The Big Mistake

by Lexie Ray

  “That was Vixen, everybody, Vixen,” I said, chuckling into the microphone uneasily.

  “No it wasn’t!” Sol called. “It was Maven! Vixen’s up next!”

  “Well, fuck me,” I said pleasantly, still into the microphone. That got some titters from the customers, but it also made Parker pop her head out of her office, scowling. She liked light corn and clever sayings, not profanity.

  “I hope you all enjoyed the marvelous Maven just as much as I did,” I said, swiftly locating the next record and cueing it to play. “She was so good I was struck dumb — literally.”

  The crowd laughed again and I started to fade in Vixen’s music.

  “But I want to introduce you now to the voluptuous Vixen,” I announced, gradually increasing the volume until I had to shout. “Let’s see who’s struck dumb by this next performance!”

  With that, Vixen had stopped glaring at me and put her game face on, strutting down the stage toward the pole. I would have to do something to make it up to her — buy her a drink or give her a gift certificate for a manicure or something. Dancers were the last people I wanted to cross. I was supposed to protect them, make their lives easier while they were here in the club. Instead, I’d been distracted by drama in my own life.

  Parker had ducked back inside her office without fussing at me, so I felt marginally better, making sure everything was set up before I returned to my phone. What the hell was going on? Had I been dreaming?

  But as soon as I unlocked it and the display flashed on, Nick’s smiling face — or Nicholas Mason’s smiling face — was still there.

  “What happened to you, Jennet?” Sol had taken it upon herself to climb the stairs to the DJ booth even in her sky high platform heels. She perched on the edge of the stool next to me and sighed, slipping them off.

  “You should wear more comfortable shoes,” I observed as she rubbed her feet.

  “Parker says I need to maintain an image of what this place is — a high-end establishment,” she said. “A high-end establishment with aching feet. Now tell me what’s wrong. What happened?”

  “Do you remember my friend Nick?” I asked, showing her the photo on my phone.

  “Sure I do,” she said. “He always goes to Faith and Adam’s cookouts. He lives across the hall from you. What’s going on? He looks different in that photo. Hot.”

  “I’m going to tell Xander on you!” I squawked with a burst of surprised laughter. “Do you think he looks hot like this? I don’t know. It’s too different. I’m used to the shaggy, stubbly, starving artist who drives a station wagon.”

  “Does he not still drive a station wagon?” Sol asked, her brow knitting in confusion.

  “Well, I guess not,” I said. “This article said that the Nick we know and love is actually some millionaire named Nicholas Mason, from New York City.”

  “A millionaire!” she exclaimed. “Your Nick? But why did he drive the station wagon?”

  “I’m as confused about it as you are,” I said. “That’s why I missed the cue between songs. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not here to yell at you,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “I just thought something was wrong with you, that something had happened. And now I see that it has.”

  “I’m just equal parts shocked and confused, you know?” I mused, turning my phone off so I wouldn’t have to stare at the strange doppelganger of my friend anymore. “I don’t know if I should be angry. I don’t know anything.”

  “Well, haven’t you spoken with him lately?” she asked. “Why would he lie about something like this to you?”

  The last time we’d spoken, he’d — oh. My heart sank as I recalled the conversation. He’d wanted me to pick him over Greg, to be with him romantically, but I’d chosen Prince Charming, offended that Nick would rehash our whole drama just at a time when I was happy and secure in my relationship with Greg. But what did that mean? Why would Nick have wanted me by his side?

  “Do you mind if I maybe stepped out to make some phone calls?” I asked, eyeing the stage. Vixen was nearly done, and it was Dixie up next. “I’ll announce Dixie and be back in time for…let’s see here…Bella.”

  “You should just take the rest of the shift off,” Sol urged. “Figure out what’s going on with your friend. Friends are important, you know.”

  “I don’t know,” I hedged. “What would Parker say?”

