Free The Duet by Jennifer D'Angelo Page A

and waited for him to notice me. He did, and his eyes opened wide, but he kept right on talking into that phone.
    So I gently removed the phone from his hand and slid it into his scotch. I leaned in close as if I were going to whisper, but then I spoke in a loud, clear voice that most of the restaurant would hear. “I’m afraid your penis will still be small no matter how big your ego is.” I swung my bag over my shoulder. “I hope that call wasn’t too important.”
    I popped an olive in my mouth and walked out amid a sea of open-mouthed patrons, thus ending any possibility of working in the court district in Kingston, California forever.

11
     
    Dear Izzy,
     
    Sometimes I look around at most of these people who are in here, and I get really angry. I know that it is human nature to take the easy way out, and just escape from the torment of life however you can; but that doesn’t mean that you should. We’ve all been through some shit – some worse than others – but we all have the ability to pull ourselves out; to change the perpetual cycle we seem to be trapped in.
    Isn’t it worth trying?
    I think it is.
     
    Jay
     
    ∞
     
    Dear Jay,
     
    You’re coming back home tomorrow. I can’t help but feel like things will be so much different now. I loved getting your letters. It kills me to admit it – but they were a bright spot in a very bleak couple of months for me (perhaps you’d be interested to know that in the six weeks you’ve been gone, I’ve had no fewer than six different jobs – all crap!)
    I know that rehab couldn’t have been a walk in the park, and that you’ll probably need to get your head straight for a bit when you come back.
    I guess I’m just trying to say that I’ll be there for you. I’m not as good and eloquent with the words as you are, you wordsmith, you!
    I wish I could send this.
    I’m so grateful you’ll never read this.
    I can’t wait to see you.
    I’m terrified of the way I feel about you.
     
    Love,
    Izzy
     
     
    Jay paid the cab driver and stood on the sidewalk with his duffel bag swung over his shoulder, staring up at the apartment and debating whether or not he should just go in or walk around the block a few hundred times first.
    He didn’t know why he was so hesitant. Cooper was probably eager to see him, and God knew he could use some real food and his own bed. He was also looking forward to having control of the remote for a change, and taking a shower in a non-communal bathroom.
    Then there was Izzy. So what? He’d written her a couple of letters as part of his therapy. She probably didn’t even read all of them. He could drone on sometimes. Besides, even though he was supposed to be open and honest, there was always just that one bit he held back from her. So she didn’t know everything.
    Their relationship shouldn’t be any different than it was before he left. They would go back to being polite acquaintances. If she didn’t scowl at him quite so much and he remembered to speak to her from time to time instead of just nodding or grunting – well, then that would be an improvement.
    He wondered, not for the first time, what her reaction had been to each letter he wrote. In a way it was a blessing that he couldn’t receive mail, because he knew the anticipation of her reply would have drove him mad. But still, did she take his words to be the ramblings of an addict working his way through therapy? Or did they give her some kind of insight into him that he may or may not have intended?
    It didn’t matter. He may not have needed rehab the way the other occupants needed it, but he had gotten plenty out of the program just the same. Drugs and alcohol were never really a problem he had, but brooding about how unfair life had been to him was a drug of its own. He was ready to start over. First goal was to find a job. Didn’t matter what it was as long as it paid well and gave him his nights free.
    And as crazy as it sounded, he was hell bent on making