by Deborah Camp
“Yes.”
“Cute name.” She sighed and addressed Lonnie again. “Teaching. Right. No, I haven’t taught in years. I clerk at RJT Realtors. I’m here tonight drowning my sorrows. Oh, good, here comes my sustenance.” She took the wine glass from the waitress. “Thanks. I need this.” She indulged in a big sip before she continued, “I just broke my engagement. We’ve been planning a wedding for three months and it all blew up today.”
“Oh, no.” Zaney rested a hand on Carin’s arm, immediately feeling the woman’s pain. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“I’ve been complaining that we don’t spend enough time together. I’ve been doing all the wedding planning because he’s always working.” She took another drink. “He’s a neurosurgeon. I seem to always end up with men who like their jobs more than they like me.”
“Doctors are notoriously busy, aren’t they?” Zaney asked.
“Yes, but our wedding is . . . was important! And I wanted to see him more often. I wanted us to go out. Do things together. Be seen. You know?” She looked from Zaney to Lonnie, seeking their nods of understanding. “I wanted to get this one right. It’s number three for me – or it would have been.”
“Who was number two?” Lonnie asked.
“My ex-boss. I was working for an abstract company then.” She made an unpleasant face. “That one was a big mistake. We were married nine months and that was six months too long.”
“I remember number one. Matthew.” Lonnie looked at Zaney. “A hunkahunka burning love, that one. Or he was back then.”
“Still is,” Carin assured her. “What about you, Lonnie? Are you married? Divorced?”
“Neither. Yet.”
“Zaney?”
Zaney shook her head. “Unscathed, so far.”
“Sometimes I wish I’d stayed with Matt.” Carin stared gloomily into her wineglass.
“How long were you two married?” Lonnie asked.
“Three years. Almost four.” She pursed her lips in a little pout. “I did a number on him. Poor guy.”
“Oh?” Lonnie motioned for another drink and handed the waitress her empty glass. “Mojito, please. So, Carin, what happened between you and Matt? You two seemed destined for each other back in college.”
“I got bored and then I got suspicious.” Carin shrugged. “I was young and dumb. He worked all the time – like Ben the surgeon I just broke up with. You’d think I’d learn, wouldn’t you? Anyway, yeah. Matt was building his business. He’s in advertising, remember? And he was gone all the time.” She finished off the Chablis. “I suspected that he had a mistress, so I decided to divorce him, but I hired a private detective to get the goods on him so that I’d have ammunition in court. Meanwhile, my boss was putting the moves on me and I was lonely.”
Zaney drained her drink as her estimation of Carin also dried up. She had little sympathy for any woman who broke her marriage vows. When trust was shattered, all was lost in a relationship.
“You had an affair with your boss,” Lonnie said. “Naughty girl.”
“I know, I know.” Carin smiled, sheepishly. “Turned out that Matt wasn’t screwing around on me. He was actually working! But I was done by the time I found that out. I was getting it regular from my boss while Matt was at the office night after night, so I went ahead and filed for divorce.” She nodded when the waitress dropped off Lonnie’s drink and asked if Carin or Zaney wanted a refill. “What I regret is that I screwed over Matt and he didn’t deserve it. I ruined him for other women. He doesn’t trust anyone anymore.”
“You still see him?” Lonnie asked.
“Matt? Yes, some. We have a cat and he took her after the divorce. I drop by to visit Toodles.”
“Awww, that’s sweet,” Lonnie said with a soppy grin.
“Yes, well, Matt used to be sweet until I soured him on women and relationships.”
“Time heals all wounds,” Zaney opined. Her father and mother had divorced and eventually married again. “He’ll get over it and fall in love with someone new. Just like you did.”
The waitress set a second glass of wine in front of Carin and handed Zaney another lemon drop.
“I don’t think he will,” Carin objected. “He’s way too jaded.”
“I bet you that someone will melt the ice around his heart,” Zaney said. “He’ll learn to trust again.”
“Maybe.” Carin rested her hands flat on the table and squared her shoulders. “Damn it! I still believe in love even though I’m miserable right now.” She lifted her glass. “Here’s to men.”
