I hang up before he can respond.
Then, I wait for the regret to kick in.
Surprisingly, it doesn’t. Probably because I did nothing but tell the truth, and he damn well knows it.
Doug might not appreciate how empty his pocket will be as a result, not to mention those sweet campaign funds that I’m under no illusion he isn’t tapping into.
Doug can kiss my ass.
I decide to take the rest of the day off sick, something I haven’t once done in the four years I’ve worked here.
Call it temporary insanity.
Brought on in part by this business with Honey Dewberry.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Honey
I’m standing in the foyer of the restaurant where Giuseppe and I are supposed to meet. The weather outside is horrible, but even if it weren’t for the heaters, my body would be filled with warm excitement.
Our first bona fide date. At least the traditional kind.
One where I don’t have to put on any kind of performance.
I think about the ticket to Chanteuse Femmes I snagged for tomorrow night.
That puts a slight wrinkle of worry in my brow.
But I won’t think about that now.
Let Giuseppe come to the show and judge for himself. I suppose that will be the determining factor if he’s the right man for me.
When he finally walks through the door to the restaurant, my smile brightens. It fades a little when I see the look on his face. It’s an unfortunate mix of distracted and concerned, it doesn’t go away when his eyes land on me.
“Bad day at work?” I ask with a sympathetic smile.
“Can we talk? Somewhere private.”
That doesn’t sound good at all.
I look around the small waiting area in the restaurant. Going outside isn’t a convenient option due to the weather.
He seems to realize the same thing, so he takes my arm and guides me to a small corner of the sitting area where we might have some privacy if we keep our voices down.
“What is it?” I ask, feeling my anxiety go haywire.
Jesse stares at me as though wondering how to start. More than ever he looks like Clark Kent in those glasses, perhaps after having committed some mishap at the Daily Planet.
“Why didn’t you tell me what you do for a living? What you really do?”
I feel my heart sink.
So he knows.
“I didn’t lie, Giuseppe. Not exactly.”
“That’s not fair, and you know it.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding in agreement. “You’re right, it’s not fair. I just…I didn’t want you to judge me before you actually saw the show.”
“Instead I had to find out from my coworkers,” he hisses under his breath. “Do you have any idea what that was like?”
“I’m certainly beginning to,” I say cooly.
“Don’t do that Honey, don’t play that game. I took you to the gala, an event put on by my firm. Now, I just look like the office schmuck.”
“And what were you before?” I say, turning it back on him. I know I’m being awful, but if we’re going to be laying it all out, why not? “So concerned about these people for whom you yourself have to put on a show? Because heaven forbid they find out who the real Giuseppe is, the boy from New Jersey.”
“Don’t turn this on me, Honey. You should have told me from the start.”
“You’re right, I should have. It would have prevented this right here.” I give him a sad look. “So, do you want to end this? I’d understand if you do.”
He blinks in surprise.
Which surprises me.
“I—I didn’t say that. I just…I need time to consider what this means.”
“What it means?” I repeat. “I’m no different than I was yesterday, Giuseppe. No different than I was last week. You just know one more thing about me. This person you see before you, that’s the real me. Just like your Superman is that boy from New Jersey. My…Supergirl, I suppose, is that girl who looked at Dolly Parton and Josephine Baker and said ‘that’s me right there.’ It may not be everyone’s cup of tea, and I’m certainly going to raise eyebrows with what I do and who I am. But to be honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Honey, I’m not ending this. I just need time to absorb it. Surely you can at least understand that?”
“I do,” I say with a sympathetic smile. I reach up to cup his face, feeling that slight bit of stubble scratch my palm. “I’m not criticizing you for that. Rose told me I should have told you right away and she was right. That’s my bad.”
I reach into my purse and pull out the ticket for my show.
“Just, at least do me the favor of watching me perform before you decide I’m not the woman for you, Giuseppe.”
His eyes fall to the ticket, then back up to me. “Honey…I—”
I press the ticket into his palm.
“Tomorrow night. If you’re still interested after the show, come backstage. I’ll have a pass waiting for you. If you don’t show up, I’ll know it’s over.”
I reach up to kiss his cheek, then leave while he’s still caught up in his silence.
Walking out, the weather finally matches my mood.
What kind of woman get’s rejected twice in the month of February?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Honey
The best thing about having girlfriends is that they know how to drop everything and rally around you when you’re at your lowest.
Tonight is a far cry from Sunday night where I shined on the stage, mostly powered by the best makeup Valentine’s Day evening ever with Giuseppe after the gala.
He sprang this on me on a Monday, so all of them are available to be here tonight at Jerome’s place with me. Along with the appropriate amount of alcohol.
“So is he coming to the show tomorrow?” Annabelle asks.
I shrug, “I gave him a ticket. We’ll see if he uses it.”
