Heels of Steel

by Barbara Kavovit

  She would have been horrified, he thought. But then, his nonna had hand-made her own mozzarella and ricotta. She also spent every Sunday slow-cooking her sauce made with tomatoes she had grown and canned herself and patting together dozens of meatballs so that the whole family could gather around the table and enjoy the fruits of her labor. She always joked that she held the family together with marinara sauce.

  I should do that, he thought. I should make Sunday sauce for Alli and insist that we have dinner together at least once a week.

  He bent closer to the case, considering a large, pear-shaped blob of Caciocavallo Podolico. “I’ll take a half pound of that,” he said to the pretty redheaded cheese monger, “and another half pound of the Rogue River Blue,” he added.

  “Brilliant choices,” the redhead said as she reached into the case. She shot him a wink before she turned away to weigh out his order. “I can tell you’re a man of good taste.”

  For a brief moment Jay idly thought about asking her out. She was pretty and young, she knew about cheese and he was fairly certain she’d say yes. It all seemed so uncomplicated and easy. The opposite of his marriage. But he’d dated a few women like this since Hana had left—in fact, these were really the only kind of women he’d dated—and he knew he had to break the habit. Things with young women never ended well. They got attached, and he got bored, and feelings were inevitably hurt. Plus, he felt like he would be ashamed to introduce Alli to a woman who was probably only ten years older than she was.

  “The blue is especially nice with pears,” said the redhead as she rang him up.

  He nodded, and she waited a beat as if to see if he would engage more before she passed over his paper-wrapped cheese parcels with a wistful smile.

  Bullet dodged, he thought as he imagined that sad little smile as they inevitably broke up a couple months from now.

  Jay threaded his way through the food hall, stopping at the seafood counter to ogle the ahi tuna, bending to smell a fragrant pile of lush and glowing strawberries brought down from upstate, and then taking a detour to the café and ordering a cappuccino and a pound of Leela’s favorite chocolate hazelnut cookies to bring back to work with him. After all, she had been keeping his business running practically single-handedly this past year; the least he could do was keep her in cookies.

  He walked out onto the street, bags, packages and coffee cup in hand. For a moment he thought about calling for his driver, but then decided it would be faster to hail a cab. Or take the train, he thought, eyeing the subway entrance right across the street. He hadn’t taken the subway in years, preferring to walk or use his own car and driver, but he knew it was a straight shot from here to his office on the 6.

  Why not? he thought, and he gulped down his coffee and descended underground.

  He ran for the train, sliding in just as the door closed, and grabbed hold of a pole as the car lurched forward. The train was exactly the same as always. The bright orange plastic seats, the bing bong chime as the doors slid shut, the cold and greasy feel of the pole under his hands.

  Suddenly, he remembered being sixteen, skipping school and heading down to the East Village with three of his buddies, crowded onto the subway together, all determined to convince some tattoo artist that they were actually eighteen and could legally get some ink. He’d ended up with a Celtic tribal band on his left biceps that he hated and which he’d hidden from his parents for two years, wearing T-shirts even on their tropical vacations. Hana had laughed the first time she saw it and, later on, as an anniversary gift, she’d designed an intricate fill of flowering and fruited vines for him and carefully researched the best tattoo artist in Manhattan to cover up his youthful mistake. These days he often looked at that tattoo, as beautiful as it was, and wished he still had the tacky Celtic tribal band.

  The train screeched to a stop and more people got on. It was crowded now, but Jay didn’t mind. He liked to people-watch, and New York City had the greatest people-watching in the world. He smiled at a heavy man with a blue cap who sat down across from him. The man looked back, stony-faced, then his eyes narrowed. “What are you looking at, ya freak?” he sneered.

  “Nothing,” said Jay, looking away and trying not to laugh. Man, he was out of practice. What was he doing smiling and making eye contact on the subway? You’d think he was some tourist. The smile slid off his face. It seemed he was out of touch with everything these days, his daughter, his own city... Work had erased everything he really cared about.

