With renewed strength, I called Lauren next. She sounded much better, in fact, chipper. Whatever “happy pill” they were giving her, I wanted it too. Babbling non-stop, she told me how delicious the food was, just like a five-star hotel, and informed me that she had flushed Taylor’s five-carat engagement ring down the toilet. So like her to do that—my drama queen friend. The most exciting news was that her hospital suite was the one Beyoncé had stayed in when she gave birth to Blue Ivy. “Oh my God! Can you believe I’m sleeping in the same bed as Queen Bee?” she squeed. Lauren was definitely on the road to recovery.
Just as I ended the call, Catherine came flying in like a storm. She was out of breath. “Ike just called me and moved up the concept meeting to nine o’clock. Let’s go.”
I was barely able to hang up the phone. Grabbing the file, I followed her as she raced down the hall to the boardroom. The clickety-clack of her sharp heels sounded fast and furiously. When we got there, Ike and the design team, including Fernando, were already seated around the large conference room table.
“Good morning, everyone,” breathed Catherine, taking a seat and looking perfectly groomed and composed. “I’ve come up with several very exciting concepts for the next big boys’ toy.”
I gritted my teeth as I handed her the file. I’ve come up with…You mean, your assistant has come up with. The psycho bitch had no problem stealing anything from me. Including the man whose heart might have been mine. The hatred I felt for her intensified.
Every muscle in my body clenched with rage as the spawn of Satan stood up and, one by one, went through the concepts. Dressed in another one of her classic Chanel suits, she was a dynamic pitch person, a skill she likely cultivated during her modeling days. Fernando once told me she could sell a dick to a dyke. I believed him.
Ike sat at the head of the table, listening attentively to each idea. His expression was impassive, making it hard to tell if he liked any of them. There were two concepts left—Fancy Pantz and Combat Wombats.
You could tell that Catherine was very high on Fancy Pantz, the ludicrous boys’ fashion dolls concept that Fernando had created as a joke. While the two of us mentally rolled our eyes at each other, she rattled off all its high points.
“Just imagine the tie-ins to top fashion designers as well as the merchandising and licensing opportunities. I can already see a whole line of grooming products for little boys!”
I glanced at Ike. As an animated Catherine continued to reel off all of the possible product extensions of this “breakthrough boys’ lifestyle brand” including a father-like-son clothing line, his eyes widened. I couldn’t tell if the idea for a boys’ fashion doll line amazed or appalled him.
Finally, Catherine pitched Combat Wombats. I must say she pitched it with conviction, showing enthusiasm for the environment-protecting marsupial action figures and the product line extensions I’d fleshed out—including the Wombatmobile and the Mutant Pollutants, the evil villains. She told Ike and the team that the idea was inspired by her recent trip to Australia.
What!? I was seething. Clenching my teeth, ready to explode. Fernando looked my way and rolled his eyes, calming me down. I so loved Fernando!
When she was done with her presentation, Catherine thanked everyone and took her seat. Ike remained silent. There was tension in the room as everyone, including me, awaited his response. Finally, he said, “I’m intrigued with that last concept. An environmentally conscious action figure line is a very novel idea.”
My face lit up; Ike liked my idea! To my surprise, he turned to me. “Ms. Greene, what do you think?”
“I think Combat Wombats has the potential to be the next blockbuster toy.”
Ike broke into a big smile while my evil boss simmered. “That’s exactly what I think.”
He then turned to Catherine. “Catherine, nice job. I want to you to work with the design team and have a mockup of Combat Wombats on my desk by next Friday.”
“Of course,” crooned Catherine, feigning enthusiasm.
Bitch! Liar! Thief! Child abuser! Psychopath! I could no longer look at her without thoughts of violence, which I didn’t know how to handle. My mind spun. What should be my next step? Confront her and let her know I knew about all the horrible things she did to Ari and Ben? What would that do? She’d probably laugh in my face and deny everything. And then get my ass fired. So much of me wanted to tell Ike about her past, but I had no concrete proof. Besides her reputation as the creator of the world’s most successful girls’ toyline preceded her. I couldn’t even tell him that I came up with Combat Wombats because the bitch would twist it so it looked like I was trying to steal her thunder. I was caught between a rock and a hard place.