  “She’ll say I made the right decision when I tell her what was going on,” Sol said. “Now, go on. I’ll cover for you. I know what to do.”

  “Thanks, Sol.” I hugged her briefly but hard. “Friends are important, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You’re sweet, Jennet,” she said, smiling at me as she faded the music out like a pro and seized the microphone. “Now go.”

  I made a mad dash for the door, ignoring the catcalls from customers as I dodged the tables. Even though Sol said she’d take care of Parker for me, I gave the office wide berth and finally pushed through the door.

  It was already early evening, the air starting to cool down after the hot sun’s setting. The crickets were already warming up for their nightly cacophony of a performance, and I walked to my car, swiftly redialing Faith first.

  “Did you read it?” she asked breathlessly by way of greeting once the call connected. “I realized you didn’t have access to a TV at the club, so I sent you the link. Did you read it?”

  “Of course I read it,” I snapped a little too viciously. “Sorry. I’m just shocked.”

  “I’m as surprised as you are,” she said. “I was at the doctor’s office with Luke and it rotated on to the news. I felt like I was in the twilight zone, or something. Do you think it’s really him?”

  “The photo looks exactly like him,” I said, leaning up against my car door, unsure of where to go. “Well, not exactly. It’s him, but he’s…different, somehow.”

  “You mean that he shaved and cut his hair and dressed nicely for once?” Faith giggled. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny. I don’t know what it is, or why this is happening.”

  “Have you talked with him, by chance?” I asked hopefully.

  “No,” she said decisively. “He was my friend, but I felt like he was better friends with you. You’ve known each other longer. You’re the one he should be talking to, not me.”

  I sighed. “I guess you’re right. He hasn’t called me, but I should probably call him.”

  “Jennet, do you think you would’ve said yes to him if you’d known that he was a millionaire?” Faith asked hesitantly.

  “How could you say that?” I demanded hotly. “What kind of person would I be if that’s all I cared about in a relationship?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I just have to think, you know? He was always really generous about paying for outings and bills and dinners. I always sort of wondered where he got all his extra cash from, since he was only doing gigs when he felt like it. It just sort of all adds up, don’t you think?”

  “I guess,” I muttered, not wanting it to add up. There were too many things roaring through my head.

  “I think I just wonder about Luke’s tuition for St. Anthony’s,” Faith said, her voice sounding like it was far away. “If he really is the heir to the Mason Hotel fortune, then he could’ve bought St. Anthony’s several times over.”

  “Would you have accepted his help for the tuition if he’d volunteered?” I asked, skeptical. “I think it’s worth more to you since you did it yourself.”

  “You’re right,” Faith said quickly. “I’m being an idiot. I just wondered if things would be any different had we known.”

  “If we’d known, everyone would’ve known,” I reasoned. “And Nick wouldn’t have lived across the hall. I just…why would he lie to us?”

  “It’s up to you to find out, I suppose,” Faith said. “Keep me posted, all right? I’m calling you back in an hour if I haven’t heard from you.”

  “All right, Mom,” I grumbled, hanging up the
phone.

  Faith had put a lot of ideas in my head, the majority of which were not pleasant. I scrolled down my list of contacts until I reached Nick’s number. Why had he lied all these years? He’d been a good friend to me — recent hiccups in our relationship excluded — but now I didn’t know if any of that had been real, either. How was I supposed to take this? What was I supposed to do?

  The only thing I could try at this point was to get some answers.

  I hesitated as I examined the contact photo I had for Nick. He was grinning in it, looking happy even though he lived in a crap apartment and didn’t work. I always wondered why he was so happy all of the time, and I’d just been assuming he was living paycheck to paycheck the way the rest of us did. Now, though, I thought I understood why he was always so self-assured, so secure. He was sitting on millions of dollars, always ready to fall back on that in case his other life didn’t pan out.

  His smiling face made me angry, but I sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm myself. I obviously didn’t know the whole story. I needed to give my friend the benefit of the doubt, and let him explain himself.

