“Me too. Anyway, after you left, he said . . .” She drops to a masculine tone. “You need to come down really hard on that cocky bastard.”
Ouch. Also, fuck that guy.
“When I showed him my script later, he added some of the harsher details,” Bellamy continues, “about the money and your parties being elitist. He said I had to do it that way or management would pull my show for being too soft,” she says, drawing air quotes. “I was scared and frustrated. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t know how much power he had as my producer. So, I did it his way, but it bothered me so much after.”
I blow out a long breath, indignant for her and what she’s endured. “That guy is a total fuckwad. I can’t believe he was messing with your podcast. You built that show. You made it successful. The Dating Pool is lucky to have you. You know that, right?”
“I do now. That’s what Bryn said too. She wants me to go back to doing some of the things my audience really loved—special editions before a live audience in a theater.”
“Like a talk show?”
“Yes, exactly. Where audience members can ask questions and I have free rein to answer. We’re going to set up a show in a couple of weeks. I haven’t done one like that in months, so it’ll be fun. She said when The Dating Pool licensed my show earlier this year, they’d wanted me to have carte blanche to speak my mind. But I felt stuck the last few months as David tried to influence it. I’m only sorry you were caught in the quicksand.”
“Pfft. Don’t apologize. I’m a big boy. I can handle it.” This has reminded me there are more important things at stake than my ego and my squeaky-clean online rep. Things like respect—the respect all women deserve at work.
“Thanks for understanding. I’ve felt a little like a tea kettle about to boil over,” she admits with a sigh that feels months in the making.
Things suddenly add up. “That’s why you said you needed it the other night? At the piano?”
A sheepish shrug is my answer. “Yes. God, yes. Angry sex unlocked me more.”
I smile smugly. “So . . . you don’t think my parties suck?”
She laughs then shakes her head. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, cowboy. I don’t agree with your approach at all.”
“C’mon. You truly believe you can meet the love of your life digitally?” I challenge.
“I do. Because we live both IRL and digitally. You can’t put the genie back in the bottle. I want love. Great, fantastic, riotous love.” From anyone else, that would sound pie-in-the-sky. But she’s got a laser focus in her eyes, an intensity etched in her wicked lips that says she’s all business.
“The tell-the-world-on-a-billboard-in-Times-Square kind of love,” I say, quoting her episode about Carpe Diem.
“Yes. That kind. I want that. And to get it, you have to put yourself out there, over and over. Love has the power to change your life. It isn’t supposed to come easily. I don’t want it to pass me by, so why would I limit myself to a party? Or a bar? To a single-chance encounter? No one wants a million frogs, but if you only kiss the frogs at the jazz club, you might miss the prince that was next door at the sports lounge.”
“You’re a real Carrie Bradshaw,” I say, but I’m smiling. Damn, this woman knows what she wants. I might not want that kind of love, but I admire the hell out of her fire.
“And you’re a real capitalist cowboy,” she tosses back, and she’s smiling too.
“Unapologetically.”
“And yes, I meant everything I told you in the warehouse, when it was just you and me,” she continues. “I meant most of what I said on my podcast too. I’m only apologizing for the harsher things.”
“So, we’re still on opposite sides,” I say with a laugh.
“Seems we are,” she says, also laughing.
Opposite sides, but perhaps with a new truce.
In that truce, I see the opportunity to bring up my new idea.
She speaks at the same time, and we say the same thing: “I’d like a second chance.”
26
Most Worthy Adversaries
I came prepared to convince Bellamy to give Carpe Diem another shot.
Turns out, I also want this chance for me.
I didn’t expect to like Bellamy this much. But I do, and I also admire the hell out of her—her mind, her attitude, her approach.
“I’m not asking you for another podcast report,” I say, explaining my idea. “I don’t want a redo. I want to prove something to you. I don’t want you to just cover my parties. I want you to see that they really can work.”
She leans in, her elbows on the table, her gaze intense. “But I do want to talk about them on my show. Don’t you see? I can talk freely about them now.”
“About how elitist they are?” I goad her.
“Well, they are. But we’ve already dealt with that. What I want is to tell the listeners who are curious about them what they really entail.”
Color me intrigued. “Go on.”
“But I also want to be fair. So, I should come to your parties.”
I point at her, accusing. “If memory serves, you slipped in right under my nose, and I couldn’t stop you.”
“You didn’t want to stop me, Easton.”
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” I tease.
“Do you really think I’m the enemy?” she asks, no snark, no cat-and-mouse game.
That’s a good question. We ripped up the enemies’ playbook at some point. Do we have a new one, though? I might like her a lot, but there’s still an underlying tension between us that isn’t going away. She believes online dating can help to find the one prince among a million frogs. I want people to avoid as many frogs as possible.
“We are what we’ve always been at the core,” I tell her. “We’re on opposite sides of the story. Lawyers in a courtroom, both making our case.”
“Opponents. Competitors. But not Darth and Luke, or Lex and Superman,” she adds.
“Some might even call us most worthy adversaries.”
She laughs lightly, and it’s so good to hear her laugh today, knowing she fought a gutsy battle this week. “So, let’s be that now. Let’s be opponents, and we’ll fight fairly.”
I park my chin in my hand like I’m waiting ever so patiently for her. “Why does it sound like you have a proposal for me?”
“Because I do,” she says with a grin.
I wiggle my fingers. “Tell me more.”
“If memory serves, this whole thing between us started with a bet. Your friends bet you couldn’t get me to kiss you.”
“I have a vague recollection of that.”
“So, how about another bet? Between you and me this time.”
Oh, I like this. “I’m listening.”
“I’ll try things your way. You try it mine,” she says.
I lift one brow. “Go on.”
“I test out your parties. Give them a shot, talk about that on my show.”
Wait.
“You want to come to my parties as a guest?”