“If you call schtupping someone on the Golden Gate Bridge interesting, then yes,” I replied, calmly drumming my fingers on the table. Mimi’s mouth began to fall from her face when Sophia placed her right hand over Mimi’s left, which was about to squeeze her fork into something unrecognizable.
“Sweetie, she’s kidding. We would know if Caroline had been schtupped last night. She’d have better skin tone,” Sophia soothed.
Mimi nodded quickly and released the fork. I pitied any guy who pissed her off during a hand job.
“So, no dish?” Sophia asked.
“Hey, you know the rules. You dish, I dish,” I answered, eyes widening as our breakfast was served. After we dug in, Mimi fired the first shot.
“Did you know that Neil played football for Stanford? And that he always wanted to go into sports broadcasting?” she offered, methodically separating her melon from her berries.
“Good to know, good to know. Did you know Ryan sold some kind of amazing computer program to Hewlett-Packard when he was just twenty-three? And that he put all the money in the bank, quit his job, and spent two years teaching English to kids in Thailand?” Sophia provided next.
“That’s very good to know as well. Did you know that Simon doesn’t consider his lady friends a ‘harem,’ and Jillian at one point actually told him about me as a potential girl he should be dating?”
We all hmm-ed and chewed. Then began round two.
“Did you know that Neil loves to windsurf? And he has tickets to the symphony benefit next week? When he found out I was already going with you, Sophia, he suggested we double.”
“Mmm, that sounds fun. I was thinking of asking Ryan. Who, by the way, also loves to windsurf. They all do—they surf in the bay whenever they can. And I can also report that he now runs a charity that puts computers and educational materials into inner-city schools all over California. It’s called—” Sophia began.
“No Line for Online?” Mimi quickly finished.
Sophia nodded.
“I love that charity! I give to that organization every year. And Ryan is the one who runs it? Wow . . . small world,” Mimi mused as she began to cut her eggs.
Quiet descended while we chewed again, and I tried to come up with something else to say about Simon that didn’t have anything to do with his kissing me, my kissing him, or his being aware of my nocturnal verbal emissions.
“Um, Simon has Too Short on his iPod,” I mumbled, which was met with hmms, but I knew my gossip wasn’t as good.
“Music is important. Who was that guy you were dating who had his own album out?” Mimi asked.
“No, no. He didn’t have an album out. He was trying to sell his own CDs out of the back of his car. Not the same thing.” I laughed.
“You dated another singer too—Coffee House Joe, remember him?” Sophia snorted into her breakfast.
“Yes, he was about fifteen years too late for the flannel, but he got an A for angst. And was more than decent in bed,” I sighed, thinking back.
“When is this self-imposed dating hiatus going to be over?” Mimi asked.
“Not sure. I kinda like not dating anyone.”
“Please, who are you kidding?” Sophia snorted again.
“You need a tissue over there, Miss Piggy? Seriously, there have been too many Coffee House Joes and Machine Gun Corys. I’m not interested in just dating anymore. It’s too much of a merry-go-round. I’m not investing any more time and effort until I know it’s going somewhere. And besides, O’s off in no-man’s-land. I might as well join her,” I added, trying some coffee again and avoiding their eyes.
They had their Os, and now they had new boys. I didn’t expect anyone to join me on my dating sabbatical. But now their faces just looked so sad. I needed to turn this back to them.
“So last night was good for you guys, huh? Any kisses at the door? Any spit swapping?” I asked, smiling cheerfully.
“Yes! I mean, Neil kissed me.” Mimi sighed.
“Oooh, I bet he’s a good kisser. Did he wrap you up tight and run his hands up and down your back? He has great hands. Did you notice his hands? Damn fine hands,” Sophia rambled, face in her pancake stack. Mimi and I exchanged a glance and waited for her to come up for air. When she saw us staring, she blushed a little.
“What? I noticed his hands? They’re huge. How could you not?” she stammered, and crammed her mouth full so we would move on.
I giggled and turned my attention back to Mimi. “So, did Mr. Great Hands use his great hands?”
It was Mimi’s turn to blush. “Actually, he was very sweet. Just a little peck on the lips and a nice hug at my door,” she answered with a giant smile.
“And you, Ms. Thing? Was the computer genius charitable with his good-night kiss?” I giggled.
