All Fired Up

by Kristen Painter

  “Sorry I got home so late. Is everything taken care of at the brownstone?”

  She ignored the question and sat on the bed cross-legged, her drawstring pants pooching out around her middle.

  He glanced at her. “Do you have to wear those? They look like old man pajamas.”

  She tugged her faded tee over her waistline. “They’re comfortable.”

  “They’re ugly. Now what about the brownstone? Is it ready?”

  “About that, I still don’t understand why we’re selling it.”

  Knotting his tie, eyes on the mirror, he answered without looking at her. “I’ve explained my plan to invest the money numerous times. Trust me on this, Cal, I know what’s best.”

  “I guess so.” He did deal with lots of money every day at the estate attorneys.

  “What’s your plan for the day?” He adjusted his collar.

  “My plan? Um, lunch with Jeana…I don’t know what else…maybe pick up a few things for the apartment.”

  “A few things? Like what?”

  “I don’t know, candles, a few plants, stuff like that.”

  “Candles leave soot on the walls, you know I don’t like that.” He smoothed his hair before donning his suit jacket.

  “Don’t I live here, too? I like candles.”

  “Let’s not argue, kitten. I think I may have a job for you. Landers, Jerritt & Smyth are going to need a junior account exec and Smyth owes me a favor. He’s willing to give you an interview.”

  She sat silently, not sure what to say. Junior account executive was a good position but the job sounded about as exciting as reading the phone book.

  “Don’t I get a thank you?” Brad raised a single brow expectantly.

  “Sorry, thanks.” She smiled halfheartedly. “I’m sure it’s a great job.”

  “Cal, you’ve got to get a career sometime. I know it’s a bottom rung position but they’re willing to give you on the job training.”

  “Fabulous.” She wrapped the pants’ drawstring around her finger.

  If he picked up on her sarcasm, he didn’t show it. “Gotta go. Have a good lunch with Jeana.” He brushed an invisible piece of lint off his shoulder.

  “Are you going to be late again?”

  “Until I put this deal to bed, you can probably count on me being late every night.”

  “Oh.” So much for life as a newlywed.

  “Don’t look so down. You’ll forget all about these late nights when we’re dining by candlelight in Paris.”

  “Paris?” She looked up.

  “For our honeymoon.” He smiled.

  “Oh! Paris! That sounds wonderful.” She jumped off the bed and hugged him.

  “I thought you’d like that.” He kissed her again, this time on the mouth. His hands traveled lower, cupping her backside. He squeezed. “Don’t forget to hit the gym. Now, walk me out.”

  Sighing, she followed him to the elevator. Apparently, somewhere, there was a treadmill missing her.

  “Drop my charcoal pinstripe off at the cleaners, would you? And book a table for four at Park Avenue Cafe for next weekend. Give the maitre’d my name. My parents are coming into town and I want to take them somewhere nice.”

  “What about Patois?”

  He shook his head. “You know how my mother feels about venturing into the wilds of Brooklyn.”

  The elevator doors opened. He got on and winked at her. “Au revoir, mon amour.”

  “Bye.” She smiled. Paris. They had talked about going to Paris for their honeymoon, but to actually go! Thoughts of walking hand in hand on the Champs Elysee, drinking wine at a sidewalk bistro and making love in some historic old hotel under the shadow of the Eiffel Tower swirled through her head.

  Maybe she would go to the gym. What could it hurt to get her dance figure back? Brad loved her. He was taking her to Paris.

  She called the doorman and found out the building had a fitness center. An hour later, she returned to the apartment, sweaty and ready for a shower. She definitely preferred dancing to working out in some boring fitness center. Paris had better be worth it.

  After a shower, she faced her mostly new wardrobe, wondering what outfit to wear to lunch. Jeana was a true fashionista, always pushing her to buy more interesting clothes. Sometimes, it was hard to believe they were related.

  Many of the pieces on Calleigh’s side of the walk-in still had their tags. Her brows shot up when she looked at the prices. Was a designer wardrobe part of the Phoenix deal? On impulse, she grabbed one of her familiar Christian Dior boots. The soles were well worn. Apparently in this life she went out more.

