Shy Town Girls



 

 

  Preface

  Shy Town Girls is a collaborative novel series written by four authors M.G. Wilson, Jen Yih and Katie Leimkuehlerr. The project evolved from the idea that every girl has these moments all women can relate to where a bond of friendship starts to form. These moments, from sharing the same love of shoes to relationship ins and outs, bring women together, even shy girls, creating an instant connection.

  As far as writing goes each author has a different and unique style, which is a great asset since we’ll each be writing one book in the four-book series from a different character’s perspective. This book, the first in the series, was written by Jen Yih and edited by her co-authors.

  Our goal as writers is to entertain, engage, and emotionally connect with our readers. And our goal in this collaborative writing and publishing process is to develop a method for working together from an initial idea to final product and then share that with others.

  In this series, we wanted to capture the real essence of what it’s like to be young, single, and dating in Chicago in the digital age. All four of the authors lived in Chicago at one point in time and we all loved it. We knew there was nowhere else we wanted our characters to live. Chicago is our city and Shy Town Girls is our love affair with it.

  Chapter 1

  The leaves were turning, and the air was crisp and cool, swirling around as the Chicago wind is famously known to do. As we made our way driving through the city streets, I could feel the wind whistling through the tall buildings, which created a wind tunnel effect that seemed to push us along—rushing me away from my old life and more quickly into my new life. These were the winds of change.

  Today was not just the first day of fall. It was also the first of life outside the quiet, boring southwestern suburbs and the first day in the bustling Gold Coast neighborhood of Chicago. It was also the day I would finally muster up the strength within my true convictions to say my final farewell to the confusing and addictive relationship with Charlie. I had tried to say goodbye many times before, but my forgiving ways had kept me stuck in the muck. Yet today I knew in every part of myself it would be goodbye.

  I was starting a new chapter, A chapter without Charlie, a chapter I hoped would be without fear in the back of my mind, for fear had been the energy behind my decisions...a set up for disaster. I had finally made the choice to let go and step gracefully into a world of new beginnings.

  I leaned my head against the window of Charlie’s black Land Rover as we slowly made our way through the heavy traffic into the city. I closed my eyes, feeling the hum of the car’s engine, becoming lost in the moment.

  I need this, I told myself. My heart ached as I thought about all the time and energy I’d put into my relationship with Charlie. I always believed that the harder you work for something, the closer you become to attaining perfection, but many times this kind of control is an illusion. In the beginning I had seriously thought he was the one. How ridiculously long I had been fooled by my own vanity, that looks and charm were the end all be all. Unfortunately, it had taken me long enough to realize just how wrong I was. I wished it hadn’t taken me so long to let him go. Our relationship had its good moments and they were easy to remember when you get close to breaking it off, but not nearly enough of them to trust giving away my heart completely. If I were to choose a word to describe what I had with Charlie, it was draining.

  With his eyes fixed on the road ahead, I could sense Charlie’s serenity behind the wheel. I knew he thought it would only be a matter of time before I’d come back to him. And by “time” he was thinking, oh, maybe a day or two. But then he didn’t take me or anything I said seriously, so it seemed. He lived in a world where he made all the rules. He put himself and all his “things” before everyone else, how I hated him for objectifying me. He played games with me and everyone he dealt with. But the worst part was he brought out jealousy and insecurities in me that were beyond anything therapy could resolve. I’d become addicted to his tricks and pathetically yearned for his approval. He knew I had been under his spell since the day we met. I guess it was one of the enchantments of city life, city boys and their effects on country girls. I knew I wanted to date a real person, someone who was whole, and who complemented me. But before I could find that person, I had to disconnect. It was mandatory that I needed to re-kindle the love I had for me before I could love someone else, and use that energy to create relationships based on strength, loyalty, and trust.

  The first time I ever laid eyes on Charlie, he had just walked into my office with that lazy, sexy stride of his, a lock of ashy blonde hair falling over his forehead. A top male model can make an entrance when he wants to, but he wasn’t even trying. His agent had him assigned to my client list for “personal reasons,” according to a memo I’d received. I had quickly guessed what those “personal reasons” might be, when I looked over his file before our meeting. From his photos I could see he was something special, even for someone in his profession. Working for a modeling agency, I was surrounded by plenty of gorgeous people, but no one’s look impressed me as Charlie’s had. It wasn’t just his gray-blue eyes, chiseled cheeks and strong jaw. It was something about the slightly imperfect way it was all put together. It was something mournful in his expression that made him seem so deep and lonely, just longing for the right woman. Or the right guy—he was a fashion model, after all—but whatever.