“Um . . . yes he was. He gave me a great good-night kiss,” she replied, licking syrup off the back of her hand. She didn’t seem to notice the way Mimi’s eyes burned a little when she mentioned the good-night she’d received, but I did.
“So, you escaped last night unscathed, I take it?” Mimi asked me, sipping her coffee. I was still nursing the sore tongue, so I chose to stick with juice.
“I did. We came to a truce and will try to be more neighborly.”
“What exactly does that mean?” she asked.
“That means he’ll try to curtail his activities to earlier in the evening, and I’ll try to be more understanding about his sex life, as lively as it is,” I answered, digging into my purse for some money.
“One week,” Sophia muttered.
“Come again?”
“You wish. One week. That’s how long I give this truce. You can’t keep your opinions to yourself, and he can’t keep that Giggler quiet. One week,” she said again as Mimi smiled away.
Huh, we’ll see. . . .
Monday morning, bright and early, Jillian came waltzing in to my office.
“Knock knock,” she called. She was the picture of casual chic: hair swept back into a loose bun, little black dress on her little tan body, legs that went on for miles ending in red pumps. Pumps that would probably constitute almost a week’s pay for me. She was my mentor in every way, and I made a mental note to make sure I someday obtained the quiet confidence she carried with her.
She smiled when she saw the new flowers in the vase on my desk. This week I’d chosen orange tulips, three dozen.
“Morning! Did you see that the Nicholsons have added a home theater? I knew they’d come around.” I smiled as I sat back in my chair. Jillian settled herself in the chair across from me and just smiled back.
“Oh, and Mimi is coming over for dinner tonight. We’re hoping to finalize the plans for the new closet system she’s designing. She wants to add carpet now.” I shook my head and sipped coffee from the mug on my desk. My tongue had almost healed.
Jillian just continued to smile. I began to wonder if I had a Cheerio stuck to my face. “Did I tell you I got the glass company in Murano to give me a deal on the pieces I ordered for the bathroom chandelier?” I forged ahead. “It’s going to be beautiful. I think we’ll definitely want to use them again,” I added, smiling hopefully.
She finally sighed and leaned forward with a cat-that-ate-the-canary-and-went-back-for-the-feathers-to-play-with grin.
“Jillian, did you have dental work done this morning? Are you trying to show me your new dentures?” I asked, and she finally flinched.
“As if I would ever need dentures, pffft. No, I’m waiting for you to tell me about your neighbor, Mr. Parker. Or should I say Simon Wallbanger?” She laughed, finally sitting back in her chair and giving me a look that said I would not be allowed to leave my office until I told her everything she wanted to know.
“Hmm, Wallbanger. Where to start? First of all, you can’t tell me you didn’t know he lived next door. How the hell could you have lived there as long as you did and not know he was the one thumping away every night?” I inquired, looking back at her with my best detective sneer.
/> “Hey, you know I hardly ever stayed there, especially the last few years. I knew he was in that neighborhood, but I had no idea it was next door to the apartment I was subletting! When I see him, it’s always with Benjamin, and we usually go out for drinks or we have him over to our place. Regardless, it’s the beginnings of a great story, don’t you think?” she tempted, grinning again.
“Oh, you and your matchmaking. Simon said you’d mentioned me to him before. You are so busted.”
She held up her hands in front of her. “Wait, wait, wait, I had no idea he was so, well, active. I never would have suggested you if I’d known he had so many girlfriends. Benjamin must have known . . . but it’s a guy thing, I guess,” she replied.
I was the one to lean forward now. “So tell me, how does he know Benjamin?”
“Well, Simon isn’t originally from California. He grew up in Philadelphia and moved out here only when he went to Stanford. Benjamin has known him most of his life—he was really close to Simon’s dad. Benjamin’s kind of watched out for Simon—favorite uncle, big brother, surrogate father, that kind of thing,” she said, her face growing soft.
“Was really close to his dad? Did they have a falling out or something?” I asked.
“Oh no, no, Benjamin was always great friends with Simon’s dad. He was the one who mentored Benjamin early in his career. Benjamin was very close with the entire family,” she said, her eyes growing sad.
“But now?” I pressed.
“Simon’s parents were killed when he was a senior in high school,” she said quietly.