  She chose a Calvin Klein suit in a color the tag labeled “Pink Foil”, a simple white blouse, and a pair of Jimmy Choo ankle boots. Jeana would freak when she saw this getup.

  A final brush of her hair, a kiss for Snickers and she was out the door. Taking the #4 train down to 59th, she walked into Aureole in under twenty minutes.

  Massive arrangements of delicately scented lilies and bright ginger blossoms flanked the interior doors. Their perfume mingled with the savory aroma of food, making Calleigh’s mouth water. Soothing piano music played in the background. It seemed like ages since she’d been here.

  The maitre’d escorted her to the table where Jeana sat chatting on her cell phone. She wiggled her fingers at Calleigh then held one up to indicate she’d just be a moment more. Her blonde shag shivered around her shoulders as she nodded and laughed at something the person on the other end said. Dressed in a beautiful winter white suit and ivory crocodile pumps, Jeana looked like Ice Princess Barbie. Boobs and all.

  She clicked her phone shut and stood to give Calleigh a hug and an air kiss. “Hi, how are you, married lady?”

  A slightly sweet and darkly spicy scent tickled Calleigh’s nose as she returned the hug. “Good, thanks. You smell nice. What is that?”

  “Carmen Marc Valvo’s new scent, Jolie. It’s not available for another month. We got a sample in the press kit yesterday. Isn’t it grand?” Jeana was the style editor at Couture, the reigning women’s fashion magazine.

  “Very nice. So?” Calleigh did her best seated model pose.

  “So…what?” Jeana’s brows lifted but her botoxed forehead stayed smooth.

  “What do you think of my suit?”

  “The same thing I did when I helped you pick it out. It’s fabulous. Are those the Jimmy’s we bought at Saks? Your uncle would be proud. Speaking of whom…” She paused and took a sip of white wine.

  A waiter stopped by and greeted them, handing them menus and telling them about the chef’s choice. When he left, Jeana continued.

  “Have you seen the photos he shot for that new European underwear line, Uber Homme? That campaign could single-handedly revive the tightie-whitie. I will meet that model, with or without Seamus’s help.”

  Calleigh laughed. This might be a different life, but Jeana sure hadn’t changed. “I’ll see if I can get you a phone number. Although you know he’s probably gay.”

  “I could straighten him out. In every sense of the word,” Jeana purred.

  “I guess I don’t need to ask how your love life is, then,” Calleigh said.

  Something she couldn’t name flickered briefly in Jeana’s eyes. Her cousin looked away, concentrating on the menu. Was Jeana jealous? That would be a first.

  “You know me, too busy for anything serious.”

  “But you must be dating someone, you’re one of the most eligible bachelorettes in Manhattan.”

  “Not a soul.” Jeana waved her hand and a sparkle caught her eye. Calleigh grabbed her friend’s wrist for a better look. A diamond bracelet glittered back at her.

  “Wow. That’s beautiful. Where did you get that? I can’t even imagine how much a thing like that costs.”

  “It’s nothing. Just CZs.” She slipped her hand out of Calleigh’s and back to her lap.

  “You don’t wear CZs.” Calleigh smirked. Diamonds really were this girl’s best friend.

 
Jeana shrugged. “Before I forget, have I told you how great your hair looks? You can thank me for that, you know.” She flipped open her menu. “Brad couldn’t come up with what to get you for a wedding present, so I suggested it. Very expensive, but money is no object where you’re concerned.”

  “Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” Calleigh joked.

  Jeana’s gaze snapped up from the menu. “What? No. Not at all. Hey, I introduced you two. I could have kept him for myself.”

  “I’m just teasing. Why so tense?” She picked up her own menu. The prices were almost as shocking as the tags in her closet.

  “Sorry. Lots of stuff going on at work.” She sighed. “Maybe I am a little jealous. Brad’s a great guy. Can you blame me? No one’s whisking me off to Paris.”

  “How did you know we’re going to Paris? I just found out this morning.” Calleigh set her menu down.