The meeting was adjourned. With a burgeoning headache, I accompanied a miffed Catherine back to her office, the rapid clickety-clack of her heels reflecting her own rage. She flung the concept file on my desk as if it were contaminated.
“I want nothing to do with those vapid Wombatty things. I am looking to you to work with the design team to develop the toyline.”
“I would love to,” I replied. Amidst all this doom and gloom, there was a bright side; I was actually looking forward to this opportunity, even though I knew she would take credit for everything. With a huff, she marched to her office, pausing at the doorway. She twirled her pearls and glowered at me.
“And just one more thing, Sarah.”
Now what?
“Have you stopped seeing my husband?”
Her question was a dagger to my heart. I vomited the words: “I’m no longer seeing Ari.”
She smiled smugly. “Excellent. You have a future here with me.” She stepped into her office and slammed the door behind her.
A tornado of emotions tore through me. Rage. Confusion. Fear. Hopelessness. Sorrow. The furious storm wreaked havoc with every cell in my body. My headache erupted full force, making it difficult to concentrate, and my chest constricted, making it difficult to breathe. I was close to having an emotional breakdown. Pressing my fingers against my temples and squeezing my eyes shut, I forced myself to inhale and exhale through my nose several times. It helped. Within a few minutes, I was calmed down enough to get back to work. The only emotion that lingered like a rain cloud over my head was sadness.
Taking one more deep breath, I dove into Combat Wombats. Inspired, I fleshed out the personalities of each of the heroes and decided to name them after Australian cities—team leader Mel (short for Melbourne), bruiser Perth, brainiac Brisbane, and last but not least, Sydney, the kick-ass girl wombat. The concept was quickly shaping up. An image of Ari’s son playing with the action figures flashed into my head. He was my inspiration. Another pang of sadness shot through me.
At noon, Catherine emerged from her office, carrying her Chanel briefcase and purse. “I’ll be out of the office for the remainder of the afternoon. Please screen my calls and only contact me if something’s urgent.” With a fling of her hair, she strutted down the hall until she was out of sight.
I reviewed her schedule. She indeed had a very booked up afternoon. Following lunch at Nobu, she had a mani-pedi, leg and arm waxing, and then her appointment uptown at the law offices of Allen & Allyn. Great. I could get a lot done.
Diving back into Combat Wombats helped keep my mind off Ari but not totally. I still longed for the phone to ring and to hear his sultry voice. Of course, that was wishful thinking. It was over. History. I was probably nothing more to him than another train conquest. One of many.
Yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get him out of my head. In between Combat Wombat doodles, I found myself sketching his face from all angles—from his breathtaking profile to a frontal view with his dazzling dimpled smile. I was surprised by how well I captured his expressions—from his smug come-ons to his dreamy after-sex glow. Under each sketch, I wrote his name, making fanciful “A’s” and drawing little hearts. I fought back tears. Damn it. I missed him. And wanted him back in my life so badly.
At a li
ttle before six, Fernando stopped by my desk. I hastily flipped over my doodles. “Mí amor, let’s go out for a drink and celebrate Combat Wombats.”
I hesitated, but then agreed. I could use a drink. The last twenty-four hours had been hell. Grabbing my bag and skateboard, I headed to the bank of elevators with Fernando. My companion did an outrageous imitation of Catherine, strutting as she did in her Chanel pumps with her head high in the air. My office buddy was already cheering me up.
As we exited the entrance to the building, both laughing, I stopped dead in my tracks. He was there! Leaning against his Bentley, his arms folded across his chest. Dressed in the beige suit he was wearing when I first saw him at 30th Street Station. His piercing blue eyes bored into mine. My heart did a flip-flop and bolted to my throat.
“Kiss me!” I begged Fernando.
“What the fuck? I’m gay and committed.”
“Just do it! I’ll explain later.”
Without another word, Fernando wrapped an arm around me and crushed his hot Latino lips onto mine. I placed a hand on his tight little ass. While the kiss didn’t go beyond lip contact, he was a damn good kisser. Except inside I felt nothing. There were none of the flutters and tingles that Ari’s kisses evoked everywhere. I kept my eyes shut but could feel my Adonis’s eyes on me.
