Plum Girl (Romance)

  Twit blushed. Yuck. Would the man just get laid and get it over with? "Quite frankly, Delia, I suppose my answer would have to be... yes." He let out a nervous fake cough. "That is to say, technically, Lyn will hold a, shall we say, boss like position here, but"—he cleared his throat of absolutely zero congestion—"I assure you, I still call the shots."

  His eye tic turned violent. "In a manner of speaking, anyway," he clarified, only confusing them more. "That is, to elaborate," he rattled on, shuffling his papers again, "she won't have more power than me, of course. That would be simply obscene. And she certainly won't be able to do anything without my approval."

  Now it was becoming clear. Lyn Tang was coming onboard sharing nothing less than completely equal power with Beauregard. No wonder he looked so beleaguered; he'd started the firm and now he had to share it with a virtual stranger.

  A miasma of awkward silence hovered over the conference table.

  "Ow!" B.J. yelped in pain. "What'd you do that for?" he asked Delia sharply, and leaned down to rub his ankle.

  "Sorry, my foot must've slipped," she said without feeling.

  "B.J., please, let's stay on track," Beauregard scolded. "I want to make this meeting as quick as possible."

  "But it's not my fault!" B.J. protested immaturely. "She kicked my leg under the table—"

  "Oh, Lord, can we get on with it please?" Bette whined—equal parts disgust and labored patience. B.J. turned beet red, Matt snickered, and Delia put on her best wide-eyed-doe face of innocence. But with all that eye makeup, she looked more like Nosferatu. At least that was Lonnie's impartial opinion. One thing was clear: Delia was livid about something. Poor B.J. had just been the unfortunate recipient of her rage, it seemed.

  Beauregard cleared his throat and addressed the room again. "Now, for old business, how does February's budget look?" He turned his attention to the two accountants who'd come to the meeting. They spent the next several minutes reviewing the overall expense of the holiday party and explaining a change in policy regarding company reimbursements. Lonnie pretty much zoned out, though, since her temp status precluded her from getting reimbursed for anything, anyway.

  "Very well," Twit said. "Does anyone have anything else to report?" Nobody spoke, so he continued. "Well, then, one final matter: we need to send back the company letterhead and envelopes we ordered from Paper Depot last month." That job went to Lonnie, so she perked up.

  "We're going to have to place a new order," Twit went on. He paused, as if dreading his next words, and finished, "To go with our new company name."

  "What?" a few people inquired at once.

  Twit pushed himself off his chair, visibly gritted his teeth, and let out a strained sigh. "That's correct." He headed toward the glass door, and barely turned before finishing: "From this point on, the firm will be called Twit & Tang." He stalked out, and the room staled after him in silence.

  It didn't last long. Within seconds, people were chatting and gossiping among themselves about Lyn Tang virtually usurping Twit's throne. The majority opinion regarded Tang with impressed awe. The minority opinion remained uncertain about what to think. And Nosferatu's opinion had an entirely unique feel to it. Once Twit was out of earshot, she muttered, "Mother-fucking piece of shit, stupid-ass waste of my time," and stormed out of the conference room.

  Okay.

  Lonnie went back to her desk, wondering how Twit's bad mood was going to affect his long-term disposition. On the one hand, he should be happy; Lyn Tang would bring her New England-wide prestige to the firm.

  On the other hand, Twit's blissful autonomy following Lunther Bell's demise had abruptly come to an end.

  * * *

  The next night Lonnie and Dominick were entwined on her sofa, half watching Goodfellas and half making out. Takeout cartons were strewn about, and an open bottle of Pinot Noir rested on the coffee table.

  "But, wait, I don't understand," Lonnie said, while Dominick slid his hand up to her breast. "Why'd he just kill that guy?"

  "Who?" he mumbled against her skin.

  "Joe Pesci."

  "Killed who?" he muttered, and licked a trail from the nape of her neck to behind her ear. Lonnie shifted even closer.

  "The waiter guy," she said breathlessly. Dominick lifted his head up and spared a glance at the television. His hair was ruffled and disheveled, and his eyes were borderline drowsy. "Oh. Because he wanted more respect. Also, he's psychotic."

