Having It All Read online

  I called up Lauren, my heart pounding.

  "What the hell, Mia?" she asked. "Where were you?"

  "With Liam…" I said sheepishly.

  The sigh she let out alerted me that she knew right away what that meant.

  "That guy…" she said. "Listen, I know he's totally hot, but Mia! You keep hanging out with him and you're gonna flunk out!"

  "I know, I know," I said, not in the mood to be lectured to.

  "But you're lucky," she said. "I told Professor Steele that you'd come down with something major last night and had been totally out of it. She seemed skeptical, but seemed like she'd at least be kind of open to a make-up. You're welcome."

  My feeling of defeat was replaced by one of joy.

  "Oh-my-God," I said. "Lauren, thank you so much."

  "Don't worry about it," she said. "Thank me by not skipping any more classes because of mister beautiful townie. And call Professor Steele; I think she's having her office hours now."

  I said my goodbyes and pulled up Professor Steele, getting her number from the syllabus. I "confirmed' Lauren's story, letting her know that it must've been some food poisoning and that I was feeling a little better now. She said if I wanted to make-up the midterm, I needed to come to her office right now. I happily agreed.

  The drive to campus was beyond stressful; I spent the entire trip going back and forth between my anxiety about my midterm and the influence of Liam on my life. Lauren was a goody-goody and a little bit of a busybody, but I'd be lying if I said she wasn't about Liam's influence on me.

  I rushed onto campus after parking, and soon was in Professor Steele's office. She was a trim, well-dressed woman with dark blonde hair of which a single strand was never out of place. She was youngish, but seemed to be all business; I don't think I'd once seen a smile cross her face. Soon, I was seated at the table that she'd cleared off in her office, the midterm in front of me. I blew through it; academics were never much a challenge for me. After about a half-hour, I handed in the midterm to Professor Steele.

  "You know," she said, taking my test from me. "When I was your age, I was dating this guy on campus. Total stud, you know? Name was Drake."

  A faraway look crossed Professor's Steele's face as she spoke. Was she really telling me this?

  "Worked at a local music shop part-time. Played the drums. The townie-type."

  She shook her head, as though picturing the guy as she spoke.

  "We dated for a year, and we spent so much time together that my grades started to go down the tubes. Eventually, I realized that it was going to be him or my future. So, I broke it off. It was hard, but I knew it needed to be done. Sure enough, my grades went back up, and I graduated with honors. And where do you think Drake is now?"

  "Um, I don't know," I said, still a little shocked that Professor Steele was opening up to me like this.

  "Same town, same job. Same Drake, but with less hair and more weight."

  She let the words hang in the air before speaking again.

  "Just a little something to think about. Have a good evening, Ms. Hunter."

  With that, she turned her attention back to the stack of tests she'd been grading. I backed out of the office, thanking her profusely as I left. But as soon as the anxiety left me, I realized what, exactly, she'd said.

  She knew. Somehow, she knew. I don't know if Lauren told her, or what, but she knew that the food poisoning excuse was BS, and that the real reason I missed the exam was because I was hanging out with some slacker townie. As I stepped into my car, I'd fully grasped the gravity of the situation, the fact that the only reason that I wasn't currently looking at a scholarship-sinking F was that Professor Steele just happened to be able to empathize with what I was going through, and took pity on me.

  I drove back to my dorm feeling like I'd just had a near-death experience. Something had to change; this was a wake-up call from the universe. As I entered my tiny dorm room, a space where I hadn't slept for weeks, I knew that Professor Steele was right: it was my future or Liam. Stepping into the shower and preparing for my night out, I thought long and hard about my life, and by the time I got out, the sweat and grime washed clean from my body, I resolved to put my life on the right path.

  I needed to break up with Liam, and I needed to do it tonight.

  Driving through the streets of downtown, I saw that the Thursday night partying was already well underway. Drunk coeds were stumbling from bar to bar, the girls screaming and wooing, the guys yelling and carrying on. I scanned the faces of the dozens of students, wondering just how many of them wouldn't be here next semester, wondering just how any of them had, whether consciously or not, decided that partying, drinking, and screwing was more important than their future.