I don’t know how long the kiss lasted. When Fernando finally pulled away, I blinked my eyes open and gasped. He was standing before us, overpowering us with all six-feet-three inches of his virile body. His eyes were narrow, his lips pressed tight. He was angry. Very angry. My heart was thudding, and my stomach cramped. I knew how jealous he could get.
“So, Sarah, this is your boyfriend.” It was more of statement of fact than a question. His icy eyes rammed into me like a glacier.
“Yes, this is Fernando,” I stammered, sinking like the Titanic. Fernando played along with me. My stomach was in knots, and my legs were Jell-O.
“Your Latin lover.” Ari clenched his fists so hard they turned white. He raised one, and suddenly I feared that he was going to knock Fernando out. I protectively jumped in front of my anxious friend.
I looked Ari straight in the eyes. “If you try to hurt him, you’ll have to hurt me first.”
“Then we’ll be even.”
His words stung me like a hornet. I held my breath. His fist stayed suspended in mid-air, then finally he lowered it.
Relief washed over me yet every nerve in my body was on edge. I suddenly became acutely aware I was pantyless. The throbbing between my legs rivaled the throbbing of my heart. The ache was so great I wanted to scream. I still wanted this gorgeous, mercurial god as much as I could ever want anything.
He shot Fernando a look of contempt and then stared icily at me. “Remember that little saying of yours, Sarah. The grass can’t compete with the trees.” With that and without saying goodbye, he pivoted on his heel and stormed back to the Bentley. My eyes stayed locked on him as he got into the car and sped off.
I felt sick. Nauseatingly sick. And on the verge of a tsunami of tears.
“What was that all about?” asked Fernando.
“I need a drink. I’ll explain everything.”
###♥###
The bar Fernando took me to was a neighborhood joint that was popular with the Toy District crowd. Fernando ordered us two frozen margaritas. I gulped down the refreshing frosty drink like it was soda pop and immediately ordered another.
“Okay, chiquita, spill the beans.”
The potent alcohol had loosened me up. I told Fernando about how I had met Ari and filled him in on my whirlwind romance, omitting the explicit sexual details. Except for the few he demanded to hear.
“Oh, mí Sarita, you are in love.”
I nodded, tears filling my eyes. Mí amigo was right as usual.
I drained my second margarita and ordered another as did Fernando.
“But, mí amor, no comprendo. Todo sounds perfecto. And he’s so hot. What eez the problema?”
Another round of margaritas arrived and after a few gulps, I told him about Ari’s ex…sharing all the horrific things she’d done to both Ari and his precious son. How she’d fucked them both up emotionally and physically.
Fernando listened attentively, wide-eyed and wordless except for muttering “dios mío” under his breath.
“Sarita, she eez a sicko. Loca!
“Fernando, I met her last night.”
“No way!”
“Oh, Fernando, you’re not going to believe this.” My voice choked up and then I dropped the bomb. “His ex-wife is Catherine!”
Few things shocked Fernando; he almost fell off his bar stool. Two words: “Hay caramba!”
The tsunami building behind my eyes broke loose. Tears stormed down my cheeks. “Fernando, she threatened to fire me today if I didn’t stop seeing him.”
“Las sendeces!” barked an incensed Fernando. “That’s harassment. You’ve got to talk to human resources. Pronto!”
I brushed away my tears to no avail. “I can’t. She’ll twist and turn things around, and I’ll end up losing my job. I won’t be able to help pay for my mother’s treatments.”
“What do you mean?” asked my puzzled friend.
I sobbed, “Oh, Fernando, the federal grant covering my mother’s treatments is expiring, and her insurance company won’t pay a dime because they’re experimental.”
“What about another insurance company?”
“I’m looking for one that will help defray the exorbitant cost, but it’s taking time and even if I do find one, the coverage will only be partial.” I sniffled loudly, choking out the next words. “And it may be too late.”
“Mí pobrecita!” His voice full of compassion, he gave me a bear hug. It didn’t help me feel better. Nor did my third margarita, which I polished off quickly.
