The Idea of You Read online

  The

  Idea

  Of You

  J.Desails

  Copyright © 2016 by J. Desails

  All rights reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the handwritten permission of

  J. Desails, except for use of brief quotations in articles and or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, locations, businesses and plot are products of the author’s imagination and meant to be used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events throughout the story are purely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Okay Creations LLC

  For J-

  Thank you for always loving me.

  Amor Vincit Omnia

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter One

  My mind was at ease, this was my favorite place to be, right before the chaos of my life awakened me. It was the same as when you put your foot in to test the water, and suddenly someone pushes you into the deep end. I stretched out my arms, glanced toward the sun beaming in my window, and heard the loud obnoxious snore of my best friend, Jane.

  I closed my eyes hoping for just ten more minutes of sleep; simultaneously my alarm went off. Jane jumped up, “what are you making for breakfast?” Seriously, I thought. She is living in my apartment, rent-free and wants a chef and maid, not today. Honestly, not most mornings either.

  I glanced at my phone, and saw that Bo had already sent my Good morning text message. I picked up my phone to reply, but decided I would wait it out a few more minutes. Jane stomped her foot in front of me and snapped me back to reality.

  “Jane, you’ve got to handle this one on your own I have clients this morning remember, it's not always about you.” I rolled my eyes directly at her.

  “It’s my world, you’re just living in it.”

  We both know it is always about her. I don’t know of a single person that hasn’t fallen for her instant charm, and she often uses it to her advantage; hence her living arrangement with me.

  I watched her go into the kitchen and pour my programmed cup of coffee, and plant her ass right on my countertop. She was flipping through the latest gossip magazine; trying to catch a glimpse of herself in the background of the photos I am sure.

  “One of these days…” She whispered.

  Jane grew up in the suburbs, just an hour away from the city. She was far enough away to stay out of trouble, but too close to resist it. She had long dark hair, olive skin, all of which was highlighted by her ice blue eyes. Her voice was inviting and friendly, yet demanding simultaneously. I have yet to meet a man to refuse to buy her a drink upon her request, and a woman who doesn’t envy her powers.

  Jane and I met in our early twenties, seeking fresh starts in New York City. She has been my full time unlicensed therapist, alibi, and often my comedic relief for seven years. As much as I have fallen in love with the city, I often give her credit for making it feel like home.

  “Bells do you want me to walk with you to the office?” She had nothing better to do than to follow me, she was my shadow and I was her ray of sunshine.

  “Sure, but you’re buying me coffee.” I mumbled.

  “Absolutely, which one of your cards should I use?” She quickly spat.

  She thinks I am a millionaire, but living in the city makes any large income at home seem miniscule here.

  Jane is still stuck back and forth between any job she can hold for more than two weeks, the trouble is she spends more time getting the job then she does actually working. But, I have to hand it to her; she somehow still affords to go out almost every night. I am fairly confident she has never paid for a single drink in New York City.

  The one thing Jane had that I knew I would never possess was her confidence, I could change my hair color, diet and exercise, or get colored contacts, but I could never be as confident as her.

  “Bells, I’ll just meet you at the office you’re going way too fast this morning.” She rolled onto the couch and let out a loud sigh.

  I have always been a morning person, Jane however cannot comprehend why people wake up before twelve noon.

  “That’s fine, it would be the first time you were ever on time anyway.” I can almost hear her eye roll.

  I threw on a white blouse, tossed my hair up in a messy bun and grabbed my favorite dark denim jeans. I grabbed my bag, and apple and dashed out the door. My studio was five blocks from my new apartment, right in Manhattan.

  I always enjoyed my morning walks to work; they were often quiet, even with the sounds of the city encompassing me. I could concentrate; plan my day and how each shot should lay out in my mind.

  Today I have a very important client, a dog. Animals are often their celebrity owners prized possession, and they are often my hardest clients. No matter what I do, they have the upper hand, and I have to work excessively to achieve the greatness that is expected of me even if expectations are seemingly impossible.

  The reason I love photography is simple, no matter how I envision my work; it must also grasp the vision of my client. I have to work for it, and I am consistently challenged.

  Every client comes onto the set with a picture; I need to figure out what it is, and get it. Ninety percent of my job is reading my client, developing a relationship with them and satisfying all of their needs. I am basically a high-end call girl of photography.

  My love for photography developed when I was a small child. A picture was all I had of my grandmother, and without that single photo, I would have nothing. She raised six children, each to be beautiful people, and on top of all of this kept one man happy for forty-five years. I can’t even convince my boyfriend of five years of being monogamous.

  Once I could get my hands on a camera, and actually figure out how to work it, I began taking photos of everything.