  He shook his head and accidentally locked eyes with the man in the blue cap again. The man’s face went red and he looked like he was going to stand up and punch Jay, but luckily the train stopped and it was Jay’s station.

  Chapter 13

  Dylan was asleep when Kevin showed up at her door to drop him off.

  “Damn it,” Bridget whispered as she took her little boy from her ex’s brawny arms. “You know he can’t nap after four. Now he’ll be up for half the night.”

  Kevin shrugged and gave her an innocent smile. “He fell asleep on the subway. What could I do?”

  Bridget shook her head. She couldn’t believe she used to fall for that fake grin. Sometimes she wondered what she’d ever seen in the man. Then she saw his biceps bulge as he handed her Dylan’s backpack and remembered.

  “Sweet boy,” she whispered, stroking his pink cheek. “Dyl. Dylan. Time to wake up.”

  Her son murmured and flopped against her, nuzzling into her shoulder. She smelled the soft warmth of his hair.

  “You better help with this if you want to say goodbye to him,” she said to her ex.

  “Hey, little man!” boomed Kevin. “If you wake up now, I will give you some candy!”

  Dylan’s head popped up, his blue eyes suddenly wide open. “What candy?” he piped.

  A shadow of guilt crossed Kevin’s perfectly sculpted face.

  Bridget rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Do you even have any candy? Because I don’t have any candy.”

  Kevin held out his hands. “You said you wanted him to wake up.”

  “I want candy!” wailed Dylan.

  Bridget bit her lip. Great, now there would be a temper tantrum, too. “Dylan, how about we go for soup dumplings, instead?”

  He blinked, considering. “At the Bao?” he said. “Because they taste the best, Mommy.”

  She smiled. Only in New York would a seven-year-old have an opinion on where to get the best Chinese food. “Sure. Run and get your warm coat. It’s cold outside.”

  She put him down and he turned back toward her. “Can Daddy come with us?”

  “Oh,” said Kevin. “Not tonight, Dyl. I have a date.”

  Bridget grimaced. Of course he did. And she was sure he’d be using the alimony money she paid him to take this girl out. And of course he mentioned it in front of their son. Not that she’d wanted him to come to dinner, anyway.

  “Okay,” said Dylan as Kevin reached down to kiss him goodbye. “Maybe next time. Bye, Daddy. Have a nice time. Say please and thank-you and don’t forget to wash your hands before dinner.”

  Bridget laughed. For a moment she caught Kevin’s eyes and gave him a half smile. Her ex had been a major mistake, but she would always be grateful for her son. What a nice kid they had made.

  * * *

  It was past eleven before Dylan finally fell asleep again. Bridget had put him to bed at nine, but when she’d checked on him later, he was up quietly drawing in bed. She let it go; she couldn’t force him to sleep, and at least he wasn’t running around the apartment or begging for screen time.

  After she pulled the blankets up over his little shoulders and kissed him one last time, she fished a half-empty bottle of Domaines Ott out of her refrigerator, poured herself a generous glass of the pale pink liquid, grabbed her phone out of her purse and headed into the bathroom to turn on the water. Hot baths and expensive rosé, she thought to he
rself. My last remaining luxuries.

  She put the lid down on the toilet and then sat down to pry off her Louboutin work boots. Leftovers from a previous life. She remembered how Kevin used to laugh at her insistence on wearing the extravagantly priced heels—even when they were on a job site—but she loved the extra inches they gave her. She spent all her time around men who were twice her size; she needed every prop she could get. She sighed with relief as the boots came off, letting her fingers linger over her sore instep, and then stood back up and stripped off her jacket and skirt, standing at the sink in bra and panties, wiping off the makeup from her dark brown eyes, scrubbing the lipstick from her full mouth and then looking in the mirror at her bare face and scrunching up her nose.

