“Thanks again, Nicole, for everything,” the station manager of Star 94 in Atlanta, Roger Hammond, told me as I made my way toward the exit. I had been hired by Roger to completely reinvent the Star 94 image. I was an independent graphic designer – the best in Atlanta, if not the entire Eastern seaboard – and the station had been suffering from a massive decline during the last ratings quarter. I had just completed a six week contract with them where I had come up with a new logo and had given their whole station a fresh twist – including their website and their station truck.

             “You are more than welcome, Roger!” I smiled, proud of the job I had done with the station. “Anytime you need any more work done, you know who to call!” I added, unashamedly self-promoting myself. Like I said, I am an independent contractor, meaning I have to get work any way I can.

            “You bet. We’ll be in touch,” he promised, sending me off with one last hug and final goodbye.

            As soon as Roger was out of sight, I continued my retreat out of the station, in a hurry to get back to my son. I had been sacrificing time with him in order to finish my contract with Star 94 on time, and I knew that he had been deeply hurt by my actions. After all, with an absent father, I was all he had left. In my rush to get home, however, I ended up crashing into a handsome man, spilling all of my belongings across the lobby floor – with the exception of my lap top which I went out of my way to save.

            “I’m sorry,” we both apologized at the same time, as we both scrambled to pick up my fallen materials. I looked up, momentarily stunned by the shining blue orbs that returned my stare. I offered him a shy smile as I returned to the task at hand, trying to shake the feelings his eyes stirred in me.

            “No really. It’s my fault. I was in such a rush to see my son that I wasn’t even paying attention to where I was walking,” I explained, desperately trying to gather up my things so that I could get out of this embarrassing situation as quickly as possible.

            “I can relate,” he chuckled, his laugh sending shockwaves down my spine. “I was just on my way to pick up my son from daycare. I’m Brian, by the way.”

            I looked up at his introduction, catching his eyes as he waited for my response. His smile was so contagious that I automatically felt the corners of my own mouth curving into a smile. “Nicole. But my friends call me Nicki,” I returned the introduction, suddenly shy.

            “I’ve never seen you around here before. Are you new?” he asked, immediately destroying any attraction I had toward him.

            In my head, I laughed quietly at this guy’s lack of class. Great. Just what I needed. Another too-hot-to-handle DJ hitting on me, I thought. Since my first day on the job, I had been asked out, hit on and propositioned more times than I cared to admit, and I was really not in the mood for another one thinking he could get into my pants.

            “Look, Brian. I appreciate you helping me pick up my stuff, but I’m not interested. I don’t date pseudo-celebrity DJs – or anyone even remotely close to being famous,” I told him as politely as possible, wanting to let him down easy. Whereas a lot of the other DJs had been downright crude, Brian was at least charming. I didn’t want to be rude or hurt his feelings.

            “Whoa, wait a second. I’m not a DJ. I don’t even work here. I was just trying to be polite. I wasn’t trying to hit on you or anything. I just recently got a divorce. Trust me, I’m not looking for a relationship right now,” he corrected, making me feel like a first-class bitch.

            I looked down, ashamed that I had allowed myself to jump to conclusions so easily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I apologized, unable to meet his gaze.

            “Hey. It’s fine. No harm done,” he consoled, handing me the last of my belongings before reaching out a hand to help me up. When he didn’t release his grip on my hand, I looked up into his smiling face, once again caught up in the beauty of his shining blue eyes. “Let’s try this again. I’m Brian,” he introduced, wiping the slate clean.

            “Nicki,” I responded, laughing at his antics.

            “So, I’ve never seen you around here before. Are you new?” he repeated, shooting me a mischievous smile, causing me to smile at his persistence.

            “Actually, I just finished up a job. I’m an independent contractor for graphic design,” I explained, handing him one of my business cards.

            “Impressive,” he admired, smiling at me as I blushed at the compliment. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. I had never been the type to get embarrassed or shy easily, and here I was blushing at a simple compliment from a guy I had met less than ten minutes ago. “Would you like some help getting your stuff to your car?” he offered, his Southern accent coming out strong.

            “Actually, my car is in the shop, getting repaired. My ex-husband was supposed to be here 30 minutes ago, but I got held up in a meeting. I don’t know where he could be,” I confessed, my brow wrinkling in confusion.

            “Why don’t you give him a call? I’ll wait with you until he shows up,” he encouraged. I looked up at him, studying his face for any sign of an ulterior motive. What I found was a genuine smile and a desire to help.

            “Thank you,” I smiled my gratitude, pulling out my phone and dialing Ryan’s number.

            I listened to the monotonous ring before I finally connected with his voicemail. “You know who it is. Leave a message, and I’ll call you back.”

            “Ryan, it’s Nicole. Where are you? I’m outside the radio station and it’s 3:30. Give me a call back when you get this,” I left my message before hanging up.

            “No answer?” Brian asked.

            “No, but I’m going to call his assistant, Liz.” I quickly dialed Liz’s number – a number I was a lot more familiar with than my own ex-husbands. I talked to Liz more than I talked to Ryan – or anyone else for that matter.

            “This is Liz,” she answered on the second ring.

            “Liz, it’s Nicole. Where’s Ryan? He was supposed to be at the station 30 minutes ago,” I complained. I didn’t care if it sounded like I was whining. I didn’t care if I came off as a bitch. I was pissed. This wasn’t the first time Ryan had let either me or our son down. In fact, it happened more often than not. No matter how many times over the years he had promised to change, he never had. And it was me and DJ that got hurt in the end.

            “He got called in for a last minute photo shoot. A photographer in the area called him after a last minute cancellation. He’s been trying to hook up with this photographer for while, and he knew this was his only chance,” Liz defended my ex, once again caught playing mediator in one of our post-marital spouts.