  Statistically speaking a love story like my grandparents is extinct, and I often found myself trying to capture what they had in every wedding, engagement, or even print ad.

  My entire childhood was documented through my photos. My poor grandchildren will be bored out of their minds, wondering exactly how many albums they have to look at before the pain ends. Ha. Imagine, me having grandkids, what a joke.

  I used to dream about having the perfect family; two kids, a dog and a white picket fence. This was before I fell into the city, and then the years slipped out of my hands like sand falling in-between the cracks.

  I am twenty-seven, currently living with my best friend, and having an occasional “sleepover” at my boyfriends, I never actually stay until the alarm goes off. I am without a doubt a perpetual seventeen year old.

  Finally at work, and greeted by a large shaggy dog, with a big wet nose currently in-between my crotch. Fantastic, without looking up I am sure
that everyone is staring at me. “Whoshabooba” I heard her annoying voice, my assistant Becca.

  Here we go, I think to myself, and maybe even out loud. Becca is a fantastically organized, overly excitable, and ambitious assistant. That being said, she is also extremely irritating.

  “Miss Izabella, the dog is here and ready.” Really? I think to myself, as if she didn’t see the dog in my crotch already. She is also the only person, other than my mother to call me by my full first name.

  It took two hours of exhausting work, about a thousand photos that I would have to view and edit tonight, oh and finally, Jane showed up. At least she showed up with my coffee when I needed it. I got Becca to wrap up all of the equipment, and quietly I snuck out.

  “Ugh I can’t do the dogs anymore.” I roll my eyes and look over at Jane, who delivers some fantastic news.

  “Bo wants to pick you up in an hour for an afternoon date, told him I’d deliver the message.”

  “I hope you told him no.” I instinctively responded.

  “Why would I tell your boyfriend no? When do you ever get the princess treatment?”

  “Exactly.” I rolled my eyes. Something was up.

  She knew that it was nearly impossible for Bo to be romantic, and for sure she would try to take partial credit.

  I look like shit, the only day my boyfriend actually wants to pay attention to me.

  “Fine but you have to help me get ready.”

  “See, this is why you pay me.”

  I assumed I would meet him at his place, since he rarely took the time to walk to mine. I swear if I didn’t put any effort into the relationship, there wouldn’t be one.

  Jane stayed at the studio and used all of the hair products and makeup that we couldn’t budget for to use on a daily basis, part of the perks of owning my own studio. She curled my hair into big loose waves, and made me feel like I was a celebrity. I had always pushed her to pursue her love for cosmetology, but she always shut me down, most recently saying she was too old.

  Bo and I have been “dating” for five years, monogamous for only two, although probably not completely monogamous either, let's call it mainly monogamous. Although that’s a long time to spend with someone we have never taken our relationship beyond booty calls and cocktails. In fact I can’t even remember ever-discussing kids, marriage or moving in together. My relationship status is by no means ideal, but most days I am content with where I am.

  An hour later I am knocking on his door, giving myself a pat on the back for looking so put together. Jane was my fairy Godmother…bippity boppity…..boo.

  The second he answers the door, I am sure of the reason that I have stayed in this dead end relationship. He is beautiful. He runs his hands nervously through his dark wavy hair and lets a glimpse of his perfect smile break through.

  I looked into his blue eyes as if I have never seen them before; this is exactly how vampires compelled their victims. I let myself in without an invitation.

  He placed his hand on the small of my back as I walked through the threshold.

  “Bells, I want to take you somewhere special this afternoon don’t get too comfortable.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I wasn’t certain of the emotion he was producing, which made me feel like the butterflies in my stomach could turn to bees at a moment's notice.

  “’I’m just going to go freshen up quickly.” I nonchalantly waved as I walked past him. His apartment is the exact definition of a bachelor pad. He has video games, a big screen television, an oversized bed that is constantly unmade, and nothing but cereal in the cupboards. You would never guess that he is a thirty-two year old very successful stockbroker, and that is why I began to fall for him.

  I am always giving myself a reason to check out his apartment, I guess I am waiting to find the jewelry of another woman, or maybe the other woman herself, so I have a reason to leave. I never find anything, and I never leave.

  Bo is sweet, he is charming and he is so much fun. He would be the most perfect escort to events, kind of like The Wedding Date, and ironically he reminded me of a young Dermot Mulroney.

  He also does not like commitment, and does not talk about his past. All of the above are fine by me, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder. Even though I hate to admit it, because I revel in the fact that I have a causal relationship with him, I’m pretty sure I would be torn apart if I ever did find anything.

  “Are you done scoping the place out yet?”