  She was thirty-six but without the makeup and the heels and suit, she could still pass as seventeen. She looked like a sweet little Jewish girl from the Bronx—not the glam, smart, ball-busting boss she had grown up to be.

  But, she reminded herself as she peeled off her underwear and stepped into the hot, fragrant bath, it’s not like I’m that boss anymore, either.

  She thought about Scarlett and her ridiculous sex dungeon again. What would Bridget’s father say if he knew what his baby girl was building these days? After she left Scarlett’s apartment, it had taken every ounce of self-restraint to not pick up the phone and tell her to forget the whole damned thing. After all, she reminded herself for the hundredth time, this might be her big chance.

  Yeah. Your big chance to be humiliated.

  She sank deeper into the warm water, trying to shake off the doubt. This would have to work. She wanted back in. She wanted her crew back. She wanted to build. And she was ready. She had relentlessly run over the mistakes she’d made, with a cold and unforgiving eye. When she finally got her chance again, she had mapped her every move; what she’d do and not do, what path she’d follow. All she needed was a decent break.

  A woman in construction was a freak on her best day, and an outright aberration the other 364 days a year. And a female general contractor working in the commercial sector? That was like a one-legged, fire-eating, bearded-lady lion tamer performing on the trapeze. It was hard enough climbing up the first time, but getting another shot at it? It was a frigging miracle.

  She sighed as she trailed her hand through the water, playing the same loop of her glory days that she always played in her head; the work, the money, the taste of fame, the glorious feeling that she was doing the one thing that she had been put on this earth to do...the memories still stung. At least her father hadn’t lived to see her fail. That was the one blessing in all this mess.

  She took a drink of the wine, savoring the warmth that spread, tingling, all the way out into her fingers and toes. She dipped her head back under the water, letting her long, dark hair drift around her like seaweed. She would have to get up early in the morning to give herself enough time to blow out her natural curls, but at the moment she didn’t care. She needed the hot, steamy water, the supersize glass of wine to chase down her anxiety over Scarlett. And after she got out of the bath and dried herself off, instead of going to bed like she should, she was going to put on her most comfortable flannel pajamas and eat a giant bowl of popcorn while she binge-watched Californication—again. Because she needed that, too.

  Her phone chimed from the sink where she’d left it. Bridget, realizing that she hadn’t checked messages in hours, dried off her hand and groped for it, and then swiped and squinted at her day’s mail.

  An unbelievable rush of excitement passed through her small frame as all thoughts of Scarlett Hawkins and her stupid renovations flew out of Bridget’s head.

  “Oh, my God,” she said out loud and laughed. “Oh, my God!” And she dropped the phone on the floor and immersed herself completely back into the bath for a moment, trying to contain her glee. It didn’t work. She burst back up, the water running down her face and body in glimmering rivulets, not even caring that she had just swamped the floor with her enthusiastic splash.

  “This is it!” she whispered, hugging herself. “The hell with Scarlett. I’m back!”

  Chapter 14

  “We need this one, Jay,” said Leela as she charged into his office, waving a set of papers over her head. “We haven’t had a shot at Harrington since before your father passed away. It will be extremely good for the business.”

  Jay looked up and laughed. Leela was twenty-seven but she looked young enough to be one of Alli’s friends. And in her pegged jeans, baggy red dress shirt and skater-boy haircut, she kind of dressed like them, too. “You think we need every building that comes our way. It’s just another skyscraper.”

  Leela shook her artfully disheveled, bleached-blond hair. “Just another skyscraper,” she said in a mocking imitation of his voice. “Oh, Leela, just another skyscraper, no big deal.” She returned to her own voice. “No, this one is different. Lots of publicity, a prestige project. And a client Russo Construction hasn’t worked for in years.”

  Jay rolled his eyes. “Why do we need more publicity? We’re pretty much building half of Manhattan and three quarters of Westchester these days.”

