by H. M. Ward
"Pete, you said you wanted to talk to me, so talk." I reach over and push his shoulder with my fist, I suppose like a guy would do with his buddy. It feels totally awkward. I put my hand back in my lap. "Let me guess. Sorority girl problems? Are they cat fighting over you? Don't know which one to choose? If you ask me, the pretty blond with the cutout sequined dress looked nice. She had a huge rack and we know how much you like the boobage."
Pete's eyes shoot up to meet mine and fill with regret. He didn't expect me to know about his sorority powwow in the sky. He opens his mouth to talk, but I lift a finger to his lips and cut him off.
"Don't look at me like that, Pete. I'm going to find out about these things. I can't pretend I'm okay with any of it, but can we at least be honest with each other? Like friends?"
He releases my hand and stands up, backing away, his skin turning green like he’s going to be sick.
"I need to go—this was a mistake."
He only makes it down the two first steps when I call out to him. "Wait, Pete! Didn't you want to come upstairs and talk?"
Pete looks up the stairwell, leading to my apartment and then back down, shaking his head.
"I'll see you next week at the merger gala. I'll be the guy in the tux, saving a broken-hearted woman from the public eye."
"I'll be there, freshly dumped and ready to be saved."
Pete's crooked grin is half-hearted, but it's there. Without another word, he walks down the stairs and leaves.
YOU CLEAN UP WELL
August 31st , 5:42 pm
Another weekend, another party, but this one holds the promise of massive heartburn. As my eyes sweep the breathtaking circular ballroom, a chill runs down my spine. THIS is where high-society will swoon and gossip over the budding romance between poor broken-hearted Regina Granz and the reforming Pete Ferro. The premise of the party? We'll celebrate the official merger of Granz Textiles into Ferro Corp, two families coming together in the name of good business transactions. It just so happens the two young heirs of those families will fall deeply in love and get married. It’s a cute story when you don’t know all the ugly, underlying details like arson, manslaughter, and blackmail.
Guests are mingling, sipping cocktails, eating hors d'oeuvres, chatting and laughing away in the lush surroundings. Large windows, extravagantly dressed in golden velvets line the far end of the room and frame two large crystal chandeliers. At the front of the room, a screen is hung next to a lectern for the big announcement.
The expansive room is quickly filling with an ungodly amount of nosy guests, all ready to greet me with their consolations. A seed has been planted, and the gossip vine is growing wild. Almost everyone here is now aware that Anthony dumped my ass, and I'm in a state of distraught misery. Having your romantic woes publicly displayed is an excruciating experience. I want to be the girl I was last weekend, the audacious one meeting new people and taking chances. This crowd sucks my boldness dry. I wish Jenny would take over, and shock the Botox out of everyone. But as entertaining as it would be for me, it would also land me a one-way ticket to jail.
So I wait. The next step of the plan is for Pete Ferro to come in and sweep me off of my feet.
It seems like the entire Ferro clan is here tonight, right down to the cousins skulking about the bar and surveying their prospects of getting laid. There's still no sign of Pete. He’s probably busy shagging the lady at the coat check or showing the barmaid the proper way to shake his mantini. Despite my initial sarcastic thoughts, I hope he shows up soon, so I know he's okay. He seemed off when I saw him outside Ricky's apartment, and I'm worried. I don’t want to be, but I am. Pete was acting so strangely.
People walk past me, exchanging greetings and pleasantries. I’m considering poking my eye out with a fork. It’ll be better than hearing one more person’s false condolences about Anthony. I shift through the maze of people, heading toward the front entrance. I need some air. I never make it out of the room.
The main doors swing open before I can ascend the staircase, and a handsome man enters the ballroom. He's wearing a tailored black tuxedo, black tie, white button-down shirt and a black vest under his jacket. For once, Peter Ferro doesn’t exude arrogance and overconfidence. His posture is impeccably erect, his gaze bright and open. He radiates sophistication and elegance. He also looks adorably anxious and sinfully edible. He seems just as nervous as I am.