“To men,” Lonnie agreed, then added with a bright smile, “It’s not the length. It’s not the size. It’s how often he can make it rise.”
Carin’s eyes widened and she doubled over in laughter. Zaney giggled, having heard this toast before. Lonnie was always ready with a bawdy, rib-tickling salute. They touched glasses and drank around their grins.
Carin resumed her lament about her broken engagement, but Zaney only half listened. Her thoughts kept returning to how love can be paradise and then hellish. Her father had remarried within two years after divorcing her mother. It had taken her mother a lot longer to finally trust enough to fall in love again. Zaney had never been in love. She’d come close, she mused. Very close. Almost two years ago, she’d been living with Barry Summers. Boyishly cute, he and Zaney had made an adorable couple. Everyone had told them so. For a minute, Zaney had thought he was “the one.” But he’d signed on for a road company role and had left her, all smiles and not the least bit sad to be moving out. No biggie for him. Biggie for her, although she had expected it. Men leave. That’s just what they seem to be good at.
“C’est le vie,” Zaney whispered on a wistful sigh.
“Pardon?” Carin asked.
“Oh. Nothing. Sorry.”
“Hey, I have to be going.” Carin motioned for the waitress and handed her a bank card. “Thanks for letting me horn in here, girls. Good to see you again, Lonnie. Let’s keep in touch.”
“Let’s,” Lonnie agreed.
In a flurry of hugs and farewells, Carin left them. Glancing around, Zaney realized that the teeming throng had slimmed to a manageable crowd.
“She’s had quite a life,” Zaney commented. “It’s weird how we haven’t married and she was headed for number three.”
“I’d rather be us than her,” Lonnie said. “Except, I wouldn’t have minded bedding Matt.” She grinned, naughtily. “He was gor-jus back then! Tall, blond, built. He was on the swim team and the track team. You know how those guys have those long, sleek muscles?”
“Oh, yeah. I love that.” Zaney closed her eyes as a dreamy vision of wide shoulders and lithe back muscles swam into her mind.
“Well, Matthew Birdsong was built like that. I don’t know what he looks like now. He could have a beer gut and a scraggly goatee for all I know.”
Zaney’s eyes popped open as that name sizzled through her. “What? Did you say Birdsong?” She gripped Lonnie’s arm.
“Yes. Matt Birdsong. You know him?”
“M. Birdsong, Lonnie! My across-the-hall man-whore! That’s the name on his mailbox. It has to be him! Birdsong is not like Smith or Jones or . . . or Miller!”
“Right.” Lonnie blinked and then sucked in a breath when two and two equaled four. “Oh, my God! You’re right. That is wild! Matt Birdsong is your neighbor. That means that Carin has visited there. She said she sees their cat every so often.”
“I might have seen her before, but who knows. He has a buffet of beauties in and out of there. I can’t keep up with them all.”
“She’s right, then. Carin ruined him. She turned him into an unfeeling slut. That is a damned pity because Matthew Birdsong was primo. He still is, right? No beer gut?”
“No beer gut.” Zaney smacked her lips. “He’s delish. Dresses like a dream. And he smells good. He wears a cologne that makes me want to follow him, sniffing like a bloodhound. I think it’s Bvlgari Man in Black.”
&nb
sp; “Oh, I love that. Makes me wet.”
“Me, too.” She reviewed what his ex-wife had said about him. “Now that I know what happened in his marriage, I kind of feel sorry for him.”
“Don’t. People get divorced every day, Zaney, and their hearts don’t turn to stone. If he’s a prick now, that’s all on him.”
“I never said he was a prick. I’ve never even talked to him.” Recalling his brusque brushoff of his sex partners, she wondered if she were being too generous to him.
“Let’s get out of here. The two old guys at the bar are getting ready to hit on us.”
“Here. Let me.” Zaney fished her bank card from her purse and waved it at the waitress. She made more money than Lonnie. Twice as much, she knew, having been a theater dresser before Foster had hired her and doubled her salary.
“No. We’ll go Dutch.” Lonnie handed over her card, too. “Carin has held up well. She looks a little older, of course, but she’s still a stunner.”
“Was she a cheerleader?”
