The lake underneath is a deep, murky black. The leaves in the background are patchworks of reds, oranges and browns, slowly dying.
When we’re halfway across the bridge, Steve stops walking and pulls me to the railing.
“Steve, let’s go. I’m cold.” And it’s almost nine o’clock. I don’t want to be up too late tonight. I need my beauty sleep.
He cracks his neck again. What’s wrong with him? Is he stressed? Why should he be stressed? He’s not the one who has to go on television tomorrow night.
“Sunny.”
“Yeah?”
He takes my hand and squeezes it gently. I hear laughter coming from a small group of people walking toward us.
“This is the spot you said you loved. Bow Bridge. Remember?”
I did? I look around. It looks vaguely familiar, like a photograph I’ve developed and then filed away.
“And I wanted to take you to the spot you love to tell you that I love you.”
I know, I know. “I love you, too, Steve.”
“I fell in love with you the moment I met you. And the moment I met you, I knew that one day we would be right here. That you were the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” Suddenly he’s down on one knee. “Sunny, will you marry me?”
OH. MY. GOD. I need to get air into my chest. I can’t breathe. I’ve forgotten how.
He’s holding his grandmother’s ring in his right palm. The ring she wanted me to have.
And here’s when I screw everything up.
22
Spin City
“Steve, someone’s coming.”
Two women and two men are at the foot of the bridge, walking toward us.
Still on one knee, his eye twitches. “So?”
“So? Steve, come on. I don’t want anyone to see you like this.”
Steve’s eyes widen to the size of full moons. The ring glimmers from his hand. “I want everyone to see.”
My heart is hammering in my chest. What’s he doing? Why doesn’t he stand up? I love him, but get married? Now? He didn’t get me pregnant so this is his new way of tying me down? I lean down toward him and whisper, “What if one of these people recognize me?”
He stands up and puts the ring back in his pocket. “Do you even hear yourself? Hello? I just proposed, Sunny. Proposed. I’m talking about our future and you’re worried about some stupid television show?”
Stupid? “It’s not stupid, Steven. Tomorrow is the last episode and then everyone votes. If someone sees you proposing to me, how are my viewers going to feel about me lying to them? No one likes a liar.”
As the couples approach, I turn my back on them, to shield my face, and look out at the lake.
All it takes is one person to recognize me, one person to call a newspaper and say, “Sunny Lang’s boyfriend proposed to her,” for the gossip to start, for my chance in L.A. to be over, for everything I want to disappear.
He shakes his head in disgust. “You’re putting your stupid show ahead of our relationship again?”
How dare he? “It’s not a stupid show, it’s my career.”
He laughs. “Your career? What career? Are you planning to become a professional Jell-O wrestler?”
Who does he think he is, belittling what I do? “You’re a jerk.”
He ignores me. “This isn’t a career, Sunny. This is an experience. One that ends tomorrow. You wanted to find a new business job, remember? That’s your plan.”
“My plan has changed. This show was an opportunity of a lifetime, Steve, and I have a new outlook. I want a career in TV. If I win and get to go to L.A., I’m going.”
He clenches the railing. “Sunny, we’re an opportunity of a lifetime. We’re why you came to New York. If you go to L.A….” His voice trails off.
My stomach drops. “If I go to L.A., what? What’re you going to do, break up with me?”
He doesn’t answer. “You didn’t even remember that it was our anniversary yesterday,” he says instead. “One year. I had everything planned for last night, but you completely blew me off. You need to stop obsessing about this show. Your priorities are completely skewed.”
My face burns despite the cold. He could have reminded me about it being our anniversary. He knows how crazy everything’s been. “I don’t obsess.”
He lets out a spiteful laugh. “No? You’ve bought every tabloid in print for the past month. You check that stupid Web site every ten minutes. You won’t wear any of your old clothes because they’re not designer.” He spits out the word like it’s dirty. “You’ve become a stuck-up princess.”