I consciously shut my mouth to avoid slipping in a puddle of drool. People standing near me notice the change in my behavior and follow my eyes to Pete. I don't care if everyone sees me gawking. This is what we're here to do after all, make people believe we're in love at first sight, so I gaze as freely as I want.
His sapphire eyes scan the room. When they meet my eyes he smiles warmly and my heart thuds harder inside my chest.
Pete walks toward me and my palms turn clammy. Why does this feel like something new? We've been through so much together already, but today feels different. Today, it feels like we're caught in a fairytale, seeing each other for the first time after the magical spell breaks.
Pete walks toward me, multiple people sidetracking him, wanting to shake his hand and clap him on the shoulder. It’s funny what becoming the sole heir to a massive fortune will do to people. A couple of weeks ago, these people wouldn’t have given him the time of day. In fact, they'd have run the other way to avoid him at all costs, scared they might lose their teeth--or their wives, for that matter. That threat is still there, but now he has the power that accompanies his name. These people want to be on good terms with those holding power.
It’s all part of a nauseating game to gain more money and more power. I know this crowd; they’re old money, working out of boredom, instead of necessity.
Pete exchanges brief smiles and nods, still moving determinedly in my direction. Women walk up to him, with the occasional discreet grope, but he just smiles curtly and keeps on walking, shaking off their advances politely.
By the time he reaches me, I’ve regained most of my composure, but my heart is still slamming in my chest, shocked at his transformation. He looks respectable in his own right. It’s a strange and wonderful sight to behold.
When Pete gets within a step of me, his intoxicating scent fills my head. His aftershave probably comes from the same Venetian shop where he orders his fancy body wash. He puts his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels and looks down shyly. He behaves like a kid asking a girl to dance for the first time. It's boyish and totally endearing.
“You clean up well, Ferro.” I tease, but I mean every word.
He’s beautiful. Cleanly shaven, hair still a rumpled mess, but in contrast with the stern lines of the suit it makes him look dashing. There’s no other word for it.
He looks up, smirking, his dimple even cuter without his usual facial scruff.
“You clean up well, too, Granz.” He winks and then his eyes travel up and down my body, making frequent stops at the draping, low cut front.
I swat his arm with my little black clutch.
“Quit staring down my dress. We both know I’m flat and you’re a boob man.” I place my hand over my chest, ensuring my little black dress isn’t revealing anything to him.
Erin chose my dress, and it’s way out of my comfort zone. It’s backless, which means I couldn’t wear a bra underneath, and the front drapes down into a low "V" shape, halfway down my torso. I’m relying heavily on fashion tape to keep the silky fabric pressed firmly against my skin and my girls hidden away from prying eyes. At least it has flutter sleeves--my shoulders are safe from scandal.
Pete’s gaze darkens. He leans in and whispers in my ear. “You’ve got me wrong, Granz. I’m not a boob man, although I can appreciate a beautifully sculpted set like yours, especially in a dress like that.” He pulls away with a serene smile on his face. Curiosity gets the better of me.
“Then what are you? Legs? Ass? Shoulders?” When he doesn’t answer, I add, “Toes. You’re a toe man. I knew it.”
“I think this conversation is a little too intimate for a first meeting,” Pete says, laughing lightly.
People are watching, and I’m sure some geriatric has his hearing aide turned way up to catch our conversation. I plaster a prim smile on my lips and nod. My cheeks turn rosy, which is just a bonus. I hear a few older women point it out. Why they equate blushing with purity is beyond me. I’m about as pure as the snow in New Jersey, but compared to Kitty Bang-Bang, I’m a saint. It makes me wonder where I truly fall on the sex scale.
Pete notices my mind is racing. He steps forward and places his hand on my shoulder, smoothing his thumb under the hem of my tiny sleeve. He leans in close.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my cheek as he pulls away.
It catches me so off guard that I gasp. No one hears it but Pete.
I can’t look him in the eye, so I move in to straighten his tie. I’m too close, a breath away from his cheek, one hand resting on his chest and the other tugging at his tie.