            “Damnit! I am so sick of his bullshit. Damn celebrities never have time for their own fucking kids. They can never keep promises. They don’t care about anyone but themselves. I am through dealing with his shit. You can tell him that the next time he calls the house, I won’t be picking up,” I ranted, taking my frustrations out on whoever would listen. I knew it wasn’t Liz’s fault, and I didn’t mean to yell at her, but Ryan just drove me so crazy I didn’t care who got caught in the crossfire. “Where is DJ this time?” I asked, calming down, my energy spent after my angry tirade.

            “We dropped him off at that daycare by your house. We can send a car to come and get you if you’d like,” Liz offered, feeling helpless knowing that almost 4 years after our divorce, Ryan was still causing me pain.

            “No. I’ll just call a cab or something. Do me a favor, Liz? Tell Ryan I said he can go fuck himself next time he wants to talk,” I said, my voice cold and emotionless.

            “Nicole –” she started to protest, but I just hung up the phone, cutting her off mid-sentence. I didn’t have the energy to fight any more. I didn’t even have the energy to keep standing, as I fell to a sitting position, using one of the steps as a chair.

            I just sat there, fuming about my ex-husband and the man that he had become. I didn’t even want to think about how upset my son was going to be. Ryan had spent his life making and breaking promises to MY son, and I was the one left to pick up the pieces and try to repair his fragile, 4-year-old heart. In the last 4 years, ever since the divorce was finalized, I think Ryan had seen DJ maybe three times. And every time Ryan broke a promise to my son, my heart broke watching my son learn early-on that people only disappoint you if you count on them. The longer I sat there, thinking about my son, the harder it became to hold back my tears. Before long, the tight rein I had on my emotions broke, and tears involuntarily fell from my eyes. I felt stupid for crying in public, in front of a complete stranger, but I couldn’t contain my tears.

            “Are you alright?” Brian asked, hesitantly placing a comforting hand on my shoulder as it shook with the intensity of my sobs.

            It took me a moment to regain control of my emotions, but when I did, I finally decided that he deserved an answer. After all, he had just witnessed my impromptu breakdown and he was still standing there, concerned about me. “I’m fine. I’m just so sick of being let down all the time. I always end up placing my faith in the wrong people. But, is it really too much to ask for my ex-husband to spend time with his own son?” I asked, desperate for reassurance.

            “No offense, but your ex-husband sounds like a jerk,” Brian offered.

            “He is. But he wasn’t always. Before he became famous, he was the sweetest man I had ever met. It was only after he got a true taste of fame that he changed. And ever since, it has always been about him. I stayed for awhile, hoping this phase was just temporary, but it wasn’t. And then, I got pregnant with DJ, and I continued to stick it out for his sake. Eventually, though, I realized it wasn’t worth it any more – and it wasn’t a good life for DJ either. So, I filed for divorce and full custody, and Ryan didn’t even try to object. He didn’t want it to get out that he was a father and have his precious image tarnished. He promised that he would always be an active part of DJ’s life, but as you heard, that didn’t happen, either. It has gotten to the point that I’m afraid to tell DJ his dad’s coming because I know that 9 times out of 10, he won’t come or even call. And then I’m stuck picking up the pieces,” I told him my sad story.

            “You know, not all celebrities are like you ex-husband,” Brian told me, a hint of mischief in his tone.

            “Well, I still have yet to meet the one who proves me wrong. Most of them are self-centered, snobby brats who whine when every little thing doesn’t go their way. Not to mention, they make false promises just because they don’t want to upset anyone, even if they know they will never follow through,” I bitterly added.

            “Like I said – we’re not all like that,” Brian told me, cutting out the subtlety, since it didn’t seem to be working.

             I thought about his words, processing his confession and looking at him closely before finally recognizing where I had seen him before. “Oh gosh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I didn’t recognize you at all,” I apologized, feeling like the world’s biggest fool after everything he had heard. That’s what I get for stereotyping, I thought to myself, berating myself for looking like an idiot twice in one day in front of a member of my son’s favorite group.

             He shot me a sympathetic smile, easing my worries that I had somehow offended him. “Don’t worry about it. From everything you’ve told me, you have every right to think that way. But I just wanted you to know that we’re not all like that.”

             “I really am sorry. I just let my emotions take over sometimes. I should be the last person stereotyping anybody. I mean, after all, I am a part of one of the world’s most infamous stereotypes – that all blondes are airheads,” I told him, shaking my head at my own stupidity.

            “Well, I didn’t mean to listen to your conversation, but…” he laughed, changing the subject to save me from any more humiliation, “I couldn’t help but overhear. Do you need a ride somewhere?”

            “Actually, I guess I could use a ride,” I admitted, “as long as you don’t mind making a stop. I have to pick up my son at the Peachtree Lane Daycare Center,” I clarified.

            “Wait, your son goes to the Peachtree Lane Daycare Center?” he asked, mystified. At my confused nod, he continued. “My son goes there too. I have to stop there and pick him up anyway,” Brian informed me.

            “I live right down the street from there,” I told him, amazed by the coincidence.

            “Me too!” he exclaimed, equally as excited by the crazy turn of events as I was.

            “Maybe this day won’t be so bad, after all,” I whispered, under my breath, sending a silent prayer up to God for the blessing he had shown me just when my hopes had started to dwindle. “Shall we go get our sons, then?” I asked, louder.

            “I bet they’re growing restless,” Brian laughed, leading me to his car and holding the door open for me like the gentleman he is. I was truly impressed by his manners and hospitality – especially after I had practically insulted him multiple times. Yeah. Today isn’t so bad after all, I thought, as Brian pulled out onto the highway, headed for our neighborhood and our sons.