The Crazy One Read online

  Before letting herself drift into sleep, she picked up her phone and opened his Twitter account again. With one swipe, she set it to alert her every time Joel posted. She didn't want to miss anything he had to say.

  Moments later her phone chimed. When she looked at it she saw that Joel had replied to one of his fans who had commented on his photo. He said simply, "You know it." Then there were a dozen congratulatory tweets from other fans to the woman who’d gotten the reply.

  There was a flutter in Lucy’s belly. She imagined he'd been replying to something she'd sent him. It was as if he was actually communicating with her. She stared at his message on her screen and willed it to be true.

  "I have to go now, Joel," she said to his picture on the phone. "Goodnight."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  For the next few weeks, Joel and I exchanged witty remarks on Twitter every now and then. It was a little flirtatious, but again, we were just friends. He was funny and often self-effacing. I didn't think much of it. Of course, I didn't mention it to Beau. Not that we talked about that kind of thing much.

  During this time, Beau and I had grown apart. His schedule had gotten so crazy that we weren't getting much time together at all. I wasn't ready to quit my job and move to Nashville. What if it didn't work out? And being the full-time girlfriend of a hot rock star was a life in the fast lane. It was a life I didn't think I was cut out for.

  Finally, I came to a painful decision. I couldn’t keep seeing Beau.

  The last straw was a Skype conversation we had the afternoon before his show in Cleveland. He often called me when he was feeling alone or bored on the road. I loved seeing his face on my computer screen, especially knowing he'd been thinking of me enough to call.

  But this time our call was interrupted. Beau asked me to hold on when there was a knock on the door of his bus. He stepped out of view and left me looking at the top of the leather couch and the tinted window opposite the desk where his laptop sat. I heard a range of voices. A couple of them I recognized as band members. Then his manager came into view. He sat down on the couch, followed by a young woman in shiny clothing. There were so many people talking I could barely make out what they were saying. Another woman came in and sat on the couch. Then another. The scene in front of me quickly turned into a tour bus party.

  Beau sat down in front of the laptop again.

  "I'm sorry babe," he said. "It looks like I have company. I'll have to get back to you."

  "Okay," I said, aware that he probably couldn't hear me over the noisy guests. "Will you call me later? Tomorrow?"

  Beau nodded but I knew he didn't know what he was nodding for. He was distracted by one of the women who had put her hand on his shoulder and offered him a drink.

  "Miss you," he said to me. "Bye." And then he disconnected. I had the same old sick feeling in my gut I always had when things like this happened. Inadequate. Self-conscious. Plain.

  I knew Beau wasn't going to call me later, and probably not tomorrow. He’d call when it was convenient for him. I was well aware he never tried hard to make time for me when there were better options at hand.

  I decided to end it.

  We broke up amicably a week later when I was finally able to talk to him again. He let me keep the two-bedroom downtown apartment he'd bought for me when I was too ashamed to bring him home to my crappy studio. Although there were no hard feelings between us, I knew I'd miss his infectious smile and the whirlwind of excitement that happened every time he unexpectedly blew into town. Every lonely night I found myself wondering if I'd made the wrong decision. I had to use all my willpower to keep myself from texting him. I wondered if he was feeling the same.

  Even though my relationship with Beau had never been public – we were photographed together a few times, but I was only ever billed as "mystery girl" – Joel somehow got news of our breakup. He sent his sympathies for my romantic loss via a private Twitter message, waited a respectable forty-eight hours, and then sent me a quick email stating he'd like to take me out sometime. This caught me off guard. Despite the flirting, I'd had no idea he was interested.

  I called him to discuss it. Joel told me he had some time off in his schedule and offered to come to Omaha for our date. He'd love to take me to dinner. I was nervous, to say the least. Beau and I rarely went out for dinner in Omaha. He was too recognizable, and his fans were never subtle. Joel was a laid back, casual kind of guy. He wasn't the same type of celebrity Beau was. I had no good reason to turn him down. Beau and I were officially over. And Joel made me laugh. So, why not?