  My heart was yet untouched, innocent and protected if you will. I’d had my pick of attractive men before, and if truth be told, at that point I was actually more excited about Charlie from a business standpoint. It’ll be groundbreaking for my career if I get to represent this guy, I thought greedily, dollar signs flashing before my eyes. I had no thought of sleeping with him, let alone any future fantasies of domestic bliss.

  No, it actually happened the moment he glided through the heavy door of my office. It all seemed slow for a moment, like those moments before you trip and fall to the ground, giving you time to realize you’re about to be hurt but not enough time to catch yourself. Our eyes locked. And stayed locked, for way longer than was reasonable. I knew then he wasn’t going to be just a client. It seemed to happen that way for him, too. He looked at me like a panther contemplating a squab. I was shocked by the force of his impact. I deliberately refrained from shaking hands with him, which is unusual for me. My heart raced and I noticed the uncomfortable amount of heat from the sun in my office. We could hardly speak. Instead we gazed at each other like it was love at first sight. We both started talking at the same time, both stumbling over our words, blushing and tense, both aware of that undeniable pull you feel when you know you need to be close to someone. And it wasn’t just words I was stumbling over. In my nervousness I knocked down a little crystal vase on my desk, and he dove for it, saving it from crashing to the ground. As I reached out to take the vase from him, he gave me his hand instead. He set the vase down on my desk, but he kept my hand in his and didn’t let go. “I’m very pleased to meet you,” he said, his voice like butter. That was the first time we touched.

  That was it. My heart was gone.

  To me, his beauty was more striking than anything even Michelangelo could have dreamed of painting. And, as we all know, Michaelangelo had an expert eye for gorgeous guys, too.

  “Bobbie, wake up. We’re here.” Charlie nudged my shoulder. He might have stroked my cheek with his signature touch, but not this time. I think he knew better. He had parked the car in front of a very large three-story Victorian on Dearborn Parkway, but the engine was still running, as if he didn’t think we’d be staying. This was it: my first apartment in the city. It was a stately, beautiful old house, overgrown with wisteria vines and ivy. The ornate black iron rai
ling that led to the front door was old and worn, but was polished to a shine and the entire home seemed to sing with history and vintage charm. It was as if the home, like a museum, was inviting you to come in and visit.

  The shady street was neatly lined with maple trees, and the season’s first leaves were rolling along the sidewalk. A glance down the street showed me a long row of Victorians not unlike the one I was moving into, with a few taller buildings scattered here and there. My ears were aware of the sounds of traffic on the cross streets, but this apartment was my small slice of home. Something about it felt right from the moment I laid eyes on it. It was as if I was arriving home after a long trip.

  “You’re sure about this?” Charlie hesitated before unlocking the doors.

  I nodded eager to get out of his car. “Can you unlock the door, please?”

  His eyes, now more gray than blue and slightly glassy, held a look of disbelief. “I still don’t understand what I did to make you want to leave. This is impulsive, irrational.” I began to drown out his voice.

  “I think I forgot my toothbrush in the bathroom,” I said, ignoring the comment. Impulsive? Maybe. Irrational? No. Staying with Charlie as long as I had—that was irrational. “You can throw it away,” I continued. “I’ll buy a new one.”

  “Bobbie, are you hearing me? Why are you doing this?” His hand gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

  I could feel the pressure building up in his hands and in my chest, like a hundred tons of weight crushing my heart. “Charlie,” I said, “I’ve been in love with you since the minute we met, but it’s not right between us. And don’t look at me like you’re so innocent. You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

  “Oh, no!” he threw his head back against the headrest. “This again, Bobbie? Jesus.”

  “You cheated on me!” I yelled, suddenly losing any control I thought I had.

  “It’s ancient history! Fucking hell. I can’t believe you’re at it this same sob story again.”

  “Correction, you mean you’re at it again. And I’m not an idiot. Let’s go,” I said, opening the door of the car. “For the record, I don’t say ‘fuck‘ in my presence as if I’m the root of all your problems. Take my advice and get yourself into some therapy Charlie, make commitment and loyalty the topic of discussion with your shrink.”

  He grabbed my arm. “Wait. I’m sorry. Can we can discuss this like two reasonable people?” His choice of words was truly getting comical.

