Sexy in the City

by Alexia Adams, Galen Rose, Samantha Anne, Carolann Camillo, Nicole Flockton, Iris Leach, Olivia Logan, Nancy Loyan, Stephanie Cage (epub)

  Nothing caught her interest. She would have used the time to work on her next fund-raiser, but no interesting ideas surfaced. Instead, she spent an hour trying to reconcile her growing feelings for Nick. Her body got hot and tingly when she thought about him. Only one thing could put that to rest. Unfortunately, it was attached to his groin, and he was miles away. He probably slept like he’d downed a double dose of sleeping pills.

  Maybe she was just suffering from a serious case of lust. She was as entitled to it as a man. Lust was a whole lot easier to recover from than unrequited love. She wasn’t ready for love, unrequited or otherwise. Certainly not with Nick, not unless he lived up to his own sterling PR and proved he really was one of the good guys. Yesterday, he’d all but promised not to leave his tenants vulnerable. That required money. Did he have it stashed somewhere? He claimed not to, and she wanted to believe him. So what choice did he have? Either he evicted his tenants and forced them to take his latest offer of thirty thousand — which in about five years would turn into a dried-up sinkhole — or he’d have to halt construction on his project. Where would that put him financially? Maybe into bankruptcy.

  Still, how could she urge the tenants to accept his offer? She couldn’t turn traitor and sell them out. There was the clinic, too. What if they had to relocate? What if Nick forced it to close? He didn’t have to act immediately. Once his condos sold, the additional properties might look attractive to him. Dominique had said as much. He could anchor the block with condos. He might even buy almost everything in between.

  So what did her feelings about him matter? She could drop them on a BART track and wait for the 8:49 to thunder over them.

  The ceiling light hurt her eyes. She closed them and an image of the good-guy Nick popped up behind her lids. If men were ice cream sundaes, he was a double scoop of butter pecan nestled in a well of hot fudge and topped with whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, and a plump cherry. She rolled her tongue around her mouth. Where would she begin to lick him?

  Her phone rang before she dug any deeper into her fantasy. Nick? She checked the caller ID. It was her Aunt Vi. Crap. Earlier in the week, they’d made a date to go to the Farmer’s Market at the Ferry Building.

  Molly eyed the vintage clock shaped like a big green teacup that her aunt had given her on one of her last birthdays. Twelve twenty-two. She’d prowled around for hours and accomplished zip. Unless she counted printing the word Nick on her pad three times in big block letters. She’d drawn a halo over one and a pair of horns above another. Since she sensed he fell somewhere between an angel and a devil, she left the third blank.

  She grabbed the phone before voice mail activated.

  “Hi, Aunt Vi.” Her deeper than usual voice warned of a scratchy throat. Terrific. This was no time to come down with a cold. Not when she needed a clear head. Something told her a showdown between Nick and his tenants couldn’t be too far off. She pulled her limp body out of the chair, ran some water, and carried a glassful back to the table.

  “I heard you walking around up there. Are you ready to go to the market?”

  Molly stifled a groan. “Oh, sure. I just need time to shower and dress.”

  “You’re taking your time today. You must have had fun up in Napa.”

  “Oh, yes. It was … nice.” Molly almost bit her tongue.

  “Have you eaten lunch?”

  “Not yet.”

  “When you’re ready, come down and we’ll grab a quick cup of tea and some fruit and one of those yummy alfalfa scones Trudie baked yesterday. I have some interesting news from her. It might not mean much, but then you never can tell.”

  The mole. Molly braced herself for disaster. Her aunt hung up before she could inquire.

  Molly pushed herself out of her chair and tore off the sheet of paper. She stared at it for a moment. What were the chances Nick had spent a sleepless night and paced the floor as she had, all lustful and unfulfilled? What fantasy, if any, might he have played out about her? Would she see him again and not just on a drive-by? He’d been pretty quiet on the return to San Francisco. When he did chat, he’d steered clear of their friendly little tussle. Maybe he’d already forgotten he’d touched her in a very intimate place and that she’d touched him back. Or at least, she’d been about to when his friend shattered the spell.