  "Great movie," she said sarcastically.

  "It's a classic," he replied with a boyish grin, and went back to work on her neck. Her arms tightened around him just as her phone rang. "Damn," he murmured.

  "That's okay," she whispered. "I'll let the machine get it."

  After the third ring, the machine picked up, and played Peach's greeting. Then there was a beep. Then—

  "Lonnie, it's Terry." She broke her kiss with Dominick and looked at the phone incredulously. "I really want to talk to you." What for? "Please gimme a call back as soon as you can. I miss you." She flew off the couch to shut off the machine before Dominick got the wrong idea from the utterly ridiculous message.

  "By the way, I think I left my cupid briefs there—" She threw herself on top of the counter, hoping to smother the machine to death.

  A few seconds passed before she slid off the counter and walked back to the sofa... where Dominick sat stiffly upright. "What the hell was that?" he asked, obviously a mix of annoyed, jealous, and it's time-to-put-up-my-guarded-I-don't-give-a-damn-guy wall.

  Lonnie swallowed and shook her head vigorously. "No, it's not the way it sounded." She sat down next to him. He remained staunchly rigid on the adjacent cushion. "Let me explain," she said calmly. He sat there silently, and expectantly, with an I-don't-care-all-that-much expression on his face that didn't fool her for a minute. "Terry is that guy I had been dating. The one I mentioned when we first went to lunch a few months ago," she said.

  "But I thought it didn't work out. You made it sound like it was over."

  "It is, believe me."

  "So why is he calling you for his briefs?" he persisted.

  "No, you don't understand. Terry and I dated casually, and only for a few months. He doesn't even live in Boston. As soon as I met you"—she touched his lower arm—"things with him started tapering off." Why get into details about all the insults he'd hurled at her over the phone? "Now it's completely over."

  She slid her hand up and down on his arm lovingly.

  "Well, obviously he thinks there's still something going on," Dominick said, avoiding her eyes. But she could tell his tone was softening up, and he was coming around.

  "He's—" She looked around, struggling to explain it, herself. "I think he just doesn't have anyone in his life right now, so he's making more out of us than there was. Believe me, Dominick, my relationship with Terry was nothing. It was casual, not a big deal." She turned his face and cradled his jaw in her hand. "Nothing like us," she said softly. And kissed him.

  His wall crumbled. He kissed her back gently, and ran his hands over her neck and back affectionately. "Forget about Terry," she whispered against his mouth.

  "What about his underwear?" he asked, resting his forehead against hers.

  "Forget that, too."

  "Lonnie..."

  "Well... the truth is..." She hesitated, but knew she had to tell him. "He visited me a few weeks ago." Dominick started pulling away, but she wasn't having it. She kept him locked to her, and explained, "It's not what you think. His visit had already been planned for a long time. Remember that day we spent at Borders?"

  "How could I forget—it was the first time we kissed. And also, I got my face ripped open." Instinctively, she moved her hand to his temple and caressed the spot where he'd gotten a cut and a huge bruise trying to protect her.

  "He came that night," she said. "That's part of the reason why I acted so weird after what happened between us. I just felt so guilty and confused, and believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was have a romant
ic weekend with Terry."

  "So then he stayed over here?" he asked, irritated, and starting to pull away again.

  "Yeah, but nothing happened. Peach was here, and everything was platonic. Really." He seemed to be mulling it over. "I'm crazy about you," she added on a whisper. "You're the only man in my life right now. And you're the only man I want."

  He leaned in closer. "Well, not counting Twit," she teased, and his face broke into a grin. Hers followed, and soon there was a kind of warm haze that settled over them. Infatuation had become caring, and now it was out in the open.

  The phone rang again.

  Lonnie reluctantly let go of Dominick and went to answer it since she'd shut off the machine when she body slammed it. "Hello?"

  "Lonnie? Hey!" Oh, Christ.

  "What do you want?" she asked bluntly. "You just called."