  Leela plunked down on the giant leather couch and then immediately sprang back up again as if she couldn’t stand to sit still. She started pacing the room. “We are. And the reason we have all that work is because I have worked all of your projects. Responded to all your RFPs and have been very careful to run the kind of jobs that will then bring in more jobs to pursue. And trust me when I tell you, this is one of them.”

  Jay laughed. “Give me the papers. I’ll look. But no promises.”

  She slapped them onto his desk. “Mark Harrington is the developer. HealthTec is the anchor tenant.”

  He ruffled through the papers. “Harrington, huh? I know him. Not my favorite.”

  She glared at him. “Who cares? You think I like any of these guys? They all treat me like something they scraped off the bottom of their shoe. But if they pay, we build.”

  He blinked and looked up at her. “My dad used to say the exact same thing. I mean, not the shoe part—but the pay and build thing.”

  She threw up her hands. “Well, he was right! Why wouldn’t we go after a half a billion dollar project? Why wouldn’t we want to build another skyscraper? Isn’t that literally what we’re supposed to be doing?”

  Jay sighed. He knew she was right. Of course she was right. “I’ll think about it,” he said, shoving the papers aside.

  “Listen, Jay, can I say something?” Leela sat back down on the couch. This time she stayed sitting.

  “Go for it.”

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I am pretty hot stuff. Top of my class. I could have worked anywhere, you know.”

  He laughed. “You’re very good at what you do, Leela. No doubt at all.”

  “When I was looking for a job, I did my homework and I decided that I wanted to work at Russo. I tracked the history of your company. Your dad did a lot for it, for sure, but it was only after you got your hands on it that it turned into a real powerhouse. You climbed the ladder faster than I’ve ever seen anyone climb.”

  He shrugged. “So?”

  “So, I want to know what happened to that guy. Because I took this job thinking I was going to have a mentor, that I would get a master class in business. And you know, I was willing to take any job here. I figured I’d have to start at the bottom and really work my way up, but imagine my surprise when I was hired as COO. That was a shock, but I decided I could do it. I thought if I tried hard enough I could pull it off.”

  “Well, you’ve proven that you more than deserved it.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. But COO is a big job.” She stood back up and began pacing again. “And can I speak honestly, sir?”

  “Please do.”

  She took a deep breath. “I can’t be the kind of COO this company deserves when I have to babysit y
ou. I end up spending more time making sure that you are on top of your work than I do on my own responsibilities.”

  Jay blinked. “Babysit?”

  She whirled on him. “Yes! Babysit! Do you realize that this place should be in pieces by now? I am twenty-seven years old! You hired someone with almost no experience to be your COO, and then you basically checked out on your own job, as well! I’m sorry, sir, but those are some idiotic moves!”

  He smiled. “We seem to be doing fine.”

  Her eyes bugged out a little. “That is pure luck! We are getting by on your previous reputation. By all rights, you should be filing for bankruptcy by now!”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand what you want. Do you feel that your compensation isn’t fair? Do you want a raise?”

  “Do I want a—” she muttered. She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration, making it stand up in short, sharp spikes. “No, I do not want a raise. My salary is more than generous. What I want is for you to do your job and let me do mine before this entire house of cards falls apart and we go belly-up!” She pointed a finger at the looming portrait of his father that hung over his desk. “What do you think he would say if he knew you were so dependent on some rando Indian chick who wandered in here straight out of grad school?”

  Jay laughed. “Well, luckily, he’s not here.”

  “Jay!” Leela sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “Are you hearing anything I’m saying? Listen, I can see that you’re probably going through some personal stuff lately, and I’m very sorry for that. I like you. You’re a very nice man. I appreciate that you bring me cookies, but I need you to take an interest in your own damned business!” She met his eyes. “I mean, even if you don’t care, what about your dad? I know he cared. And what about your daughter? Isn’t this a family business? Don’t you want to do well for her?”