  I wasn't going to be one of them.

  I parked and made my way down the cozy streets of downtown until I arrived at Alderman's. Alderman's was your standard college bar with neon lights, pool tables, and college rock playing on the speakers. Liam was there, sitting at a bar with a few guys and girls, some faces I recognized, some I didn't. The group was carrying on just like the rest of the students in the packed bar, shots lined up in front of them.

  Liam's eyes flicked to mine as I walked in, and that same, sensual smile that had attracted me to him months ago was on full display. But I knew what had to be done, and I was going to stay strong.

  "There's my girl," he said, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me tight.

  There were a couple of girls in the group –very pretty girls- who all shot me the same dirty look as Liam planted a kiss on my cheek. They all wanted what I was getting ready to get rid of.

  "Perfect timing," said Bryce, one of Liam's friends from work as he set a shot glass in front of me.

  "Um, none for me," I said, pushing the glass of caramel-colored liquid a few inches away. "Taking it easy tonight."

  Liam looked at me funny, knowing right away that something was up.

  "Whatever," said Bryce, taking my shot. "More for me."

  The group cheersed and woo'd, clinking their drinks together and downing them. Another round of beers was placed in front of us, and I ordered a small glass of club soda with a lime from the bar. Sitting back down at the table, I noticed that all the guys and girls in the group had heavy eyes, stupid looks on their faces, and were being loud and obnoxious. Was this how I always was, just that I was too drunk to notice it?

  My resolve was steeled, and about a half hour into the evening, I knew that it was time to rip the Band-Aid off.

  "Can we go outside for a minute?" I asked to Liam.

  His eyes narrowed for a brief moment; he knew something was up. Liam was a party dude through and through, but he'd always been perceptive and sharp, which made his slacking off even more painful to watch.

  "Sure," he said, walking with me to the patio outside.

  And out there in the back, I did it. I explained everything, how I'd missed the midterm, how I needed to start thinking about my future, how this couldn't go on any longer.

  "I'm just some loser townie, huh?" he said, a trace of anger in his voice.

  "No, I mean, yes, I mean-"

  "I get it," he said, his eyes cutting shards of blue. "You're a college girl, going off to do important shit; can't have some part-time bartender weighing you down."

  I wanted to get defensive, even to go on the attack, but he had me dead-to-rights. All I could do was look down sheepishly.

  "Then I'll make this easier for you. Have a nice life."

  With that, he stormed back inside, leaving me feeling more alone than I'd ever felt in my life. I stood there for a little while, tears trickling down my face as I gathered the nerve to walk back into the bar. Finally, I took a deep breath and left the patio, rushing through the bar as fast as I could. But I couldn't help but look over at Liam and his friends. To my shock, Liam already had his arm around one of the girls at the table. Figures that a guy like him wouldn't think anything about replacing a girl.

  I ran out t
he front door and into the chilly evening air, trying to hide my tears from the crowds of people who were packed on the downtown sidewalks. And a strange thing happened as I made my way back to my car. I felt a new sense of resolve and determination that I'd never known in my life. I knew that these next few weeks might be rough as I regained my footing, but I knew that it was nothing I couldn't handle.

  I was ready for whatever was next.

  2

  Six years later…

  "Mia!"

  The commanding voice of my boss cut into the daydream that I was right in the middle of. Which was too bad- it was a good one.

  "Yes, Mr. Cohn!" I said, turning on my heels like a military recruit who happened to be wearing a pair of black Vans rather than combat boots.

  I was greeted with the sight of one of my bosses, Henry Cohn, standing only inches away from my face, staring up at me from his diminutive height with his tiny brown eyes, his fleshy face tightened in anger. He was dressed in his usual oversized white t-shirt and jeans, the top of his bald head gleaming in the light and surrounded by a horseshoe of graying hair. Despite his non-threatening appearance, he was one of the biggest names in the game.

