in the mirror, the mid back length of my strawberry blonde hair that isn’t red enough to be red or blonde enough to be blonde, the blue of my eyes that aren’t light enough to be piercing or dark enough to be stormy, my lips that could be pouty-er, or my breasts that could be bigger and I think maybe I could fix those things. Maybe Adam would have stayed if I had more of one or the other…

You could always get plastic surgery to make your ex-boyfriend regret his life choices...since you’re so concerned…

There she is. My little shadow self that arrived on the scene not long after Adam left. She’s a righteous pain in the ass and for some reason I listen to her like a rapt submissive. I’ve even named her, which I haven’t decided is completely insane or not. I call her Rhonda. 

Don’t ask, I don’t know why it’s Rhonda. It’s the first thing that came to mind.

***

I work as a divorce arbitrator for a local firm in San Diego (is this kinda ironic?) and tonight is our annual holiday party, which normal people are excited about, right? I’m totally excited about it. Totally. The noise, the close proximity to all the departments including Adam’s department and cute police officer Elliot from security who says hi to me every morning (he’s just being nice, I’m sure), the drinking, the rich food, and the ugly sweaters…all great. So, so great.

Jesus Francis, you're a terrible liar. 

Rhonda is pissing me off today. Like a wet blanket as I’m trying to stay as optimistic as I possibly can. 

You’re gonna hide in the bathroom as soon as you see him again, aren’t you?

No, this year I’m going to be confident, powerful, and cool…

You’re an idiot.

Shut up Rhonda.

***

First of all, let’s get one thing abundantly clear, I am not attracted to police officer Elliot from the security team. I’m not.

*snorts laughter*

Sure Elliot has all the things I usually find attractive in a man: the strong square jaw, thick wavy dark hair, hazel eyes that light up with one of his big smiles that show off his perfectly straight white teeth that are framed by a beautifully pouty mouth; and his voice…a deep baritone that makes the surface of my skin shiver. Here’s the thing: I cannot date someone from the security team. It would be ludicrous. 

Why would that be ludicrous? Because you’re so much better than a guy from security?

No that’s not it. There’s nothing wrong with a guy from security.

Then be honest…you’re scared.

God I hate you, Rhonda, but the thought of being with someone else does make me a bit tachycardic.

I can’t be tempted to fall for someone right now. I have to focus and I will do exactly that at this fantastic holiday party. I won’t hide in the bathroom when Adam comes in the room this time because this year, I’m not that woman. I’m the one in the fancy business suit that owns her company and her self control like a Jedi master. 

You have got to be kidding me.

Not your business, Rhonda, take a dirt nap.

You’re clearly delusional.

Dirt. Nap. Rhonda.

Anyway, I’m over Adam. I’m not tempted to be with anyone at all. I’m going to be the picture of sheer unbridled feminine sovereignty at this party. Nothing will thwart me and my ability to have an amazing time. 

Godspeed with that Fran.

I can’t wait to drown you in vodka tonight, Rhonda. 

***

I survey my handiwork in the mirror and I’m pleased. I chose a festive holly berry red pencil skirt that brushes just above my knees, a loose long sleeve white tie neck top and beige toned open toe pumps. It took me about 2 hours to get my hair just right in a loose curly bun that sits at the base of my neck and finally I put on some neutral makeup with my favorite shock of bright fire engine red lipstick. I have impressed myself.

You do look pretty Fran.

That was nice, thanks Rhonda.

I look at myself in the mirror and say my affirmation, “I have everything under control.” 

My phone buzzes to tell me that my Uber driver has arrived and I take a deep breath, grab my clutch and my keys, lock the door to my apartment and say a prayer to whatever deity could be listening to keep me from hiding in the restroom .

Thought you were totally fine.

No one asked you Rhonda.

And yet…

I roll my eyes and I open the back door to the Prius that will take me to the Andaz in the Gaslamp Quarter. 

***

I walk out onto the rooftop that is lit up in beautiful fairy lights, fire pits encased by comfy couches and chairs and as usual I’m 15 minutes late. Most of the partners, judges, and fellow arbitrators are already here. Why does it seem like everyone has a date? Was I supposed to bring a date? 

Starting out great, Francis.

I need vodka, now. 