I’m shaking with rage and humiliation. “It’s an image, Steve. I’m trying to sell an image.”
“An image you’ve bought into. Tomorrow I’ll help you start looking for a job again. You can work for me until you find something you want.”
Is he crazy? “You want me to be a waitress?”
He laughs again. “Well, la-di-da. Didn’t mean to insult you. You don’t want to wait on tables? Fine. Find something else. But I’ll tell you one thing, you’re not going to L.A.”
“I’m not? Excuse me? Who the hell do you think you are, telling me what I can and can’t do? You think you’re my father?”
Now he turns away from me. “Don’t you dare compare me to your father. I will never be anything like him. You, on the other hand, are another story. You’re the one who doesn’t know a good thing when she has it.”
Laughter travels across the lake. I’m cold and tired and I want to go home. “You know what, you’re an ass.”
“Fine, I’m an ass. So move back to Florida.”
As soon as he says it, we both freeze. It’s out there now, the possibility of breaking up. Lurking.
I knew this would happen eventually. All along, I knew it. I pretended this would work, but I knew it would fail. “Maybe I will. Then at least I won’t have someone telling me what to do. Telling me what bathing suits to buy.”
“Excuse me for not wanting my girlfriend whoring herself on television.”
My mouth feels loose and my head hurts and I want to hurt him, to stab him, to make him feel as lousy as I do. “With your vibrating panties and your porn shows and your little-girl costumes, I’d think you’d find my whorish behavior a turn-on.”
He flushes a deep red. “I didn’t realize you think I’m such a pervert.”
“If the shoe fits…”
“You never seemed to mind.”
“Please. I faked it every time. Not that you knew the difference.”
He steps back as if I’ve slapped him. “Can you leave, please? I can’t—” his voice cracks “—even look at you anymore.”
“You can’t look at me? Fine. I’ll leave. You’ll never have to look at me again.”
I storm back the way we came, off the bridge, without looking back.
Well, that was pretty dramatic.
If he’s not following me, it’s so over.
I look around. He’s not following.
I gave up everything for him—my job, my apartment, my car—and it’s not enough for him.
I’m not going back to Florida. I’m going to make myself a life right here. I have a life right here. Who gets engaged at twenty-four? How can I end my life just when I’m starting to get one? This is the most exciting city in the world, the most exciting time in my life, and I have to tie myself down?
I’m a quasi-celebrity. People recognize me.
I pass the John Lennon look-alikes and reach the street exit.
Where am I going to go? Carrie’s? No. I have to choose my father in the split, obviously. I wish my sister were here. I wish Steve hadn’t turned into such a bastard. I wish I had my cell phone.
I stop at the nearest pay phone. My hand shakes as I stick a quarter into the slot and dial Miche’s cell. This time she answers.
I push open the door to Orleans and climb down the stairs into the dark, smoky jazz bar.
Miche waves at me from a booth in the corner. She�
��s sitting with three banker types in expensive suits, and a crispy blond woman. I cross the room, head up, smile plastered on my face.
“What happened?” Miche asks when I reach them. I slide in beside her and smile seductively at the men. I’m sexy. I’m a star. I’m single.
“It’s over,” I whisper into her ear. “Don’t say anything to anyone about anything, okay?”
Her jaw drops. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I shake my hair out and put a smile back on my face. “Can we get drunk? And can I stay with you?”
She hoots and waves the waiter over.
I squeeze her shoulder. “And no apple juice this time.”
An hour later I’m feeling giddy. I’m feeling the beat, the music, the vibe. The men are flirting with me, laughing at what I say, smiling to get my attention. I’m the shit. They want me. I don’t know who they are or how Miche knows them but these men with their platinum credit cards are buying my drinks, competing for my attention.
The crispy blond woman keeps asking me questions, wanting to know where I’m from, how I like the show, what Matt is like.
They love me.