  Right at that moment I was fully brought back into reality. I was at my job at Bronzeplate Productions where I'd been employed as the lowest of the low, a gopher, for the last two months. It was my first gig out of grad school, and though it wasn't the most glamorous gig in the world, it was a start in the film business, which is what I'd been praying for these last couple of years. Plus, it'd gotten me out of the Midwest and into New York, right where I wanted to be.

  "There a reason why there's a meeting happening right now and no one has a cup of coffee in front of them?"

  The office was a mad bustle behind Mr. Cohn, with girls and guys my age zipping here and there, fetching odds and ends for their own bosses, usually coffee, print-outs, or anything else the producers didn't feel like getting themselves.

  "No, Mr. Cohn," I said sheepishly, knowing I'd been busted daydreaming again.

  His expression softened.

  "At least you're kind enough not to give me a bullshit excuse," he said, stepping back and looking me over. "Make it up to me by getting your ass in gear and getting our coffee order pronto."

  With that, he scowled one last time and stormed off, his hands clasped behind his back.

  "You really know how to brownnose," said a voice from behind me.

  I let out a gasp and turned around, now face-to-face with Sophia McCarthy, one of the few girls I called a friend here at work. She stood before the window of the fiftieth-floor office where we worked, the island of Manhattan sprawling out before her, majestic and grand in the late morning sun. The view distracted me for just a moment- in the few months I'd been here I still hadn't really gotten used to the fact that I lived here in New York- the center of the freakin' universe.

  "I can always spot you small-town transplants," she said, noticing what I was doing. "You look at the city like you can't believe it's real."

  "I mean, can you blame me?" I said, putting my hands on the windowsill and looking out. "It's amazing!"

  "Yeah, yeah; I know," said Sophia, smirking. "But when you act like this you might as well have a big sign on your back that says ‘look at me! I'm from Nebraska'!"

  I blushed; she was right. I turned back to Sophia, who was looking the picture of professionalism as always in a perfectly-tailored outfit of dark jeans and a white blouse that outlined her trim body, her hair styled in a hip, trendy bob that framed her magazine-cover-worthy face. Sophia was a sweetheart, but she always had a way of making me feel small-town just by being the too-cool native New Yorker that she was.

  "You better get a move-on," she said. "You know who Mr. Cohn's meeting with in there?"

  "Who?" I asked, an excited smile forming on my face.

  One of the perks of the job was that because I worked in the film biz, I got to see plenty of celebrities. And what was always weird is that because they were here to meet with producers and go over scripts, they were in casual mode, just making their way through the offices like any other employee. This led to some interesting celeb run-ins, like the time Tom Hardy walked into the break room while I had a mouth full of Chipotle, or the time a girl in the stall next to mine asked me for some toilet paper and she thanked me. As she stepped out of the stall while I was washing my hands, I saw that it was Amy Adams. I did my best to play it cool in situations like these, but it was hard not to be a little star struck.

  "Jace Landau," said Sophia, letting out a little squeal as soon as the name passed her lips.

  "You're kidding," I said, hardly able to speak.

  Jace Landau was one of the hottest new actors on the scene. Six-feet-five-inches of pure Australian muscle, he made a huge splash with a string of indie hits and now was in the states ready to make the leap to the big time. Rumor has it that he was being considered for the lead in one of the upcoming superhero movies. With a bod like that, he was a shoe-in.

  "What's he doing here?" I asked. "Shouldn't he be in LA talking with Disney or something?"

  "I don't know," said Sophia. "I think he's wanting to do some more indie stuff. Stupid if you ask me- he could be a star."

  "And he's meeting with Mr. Cohn now?" I asked.

  "Yep," she said. "He's the one who is, right now, at this moment, waiting for the coffee that you're not getting him."

  "Oh, fuck!" I shouted, covering my mouth with my hand a second later when I realized what I'd said.

  "Don't be such a hayseed," said Sophia. "If anyone got in trouble for saying shit like that we'd be shut down by the end of the day. Now go!"

  I started off, already nervous.