I start searching for the nearest bar and find one at the corner of the rooftop with a female bartender handing out drinks, a white towel hanging from her shoulder. I walk in long strides over to retrieve my concoction of liquid courage and emotional lubrication. The bartender smiles as I approach, her blonde hair tucked back in a neat bun, and her brown eyes warm and kind.

“Can I please have a vodka soda with a twist of lime?” I say, smiling as gently as I can as my anxiety begins to make me sweat.

“Of course,” the bartender says as she grabs a bottle of Grey Goose and pours a healthy double shot over ice with a light splash of seltzer, a lime wedge perched on the rim of the glass. 

I smile, leave a generous cash tip and take a long sip as I turn to face the party just as Adam walks in with Tammie, and I feel my gut twist, reminding myself to breathe and drink…and drink some more, looking away pretending I didn’t see them walk in. Maybe they won’t see me and they won’t talk to me at all. That organically happens right?

“Francis!” 

Dammit.

What organically happens again, Fran?

Shut up Rhonda.

I turn to look at Adam waving at me. He looks…dammit he looks great; in his gunmetal gray Burberry suit and cranberry tie with a silver tie holder, his messy blond hair is styled back out of his gorgeous blue eyes that are locked on me as he makes his way over with Tammie on his arm. She’s in a cranberry red dress that matches his tie, which is absolutely adorable.  

Wow, you’re not jealous at all are you?

Nope, just stating the obvious. It’s just the cutest thing ever. Tammie brushes her long curly brown hair over her shoulder and her face looks…well I’m doing my best here to be nice but she just looks smug. Which I guess makes sense. She lost her job as my assistant, but she got the guy in the end and another assistant job elsewhere. So her smugness tracks I suppose. 

Can we slap her Fran?

No.

But you want to.

…

“Hey there, Fran! Happy Holidays,” Adam says, his eyes glinting as he smiles widely at me. I ignore the slight ache as I look at his face. What’s more challenging not to notice is how he put his hand over Tammie’s and for some reason that small nuanced gesture said so much: he wanted to protect her, he cared about her and wanted to touch her, it was claiming and possessive shrouded in gentleness and nurturing, and now I felt like screaming. I forced my gaze back up to Adam’s eyes as I chewed the inner part of my cheek. “How have you been?” he asked, with a genuine air of interest in my wellbeing.

“Oh I’m great,” I say, swallowing down the emotions that are trying to betray the well placed mask on my face, “just been busy with different cases.”

“I’ve heard you’re killing it!” he says jovially, “you finished out the Lasseter/Gamble case that the partners were stuck on for over a year and you closed it in three months. So impressive!”

“Oh yeah, well I had time,” I say, wanting to run away but willing myself to be the empowered woman in the expensive business suit. I have this. I’m fine.

Bathroom is on the far left.

Then I see Elliot walk in. Normally when I see him, he’s in his normal police uniform which for me adds to the attraction because men in uniform are kind of a turn on for me, but tonight, he makes every man on the roof pale in comparison. He wore a black suit with a white collared shirt and a red tie, his wavy dark hair slicked back so his hazel eyes were clear and bright, and he smiled at one of his coworkers and my stomach twists even more as I take another long sip of my drink, finishing it in one swallow.  

“Whoa, take it easy there Franny, the night is still young,” Adam says, pulling Tammie closer, her smug smile still on her face. She was silent the entire time but her face spoke volumes.

“Don’t call me Franny,” I bite back, turning to the bartender and seeing she had already made me another drink, my eyes slide to her and she gives me a tight smile as she surveys me and the situation I’m in and I think she might be my best friend now. I mouth, “thank you,” to her and she gives me this soft kind of pitying look and nods as she mixes another drink.

“Oh yeah, sorry I forgot about that,” Adam says quietly and then I see it. Frankly I don’t know how the hell I missed it because it’s huge. The glinting and shining diamond on Tammie’s ring finger. 

Oh my god. Rhonda and I say in unison.

Now I think I’m going to throw up. I choke down some of my drink and try to do the empowered, strong and mature woman thing.

“Seems congratulations are in order?” I say, applying a fresh coat of genial veneer to my mask.

“Oh yes, thank you! Just happened earlier today,” Adam says with an even wider smile on his face and Tammie lifts her hand to show off the ring, bringing it to my eye-level and I want to slap it away.