“Once he sees that pretty ass of yours on the stage doin’ your thing, he’s gonna be hooked, Honey,” Jerome says.
“Exactly,” Esmerelda agrees. “Tu culo es—” she kisses the tips of her fingers “muy fuego.”
That gets a reluctant laugh out of me. “I’m pretty sure his problem is with everyone else seeing my, ahem, culo.”
“Okay, first of all,” Esmerelda says, shoving one finger up toward my face. “We don’t show our asses, not entirely. Second of all, even if we did, he has to know that you’re only taking that ass home to one man to play with. Or in my case, several,” she says with a wicked smile and a shrug.
“Essie,” Annabelle says, wrinkling her nose. She turns to me with a smile. “The good news is, he hasn’t said no.”
“Annabelle’s right,” says Rose. “It’s an adjustment for most people. Remember how long it took your parents to come on board with it? The good news is you got it out in the open, so there’s really nothing standing between you two anymore.”
“Only when he sees me tomorrow—if he comes.”
“A chance to see you take your clothes off? Oh, he’ll come,” Esmerelda assures me.
Definitely not helping.
“As much as I hate to bring up his name, Francis never had a problem with it.”
They all groan and protest at that old news.
“It’s true!” I point out.
“Honey, Francis met you after watching the show. The only thing he knew was what he saw on that stage. And don’t forget how much he treated you like a plaything in the beginning,” Rose points out.
Now that I think about it, she’s right. The rose-colored glasses I had in the later part of our relationship did a terrific job of discoloring how it all started.
“Your ass better not be thinking about going back to him,” Esmerelda warns.
They all offer their enthusiastic agreement with that.
Jerome stands up and flaps his hands in the air. “Honey girl, forget about all this noise you’re airing
.” He leans in and rests his large hands on my shoulders. “Tomorrow, you gonna get up on that stage and you gonna shine the brightest you’ve ever shined. Because you are Honey Dewberry, and Honey Dewberry doesn’t let anyone dim her light.”
He leans in closer with a grin. “And Honey, that boy will be so impressed his Mama and Daddy will be singing hallelujah by osmosis.”
* * *
I’m still riding the high from last night’s gal pal pow-wow. Frankly, the support of The Girls and Jerome’s words of encouragement were just the kick in the butt I needed.
Honey Dewberry is back better than ever.
I’m in my outfit, a pink corset and ruffled bottoms with light pink fishnet stockings and long, pink satin gloves.
Each of The Girls has specific props we use to play a version of three-card monte with our body.
Rose has a wreath of red roses to go with her green satin outfit.
Esmerelda has a series of black scarves to go with her black lace outfit.
Annabelle uses a parasol to match her baby blue outfit.
And I have feathered fans.
I’m on after Rose and before Annabelle. Then we all do a number together at the end, which is really more of a slap-sticky comedic set that incorporates poking some fun at the crowd. They always eat it up, and we end the show having fun.
Backstage, I’m wondering if a certain someone decided to join tonight’s crowd.
The butterflies that always invade my stomach just before my bit are flapping their wings twice as hard as usual. It’s only when I step onto that stage, with nothing but the spotlights blinding my eyes that they settle back into hibernation.
This is it. The place where I shine the brightest.
If Giuseppe is out there somewhere in the darkness behind those lights, he’s in for the show of a lifetime.
My smile gleams as the music starts up.
One pop of my hip and the show is on.
It’s a fun, sexy, sensual, but playful progression from the first satin glove to my corset and finally my bottoms.
When the song stops and I offer another gleaming smile and a wink to the audience, the feathered fans are covering more than most women expose at the beach.
But it’s all still so scandalous, yet innocent.
Which is the beauty of the tease.
When I dance my way off stage, Rose is there to hug me. Annabelle offers a thumbs up and a wink before dancing out to take my place behind the dropped curtain.
Amazing! Esmerelda mouths with a grin.
And it was amazing, or at least felt that way.
Only time will tell if Giuseppe agrees.
That’s if he even came.
My first act helped me further relax and have even more fun in the final act, all of us drawing more laughs and cheers than usual tonight.
All in all, a first-rate performance from The Girls.
As we rush off stage after an encore, we’re all laughs and chatter.
In the dressing room we continue, congratulating ourselves on another successful performance as we get dressed and remove the stage makeup from our faces.
“This almost makes up for the stand-in we had to use the past two Saturdays,” Esmerelda scolds.
“Hey now, we’ve all had to borrow a Saturday or two in our time,” Rose reminds her.
“I suppose that will be one positive if he didn’t come tonight. No more Saturdays off for me,” I say with a begrudging smile.
“No negative thinking, Honey!” Annabelle scolds. “I bet he’s waiting in the hallway right now as we speak.”