  "And get his number for me!" called Sophia after me.

  I smiled at this, but she wasn't crazy- Sophia was a total babe, and I'd heard rumors of her ducking into supply closets with actors and producers. But whatever she was up to, she kept it to herself. I hurried through the floor, making my way to Mr. Cohn's office. Reaching his door, I knocked gently.

  No response.

  I knocked again, a little more firm this time.

  "Just come in!" shouted Mr. Cohn.

  I opened the door and stepped into Mr. Cohn's large, well-appointed office. The large space was decorated with modern, chic furniture and paintings of nude women that just bordered on scandalous. The view was incredible, with the green rectangle of Central Park stretching out into the distance. The room was big enough to accommodate meeting table, and seated there was a handful of producers and agents that I didn't recognize, and, sure enough, Jace Landau. My eyes stuck onto him for a moment, paying special attention to his flawless shock of blonde hair and his chiseled features- those that weren't hidden behind his large, dark sunglasses, that is. He didn't seem real; it was like I was looked at a statue of a Greek god that'd been brought to life and dressed up in hip, tight-fitting clothing.

  And whatever meeting these men were having, I had clearly interrupted. My face went a deep red, and I wanted to hide.

  "You don't need to get someone to let you in, Maddie," said Mr. Cohn. "This isn't a damn dinner party. Just come in and see what everyone wants."

  I felt so ashamed that I didn't even think of correcting my name. I made my way around the circle of important men, jotting down their orders and not making eye contact. When I got to Jace, I was so nervous that I could barely understand what he said as I scribbled his request down- something double-hot-half-whatever.

  When I was done I ducked out of there as fast as possible and rushed to one of the open elevators. Once I was safely behind the doors, I rolled my eyes at the complicated orders I'd written down.

  Isn't "black, two sugars" enough for these guys? I wondered, my eyes moving from drink to drink.

  My eyes stopped on one of the orders, which I could barely make out. It looked like nothing more than a blurry mess of ink, and I struggled to remember whose order it was.

  My heart stopped when I realize
d that it was Jace Landau's. I must've been so distracted by him that I wrote nothing but chicken scratch. I began pacing back and forth in the elevator nervously, trying to remember what he ordered. Going back to the office and getting a clarification wasn't even an option, so I wracked my brain hard.

  Half-caf? I thought, almost feeling like I was going to cry. Half-caf skinny?

  I went through all the possible combinations as the elevator doors opened and I stepped into the sleek, vast lobby. Soon I was on the bustling sidewalks of Sixth Avenue, weaving my way through the tight knots of pedestrians as I headed towards Starbucks. Before I knew it, I was in the cramped little coffee shop, the teenaged boy with nose rings and dyed-black hair behind the counter looking at me with an expression of annoyed impatience. I ran through the list of drinks in my shaking hand, and when I came to Jace's order, I closed my eyes and spoke.

  "Half-caf venti, soy milk, a splash of cinnamon."

  The words came out with such ease and clarity that I was sure they had to be right. Moments later the kid called out "Mary" and I wondered just how many times people were going to be getting my name wrong in this damn city.

  Drinks in hand, I rushed back to the office and was soon at Mr. Cohn's door. The drinks balanced carefully in my hands, I walked in, having learned my lesson last time. No one even acknowledged me as I entered, and moving around the table, I placed a drink in front of each of the men at the table.

  "Thanks, little lady," said Jace as I set his drink in front of him, my heart skipping a beat both at him saying something to me in that sexy accent of his and at the hope that I got his drink right.

  The coffee delivered, I rushed back to the office door, eager to get out of that place. But right as I placed my hand on the door handle, I heard a disgusting sound, like a sputtering, followed by the calling out of a familiar voice.

  "Just what the hell is this?"

  It was Jace.

  Turning around, I saw that there was now a white splash of foam on the table in front of Jace, a disgusting little mess that his assistant next to him was frantically blotting up with little balled-up napkins. And rather than the men at the table looking at Jace, all of their eyes were on me. They knew whatever had happened, it was surely my fault.