  Joel requested "someplace with a good steak." This was different, too. Beau followed a strict diet: unseasoned, antibiotic-free chicken, organic vegetables, and a special blend of freshly-juiced organic fruits. Every time he came to town I had to hide my junk food, and he'd send his guy to Whole Foods for more appropriate provisions.

  I made a reservation for a Friday night at Del Rio's Steak House. My uncle's friend Paul was a co-owner. I called him and explained the sensitive situation, and asked if he could secure us the best table in the house.

  "You've convinced that rock star boyfriend of yours to try our steak?"

  "No, Paul," I replied. "Beau and I broke up."

  "So, this is a new guy, eh? And a meat eater? Good for you."

  It may have been a mistake for me to go to work that Friday. I couldn't focus on anything. I was too nervous. But why should I be? I'd just come off a relationship with a major rock star. Surely I could handle a slightly geeky TV host. Still, the jitters were getting the best of me.

  Joel's plane was scheduled to land at 1:30 p.m. I didn't need to be at the airport. He'd go directly to the Hilton downtown, a few blocks from my apartment. I'd go home and get ready for our date. He'd pick me up at 7:00 p.m. I had to get through the day without totally freaking out.

  I left work a half hour early. The last two hours had dragged on so slowly that I couldn't stand another thirty minutes. Before going up to my apartment, I stopped by the desk and informed the concierge that I had a date coming so Joel wouldn't have any trouble. Not that he should. How could the concierge not recognize his face?

  Three outfits lay discarded on my bed. A pile of shoes sat next to it. I had finally settled on a pair of black pants and a royal blue blouse. Someone had once told me royal blue made my eyes pop. I'd picked pants over a skirt because I didn't want to seem like I was trying too hard. But what if I seemed like I wasn't trying hard enough? My hands went to my hair in frustration as I stared at the outfit in the mirror. Then I resigned myself to my pants decision and slipped into a pair of black, sling-back heels.

  The clock read 6:59 p.m. when my doorbell buzzed. I stood in my living room preparing my nerves. I'd been ready for a good half hour. But I still believed a little bit in that old rule that dictated I should keep him waiting. I didn't want to seem too eager. So I waited for the second buzz and went to the door, acting as if I had just been putting on the finishing touches.

  He was smiling at my door. He looked more handsome than I remembered. My heart fluttered in my chest.

  "Come in," I said stiffly, willing my nerves to get under control. We were both weirdly formal in that moment. Maybe he was nervous, too.

  The moment felt strange. We were already friends, but the only other time we'd talked face to face was at the party where we'd met. We'd chatted online a few times since then. He was a funny guy. I'd never been nervous around him before. Now there was pressure. There were expectations. It was awkward.

  "I like your place," he mused, looking around at the exposed brick and high ceiling of the modern apartment built into a one-hundred-year-old building.

  "Thanks. It's probably not as grand as yours." What a dumb thing to say. Grand? Was this a medieval castle we were discussing? So far, I was failing hard.

  "Actually, my New York apartment is about this size. Two bedrooms?"

  I nodded. He nodded. We stood awkwardly for a minute and then he said, "Okay, I have a car if you're rea
dy to go."

  Like a true gentleman, Joel held the car door open. He slid into the back seat next to me. I was acutely aware of his thigh lightly touching mine.

  I told the driver where to go. Joel found it odd that we were leaving downtown, a place teaming with restaurants, to drive to a place twenty minutes away.

  "If you want good steak," I explained, "you have to go farther into the city. You have to go west."

  "Well, I've heard Omaha has the best steaks, so I'll let you be the boss." He joked to the driver that we could have saved him some time by eating sushi across the street. The driver laughed politely, as he was paid to do.

  Joel sighed and grinned at me. Then there was a series of awkward silences punctuated with small talk. Silently, I scolded myself for letting my nervousness get to me. Joel was a casual guy. He had asked me out. There was no reason for me to be worried I would blow it.