By midnight Miche looks antsy. I think she’s not used to someone else getting all the attention. “Where do you want to go now?” she asks.
I don’t care where we go. I’m feeling fantastic.
It’s over. Over. I didn’t need him. Don’t need him. He was weighing me down, like wet wool in a rainstorm. I’m only twenty-four. I should be out experiencing, living, being with different men, not just one. I should be meeting rock stars, models, celebrities…
Matt. I want to see Matt. I’m single now, aren’t I? I can see Matt.
“What about Matt’s bar?”
Miche winks. “I was waiting for that.”
The woman asks, “Are we going to be able to get in?”
I snort. “Of course we will. You’re with me. Miche, pass me your cell. I’ll call him.”
She hands me her phone and squeezes out of the booth to go to the bathroom. Luckily, I’ve been carrying his card around with me…in case.
He doesn’t answer, so I leave a message that I’m on my way.
As the men pay the bill, I slip the phone in my purse in case I need to try him again.
We wait for Miche outside the club. One of the guys puts his arm around me. “So,” he says, leaning close enough that I can smell his Tic Tac breath, “I hear you just broke up with your boyfriend.”
I’m surprised Michelle said anything, but at this point I don’t care. After she joins us outside, we cab uptown. I watch as the city shines and flickers like a disco ball of primary colors, and I think about how wonderful it is to be alive.
There’s a line outside the bar, but it doesn’t stop me. I head right to the front. “I’m Sunny Lang, and I’m a party of seven.”
The bouncer looks at his list. “Okay, go in. Matt just put you on the list.”
Hah! It worked. I knew he’d put me on. He wants me. And now I can have him. The red lights on the ceiling give the wet black walls an eerie, hellish glow. R&B music pulsates from the walls, and dancing bodies are pressed together in the crowd.
Where is he? I have to find him. “Where do you think he is?” I ask Miche.
She scans the bar. “Try the VIP room.”
“I’m here to see Matt,” I say to the bouncer at the VIP room. “He’s expecting me.”
“Who should I say you are?”
“Sunny Lang.”
He disappears inside, closing the door behind him, then pops his head out. “You can come in.”
I climb up a flight of stairs and enter a small room. He’s sitting at the bar, his bar. The room is small, about ten feet by twenty feet, with a large one-way window overlooking the outside dance floor. About fifteen people are inside, many of whom I recognize from the pages of the tabloids I’ve been devouring.
I belong here.
He’s staring at me, watching me walk toward him. I add a small swing to my step.
I want him. I can have him. How many girls across America would die to be in my place right now?
“I’ve been expecting you,” he says. “Ready to Par-TAY?”
“I am now.”
We’re dancing. Matt’s rock-hard body is pressed tightly against mine. It’s as if we’re trying to make each other’s clothes disintegrate beneath the pressure. He smells like sweat and cologne and vodka and cigarettes, and my body is hot and sweaty and so is his. We’re now in the main bar, and even though I feel the eyes of every woman in the place scathing me with envy, he acts completely oblivious to everyone but me. Me.
We’ve been dancing like this for at least an hour, his tongue is on my neck, licking, lightly, harder, biting.
My body is on fire. “I’ve wanted you for as long as I remember,” I whisper.
He whispers in my ear, “Let’s get out of here.”
I nod. Why not?
“Are you in the mood to be wild, party girl?”
I smile my best naughty smile. I want to be the girl he thinks I am. With his arm around me we leave the bar through the back door.
The cold air freezes my face. I must be pretty sweaty. Gross. I’m going home with the sexiest man in the world and I’m disgusting. I wrap my coat tighter around me.
“I just called my car,” he says, using his husky voice that I recognize from NYChase. It’s the voice he uses when he throws the criminals against a wall. “The driver should be here any minute.”
We’re a foot away from each other, waiting in front of the bar’s two steel back doors. I can hear the bass inside.
Hmm. Not much to say to each other, is there?