“So, how are people going to believe I’m the one who cleaned up your act when you show up looking like this?” I speak softly, smoothing my hands over the lapels of his jacket, then step back to assess my work. His eyebrows scrunch together in the center like he doesn’t understand.
“I just thought I was supposed to be the one affecting you this way,” I say, motioning to his appearance.
Pete looks down at me. His smile disappears, and his eyes search mine intently. Gently, he brushes a finger across my cheek.
“What makes you think that you’re not, Gina?”
The smile falls from my face and shatters on the floor. The air has been sucked from my lungs. My lips part and I try to speak, but words don’t come.
Someone calls Pete’s name. He turns to see who it is, nods toward them and walks away into the crowd, leaving me alone. What the hell? How can he have such a profound effect on me? It’s like he chose the perfect string of words, words I want to believe. They fall from his lips like petals without malice, but they cut me all the same. If he’s lying, his words knocked the air out of my lungs because he hit me where it hurts most. If he’s telling the truth, then I can’t even fathom what that means. I'm left in a jumbled mess of confusion, watching his broad shoulders recede into the crowd.
NOT SO LOW-PROFILE EYE CANDY
August 31st , 5:56 pm
I watch Pete roam around the room, mingling, occasionally pointing in my direction and talking about me. He's playing his part well. The game is on; that's all it is. An illusion. He's letting people know that I've caught his interest. Women walk up to him, their hands slithering all over him, but he gently and politely detaches them and walks away.
Eventually, my parents arrive and Mom joins me in my corner of solitude, taking the seat next to me. She looks elegant and beautiful as always, but I can see the fatigue in her eyes. Dad walks the opposite direction, straight to Mr. and Mrs. Ferro.
“You look beautiful, Mom.” She does. She’s wearing a charcoal gray silk dress. It has a flowing skirt adorned with crystals in just the right places. They catch the light when she moves, giving her an ethereal look. The family diamonds are around her neck, in her hair, and on her hands. Her earrings are small and understated. They were her mothers. I bet she had to fight Daddy to wear those tonight.
“Thank you.” She smiles and touches my shoulder, gesturing toward my dress. “You are a vision, Regina. This gown is classic with a sultry flare, and you wear it so well.” She says the words as if she were proud of me for not dressing like my normal prudish self.
“How’s Daddy?" I glance across the room. "Does he still hate me?”
“He doesn’t hate you, sweetie. He loves you very much. Just between you and me, he felt horrible for kicking you out. He locked himself in his study and cried for hours after you left. He still cries at night, when he thinks I'm sleeping.”
That surprises me. “He cries?”
“Like a colicky baby in a wet diaper.” She smiles at me. “Don’t tell him I told you that, though, you’ll wound his male pride. He’ll come around, don’t worry. He misses his little girl, and I think that he knows, deep down, that he's partly to blame for all of this mess. He may never say it out loud, but he is sorry. You just need to give him time; this isn't easy for him either. He's lost his family's company. He never saw it coming; you did, and he chose not to listen to you. That's not an easy thing to admit publicly. Let him come to grips with his mistakes. When the time is right, he'll apologize in his way. Now, come with me. The Gambinos have arrived, and I want to welcome them.”
Mom and I walk across the lavish ballroom toward Congressman and Mrs. Gambino. I slow down and stop my mother when I see a familiar face standing next to them. It can’t be. My heart starts to race, and my mind goes around the multitude of scenarios trying to explain how this can be happening.
“Uh. Mom? Who’s that man standing with the Gambinos?”
"What do you mean?" Mother looks at me curiously and then understanding flashes across her face. “Oh, I suppose you haven’t seen their son in a long time. That’s Philip. He just came back from an extended trip to Europe.”
My jaw drops. It's Phil, the good-looking skydiver who kissed me at the party. That guy is Philip Gambino? The Congressman’s son? Holy shit, I'm so screwed! When I get home tonight, I am going to KILL Erin for not telling me this important bit of information when she introduced us. She had to know! He’s supposed to be my somewhat-meaningless flirt, my low-profile eye-candy, my little indulgence before I go on a lifelong diet of nunnery. Fuckity-fuck-fucker-fuck! I can’t have him in the same room as Pete, especially not with all the media here.