  "Oh—I know, but the machine cut off in the middle of my message. We need to talk—"

  "No, I'm sorry, we don't," she said. "Please, Terry, I think it would be best if—"

  "Just listen for a second, please!"

  She relented because she thought maybe if he said his piece and got everything he had off his chest, he wouldn't bother her anymore. Meanwhile, Dominick came up behind her to hear what was going on.

  Terry started rambling at some length about all the pressure he'd been under lately, how his bipolar mother was driving him crazy, how his car was impounded somewhere outside of Queens, and how he's struggled with low self-esteem since boyhood. This was worse than she'd thought it would be. He'd been yammering for almost ten minutes, and still hadn't mentioned their former relationship. Her feet were tired from standing there, and it was a little awkward having Dominick leaning against the mini-refrigerator, waiting to find out what the hell Terry wanted.

  Finally, he broached the subject. "About us," Terry said. "All I want is a chance to explain all of this in person. I'm coming to Boston on Friday night."

  "What—Friday? No, don't do that!"

  "I have to come for a show anyway. Lonnie, please, I'm not taking no for an answer. I can't. I have too much to explain."

  She surveyed her minikitchen with desperation. Why was he doing this? She didn't want to listen to his explanations about anything. He was the one who'd officially ended it, so why did she feel like he was the one who was desperately hanging on? "Terry, I—I can't. I have plans. Why don't I just give you a call sometime?"

  "No, I'm coming into town on Friday anyway, and I need to see you. Please. Don't just blow me off after all the time we've spent together." Didn't he have it the other way around? Didn't he remember that lunatic phone call he'd placed to tell her that she didn't "stimulate" anything but his temper? "All I want is an opportunity to tell you what's been going on in my life lately. Please, Lonnie. Don't shut me out without letting me explain myself. We are friends, aren't we?"

  Low blow, but effective.

  Somehow he'd successfully made her feel guilty about trying to dodge him, which was truly ridiculous since he'd dumped her under no uncertain terms only a week before. Life was so weird. Nevertheless, she wasn't a heartless bitch, and if Terry was coming to town anyway, she figured it would only be decent of her to meet him for a cup of coffee and finalize things face-to-face. After all, she'd like to end on a nice note, rather than the bizarre, irate way they'd left things.

  "Okay. We can meet Friday night—" Dominick stood upright, and his mouth dropped open. She held her hand up to calm him. "But just a cup of coffee, Terry, okay? I have plans Friday, so I can only grab a cup of coffee and talk for about twenty minutes."

  "Fine! No problem!" Obviously Terry was excited. What Lonnie couldn't figure out was why. She told him to meet her at seven o'clock at the Starbucks on Boylston Street. She couldn't hang up fast enough. When she turned to face Dominick, he didn't look too thrilled.

  "You're gonna meet this guy Friday night?" he asked as though it were the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard. "I thought you said it was over!"

  "It is over. Come on, you heard what I told him. I'm giving him twenty minutes, and then we can bring closure to this thing with Terry once and for all."

  "Lonnie, wake up! He doesn't want closure; he wants you."

  She shook her head. "No, you've got it all wrong. He didn't want us to keep seeing each other, either. I think all he wants now is a chance to apologize for being such an asshole about it. Believe me, there's no way he's trying to rekindle anything."

  He didn't look very convinced, so she pressed on. "If you heard the things he said to me—well, let's just say he made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with me romantically. Only he said it a lot more obnoxiously than that. I'm sure he just wants to apologize, that's all."

  Dominick sighed heavily. "Okay, I mean... Look, I'm not trying to be possessive, or anything, but—"

  "No, I understand," she said quickly. "I completely understand, but you have nothing to worry about." She sealed the space between them and encircled his waist with her arms. Hugging him tightly, she rested her head over his heart.

  Reluctantly, he hugged her back. "But I still don't see why you have to go at all. Just blow the guy off. Tell him to drop dead."

  "I can't do that! It sounds like he's having personal problems. That would be too mean." Her tone left little room for negotiation, and Dominick realized that. She hugged him tighter, pressing her cheek to his chest, and sealed the deal.