  At Del Rio's we were greeted by my uncle's friend Paul and shown to a quiet table in the corner. I saw a few heads turn, but maybe I imagined it. People in Omaha weren't used to seeing famous people around town, so they usually dismissed them as some look-alike. That never happened with Beau, of course, because he couldn't help looking like a rock star, not like he belonged in Middle America. And I frequently got the feeling he didn't hate the attention as much as he claimed to.

  Joel ordered steak and a bottle of wine. I ordered chicken. We sat for a few minutes thinking of what to say. When the conversation finally flowed it was still stiff and awkward. It was a disaster. Maybe he was only funny on TV or when he had time to think of a reply. Maybe I'd had too much to drink at that party and had thought we'd gotten along better than we had. I was disappointed this might be our only date. So far it was going badly.

  Toward the end of our meal, we were interrupted by two older ladies who'd been sitting at the next table. They were on their way out and wanted to tell Joel how much they loved him on TV, and blah blah blah. I wondered if he was relieved for the distraction. Whatever his mood was about the situation, he acted pleasant and courteous and even posed for a picture with the ladies, which they asked me to take.

  When the fans were gone, Joel apologized.

  "It's alright," I said truthfully. "I'm used to it."

  "That's right. Beau Castle." He raised his wine glass in a swift toast and took a drink.

  "What does that mean?" I was pretty fed up with the way the date was going. It was clear he was trying hard to make a good impression, but he had so far missed the mark. Maybe I'd only thought he was a nice guy. Maybe he was really good at playing one on TV.

  "Nothing. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. But you did just come out of a relationship with a major rock star."

  "And you swooped in and got me." I wasn't hiding now how annoyed I felt. I wanted the date to be over.

  "No." He sighed heavily and shook his head. There was a long, awkward silence, and then he said, "Is that what you think? Like I was waiting around for you two to break up?"

  I shrugged and examined the bits of food left on my plate.

  "I wasn't. I like you. I liked that we were getting to be friends. And then there was a chance to see if we could be more than friends. At least, I'd hoped there was a chance."

  "Well," I mumbled. "I'm sorry." I was sorry for misunderstanding him. I was sorry for dragging him halfway across the continent for a lousy date. I was sorry our relationship wouldn't go beyond this night. Our friendship probably wouldn’t, either.

  The server came, and Joel paid the check. We exited the restaurant through a sea of stares and whispers. I tried not to let my irritation show on my face as I walked quickly ahead of him. The last thing I needed was to be featured in the media as "Joel Ruskin's grumpy date."

  The ride home was more awkward than the ride out. When the driver pulled up to my building, Joel got out and stood on the sidewalk with me. He said politely, "I can walk you up."

  "That's okay. Thanks for dinner." I felt terrible. But the last thing either of us needed was to extend it with a silent elevator ride. He nodded and I knew he felt the way I did.

  "It was good to see you again."

  "It was good to see you."

  "Are we still friends?"

  "Of course." I meant it. We may not have been a match romantically, but I still enjoyed talking to him. Apparently, I could enjoy his friendship best from a distance.

  With a hug and a quick peck on the cheek, Joel wished me well and promised me we'd talk again soon.

  When I finally got into bed I stared at the dark ceiling. I couldn't get the bad date out of my head. Was it my fault? I replayed parts of the night over and over in my head. This went on for far longer than it should have. I looked at my bedside clock. Midnight. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe deeply. The thoughts crept in again and ran around my brain like mice. I checked the clock once more. 2:00 a.m.

  Somehow I eventually managed to drift into a dreamless sleep. Joel's call woke me up around nine. The shrill ringtone shocked me into consciousness. I tried to pretend he hadn't awakened me.

  "I'm sorry about last night," he said. "It was..." He paused.

  "Terrible?"

  "Yes." He laughed. "It was terrible. I was nervous. I was trying to be cool and I think I just came across as a dick."