  She hesitated to ball up the sheet of paper. That would be like disposing of Nick, plucking him out of her heart and mind. She wasn’t ready yet. How could she keep it lying around, though? What if her aunt or cousin found it? NICK, NICK, NICK. Like she’d erected a stupid shrine. Now her aunt waited to grill her about the balloon ride and its aftermath.

  Molly folded the paper carefully and carried it into her bedroom. She slipped it into her underwear drawer between the lacy bra and bikini panties she’d purchased the previous month. An impulse buy, they’d cost more than she could afford. Why had she splurged on them? At the time, there hadn’t even been a hint of a hot relationship. So maybe she was ready for one, ready for someone like Nick — but without needy tenants or any other kind of baggage — to shake up her life. He’d rocked her foundation yesterday. Would he try for a repeat? She doubted it. Instead of lamenting the loss, she should be grateful. A repeat clearly spelled trouble in letters a hundred times larger than the ones in which she’d printed his name.

  She showered, dressed in cut-off khakis, a raspberry T-shirt, and sandals and by twelve-thirty sat in her aunt’s kitchen. She sipped a cup of tea and choked down one of Trudie’s alfalfa scones.

  “I didn’t hear you come in last night.” Vi gathered a pair of wicker baskets from a utility closet and lay them on the floor beside the table.

  “Oh?” Molly had never employed such stealth. When she’d arrived home, she’d removed her shoes and climbed up to her apartment on tiptoes. “Did you go to bed early?”

  “No earlier than usual. Maybe I became too engrossed in the new cooking show on cable. It’s called Eat And Purge Your Way To Better Health. Next weekend I’ll try the oat bran waffles. You break open a few capsules of Vitamin E and add that to a pinch of desiccated cod and pulverized seaweed for the topping. I’ll bring you up a batch. Supposedly, they freeze well.”

  “That sounds yummy.” Maybe next weekend Molly would check if the Russians still booked flights to their space station.

  “So, how did the balloon thing go?” Vi asked.

  On the way downstairs, Molly had prepared herself for the question. “It went well.”

  “Good. No mishaps? I burned an incense stick to be on the safe side.”

  “I’m sure that helped.”

  “Did Nick enjoy himself?”

  A thousand tingly pinpricks invaded Molly’s chest and danced south. Oh, yes. “He seemed to.”

  “So, what do you think?”

  “What do I think about … ?”

  Vi made a horizontal wavy motion with her hands. “About you and Nick getting together again?”

  “You mean on a real date?”

  “You’ve thought along those lines, haven’t you? Good. I like him. The way he looked at you, kiddo, he’s very interested.”

  Molly finished her tea and carried the cup over to the sink. “He thinks I can convince his tenants to lower their demands. I can’t. He claims to have their welfare at heart. Does he? I don’t know for sure. He also claims to be practically broke. Is he? I don’t know that, either. It’s too complicated. So don’t expect him to ring this bell again anytime soon.”

  “I’ll burn more incense.”

  “Don’t bother. There isn’t enough of it on the planet to change things. Anyway, it isn’t like I’m in love with him or even gaga over him.” Well, she was sort of gaga, at least, if her heart and body were any indication. It was best, however, not to confess that to her aunt. Not unless she wanted an overload of incense clogging her nasal passages for the next
year. “He’s handsome, sexy, forceful, bright, and probably has ten more positive attributes I haven’t even discovered. Even with all those pluses, he’s not for me.”

  Vi rose, picked up the wicker baskets, and handed one to Molly. “Wanna bet?”

  “No.”

  Molly slung her purse over her shoulder and followed her aunt out the front door.

  “You’re sure this isn’t too early? Did I rush you out before you finished your scone?” They walked toward her aunt’s truck.

  The remains of the scone, wrapped in a paper napkin, resided in Molly’s purse. “Tell Trudie she’s a genius.”

  Dappled sun spread through the leafy trees and warmed Molly’s skin. She hoped her energy would soon return. She’d hate to spend the rest of the day moping.