  * * *

  "I still don't understand why you're going," Peach said. She'd opted to spend her Friday night mixing paints on an oversize palette, while waiting for her cucumber face mask to crack. Matt would be so flattered.

  "I already told you. I owe him that much—"

  "You owe him zilch," Peach said, and Lonnie rolled her eyes while she shrugged on her parka.

  "Fine, fine. I don't 'owe' him. But... I don't know. We did date for six months."

  "Not seriously."

  "It's only decent that we end things face-to-face," she insisted, a little annoyed that no one seemed to grasp this concept but her. "Anyway, he begged me for twenty minutes of my time. What, I'm going to tell him that I can't spare that?"

  "What about all those things he said on the phone?"

  Lonnie shrugged and wrapped her black cashmere scarf around her neck. "Supposedly he'll explain all that."

  "And you care about his explanation because...?"

  "I don't really care. But if he wants to apologize for acting like an ass, I'm not going to stop him," she said, and stooped down to double knot her fake Doc Martens.

  "I think you just feel guilty because you were already with Dominick when Terry went psycho." Lonnie ignored her and grabbed her keys. Peach added, "Just don't let him charm you into giving him another chance."

  "Okay, I won't. See you later."

  "When will you be back?" Peach asked.

  "Soon," Lonnie said. "This won't take long."

  Chapter 24

  "Terry, I've been waiting here for thirty minutes!"

  "I know, I'm sorry," he apologized through garbling static. "I got a late start, and there was a big detour near Waterbury."

  "Oh... well, do you just want to forget it?" She tried to make the offer sound as nonchalant as possible—as if she weren't praying with all her might that he'd accept it. She'd been sitting at Starbucks, in a purple armchair, watching rain streak down the front glass in flickering lines that inverted streetlights and blurred Boylston traffic. She hadn't taken her cell phone, figuring this would be a quick cup of coffee. She should've known it wouldn't be that easy.

  Finally, she'd braved the rain to use the pay phone on the sidewalk. And luckily, Terry had picked up his cell. Unluckily, it didn't sound as if he were right around the corner.

  "No, I don't wanna forget it," he said, referring to her suggestive plea that they take the proverbial rain check. "Sorry I'm running late, but I definitely still wanna get together. Look, it's eight now. I'll be in the city within the hour." An hour! How did she get roped
into these things? She was going to wait another hour just to meet him for a twenty-minute cup of coffee?

  "We'll have dinner," he added.

  Well, that answered that question. "Terry, I—no, I... can't do dinner," she lied. Technically she could, but she didn't want to. She wasn't hungry, and she didn't feel like killing an hour just so she could enjoy a strained dinner date with her ex-practically-semi boyfriend. Was it just her?

  "Lon, I'm starving," he whined. "Come on, dinner, my treat. It's the least I can do for being so late."

  "No... I—"

  "Look, I gotta go, my battery's running down."

  "Terry, wait!" she exclaimed. Honestly, she wasn't trying to be stubborn—she was simply trying to avoid being manipulated. "I never agreed to dinner," she stated firmly.

  "What's the big deal?" he asked testily. "I can't believe this—I drive four hours to see you tonight and you won't have one quick dinner with me—my treat?" When he put it like that, it did sound pretty petty. Except... Wait a minute!

  "What do you mean you drove four hours just to see me?" she challenged. "You told me you had to be in Boston tonight anyway!"

  Static broke up the connection for a few defining moments.

  "Lon? You there?"

  "Yes... but..."

  "Lon, listen, we'll go to that seafood place nearby."

  "But—"

  "I... I'll see you in an hour...," he croaked out before the line went dead.

  Damn it! She slammed the phone onto its perch harder than she'd intended, and only then did she realize how drenched she was. The sleeves of her bulky white parka leaked steady, fat drops, and her hair—long, black, and soaked—was plastered to her face. Fortunately, she hadn't worn makeup, so at least she could avoid the goth effect. Yet, oddly, that provided little consolation at the moment.

  Seeing the happy couples and packs of friends scurrying down Boylston, gathered under umbrellas, she felt jealous. Not for the umbrellas, but because they appeared to actually want to spend time with each other.