  I raised my eyebrow, looking at his hand on my arm. He let go.

  “I want to be with you, Bobbie,” he said. “Even if it doesn’t mean living together. I want to give you your space if you need it, but please don’t ruin everything we’ve built together.”

  Nice words, right? Too bad I’d learned—over and over again—that he was striking a pose like he had done thousands of times before in front of a camera. Maybe Vogue, Town and Country, or GQ would eat that shit up but this time though I wasn’t buying it.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I was sure he was still cheating on me, even though I knew he would deny it. It’s not normal behavior to come home smelling of perfume and Scotch, or spending nights away from our apartment and not calling to check in. I replayed the pathetic evenings I waited up with a bottle of wine, checking my phone, and falling asleep on the couch. Or pretending I was asleep, hearing him quietly sneak into the apartment and crawl into bed as tears escaped from the corners of my closed eyes. I could have forgiven him once--and I even thought I had—but I knew I’d never be able to trust him again. I thought I was being the bigger person by trying to push past it for the past year of my life, but I just couldn’t live with it nor should anyone. He wasn’t trustworthy. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me and I wasn’t about to look like a fool.

  I was too drained to fight. Not now. “You’re regrettably suffocating Charles, I just need to find some independence,” I said. “And that’s not something I can do if I’m living with you.” He looked perplexed. “I’ll let you mull that one over, let’s go.” Impossible.

  I jumped out of the Land Rover, threw my purse over my shoulder, and ran up the steps to the front door. Charlie got out and began to unload my boxes, thumping them down on the ground, probably hoping to break something. I held down the buzzer with a little more pressure than necessary.

  “Who is it?” a voice sang through the intercom.

  “Bobbie Bertucci. I’m moving into the bottom floor apartment with Ivy and Ella.”

  The front door buzzed, and I walked in. Charlie followed, carrying boxes. As I stepped inside the entryway, I did a quick scan and was blown away by the old-style elegance of the building. It smelled like cinnamon and mahogany, and was all lofty vertical lines, tall windows, and wide casings, the wood worn, but well-kept. The floors creaked with every step as we walked past a sweeping, grand staircase with a turned banister and down a short hallway on the main floor beneath a chandelier dripping with real rock crystal drops.

  “This is it,” I said. Apartment 1A, read the sign in gold above the big black-painted door. This was my new home, my fresh start. I took a deep breath, knocked, and opened the door. “Hello?” I said. I suddenly felt very shy.

  “Bobbie!” a voice, full excitement, called from behind me. Charlie and I both turned to see Meryl’s blonde, wavy hair bouncing as she flew around the corner of the stairway. I was relieved to see a familiar face in my new surroundings.

  “Meryl, hi!” I dropped my bag and embraced her. Her hair smelled like fresh linens and sweet lavender. I had met Meryl outside a lecture hall on the first day of my freshmen year of college, when she had glanced over at my iPod and our bonding over Brazilian music began. She was a grad student working on her thesis. “Oh my God,” she had exclaimed. “You’re into Vanessa da Mata too?”

  I told her about the trips I had taken to Brazil for Carnival with my eccentric family. She told me about her dreams to dance samba in Rio de Janeiro. I told her about Mangueira, the samba school I had attended ,one of the oldest samba schools in the world, and promised to teach her all the moves I knew. I also promised her I would one day go to Rio to Carnival with her. From that moment on, we were friends. Seven years older than me, Meryl was the girl who invited me to all the hottest parties, who bought me alcohol before I was 21, and who still managed to inspire me to pull straight A’s—like her. She was the big sister I had always wanted. I found out later that she had an enormous trust fund, something you would never have guessed from her modest habits. Only her incredible generosity to one cause after another, especially when it came to helping those younger than herself, gave any hint of how well-off she was. Now, in her early thirties, with her Master’s degree, Meryl pursued her dream to work as a publisher. With her added love for all things electronic, especially anything with an apple on it, she was quickly becoming a top publisher of digital books in Chicago and beyond. I loved and respected her for so many reasons. If there was anyone who paved her own path, it was Meryl.

  “Hi Charles,” she said flatly. He gave her a nod. “Bobbie, do you want some help? We have a surprise for you if you want to wait on the boxes.”