  But when I finally made the call, it went straight to voicemail — and not Nick’s usual voicemail. He liked to compose little ditties to entertain the callers he missed, but this was the default robotic voice informing me that I could leave a message.

  A small part of me was relieved that I didn’t have to talk to him, but the majority of me was angry and hurt. Was our friendship over, just like that, then? Had he gotten tired of being normal and decided to shed this life like an itchy, uncomfortable skin and go back to being a millionaire?

  I wanted all of this to be fake, to be untrue, somehow. I’d heard we all had a twin somewhere in the world. Maybe this Nicholas Mason was Nick’s twin, sashaying all around New York City, spending gobs of cash and disappearing like a total diva. I’d get a hold of Nick later, run into him into the hallway when I got back to the apartment, and we’d have a big laugh at this, marveling at the similarities in appearances.

  And yet I knew that wasn’t possible. I knew it even before I reached the apartment, put my ear against his door, and heard the loud silence inside. Nick was usually home around this time, barring any gigs he’d been booked for. He hadn’t told me he was playing anywhere this week, but we hadn’t talked at all since our big fight about Greg.

  What was going on here? Why was the world upside down? I couldn’t figure out what was happening.

  Wanting nothing more than a strong pair of arms around me, I called Greg.

  Straight to voicemail.

  No. This wasn’t happening. I needed to talk to someone, and since I knew where Greg was, it had to be him. It probably wasn’t very kosher to be venting to him about a guy friend, especially one whom I’d just banned talking about, but I had to turn to someone. Talking it out with Greg seemed more appealing than with Faith. Greg could do something to comfort me, at least. And maybe it would be good to have some outside perspective on the whole situation.

  I called Greg again, but it didn’t even ring. Maybe his phone was off. We’d had plans after I got off from work, but maybe he was sleeping or something.

  Unwilling to wait, I hopped in my car. The hotel wasn’t terribly far, and it wasn’t like I had anything to do. I was too distracted by this whole “oh my God, my best friend and neighbor has been lying to me all these years about a secret stash of millions of dollars” thing.

  I needed help with this. I needed someone to help shoulder the burden of this drama, and Greg was the person I wanted.

  I pulled up to the hotel’s valet parking, feeling like a princess once again as the attendant helped me from my car. I was sure Greg would take care of the expenses, just as he had the many times before when I’d shown up here. It was nice to be attached to a man I could rely on. I’d had one boyfriend who hadn’t been willing to pay for a single thing — meals, drinks, even a pair of jeans I’d insisted he get when the ass literally fell out of his own. That had inspired the “self-sufficient and willing to at least split the costs of expenses” entry in my Prince Charming requirements notebook.

  Greg had been wonderful about that — hell, he’d been wonderful about everything. He hit more points in the Prince Charming notebook than he missed. That was something no guy had ever done before. And I hadn’t written down a single thing that I didn’t like about Greg. He’d inspired no new requirements, leading me to believe that my search really was over.

  I’d been searching my whole life for Prince Charming, and the truth was that he’d simply shown up on my doorstep right when I’d needed him in my life. I hadn’t necessarily given up on looking, but I had put myself in a holding pattern. I’d been romantically alone for so long, waiting for something that felt right. I was glad I’d waited, glad I resisted things that would’ve come easily.

  I could’ve given Nick a try. I could’ve gone on that date he’d asked of me, but it wouldn’t have been fair for either of us. Nick wasn’t what I was looking for, and I wouldn’t have been able to give him an open mind — or an open heart. In the end, I believed we would’ve hurt each other too much to return to being friends.

  With Greg, though, I’d thrown myself completely in, body and soul, to be with him. He’d already been here for two whole weeks, and I felt pretty confident that he was staying in the city because of our bourgeoning relationship.