“No.” Lonnie laughed. “But she did enter beauty pageants. I don’t think she ever got the crown, but she was runner-up a time or two.”
They walked to the corner and hailed a cab. Settled in the back seat, Zaney gave Lonnie’s address and then hers to the driver.
“The next time you see Matt, are you going to tell him that you met his ex?”
Zaney glanced up in consideration, but before she could answer, Lonnie beat her to it.
“You will. I know you. You’re honest to a fault. You aren’t capable of not telling him.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Like I said, I never talk to him.” She watched the lights of the city flash by, still amazed that she’d bumped into her neighbor’s ex-wife. Funny how New York could sometimes seem like a small town. Maybe she’d speak to him the next time she caught his eye. It would be neighborly of her, right?
Chapter 2
Reading is Sexy
By the next Friday, Zaney felt fried. Foster’s fashions were in the spotlight at a charity gala benefiting breast cancer. Held at the Marriott Marque Hotel, one of the event rooms had been turned into a model runway with seating for two hundred. Behind the runway screen and curtained off, Zaney fussed over the final four models who prepared to hit the runway. She mentally ticked off each accessory and checked hems, necklines, zippers, buttons, and overall silhouettes.
“Okay, you are all good to go,” she said, giving them a thumb’s up. She watched on the monitor as the models walked the runway. Foster stood near her, preparing to make his final entrance along with his dozen models. He caught her eye and folded his hands over the area of his heart.
“They love us, don’t you think?” he whispered to her.
“This is one of your best seasons. Every piece is yummy.”
He giggled as he adjusted the big yellow sunflower pinned to the lapel of his eggplant colored jacket. “Wonderful, chickees,” he crooned as the models lined up for their final strut before the audience. “Let’s bring down the curtain. Off you go!”
Zaney watched the show on the small screen, smiling with pride as the audience cheered and hooted their approval. Although she had absolutely nothing to do with the creation of the apparel, Zaney felt connected to it all. Foster Mendoza made everyone feel part of the team. Working for him was a challenge, but rewarding, because even though he was temperamental and a drama queen, his heart was always in the right place. As the models slipped back behind the curtains, Zaney and her two assistant dressers helped them remove their shoes, clothes, jewelry, and everything but their undies. And sometimes they even took those off.
Shepherding three of the models to the corner she’d been using all night to dress them, Zaney took care with each garment, hanging it up so that it wouldn’t be trampled or dragged on the dirty floor.
“Sydney, you looked stunning in this jungle green one-piece,” Zaney said, arranging the garment onto a hanger and covering it with a zippered bag bearing Foster’s logo.
“Thanks. I love that one. Made me feel like a wild woman.” At six-feet-one-inch, the blond towered over Zaney by a good eight inches. “You going to join us tonight for drinks?”
“Not tonight.” Zaney rested her hand at her waist and twisted, groaning as she did. “I’m beat. I want to get off my feet and veg out on the sofa.”
“Awww, come on, Zaney,” one of the other models said, draping her arm around Zaney’s shoulders. “It’s more fun with you there.”
“Thanks, Beverly, but I really am tired. It’s been a long week.” She glanced up in time to see a familiar face. The nymph she’d seen leaving Birdsong’s apartment a couple of weeks ago! The girl looked straight at her and blushed. “Hi,” Zaney said, waving for her to come closer. “I feel like we’ve met, but I don’t remember your name. I’m Zaney Miller.”
The girl looked at the other models and smiled. “I’m Nichelle.”
“Hey, NiNi,” Beverly said as she wiggled into her own pair of skin-tight jeans. “Were you in the audience?”
“Yes. I came with a few of Christian Siriano’s models. He gave us tickets.”
“I love him. He’s so nice,” Sydney said. “Wasn’t the show great tonight?”
“And how. Foster is so talented. He always comes up with the most innovative but wearable things, you know?”
They all nodded, including Zaney. “I saw you at my apartment building,” Zaney reminded her, knowing she didn’t need it.
“Yeah. I was visiting Matt Birdsong.”
“Ohhhh!” Sydney and Beverly said in union, their eyes going wide.
“You know Matt, too?” Sydney asked.