Constance will kill me!
“What is it darling?” Mom senses my distress and follows my gaze. A whole other level of understanding crosses her face. “Oh. OH! Oh, dear. Well, this is somewhat awkward.”
She places a hand on her mouth in attempted disapproval, but then gets a proud Mommy look on her face. Suddenly, she's glowing with pride.
“Mom!” I elbow her gently.
From the corner of my eye, I see Pete shift at the far end of the room. My eyes go to him briefly. He glances at me, a look of concern flashes across his face and he takes a step forward. My hand gesture is discreet, but I send him the message to stay away. I need to figure out how I'm going to handle this.
“I must say, between Peter Ferro and Philip Gambino, my shy daughter has become quite the catch. You have great taste in men, darling.” My mother giggles like a hormonal teenager, which leaves me gaping like a docked fish. “Oh, what a delicious pickle to be in! How long have you and Philip, you know,” she drops her voice to a loud whisper and places her hand next to her mouth to hide her words from lip-readers, “been having in-ter-course?” She says intercourse slowly, breaking it up into three long, painful syllables.
My eyes bug out of my head, and I try not to screech. I tug on my Mom's hand and try to pull her in the opposite direction, but she won't budge.
“What? No! Mom, it’s not like that. We kissed once at a party in Erin’s building. He doesn’t know who I am, and probably won’t even recognize me. I looked so different.”
I knew Erin used to be friends with Philip Gambino before she left home, but I never realized they had kept up with their friendship. I thought I was her only tie to her former life. Why the hell didn't she tell me?
“Well, then," Mom says taking my hand. "Let’s get this over with.”
We continue our walk toward the Gambinos. We politely say our greetings and exchange meaningless pleasantries, but Philip is engaged in conversation with someone else and doesn’t look our way. When Congressman Gambino claps Philip on the back to get his attention, I look down.
“Son, you remember Mrs. Granz and her daughter, Regina, don’t you?”
My eyes are studiously fixed on Phil’s polished black leather shoes peeking out from his perfectly pressed charcoal gray slacks. Maybe he won’t recognize me. He’d
had a few drinks at the party, he was jet-lagged, and it was late. Plus, I looked completely different and I introduced myself as Gina, not Regina. I chance a glance at him and that friendly smile of his greets me. He’s wearing a designer suit and looks stunning in it. His hair is still in need of a cut, but it looks perfect on him. It lets that thrill seeking, skydiving side of him show through his refined attire and demeanor.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Regina.” He extends a hand, and I take it. He drops a small kiss on the top of my hand just as he did at the party. He looks up briefly, his eyebrows furrowed, and I do my best not to squirm.
“Well," Mom begins, gesturing toward the Gambinos, "why don’t we get our drinks refreshed and let these kids get reacquainted?” She ushers Mr. and Mrs. Gambino away, leaving us alone, but not before giving me a wink and a not so discreet thumbs up as she goes. OMG. Someone shoot me. This can’t be my life. My Mom is giving me a thumbs up because she thinks I have a new sex buddy.
“So, Regina. It’s been a while. What have you been up to?” He asks, dropping my hand. Maybe he doesn’t recognize me after all.
“School mostly.” I'm usually good at small talk, but this is not a usual scenario. I look everywhere except at Phil. I'm silently praying that he doesn't make the connection. Honestly, he’d have to have a few loose brain hemispheres to not recognize me, but a girl can hope. He had to have hit the ground a couple of times jumping off of stages and out of planes. One good shot to the head could result in a sucky memory.
My eyes keep going to Pete, who is leaning back against the bar, sipping a tumbler of something that looks strong. Some guy, probably a younger cousin of his, based on the resemblance, is talking to him, but Pete’s looking directly at me.
“So, how was your econometrics quiz yesterday morning? Did you try to show off some bra to earn extra points as I suggested?”