I’ve sent flowers (along with heartfelt handwritten notes) to Serafina, Gwen, Gwen’s aunt June, Waltraut, even Hal and Lacey. I enrolled Dev and Dina in a wine-of-the-month club (along with another heartfelt apology note). I arranged (and footed the bill) for a catered team lunch by a couple of women who call themselves Nibbles and Noshes. Delicious, by the way. Best roasted chicken and goat cheese sandwich on the planet, and the gingersnaps… Wow.
So far though, Carla and Alec are the only ones treating me like my normal self. The rest of the team is pretty much giving me the silent treatment. Well, Dina did write a little note back to thank me for the wine and tell me that “failure is not fatal,” so that was nice.
No one has responded to my flowers, which I guess is understandable. I suppose it was an uninspired, if not obvious choice. Waltraut sent me a text that said:
Thanks, but you’re not coming back on the show. Not my choice, your bosses. Good luck.
In the last two days, I’ve switched gears and, instead of using my wallet to solve the problem, I’m trying to expand my mind. I spent the entire evening yesterday browsing at a weird little shop called Namaste Friends in an attempt to open my mind to the whole metaphysical world. I wound up having a surprisingly deep conversation with Astrid, the woman who runs the place. I even teared up at one point and somehow left with a singing chakra bowl, a pillow to sit on while I use it, and some anointing roll-on oil called Connect. She even threw in a baseball shirt with the moon phases on it. Astrid’s good people.
Today, instead of hurrying into my office, I walked directly over to Carla and asked her how Chewy’s been doing since she added pumpkin to his diet. Then, I sat on the corner of her desk for a full twenty minutes, doing my best not to make faces or gag while she told me all about it. As always, there was way too much detail in her reply — we’re talking texture, size, shape — but I didn’t hurry away. Because that’s what people who care about other people do. They ask questions, they respect other people’s opinions and beliefs, and they’re willing to listen.
My mom was right. In my quest for astronomy greatness, I lost sight of what’s important — human connection. I’m determined to get that back, even if it doesn’t result in finding my way back to Serafina. When I get to the other side of this, I will be a better Ben. Having said that, I really want to figure out how to get Serafina to forgive me.
I’m currently Googling creative ways to apologize. Blech … some are truly horrid, like offering to clean the person’s house for a year or telling them you’ll be their slave. Who thinks of this stuff?
Then I hit on one that says to send them a can of air freshener with a note, “Let’s clear the air between us.” That one isn’t too bad, but I’m afraid I’ve muddied things beyond the abilities of mere Lysol.
Oh, here’s one — show up at their door and sing your apology. It’s not that I’m not willing to be humiliated for love. I am. I’m just worried that the sound of my singing might be the final nail in my coffin.
I look up local singing telegram sites and come across one called Drag-o-Grams, that is run and operated by a local drag performer. That’s just out-of-the-box enough to work. After a quick search of apology songs, I land on just the right thing to show that I’m truly sorry for being such a schmuck. Then I call Drag-o-Grams to see if this song is one that they can perform.
The man on the other end of the line answers, “Drag-o-Grams, where we have a song for every occasion. This is Madonna, how can I help you?”
“Um, hi Madonna, my name is Ben Williams …”
He doesn’t let me finish before he interrupts, “Not THE Ben Williams from Wake Up America!?”
“I’m afraid so,” I tell him. “I need to hire your company to make an apology to someone I really care about.”
“No kidding. Listen, Ben, may I be frank?” He doesn’t let me answer, he just continues, “You have more than one person to apologize to.”
“You mean other than Serafina?”
“What about poor Gwen? Watching that segment was like witnessing a car wreck. I couldn’t turn away.”
I cringe at the thought that even Madonna from Drag-o-Grams saw me make a total ass out of myself.
“I already sent Gwen some flowers.”
“Not enough,” he says with force. “Flowers are nice for your garden-variety minor infraction, but when you screw up as monumentally as you did, they’re just the jumping off point.”
“Um, okay. I guess I could send a singing telegram to Gwen, too. I was thinking about the song ‘I’m Sorry’ by Brenda Lee, or ‘Bye, Bye, Love’ by the Everly Brothers …”
“Are you eighty? Don’t answer, I know you’re not.” Then Madonna instructs, “You need a song that they’ve already heard and sung in the shower.”
“What, like ‘All Apologies’ by Nirvana?”
“We at Drag-o-Gram don’t sing songs by men, but at least you’re entering the right decade. Listen, Ben, I know the exact tune that will yield the best result. Do you trust me?”
“Uh, well, Madonna …” This is such a crazy conversation. “I trust you as much as I should, being that you’re a total stranger.”
“Good, then leave it up to me. I’ll take care of you and if all isn’t forgiven and forgotten, I’ll give you fifty percent off your next order. All I need is your credit card number…”
Forty-Three
Serafina
“Now that Dr. Williams won’t be returning to Wake Up America!, we need you to be able to carry the whole segment on Monday. Do you think you can do that?” Waltraut asks while I sneak bites of my everything bagel with extra cream cheese. Charley rolls her eyes at my continued feasting.
“Of course, I can,” I tell the producer enthusiastically. “Since it’s summer, how about if I talk about the best vacations for your star sign?” I know I could use a week or two in Florence, Italy. There’s no better place for us Libras to tap into our massive creativity than the birthplace of the Renaissance. I wonder if I could talk my way into an on-location shoot?
“Great idea. Just make sure that everything fits into a ten-minute time slot.”
I hang up just as the buzzer rings. “That’ll be the UPS guy who should have been here yesterday,” I tell Charley who is prematurely putting the bagels away.
I push the intercom button and bark out a hello.
“Delivery for the fabulous Ms. Serafina Lopez!” a deep voice calls.
Is UPS getting a lot friendlier? Charley and I glance at each other with confused grins. “Come on up.”
I hear loud footsteps coming down the hall, so I swing the door open to accept delivery of my peony candles, only to come face-to-face with Cher. Not Cher from today, but a slightly-off version of her from the late 1980s. Same big hair, make-up totally on point, but this version must be almost seven-feet tall with her staggering heels.
“Wow. You all are really stepping up your game,” I say, feeling like I’ve fallen through a portal into an alternate universe.