“Well congratulations,” I say as the fissures begin to form in the mask. If I don’t retreat now, I’m going to break, I can feel it. “Nice to see you both, excuse me,” and I walk around them heading to the other side of the venue where the least amount of people are. I arrive in my quiet corner away from everyone else and lean on the railing, taking several deep breaths as the mask falters into deep crevices as I breathe.

That was shitty, Fran.

“Yeah Rhonda,” I say out loud as I angrily slap a few tears away. 

“Whose Rhonda?” and I turn to see Elliot standing a few feet away, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly, showing off the straightness of his teeth, the pout of his lips.

“Oh hi,” I say, trying to hurriedly put the mask back on, hoping he doesn’t catch wise to my moment of vulnerability.

“You’re Francis Beaufort, right?” he says, his smile widening, and I swallow my astonishment in realizing that he knows my name. 

“Yeah and you’re Elliot…um,” I feel like an idiot, apart from his first name and my clear appreciation of his arresting appearance, that’s all I know.

He laughs and I conceal a sigh. “Sanchez, Elliot Sanchez,” he chuckles out. “I’ve been wanting to introduce myself for some time, but um,” he hesitates a moment, clearly deciding if he wants to say what’s on his tongue at the moment and I’m holding my breath for some reason. “I’ve always been a bit nervous, I guess.”

Holy shit Fran!

Shut up Rhonda I’m trying to think.

He likes you, dummy!

Ugh. 

“Oh well, you should be, I’m terrifying,” I say, taking a drink and he laughs again and I suppress another sigh. His laugh is big and in that baritone voice, it vibrates my bones and I think it’s doing something to me that I wasn’t ready for. I can’t be ready for it. I shouldn’t be tempted to do it, like ever again. 

“You’re funny,” he says with his devastating grin.

“I’m glad you think so,” I say.

“So how much of a stickler are you about traditions?” he asks and that throws me. 

“I…what?”

He points up and there suspended in the air like a green leafy bat, is mistletoe. I blush bright red because, how much of a stickler am I for this particular tradition?

“I…like it…tradition…this one…tradition,” I stammer, why am I stuttering like a lunatic?

He smiles again and steps closer and I can’t breathe. What happened to not being tempted? My heart's a mess, I’m barely holding it together as it is. How can I be tempted to dive back into this? What if I don’t survive this time?

He takes my hand, brushing his thumb over the top, feeling the callouses on the surface of his fingertips and he gently pulls, making me step forward. 

“Francis Beaufort, would you let me kiss you?” 

Every fiber of my being is sparkling and I can’t speak so I nod my consent and he reaches his other hand to cup my cheek pulling me to him and he brushes his lips softly against mine. 

And something happens. Like a part of me that I’ve kept hidden beneath the surface of my skin is coming alive, rearing its head like a serpent, and it’s rising slowly and steadily as I grab his lapels and crush my lips to his. There’s a part of me that whispers her concern that he may not like this but she is thoroughly silenced as his tongue sweeps along the crease of my lips and I open to him, pulling him closer to me and now I am a woman possessed; the serpent hissing and spitting venom as I swipe my tongue into his mouth and feel his hand grab my hair pulling it out of the soft bun that took me 2 hours to place and I couldn’t care less. I realize in this moment that all the anger, pain, angst, and loneliness is a part of this and Elliot is drinking it down like he wants all that I have to give, and like a supplicant I give it all to him for the mercy and grace that he is providing me in this moment; in his soft lips, his eager tongue, and strong hands that pull my hair and body closer to him. I hear him make a low sound from his chest and I nearly come undone, spilling every part of me into his pliant and hungry mouth; and then without my permission I sigh against his lips as he takes my lower lip in between his teeth and the coil within me tightens, the serpent rears up higher. Then he pulls away from me and it’s like an ache that I have no words to describe, his forehead resting on mine, his hand still in my hair and around my waist.

“I…wasn’t expecting that,” he says breathlessly, and I concur with his sentiment as I open my eyes, seeing those bright burning hazel orbs.

I bite my lower lip realizing that Rhonda has been quiet for quite some time.

“Could you,” I say equally breathless, his eyes flitting between mine, “could you keep kissing me, please?”

And he smiles that smile again and laughs that laugh that makes my skin sparkle and his lips find mine again; and I know I am lost. But how could anyone resist? Something so spellbinding and dazzling: no one could. So without reservation or restraint, I give in to the temptation I swore I’d deny, and it feels like heaven.