  "Why should you be nervous? You're a TV personality. I'm some girl from nowhere."

  "You're an incredible girl from nowhere. I really, really like you, and I didn't want to mess it up. I'm sorry I messed it up."

  "You didn't mess it up. I was probably a little cold. I don't know what was wrong with me."

  "Can we try it again? How about lunch?"

  "Don't you have to catch a plane?"

  "Eh, there'll be other planes. I want to make it up to you."

  Two hours later, Joel was at my door once again. He wore jeans and a t-shirt. This time there was no car waiting. He had walked over from the Hilton. We were going to have lunch close by.

  "That way if one of us wants to run we don't have far to go," he joked.

  "I won't run."

  We ducked into the deli on the corner and found a booth. This time we were both relaxed. Our conversation was light and much more like we'd been before the awful date. He made me laugh until I was sure my face was red. When a couple of fans approached our table, Joel was obliging once again. When more people started to catch on, we really did have to rush out. At least we were escaping together and not from each other.

  Quickly, we walked a few blocks and crossed the busy street. We kept walking until we were in the park strolling beside the water and not being bothered by anybody. This was nice. This was leisurely. I loved this.

  "I have to tell you something," he said after a long, comfortable silence.

  "Hmm?"

  "I have to tell you I am flying out tonight. My plane leaves at 9:00."

  "Oh." I stared at the ground as we walked on.

  "I'd like to stay..."

  "There'll be other planes," I interrupted.

  Joel took my hand, and we kept strolling. We had turned back toward my home.

  "I wish I could stay, but I have a creative meeting in L.A. tomorrow."

  Neither of us said much the rest of the way back to my place. We spent the rest of that afternoon at my apartment sipping loose leaf tea we'd picked up at the tea shop on our way back. We talked about ourselves and got to know each other better. Nothing romantic happened between us, and I began to wonder if we were meant to be just friends.

  Joel suggested we order a pizza before he had to leave for the airport. I loved that he was casual. It felt natural. I began to forget he wasn't some average guy. And I was beginning to have real feelings for him.

  And then it was time for him to go. The day, in contrast to the night before, had been wonderful. I wished we had more time.

  He left after another peck on my cheek. So, we were still just friends after all. I sat alone in my apartment–a product of my last failed relationship–and wondered if this thi
ng with Joel was truly what I wanted. He was a nice guy. He was funny. He wasn't a Hollywood type. He liked to relax. He was easy to talk to. And he ate real food. So, the failure had to be me.

  ◆◆◆

  It was 9:00 p.m. and Lucy was driving toward the airport, lost in her fantasy of Joel. The music blaring from her speakers acted as a muse for the story inside her head. She knew the way to the airport well, and barely had to think of anything other than him.

  She imagined checking her Twitter feed. Joel had tweeted "I demand a do-over." He’d posted it public, for all the world to see. It was cryptic. They were the only two people who knew what it meant. Lucy’s heart raced. She imagined commenting with a winky face. Let his fans wonder what was up between them.

  Once she was at the airport, she cruised slowly past the airfields and the large building full of people going to or from someplace. She made one trip past the gates and idled in front of the United entrance only long enough to imagine dropping Joel off for his flight back home.

  Taped to her dashboard was a photo of him. She kissed her two fingers and pressed them to his two-dimensional lips. Then she exited the lot and drove further down the main road. When she had passed the last runway, she made a U-turn and drove by again. This went on until she finally spotted a plane climbing into the air. She imagined Joel was on that plane and he was looking out the window for her car. A lump formed in her throat. She would miss him terribly.

  Then she turned back for home with the film of their love affair still rolling in her mind.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Omaha – Present

  Lucy Bonneville wasn’t much help to Elijah yet. She hadn’t given him any useful information. She only insisted she was innocent and soon everything would be cleared up. He knew that wasn’t true. He’d reviewed the transcripts of her trial and had seen all the evidence available. But that information only went so far as to prove her guilty. There wasn’t nearly enough there to tell her story.