  He looks at me with a slight smirk.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah let's go.”

  Before I leave I take one last glance at the picture on his nightstand, of him and a beautiful woman, the picture tells a story. I’ve made up a different one every time that I see it, since Bo never tells me the true one. All that I get from him is that it was a good friend from the past, a story that I don’t believe, and I can tell he doesn’t either.

  Our dates typically consist of brief coffee meetings, or fancy dinners followed by fantastic sex and me taking a cab home at 3am. So meeting in the afternoon is out of the ordinary for both of us, especially since he is aware that I have already had coffee today.

  “We are going to have a picnic in central park today, I thought the weather was nice, plus I missed you.” Ok this is definitely weird. He placed his hand on the small of my back and we began the fifteen-minute walk. I keep thinking to myself, this is it; he is finally breaking up with me.

  We finally get to the park, he grabs us sandwiches from the deli and we sit on the steps in front of the fountain. I could sit here and people watch all day. I make up stories about half of them in my head, lavish love stories mostly. I often wonder how many of them are the fake kind of Facebook types, you know the ones, #MCM every single Monday, but realistically cannot stand each other.

  I never got the point of it, why is it so important to portray something so publically that your fourth grade teacher can like the picture of you and the guy you’ve been sleeping with for years, praying you’ll eventually get a ring. If he hasn’t put a ring on your finger within the first three years, there’s probably a reason. I hear Bo let out a soft sigh and my butterflies are now bees.

  “Bells, you know I care deeply for you.” Here we go. I braced myself for the inevitable. My fingers gripped the edge of the bench, readying my body for the push off and sprint I was about to take. I always run, never face my problems, I guess that’s my biggest problem.

  “I can’t see us together forever, but I can’t see us apart either. Where do we stand?” He winced.

  He was nervously running his fingers through his hair. I could see a small trace of sweat on his forehead and his breathing was definitely labored.

  Great fucking question Bo, way to waste five years of my life! Why do we do this, us women, we are completely ok with the way things are, even if we seem to be content, until they get changed and then we get pissed. I felt like the women who posts the #MCM, waiting for the ring, knowing it probably won’t ever come, at least not from this guy.

  “I don’t know Bo you tell me, it seems it’s your world and I’m just along for the ride.”

  “I was thinking we should move in together, twice a week.”

  My jaw drops, and I am sure he sees it. If he wanted to twist the knife in my stomach he had succeeded.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean twice a week? You either do it or you don’t. I can’t waste anymore time in this relationship, you said it yourself you can't see us together forever so why waste anymore time, I am done.”

  I threw my sandwich down and didn’t remember anything in between that conversation and me arriving at my front door. Hunched over trying to catch my breath I realized I had done it once again, I ran.

  Part of me didn’t want to walk in and deal with Jane’s questions; the other part of me knew I needed her. I opened the door, and she glanced in my direction stood up and ran towards me. For the first time Jane didn’t say a word, she just hugged me and that’s all I needed. />
  Chapter Two

  “Fuck him, he’s a prick.” It was barely audible through the ice cream in Jane’s mouth.

  My heart sank, knowing that those words aren’t even close to being true. We sat on the couch eating vanilla bean ice cream and immediately regretting each bite.

  “Oh yeah, you got another one of those red envelopes in the mail today.”

  My heart rate increased momentarily, as I knew this would give me a few moments of relief. I picked up the envelope and ripped it open, normally I was a little more careful.

  Iz,

  How are you girl? I miss you so much. Sorry I can’t write much this time, busy as always, but I’ll see you in a few weeks for the graduation right?

  Love ya,

  Jer

  Jeremy. Seeing his handwriting made me melt. I talk to Jer four times a week at least, but he still manages to write me a letter once a week and I do the same. When I moved here we both complained about how all we ever get in the mail is bills, and it was so depressing checking the mailbox.

  Jer wanted to give me a reason to be excited. He always sent his in a red envelope, and I sent him mine in blue.

  He reminded me about the graduation, our little brothers are graduating from high school together. It will be a weekend full of fun, including all the questions I will get like, why I am not married and pregnant yet, and who my #MCM is currently. For the small town that I am from I am about seven years late on starting a family.

  My mother will be happy to see me, and I can’t wait to eat all the fattening shit she cooks. For one weekend I can be the old Izzie, forget about all work that I need to get done, and relax.

  “Bells, sorry to bother you but Bo is at the door.” Shit.

  I don’t want to deal with this issue at all. I’d like to pretend it would just dissolve on its own, that he would go down without a fight, but I knew that we both had to have the last word. Before I could get up to meet him at the door I heard his deep voice, and it sent chills down my spine.