“Umm, yes. Sort of.” Nichelle shrugged and turned redder. “I met him a little while ago.”
Zaney looked at each girl, checking out their sly grins. “You all know him?” When they all nodded, Zaney laughed. “What’s the odds of that?”
“He lives in your building?” Sydney asked.
“Right across from me.”
“I know him as well as anyone can, I guess,” Nichelle said.
“We know he’s a beast in bed,” Beverly said, giggling, and getting giggles from the other two models. “We know that, don’t we, girls?”
“Gawd, do we ever.” Sydney fanned her face. “I’d like some Birdsong right now, but he stopped answering my texts a couple of months ago.” She made a frowny face. “That’s the problem with him. He never sticks.”
“He was like one of the best fucks I’ve ever had,” Beverly said, getting down to it. “But his fuck-offs sting.”
Nichelle sniffed. “He’s stopped answering my texts, too. I was warned, though, by a couple of other girls that he uses us like condoms. Once and you’re done. But he was so nice to me! He flirted and took me to dinner and clubbing. I thought he liked me. A lot!”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it.” Dressed in the jeans, red shirt, and a black, leather vest that matched her boots, Beverly wadded her black hair on top of her head and stuck a couple of bobby pins in it. “He was jilted and hasn’t gotten over it.”
“It has something to do with his divorce.” Sydney grunted as she shoved her size elevens into Jimmy Choo gold pumps. “These pinch my pinky toes, but I love them. Anyway, I heard his breakup was awful. Went on for a year or something like that.”
“That’s right!” Beverly snapped her fingers. “I remember reading about it. She cheated on him and he hired a cutthroat lawyer to filet her in court. Oh, wait. Maybe that was a rock musician and a model I know . . .” She shrugged it all aside. “Whatever. I’m outta here, fashionistas. Time to get hammered. You coming, Syd?”
“Yes!” Sydney yanked a yellow t-shirt over her head that had been strategically sliced to reveal a bit of boob here, a peek of ribs there, and her belly button. “Let’s party, babe. Come with us, Nichelle. We’re headed for the Paradise Club.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Nichelle said. “I have to check in with the others first.”
“’Bye, Zaney!”
They chorused, leaving Zaney to finish hanging up clothes and putting shoes and jewelry into cushioned bags.
She replayed their descriptions of Matt Birdsong. Was he that cold after his divorce? Had he and Carin slugged it out in court for a year? She had to admit that she was more intrigued with him now than ever. The next time she bumped into him, she was going to talk to him. She’d think of something to say, even if it was something like, “I hear you are one fabulous fornicator, Birdsong.” Laughing under her breath, she made herself focus on her job instead of her neighbor’s dubious reputation.
Standing with leash in hand, Zaney attempted to insert the small key into her mailbox while Frito Pie lunged for the street door. “Hold on,” she complained, giving the leash a tug. “I want to get the mail before we go.” As usual, Frito ignored her and threw himself at the door, then made choking sounds, even though the leash was attached to a harness that was nowhere near his neck. “You’re such a drama king! Go ahead and snort and act like you’re being strangled. I’m not buying it.”
She finally managed to open the little, brass door and yank out a pile of advertisements, junk mail, and a couple of credit card bills. The street door opened and Frito Pie growled a warning as a man stepped into the foyer.
“Hush that,” Zaney scolded, pulling Frito away from the door. “Sorry. His growl is worse –oh! It’s you.” The sexy stud muffin!
Dressed in an impeccably tailored navy blue suit that simply had to be a Tom Ford, pale yellow shirt, and blue, yellow, gold, and green plaid tie, Matthew Birdsong had never looked better. His windblown blond hair fell in perfect disarray and his five o’clock shadow was as sexy as hell. He carried a leather satchel and a hardback book. Pat Conroy’s stupendous Prince of Tides.
“That’s one of my favorite novels,” Zaney said, nodding at the volume he held.
He seemed confused for a second and then he caught up with her line of conversation. “The book. Right. I’m about halfway through it.” He leaned down and offered the back of his hand for Frito to sniff. Obligingly, Frito inched forward, took a whiff, and then licked his fingers, making him chuckle.