He runs his fingers through his hair. “Is the redhead with you?”
He must mean Miche. “She’s inside, I think.”
“Yeah?” He smiles his sexy Teen Beat smile, which hasn’t changed in years, which I used to pin up in my locker. “Maybe she wants to come over, too. Why don’t you call her?”
Ha, ha. He’s joking, right? I decide to smile and assume he’s joking. “I don’t know her number.” Actually, I know it by heart. Actually, I have her phone in my purse. Oops.
“I think she gave it to me on Halloween,” he says, “but I don’t have it on me.”
I feel a sinking in my stomach. She gave him her number? This is the girl I’ve been practically begging to be my friend? What’s her problem? One. She’s telling people I broke up with my boyfriend. Two. She’s giving the guy she knows I like her phone number. Three. She may or may not be sleeping with Howard.
Is there anyone in this city I can depend on?
A crate of garbage beside us smells like rotting milk.
A black sedan pulls up. Matt opens the door and I scoot inside. The seat’s leather feels stiff and cold.
What am I doing?
“Now where were we?” he says. He puts his arm around me and his face is an inch from mine and I think his skin is a bit oily. I close my eyes and try to stop thinking.
He kisses me, and his lips are wet and opened.
I’m kissing a man and he’s not Steve.
His hand is on my head, on my neck, in my hair. “I’ve wanted you since your first episode. You were so cute in your little purple shirt and tight pants. You’re a little sweetheart, aren’t you?”
What am I doing what am I doing what am I doing?
I feel numb. Can’t back out now. What would he think? The car stops, but he keeps kissing me and I can feel the driver open the door, watching us.
We’re parked in front of a brownstone, but I don’t know where. Upper West? Upper East? West Village? I’m disoriented. My head feels heavy.
I’ve never slept with someone I barely know.
Matt thinks he knows me. Do I know him? I feel like I do, I’ve been watching him for years. He takes my hand and leads me up the steps. His skin is cold. He turns the lock and opens the door for me.
Just go with it.
“Can you just take off your b
oots?” he asks. “The carpets are white.”
Of course I’m wearing white sweat socks under my black boots and black pants. I look like an extra in Thriller. Good thing the hallway is pitch-black. He still has my hand. His skin is so cold. He leads me down the hallway, into the bedroom.
He picks up a remote and a fireplace on the far wall roars to life.
The bedspread is leopard skin.
Yikes, are those mirrors on the ceiling?
He’s kissing me. Wet, hard kisses.
I hear a creak.
“Mattie?” a woman’s voice says. Suddenly the room floods with light, and I blink repeatedly. A petite blonde is leaning against the doorway in a velour beige bathrobe.
What the…?
Matt lifts himself off of me. “Where were you?” he asks in a whiny voice.
She slides her bathrobe off her shoulders and hangs it over the back of a chair. “Taking a bubble bath.”
While watching my face he says in a voice I recognize from when he’s trying to seduce a criminal into confessing, “Sacha, come join us.”
The naked woman walks toward the bed.
Um…I don’t think so! I try to find my voice and ask, “Who’re you?”
“Sunny, this is my wife, Sacha. Sacha, this is the girl from Party Girls I told you about. She wants to get a little wild with us.”
His wife? The girl I told you about? Wild? With us?
Sacha sits on the bed and begins massaging my shoulders. His wife? As in married? She wants to have a threesome? She knows about this and doesn’t care? Her long nails nip my skin, scratching me.
He kisses her and puts his hand on my breast.
His hand feels scaly and awful. My body feels icy and burning and hollow and foreign, like dry skin that won’t peel off, and a lump is growing in the back of my throat.
How did I get here?
I swing my legs over the bed and stand up. “Yeah, um…this isn’t my thing.”
Matt and Sacha pull apart. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I didn’t know you had a…a…”
Sacha snorts. “A wife? Well, he does. Sorry, sister.”
As Seen on TV Page 31