  Jeana’s face paled to the shade of her suit. She sipped her wine and the color returned to her cheeks. “He called me, to be sure that would be just the right honeymoon. He’s so concerned with making sure everything’s perfect.” She laughed weakly. “What girl wouldn’t be a smidge jealous of a man like that?”

  Calleigh nodded. “That was sweet of him.”

  The waiter returned and they ordered. Jeana talked about every designer who’d ever held a sketchbook, and Calleigh just listened, as disconnected from the conversation as an audience member at a talk show taping.

  When the check came, Jeana insisted on paying. They hugged goodbye, with promises to do it again soon.

  The day had warmed considerably. The sun was shining and the sky blue. With no real direction in mind, Calleigh walked, enjoying the fresh air.

  She replayed everything Jeana had said about Brad. He was a good catch. He loved her, wanted her to be happy. Wanted the best for her. Still, something bothered her, something nameless and small. A piece of the puzzle was missing. She’d gotten what she wanted, but she wasn’t happy. Correction, she wasn’t as happy as she thought she’d be. So they were selling her childhood home. All the memories she needed were in her head. Brad was always telling her she was too sentimental. Selling the brownstone was the right thing to do.

  Her pep talk took her as far as Times Square. She thought about getting a pretzel but then decided against the carbs. She wandered aimlessly, watching the tourists buy “I Love NY” T-shirts and Statue of Liberty thermometers. A gaggle of teenage girls stood nearby, lining up to have their picture taken.

  One of them approached Calleigh. “Excuse me, ma’am? Would you take our picture?”

  Ma’am? “Sure. Which button do I push?”

  “The silver one on top. Be sure to get that billboard in the background.” The girls giggled as their ringleader pointed over their heads.

  Calleigh glanced up to see what the girl was talking about.

  The massive billboard depicted a well-muscled male in tight, white, ribbed underwear and nothing else. From behind, a woman’s arms wrapped around him, one hand on his chest, the index finger of the other disappearing beneath the waistband of his underwear. Across the bottom of the black and white photo the words Uber Homme were scrawled in lipstick red.

  There was something familiar about the man in the picture. His face was turned and hidden by shoulder length hair but the chest…

  “Oh my.” Alrik. The scars had been airbrushed out, but she’d bet her Jimmy Choos that was him. The heat in her belly warred with the chill on her skin.

  “Lady, are you going to take our picture or drool?” The girls giggled again, poking each other and making faces.

  “Yes. Sorry.” She snapped the shot and handed the camera back.

  The missing puzzle piece clicked as it snapped into place. She stared at the billboard, refusing to acknowledge the sound. She dug through her purse for her cell phone, found it and punched in her uncle’s speed dial number.

  She listened as the line connected and started to ring. Seamus better have some answers and they better be good ones.

  Chapter Eight

  “Hullo?”

  “Uncle Seamus, it’s Calleigh.”

  “Calleigh, me love! What can I do for you?”

  “Who’s the guy in the Uber Homme photo? What’s his name?”

  “Interesting question for a newly wedded lass to be askin’, don’t you think?” Seamus chuckled.

  She huffed into the phone. “Answer the bloody question. I’m in no mood for games.”

  “Calleigh McCarthy! I’d say you’re in a mood all right. Is that anyway to talk to your uncle?”

  “No, it isn’t. Answer the question.”

  Silence.

  She rolled her eyes. Creative people could be so dramatic. “Please.”

  “His name is Paulo.”

  “Paulo?” Not Alrik?

  “Lovely Italian chap, hardly speaks a lick of English.”

  “Italian?”

  “Yes, lovey. Anything else? His measurements, perhaps?” More chuckling.

  “No, I…Jeana wanted to know. Thanks. Bye.” She hung up and looked at the billboard again. Upon further inspection, she decided the nose wasn’t quite right, the hair a little too short. Paulo. She owed someone a pair of Jimmy Choos.

  Chiding herself for having such a fickle heart, she hailed a cab. Times Square was too noisy, too crowded, and her feet hurt from walking in these stupid heels.

  Alrik wasn’t even real. He was a twelve-hundred-year-old Viking who was dead but not really, and who had burned into a pile of ashes in front of her. It was like having a crush of the tooth fairy. Except without the cash incentive.