  “Another reason I wanted to get to the market and back before three is I need to work on my costume for the upcoming Love Parade.”

  Last year, against her protestations, her aunt and Trudie had dragged Molly along with them. A fistfight had broken out midway through the festivities and the police had swarmed the area. The hem of her aunt’s gown — she’d recreated Mother Earth with a “living” hat — had fallen victim to a horde of marauding gender-bending pixies and they’d had to fight to keep the gown from being ripped off her body.

  They settled in the truck.

  “Trudie knows just about everyone who has a connection to a city agency,” Vi said. “She should since she’s worked at the Hall of Records for forty years.”

  “You mean snooped.”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “I would and worse.” Molly grabbed the armrest as the truck swerved around a bicyclist who’d wandered too close to traffic.

  “Anyway, she’s friendly with a gal who works for the Department of Buildings. It seems Nick isn’t the only one who’s staked a claim to that particular area of SoMa.”

  “Someone else is building condos?”

  “The Blackthorn Group. They bought up a whole chunk of city real estate across the street from Nick’s project. At least half the block. The plans are drawn and the permits issued. It’s still hush-hush right now. Trudie said their project is mixed use. The plans call for a commercial high-rise almost as tall as the Trans America Pyramid and a hotel. The remainder is slated for residential. A small park in the middle with trees and benches will create a tranquil space. The ground floor of the commercial building will house restaurants and shops, the top floors condos. Trudie said it sounds swanky. Whoever builds nearby is going to make a killing. Nick included.”

  Molly, who’d slumped in her seat, jolted up and faced her aunt. “What do you mean by ‘a killing?’”

  “Whatever Nick expected to price his lofts at, he can easily ask more. That half of the block will turn into a showplace. Trudie’s friend says to expect builders to swarm down there.”

  Nick had never mentioned the Blackthorn project. If he knew about it, would he let thirteen people stand in the way of his making “a killing?” All that money would just about ensure his interest in expanding down the street. Angel or devil? Molly still wasn’t certain. This latest news ensured something was about to happen, maybe quickly. Mentally, she pictured Nick beneath a halo and hoped for the best.

  Chapter 18

  Molly hadn’t thought it was possible: two sleepless nights in a row. That had to speak to something deeper than lust, something that kept a woman tossing in her bed at night. Don’t let it be love. The word lurked in her brain like a serial intruder, and she skirted around it for two days. She didn’t want to fall in love with Nick. Not when the whole relocation thing with his tenants and the vulnerability of the clinic floated above her head like a dark cloud ready to dump buckets of acid rain down.

  Molly tapped her pencil against her desk. Since she couldn’t sleep, she’d decided she might as well come to work early. Maybe she could squeeze out all thoughts of Nick if she focused on planning her next event. Sure, like if she bought a pair of hiking boots she could conquer Mount Everest. She glanced at the yellow lined page in front of her. All she’d managed were a few doodles across the top. At least it wasn’t filled with a dozen variations of his name. Her heart wanted to follow the already trod route, but her brain resisted and won. A small victory, although probably the first of many future battles.

  She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and sighed. Maybe she could catch a quick nap. It might help her come up with a spectacular idea later for her next fundraiser.

  A loud rap against the front door snapped her eyes open. It sounded like someone struck the metal with something hard, like a mallet. It could be a street person or, more than likely, someone with a medical problem. Dr. Ed wasn’t even in yet. She went to the door and squinted through the peephole. Mrs. Zamoulian. Molly quickly worked the three locks and opened the door.

  “Molly, you need to come.” Mrs. Zamoulian flapped inside, visibly agitated, if a flushed face and flyaway bun were any indication. She dragged along a rectangular sheet of cardboard mounted to a yard-long piece of wood. Writing, thick and black and probably made with a felt tip pen, ran across the cardboard in a downward slope. Two words had an X slashed through the middle. Whatever its purpose, the message was sure to attract attention.

  “Mrs. Z.” Molly took the sign and led the woman into her office. “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s that Serk. He says my spelling is shit … Excuse me, I didn’t mean to offend … and that he is in charge of all the words. This is what he told me to print.”