When we finally do leave the dressing room, I’m almost as surprised as the rest of The Girls when I see the huge bouquet of pink roses.
They block out the view of the man holding them.
When he pulls them lower, my heart does a double-take.
“Francis?!”
Chapter Thirty
Honey
Francis gives me a hesitant smile over the massive bunch of roses in his hands. There must be at least three dozen in total.
I realize that I forgot to tell the backstage crew that he was officially persona non grata at this point, thus canceling his standing backstage pass.
“What are you doing here?”
His gaze darts to The Girls, who I feel take up protective stances on either side of me. He drags his eyes back to me with a slightly pleading note in them.
I just cross my arms and give him a withering look.
After all he’s done if he thinks I’m getting rid of the people who have been by my side through all of this for his sake, he’s sorely mistaken.
He swallows and gives a subtle nod as though he deserves that.
“I…I came to make it up to you, Honey. I was an ass about all of this.”
“No disagreement there.”
Esmerelda mutters something in agreement in Spanish under her breath next to me.
“I wanted to get in touch, to at least call or text, but this business thing…. The Astons hold all the cards. The truth is, Hickenbatter? We need them more than they need us. Muffy insisted that she be the one to talk to you first.”
It’s all just noise in my ears.
I’m already done with Francis, and seeing him for the first time since that lunch only proves it.
“She told me how your meeting went,” he says, giving me a sheepish look. “How you…you weren’t interested in—”
“I most certainly was not,” I finish for him, my eyes wide with indignation. “And I remember telling you as much at our lunch—our final lunch.”
“Honey, please. Let me make it up to you. I’ll leave her if that’s what you want.”
I want to laugh.
“It shouldn’t have to be about what I want, Francis,” I point out. “It should be what you want.”
“I do! Don’t you see that? That’s why I’m here. I want to end this farce. Muffy? She—she’s nothing like you.”
I exhale a laugh, not bothering to verbally agree with that obvious assessment.
“At least take these flowers. Just as a first token of my apology, my willingness to make this up to you, Honey. I want you—need you!”
I stare at the flowers. Once upon a time, I would have been hypnotized by such a gorgeous bouquet. Now, I see them for what they are, a mask, hiding the pathetic excuse for a man that I thought I once loved.
“Honey?”
It isn’t Francis’ voice that breaks my spell.
I turn around to see Giuseppe standing there. He’s holding a sad bouquet of roses that have certainly seen better days.
“Giuseppe,” I say softly, reading his face for clues.
His eyes dart to Francis. I see them land on the huge, perfect bouquet of roses, then fall back to the pathetic bunch in his own hands.
I want to shout that it doesn’t matter! Roses don’t matter! Tokens of affection don’t matter!
All that matters is, he’s here.
But I’m still speechless.
“I wanted to get you somethin’,” That Jersey accent is like music to my ears. “Somethin’ I thought you deserved. This was all I could find close by. I just wanted to let you know what I thought of you up on that stage. That show was…”
His eyes say everything.
“Spectacular?” Rose offers.
“Amazing?” Annabelle adds with a giggle.
“Perfecto,” Esmerelda says in a warning tone.
“You,” He says, his focus all on me. “It was you, Honey. And…I loved it.”
“Who is this, Honey?”
Francis’ voice is grating, ruining the moment.
Then Giuseppe, just like Superman, comes in to save the day.
He turns to Francis with a hard, meaningful look, his eyes so piercing with intent I’m surprised his glasses don’t crack.
“I’m the man who’s never letting her go.”
My hero.
Chapter Thirty-One
Giuseppe
“I quit.”
It’s Wednesday and I’m in Doug’s office. When I came up here at his vehement insistence—considering I ignored emails from him Monday afternoon and all day Tuesday, having used yet another “sick” day—his face was already red with anger. I’m assuming he got an earful from Congressman Bowen after my phone call.
“You—you what?”
“I quit.” I say it in such a calm voice it borders on impudence.
He leans in to give me a hard look. “I don’t think you understand what you’re saying here, Jesse.”
“It’s Giuseppe,” I reply with an edge in my voice. “And yes, I do understand what I’m saying. For the third time, I quit.”
Doug falls back in his chair with an incredulous laugh. “Son, you don’t have to worry about quitting. After that stunt you pulled with Congressman Bowen, you’re already ten kinds of fired.”
“On that note, let’s discuss the terms of my severance.”
“The terms?” He hiccups another laugh. “How about these terms? Get the hell out of my office and security will meet you at yours to escort you out.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of two years salary, plus my bonus and benefits for the entire year.”
That stuns him into silence.
If he’s smart, he’ll have picked up on the fact that people without leverage don’t make that kind of ballsy request.
Turns out he’s smarter than he looks. His eyes narrow with suspicion. “And just why the hell would ABC even entertain such an outrageous severance?”
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