  Saints in heaven! Is that what she had? A crush? Snap out of it, Cal. You’re too old to have a crush. You’re a married woman, for Pete’s sake! Start acting like it.

  Brad was real. He was handsome. Not as handsome as—Stop it! He had a great job. He loved her. He was taking her to Paris. She stared at the ring on her finger. He only wanted the best for her. Even Jeana said so. Although that girl’s opinion was questionable.

  By the time Calleigh got back to the apartment building, she had formed a plan. Dexter directed her to a market a few blocks away and after a quick trip there, she returned home.

  The next few hours were spent prepping and chopping, boiling and baking. She whipped up a seafood lasagna, a salad of baby greens with homemade vinaigrette and shaved parmigiana cheese, then wrapped a warm loaf of zesty garlic-pesto bread in foil. She packed all of it into a cardboard box with plates, silverware and a bottle of Chianti.

  Tonight she would treat her hard-working husband to a wonderful picnic dinner, and an even better dessert.

  Over a La Perla set of black lace push-up bra and panties, she tied a black wrap dress. The dress’s deep vee neckline accentuated the cleavage created by the bra. She slipped her feet into a pair of strappy black heels. Her feet might get cold, but Brad could warm them up.

  She did her makeup carefully, finishing with deep red lipstick. A touch of Chanel No. 5 and some diamond stud earrings, and she was ready to give her husband a reason to stop working.

  Her husband. She smiled. The poor man. She could picture him sitting at his desk, hunched over legal documents, files piled up around him. He probably hadn’t even thought of food. Hopefully once he saw her, food would still be the furthest thing on his mind.

  She giggled, feeling naughty and wonderful all at the same time. In this new reality they’d undoubtedly made love already as husband and wife. But for her, tonight would be the first time. Her nerves tingled and the anticipatory rush spilled across her skin warm and inviting. This was right. This was what her life should be.

  Dexter called a car to take her to Brad’s office building and then loaded the box of goodies into the trunk for her when it came.

  She sat in the back of the sedan wrapped in a long black cashmere coat with mink collar and cuffs. The sedan was as quiet as a vault. The city flickered by like a silent movie.

  Mesmerized by the lights outside her windo
w and the thoughts whirling in her head, she scarcely noticed when the car stopped.

  The glass partition whirred down. The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “We’re here, ma’am. Would you like me to carry the box up for you?”

  “No, thank you, I can manage.”

  He came around to open her door, and she tipped him as she got out. Lifting the box into her arms, he thanked her, wishing her a good night.

  After a brief explanation and a little pleading, Calleigh persuaded the security guard at the front desk to let her up. She’d been to Brad’s office numerous times, but never after dark, when everyone else had gone home.

  The empty offices reminded her of staying late after school. She passed a night shift cleaner vacuuming in the hallway. What a tough way to make a living.

  Brad’s office was just ahead. She smiled at her ingenuity. He was going to be so surprised.

  Balancing on one foot, she rested the box on her knee. The cleaner vacuumed closer. The machine’s high-pitched hum was not exactly the background music Calleigh had envisioned, but she couldn’t very well ask the woman to stop working.

  She pushed the lever handle down and hefted the box back into her arms. Nudging the door open with her hip, she slipped inside. The door shut softly behind her.

  The office was dark, only the desk lamp illuminated the space. She blinked, letting her eyes adjust. Brad’s big leather desk chair faced the windows looking over the city. The coat rack beside the door held his suit jacket and another one in winter white.

  Soft moaning drifted above the vacuum’s fading hum. A spicy sweet scent perfumed the air. Her stomach pitched and the urge to retch overwhelmed her. Not again. Not this time.

  “Brad?” His name came out a whispered plea. The phantom hand of comprehension squeezed the air from her lungs.

  The chair shook a little but didn’t swivel. She heard frantic murmurs and the thump of something or someone hitting the floor.

  Calleigh’s hands shook. The box slipped out of her grasp and landed with a sharp crack.

  “Honey, is that you? What are you doing here?” Brad’s voice quavered. More scuffling. The rasp of a zipper.