  Well, if I was being perfectly honest, there was nothing bourgeoning about it. We’d been going at it, full throttle, from the moment we met. Two weeks felt like nothing and an eternity all at the same time. How could I feel like I knew a person so well in only two weeks? He was perfect for me. Prince Charming was a real thing, and his name was Greg.

  There wasn’t another person in the entire world I would go to right now, when I needed a shoulder to lean on.

  I took the elevator all the way up to the top floor. Greg could deny that this was a penthouse all he wanted. I smiled. It was clearly the penthouse, and it was sexy that my man was staying here. I imagined all the places we could live if he decided he wanted to turn his stay in Miami into something a little more permanent. I wasn’t harboring any fantasies, though. I’d go with him if he needed to return to his employer in New York City. And if he got the hankering to go all the way home to England, I’d do that, too. I was ready to pull up my deepening Miami roots to be at his side.

  I’d always moved around to get away from people. This would mark the first time I’d been willing to move to be with someone. How did I get to be so lucky? Sure, it had only been two weeks. But I was so willing to give up everything — the Corn Queen, being a DJ at the club, all my friends, everything — to be with the man I loved.

  Yes, I loved him. It was a love at first sight thing, something I’d never fully believed in. But I couldn’t deny that I’d been attracted to him ever since we’d run into each other in the hallway, and that would always be special.

  I heard some movement inside the room, as if someone were pacing around, and I smiled. Maybe Greg had missed my call because he was busy with work. I didn’t want to bother him, but I did just want to be around him. I could sit on this whole Nick thing while he did his work. I just wanted to feel the way his energy radiated off of him, forget about Nick ever having been in my life.

  I knocked on the door and the movement stopped. Silence reigned for a brief moment before the door opened to reveal my love.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

  “I tried to call you,” I said. “Your phone must be off, or something.”

  “Or something,” he agreed. “I…it’s earlier than what we agreed.”

  “Something kind of came up at work and I decided to leave early,” I said. “Is that okay? Am I interrupting anything?”

  I jokingly peered around him as if I were some crazy girl looking for a hidden lover, but then paused, frowning. All the dresser drawers were open and empty, and a suitcase was open on the bed, filled with clothe
s. The hangers in the closet nook were also empty save for a very full looking garment bag.

  “I was going to tell you later tonight,” he said, rubbing a hand through his hair.

  “You were going to tell me what?” I asked, my voice oddly calm for the tempest raging inside of me.

  “That I’ve been recalled to New York,” he said. “I’m sorry. I tried to extend my tenure in Miami, but my employer’s been insistent.”

  “So, back to New York,” I said, setting my shoulders. I knew this day was coming. It was fine. Everything was going to be fine. I loved this man, and I’d make this work — even if it had to be long distance, for a time. People coped with long distance relationships all the time. I wouldn’t be the first, and certainly not the last. I envisioned late night calls, long sessions on Skype, and the like. I could send him care packages — boxes full of photos and cookies and palm fronds — of things that would remind him of me, remind him that I was only a flight away.

  “Back to New York,” he confirmed. “I’m sorry, darling.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I said breezily as I ducked under his arm and into the room. I heard Greg sigh behind me and laughed. “Don’t worry about the mess. I’ve seen a lot worse in my life, I promise.”

  “It’s not the mess I’m worried about,” he said. “I’m worried that you’re upset.”

  “I’m upset, sure, but not about you leaving,” I said. “I can come to New York.”

  “To visit?” he asked, peering at me before letting the door to the room swing shut.

  “If you’d like,” I said, feeling suddenly shy, as if I were standing in front of a complete stranger instead of the man I loved. Why was he being so dense? Was it on purpose, or had I just caught him at a bad time, his mind someplace else?

  “What are you upset about, then, if it’s not about me leaving?” he asked, sitting in the desk chair.

  I tried not to pout as I settled on the edge of the bed. Why wasn’t he being affectionate? That was really all I came here for — physical comfort. Was that wrong?