  Molly took a closer look at the sign and read the uneven lettering. GREDY NOOKELHEAD BILDER. STAY OUT OF HER.

  “Ah … Mrs. Z, what’s going on?”

  “It’s a picket.” The small, frail woman pulled her shoulders back and seemed to grow at least three inches.

  “Picket?”

  “We use your idea.”

  “Mine?”

  “You know. Quiet but firm. We take your advice.”

  “My advice.” Then Molly remembered the night of the association meeting. Ideas floated as to what constituted a silent protest. Her ideas, one of which she borrowed — no — stole from Nick. Of course, he hadn’t been serious when he suggested they were ramping up to picket his condo project. Now it seemed the tenants had thrust the idea into action. “How many of you are involved in this … picket?”

  “Everyone. I need you to fix my words.”

  Molly laid the sign on her desk. No amount of fixing was going to make sense out of this jumble of letters, but she couldn’t tell that to Mrs. Z. They’d have to start over with a fresh piece of cardboard. She glanced around her office. Nothing useful.

  “I think you should redo this. Do you have any other materials at home?”

  “He does.” Mrs. Z’s eyes narrowed, and her nostrils flared.

  “Mr. Serk?”

  “He says he will make sign. I say no way, Mr. Bully. Then I think of an idea. I tell him Molly will do it. Yes?”

  Molly agreed, too tired to search her brain for an escape route out of the impending hell of confronting Duncan Serk. She grabbed her purse, the sign, and Mrs. Z’s arm. She locked the door and headed for the apartment house. The tenants shambled in a line that stretched across the sidewalk in front of their building. Apparently, Mr. Serk had been busy. A glance confirmed he had a much better command of the language than Mrs. Z. Except for a couple of double negatives and misplaced commas, he managed to get his message across. Everyone carried picket signs. The demands started and ended with money — and lots of it. There were also a few brickbats aimed at Nick. When she helped Mrs. Z redo her contribution, she’d try to steer her away from “gredy” and especially “nookelhead” and onto something that might make her landlord more supportive.

  Molly spotted extra cardboard, pens, and a staple gun. Should she ask permission or just
collect what she required and get busy? One look at Duncan Serk stomping along the curb, and she opted for her second choice. She grabbed the necessary items and led Mrs. Z to a corner of the building farthest from the association scourge. It was only steps from Nick’s construction site. Only two members of his work crew had arrived so far, but one held a cell phone in his hand. Suspicion gnawed at her that Nick already knew about the rebel movement that had sprung up outside his property. She propped the cardboard against the scarred wood of the building’s façade.

  “Okay, let’s think of something that gets your point across. Gredy, I mean greedy, is thought provoking but, perhaps, not as positive as another approach. You want to state your position clearly without creating ill will. Remember, as you once said, you don’t need a gun to catch bees. Just honey.” Actually, Molly thought it was flies, but what difference did it make? Nick was going to be madder than ten hives full of stingers when he saw this rag-tag gang picketing his site.

  “It was his idea.” Mrs. Z pointed to Serk. “He’s the nookelhead. I try to tell him what I want to say. He does not listen.”

  “I will. Tell me what message you’d like on your sign and I’ll print it.”

  Mrs. Z patted Molly’s arm. “You’re a good girl. Smart, too. You I trust.”

  Molly smiled, touched by Mrs. Z’s confidence in her. “Okay, let’s compose something in your words, something you’d like to tell Mr. Mancini. Let it come from your heart.”

  Mrs. Z thought for a moment. “I want to tell him I need a roof on my head. This is my home. Do not take away.”

  A thin film of moisture blurred Molly’s vision, and she blinked back the beginnings of a tear. She gave Mrs. Z a quick hug and began to work on the roof idea.

  She penciled in a few words in large block letters. When the cardboard was filled, she stepped back to assess the impact of the message.

  MY HOME

  IS UNDER THIS ROOF

  DO NOT TAKE IT AWAY

  She read it aloud to Mrs. Z. “Is that closer to what you wanted to say?”