Recklessly, I ordered another one, despite Fernando’s protest, and with my tears salting the contents, I downed it. Despite the chill of the drink which sailed through my system, I felt my temperature rising. As sweat beads clustered on my forehead, nausea rose to my chest and the room began to spin. I blinked my eyes hard. There wasn’t one Fernando in front of me—but two!
What was happening? Unable to shake the sickening dizziness, I started to sway on my stool.
“Mí amor, are you okay?” asked a concerned Fernando.
“I don’t think so.”
“Vámonos.”
I could barely stand up. Letting me lean on him, Fernando led me out of the bar. Each unsure step was a stumble. The world around me was spinning out of control, the sounds of the crowd, a dull cacophonous roar.
Once outside, I spilled my guts. The waves of nausea kept coming and coming. Even when there was nothing left inside me, I kept heaving. I had never been drunk in my entire life. Never. Or thrown up so much. The loss of my Trainman had driven me to drink. Driven me to behavior that had no right to be part of my being.
While I cried frightened tears, Fernando held my clammy hand and hailed a cab. One thankfully came quickly and Fernando helped me inside. I laid my head on his shoulder as blackness claimed me.
Ari
Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
I’d set myself up for disaster.
I’d met Sarah’s boyfriend face to face.
And he’d turned me into a monster, bringing out that extreme jealous and possessive side of me that was reserved only for her.
I swear I would have bashed his pretty face in if Sarah hadn’t gotten in the way. Lowering my fist was next to impossible. I waited too long. In retrospect, I should have sent him crawling when the douchebag crushed his lips on hers.
Seething, I clenched my steering wheel as I headed uptown in the damn rush hour traffic. Yeah. I should have given it to him. Ruined that pretty face of his and claimed her right then and there. Fuck rational thinking.
So far the person who was spying on him had come up with nothing. Olga, Vadim’s wife. She’d done a stakeout of the Sutton Place building where Sarah’s boyfriend resi
ded, but had seen neither of them emerge in the morning or afternoon. She knew what both of them looked like—Sarah from her stay in the Hamptons and Fernando from the photo I’d taken of him earlier.
Frustrated and furious, I thought about stopping for a drink to chill out, but I was afraid in my state I’d drink too much and do something foolish. Like get into a bar room brawl or even worse, an accident. I had a son. A son I loved and needed as much as the air I breathed, and I couldn’t risk my life at any cost. Control, my shrink said, was part of my M.O., but when it came to Sarah, I totally lost it.
Getting a hold of myself with a deep breath, I speed dialed Olga at the next red light. Don’t ask me how, but I had a hunch that Sarah and that little Latin prick might be heading to her place. I gave her the address and told her to hang out there. And to keep me posted.
It took me a fucking long hour to get up to Eighty-Fifth Street. Valeting my car, I stalked up to my apartment. It was after seven and Ben was already sound asleep in bed.
“Eez everything okay, Señor Golden?” asked my perceptive housekeeper, Luisa, sensing my distress.
“Yes,” I assured her as calmly as I could, knowing that she was as worried about Cassandra’s reappearance as I was. “I’m going to my office to do some work.”
I could tell from her concerned expression that she knew something was off. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, Luisa. Thank you, but I’m good.” I did, however, stop at my well-stocked bar to pour myself a shot of brandy before heading to my office.
My office was located off the living room. It was spacious and as elegant as the rest of the apartment. The Art Deco desk I sat at had once belonged to my father, which made it special. It was uncluttered with just my large desktop computer and some family photos strategically placed. Sipping the brandy with my tie loosened, I reviewed my upcoming presentation to our Board of Directors and then tweaked the speech I was giving at the gala to raise money for my non-profit foundation, Meds Without Borders. Both were happening tomorrow, the former in the afternoon at my corporate headquarters and the latter in the evening at the Waldorf Astoria—the event I’d planned to take Sarah to until fucking Cassandra and Sarah’s damn boyfriend got in the way. As my blood simmered, my cell phone pinged. A text. My iPhone was right next to my computer and I grabbed it. The message was from Olga.
Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2) Page 5