Jack With a Twist

don’t, you should probably figure it out before you get married.”

“Well, that’s not going to be a problem,” I say, looking down into my champagne, “Since I’m not getting married now.”

“But why?” she asks, look of shock registering on her face.

Without even thinking, I begin to cry and recount the whole messy story to Monique. Any time I try to stop crying, in an effort to start acting professional, the tears flow ever harder. Monique doesn’t seem to notice that she’s my client, not my therapist, as she listens with rapt attention, pausing for only a moment when she fishes out an embroidered antique handkerchief and passes it to me, putting her hand on my shoulder as she does so.

I’ve never cried in front of a client before and I pray to God that Noah doesn’t find out about my waterworks being on display here today. Which could be tricky, being that he’s in a ballroom just down the hall from us.

“I’m so embarrassed,” I say, dabbing the corners of my eyes with Monique’s hankie. “Please forgive me.”

Monique stands up, motions for me to do the same, and then wraps her arms around me.

“It will be okay, my dear,” she says, “it will be okay.”

I regain my composure in time to thank her and hand her back her hanky. It’s crisp linen edges are soaked through and through and it practically sticks to my hand. “On second thought, why don’t I get this dry cleaned before returning it to you?”

“It is okay,” she says, with a kind smile, “don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you,” I say, as we sit back down at our table.

“It took me a long time, too,” she says, “so don’t be sorry, don’t be embarrassed. It is okay.”

“Took you a long time for what?” I ask, sniffling slightly, but my tears beginning to subside.

“To figure things out,” she says, taking a slow sip of her champagne.

“To figure what out?” I ask, taking a gulp of mine.

“What’s important and what’s not.”

“With all due respect, Monique,” I say, “I think I know what’s important. That’s exactly what I’ve been saying—Jack isn’t the man I thought he was, and I’m just cutting our losses now before anyone gets even more hurt.”

“But, Brooke,” she says, taking my hand from across the table, “that is what I mean. You are talking about this as if it is a business transaction. As if you thought you did your due diligence on a company you wanted to buy, and now that there are some things with the company that you don’t like, so you want to cancel the deal.”

“Not things I didn’t like,” I correct. “Things I didn’t even know.”

“That would be a solid argument if we were talking business,” Monique says, “but we’re not talking about business. We’re talking about love.”

Without even asking, Monique hands me another antique handkerchief about thirty seconds before I’m about to need one again.

30

I walk out of the bar with Monique and back into the hotel lobby to see her off to her romantic rendezvous with her husband. She hugs me goodbye and I give her a big hug back. In the distance, I can hear the tell-tale click of a paparazzo close by, ruining our moment. I hope that Monique doesn’t hear it too, and can just go off and have the fabulous reconciliation with her husband that she deserves.

“Do you hear what I hear?” Monique asks me, furrowing her brow. Vanessa and I had wondered, back when we first met Monique, whether or not she’d had Botox injected, but now, with her brow wrinkled like a question mark, I’m sure that she has not.

“Hear what?” I ask, thinking that if we can just ignore them, maybe they’ll go away. Okay, well, the paparazzi probably won’t go away, but maybe she can just ignore them and go about her afternoon.

“Watch this,” Monique says, a determined look on her face.

And with that, Monique marches right over to the enormous white column that the photographer is hiding behind, and pulls him out into the open by his ear, like a schoolmarm disciplining a misbehaving pupil. My mouth drops to the floor as I see that the lone photog is none other than my wedding videographer, Jay Conte. Well, former wedding videographer, but you know what I mean.

“What on earth are you doing here?” I demand, rushing over to them.

“My job,” he says. “Just like I’ve been trying to tell your client here. I’m just doing my job.”

“Is your job ruining people’s lives?” I say. “Please, Jay, just go.”

“Brooke,” Monique asks, “you actually know this man?”

“Long story,” I say, my face turning three different shades of red, “But yes.”

“Ladies,” Jay says, “I’ll go—”

“No,” Monique interrupts him, “don’t go. In fact, please feel free to report that I was here. You even have my full permission to take a picture of me walking to the elevator. Let’s clear things up here and now—Jean Luc and I are here together. We are back together and everything is fine again. We are meeting up to spend some time alone this afternoon in the bridal suite—yes—the bridal suite, and I don’t expect you’ll see us leaving the suite until tomorrow morning at the earliest. So, there you go. There is your precious gossip. I know that you would rather run blind items about relationships falling apart, but now you have your story. I am sneaking around in a hotel to spend time alone with my husband. I hope you are now satisfied.”

As Monique walks away from Jay and me, I can see a spring in her step. She practically dances her way to the elevators, pulling the scarf off her head as she does. Jay doesn’t take a single shot of her.

“So, I’ve had a tiny little matter come up that I was meaning to call you about. Do you have some time to talk now?” Jay asks, putting a toothpick into his mouth, and I roll my eyes.

“What do you think?” I say through clenched teeth.

“No problem,” he says, “I’ll just swing by the office tomorrow.” He scurries off before I have a chance to get in another word and leaves me alone in the foyer.

Standing outside the bar, between the front door of the hotel and the ballroom where the Federal Bar Council is still being held, I’m torn as to what I should do. Monique’s words mean so much to me, her actions even more, but I’m just not sure if I’m ready to walk back into that ballroom yet. As I make my decision, turning to walk out of the hotel, I hear someone calling my name. In an instant, I realize that I left without saying good-bye to Vanessa, and that it must be her, coming to check on me.

But things are never really that easy, are they? Instead, I spin around to find Miranda Foxley chasing after me. I immediately turn back around and start walking even faster to the exit.

“Brooke,” she calls out. “Wait! Please just wait for one second.”

She catches up to me and I turn to face her: “You are the last person in the world that I want to see right now, so please just leave me alone.”

“Brooke, I understand that you don’t like me,” Miranda says. “But you really should hear Jack’s closing statements.”

“You know what, Miranda?” I say, “I think I’ve heard enough.”

“Look, I know that you and Vanessa think I’m a horrible person. And, I guess that in many ways that I am. But I don’t mean to be. I don’t set out to do the things that I do. The truth is, you just can’t help who you fall in love with.”

“Please,” I say, “you’re going to try to lecture me on love now? Give me a break.”

“I know,” she says, “I know. I’ve got a crappy track record, an even worse reputation, and I deserve everything that everyone says behind my back. I’ve made more mistakes in my life than I care to admit, but…. Look, you can’t tell me that you don’t know, just as much as I do, that you can’t help who you fall in love with. I know that you do—I can see it in your face right now. You want to hate Jack right now, maybe you even do hate Jack right now, but you’re still in love with him. You still love him. And he still loves you.

“I thought it was bad when we were in discovery and he couldn’t stop talking about how amazing you were