Page 8 of Joey

She is the one you envy the most. Because she seems to have it all. But then you catch a glimpse of her in the parking lot and they drive a shitty car that smells like pot and you think, Been there. Done that.

Four. She is all those women. She is perfect.

She is a myth.

I want to be her. I want to be all of them. I want to be anything but me.

I want to give up. I want to give in, and sleep. I want to go home.

But I can’t go home.

I can’t ever go home.

So I go home. Not the real home, the new home. Not the one I want, just the one I have.

And I buy another self-help audiobook called Getting Past It. No long subtitle. Written by a woman called Mila Sanchez who runs a cosmetics company.

And I realize, as I listen to her story, that Mila is that woman.

The perfect one.

The myth.

She has a career, and a husband, and two kids. She has a past, and secrets, and a mean streak. She has a fetish or two as well. And she freely admits to them without fear. And dreams. She has dreams that come with a plan.

And I decide in this moment that if I have to start over I’m gonna go all the way. I’m gonna be the myth.

If I’m going to start over, I’m going to win.

CHAPTER THREE - JOEY

“So listen,” Wald says. “You’re gonna be cool. You’re gonna go in there and be normal. Gonna be rock solid. There’ll be no yelling, no screaming, no demands. Do you understand me?”

I nod.

He’s not convinced. “Joey. I’m serious. You need to play this right.”

“I know,” I say. “I’m cool.”

“You’re not cool. I am your best friend. I know when you’re cool and this is not you being cool, OK?”

“Half,” Huck says. “Half of his best friend.” Wald shoots Huck a look that says, Shut the fuck up. Huck ignores and continues. “And we got your back, bro.”

“I know,” I say, as Huck straightens my tie. I think this might be one of those moments when he decides to kiss me, so I push him away before that happens.

Huck is distracting when he kisses. Not just me, either. Anyone. He’s just kinda… hot like that.

“I’m wearing a fucking suit,” I tell Wald. “I know what’s up.”

After that phone call from Maisy last month I hired a detective to find her. I had Charlotte’s last name and Maisy’s first name and turns out finding people in this day and age is rather simple.

Especially people like Charlotte Kane.

She and I met at a summer party about six years ago. I was in the States on business. Wald and Huck were there too.

Let me explain the whole summer party concept for you. It’s a pretentious affair. Usually up in someone’s mountain-top mansion or East Coast island, often requiring a helicopter, or a boat, or both to get there. Very exclusive guest list, expensive champagne and whiskey, probably a few harmless large dogs lumbering around, and people wearing linen suits or flowing dresses.

All the women wear hats.