  “Helloooooooo dolly!” I heard an unfamiliar voice. Sweeping down the stairs in a China-red silk top and blue flowing skirt was the beautiful, silver-haired Barbara Shafer. I had never met her before, but Meryl had described her to me—raved about her, really—when she had talked me into moving in. Barbara, who owned the house, was in her mid-70’s, but she had an intense vitality and a glow about her that would make her look forever young. As she grabbed me and gave me a big hug and a light kiss on my cheek, Charlie slipped out to the car for more boxes. I smiled, blushed and tilted my head down as I did so often when I was truly embarrassed.

  “Welcome to your new home, doll face!” Barbara laughed and then smiled with real warmth. “Oh my goodness! You are beautiful!” She cupped her hands to my face as if she was examining a marble statue. “These eyes,
they’re like—Godiva chocolates. What do you think, Meryl? Milk chocolate or semi-sweet? And this luscious dark hair...” Barbara smelled like rose perfume. She smacked her lips again against my blushing cheek. I knew for sure she had left a bright wet crimson lipstick mark on my face this time. I didn’t mind.

  “Come, come, honey,” she said, hooking my arm in hers. “I have a surprise for you. Drop those bags. Forget those boxes. Worry about them later.” As she led me back down the hallway to the stairs, she leaned in and whispered, “Who is that dashing young man you brought with you?”

  “Oh, he’s just the lying cheat who stomped on my heart,” I said lightly. “Otherwise known as my boyfriend, Charlie.”

  “Oh, wow. Hang on to that one,” she winked. I think she was being sarcastic, or maybe she didn’t hear me. I wasn’t sure which. Barbara and I started up the stairs, with Meryl following and Charlie lingering somewhere behind us.

  “Barbara, wouldn’t you rather take the elevator?” Meryl asked.

  “I’ve got two legs that I’d best use while I still can, honey,” Barbara said. For my benefit she explained, “Meryl installed an elevator for me last year after I took a little spill. I’m not quite as nimble as I used to be, baby, and I did an uncanny impersonation of Humpty Dumpty on this staircase here. Except Humpty Dumpty broke more than just his hip, didn’t he?” she added drolly.

  “That’s awful,” I said. “Are you okay now?” The image of her tumbling down the steep wooden stairs was frightening.

  “Well, they couldn’t put Humpty back together again, but they could for me. Pretty good job, too, wouldn’t you say?” She swiveled her hips suggestively as she climbed the steps in front of me. “I want you to make yourself comfortable here, Bobbie. This is your home now. So, you’re down on the first floor with Ivy and Ella. I have the flat on the second floor, and Meryl is here on the top floor in her ‘ivory tower,’ as we call it.”

  By now we were on the third floor landing, but we didn’t stop there. I admired Barbara’s stamina as we climbed a total of three very long flights of stairs. These old Victorian buildings were tall. The stairs creaked with each step.

  “Now, I want this house to be filled with nothing but love and harmony,” Barbara said. “This is very important to me. Mutual respect, openness, honest communication. If you have any problem whatsoever, you come straight to me and we will take care of it!”

  Finally we came to another smaller landing. We had reached what I hoped was the top. “You hear me, honey?” Barbara said earnestly. “We are a family, and we take care of each other. And I will expect you to obey the house rules at all times. No men, no alcohol . . . unless you share!” Was she kidding? I’m sure she was. While I blushed for the umpteenth time, she continued, “And here we are! Ready? One, two, three. . .” she pushed open a big, black worn iron door. A large gust of wind almost blew me back down the stairs.

  The first thing I saw, when I was able to get my hair smoothed down and out of my face, was a tiny blue-black ball of fur, hurtling toward me and wagging furiously.

  “This is Due, who usually needs to be shushed when he first meets someone. But clearly he knows you’re family. I don’t even have to tell him to be quiet!” Barbara tried to temper the onrush of friendly puppy. “I got him from that amazing shelter that Oprah contributed big bucks to--PAWS. Due is a terrier-poodle mix of some sort. This no-kill shelter is the cat’s meow,” she winked, “pun intended.”

  “Due! Sit!” ordered Barbara, and Due sat, still wagging.

  “Wow! I can’t believe he understood that! He’s adorable!” The moment I knelt down to pet him, Due licked my hand and then rolled over onto his back, begging me with brown, soulful eyes to scratch his speckled belly. “With a welcome like this,” I laughed, “how can I not feel at home?”

  After that last surprise, I found myself finally relaxing, forgetting about the anxiety that had wracked me on the drive over. I took a deep breath, lifted my head up, and smiled. I suddenly felt eager to see what would happen next.