My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh no,” I whispered, my heart full of sympathy for someone I barely knew.
“Car accident. Benjamin says they went really quickly, almost instantly,” she replied.
We were quiet for a moment, lost in our own thoughts. I couldn’t even process what that must have been like for Simon.
“So after the funeral, Benjamin stayed in Philadelphia for a while, and he and Simon began to talk about his going to school at Stanford,” she continued after a moment.
I smiled at the image of Benjamin doing everything he could to help.
“I can imagine it was probably a good idea for him to get away from everything,” I said, wondering how I would deal with something like that.
“Mm-hmm. I think Simon saw the chance, and he took it. And knowing that Benjamin was close by if he needed anything? I think that made it easier,” she added.
“When did you meet Simon?” I asked.
“His senior year of college. He’d spent some time in Spain the summer before, and when he came home that August he came into the city to have dinner with us. Benjamin and I had been dating for a while by then, so he knew of me, but hadn’t actually met me,” she said.
Wow, Simon does Spain. Those poor flamenco dancers—they never stood a chance.
“We met for dinner, and he charmed the waitress by ordering in Spanish. Then he told Benjamin that if he was ever stupid enough to leave me that he would be quite happy to—now what was it he said?—ah, yes, he would be quite happy to warm my bed.” She giggled, her face growing pink.
I rolled my eyes. This matched what I knew of him already. Although, as brash as my girls and I were when flirting with Benjamin, it was the pot calling the kettle forward.
“And that’s how I met Simon,” she finished, her eyes far away. “He really is pretty great, Caroline, all banging aside.”
“Yes, banging aside,” I mused, running my fingertips back and forth across the tops of the flowers.
“I hope you get to know him a little better,” she said with a grin, matchmaker once again.
“Settle down there. We’ve called a truce, but that’s all,” I laughed, shaking my finger at her.
She got up and started for the door. “You’re very sassy for someone who’s supposed to be working for me,” she said, trying to look severe.
“Well, I’d get a lot more work done if you’d let me get back to it and stop with your nonsense!” I said, looking severely back at her.
She laughed and looked out to reception.
“Hey, Ashley! When did I lose control of this office?” she called.
“You never actually had it, Jillian!” Ashley yelled back.
“Oh, go make coffee or something! And you,” she said, turning to me and pointing. “Design something brilliant for the Nicholsons’ basement.”
“Again, all things I could’ve been doing while you were yakking away in here. . . .” I murmured, tapping my pencil on my watch.
She sighed. “Seriously, Caroline, he’s really sweet. I think you two could be great friends,” she said, leaning in the doorway.
What’s with everyone leaning in doorways lately?
“Well, I can always use another friend, now, can’t I?” I waved as she disappeared.
Friends. Friends who called a truce.
“Okay, so we know the floors in the bedroom are going to be reclaimed, honey-toned wood, but you for sure want carpet in the closet?” I asked, settling on the couch next to Mimi and starting on my second Bloody Mary. We’d been going through her plans for almost an hour as I tried to get her to see that I was not the only one who would have to compromise on her designs. She would as well. As long as we’d been friends, Mimi had believed she won every argument. Mimi saw herself as a badass who could strong-arm anyone into anything. Little did she know Sophia and I had figured out that we only had to let her think she was getting her way, which made her much more tolerable.
The truth was, I always knew I wanted carpet in the closet—just not for the same reasons she did.
“Yes, yes, yes! It has to be carpet—really thick and luxurious carpet! It will feel so good under cold toes in the morning,” she cried, almost shaking in her excitement. I really hoped Neil would be around long enough to romance her right. She needed to release some of this excess energy.
“Okay, Mimi, I guess you’re right. Carpet in the closet. But for that, you have to give me back those two feet you wanted from the bathroom for the rotating shoe rack that I vetoed.” I spoke carefully, wondering if she would go for it.
She thought for a moment, looked at her plans again, took a long pull from her cocktail, and nodded. “Yes, take back the two feet. I get my carpet, and I can live with that.” She sighed, offering me her hand.
I shook it solemnly and offered her my celery stalk. Clive came sauntering in and began to pace by the front door, pawing under the crack.
“I bet our Thai is almost here. Let me get my money,” I said, pointing toward the door as I headed for my purse on the kitchen counter. Just as I spoke, I could hear steps in the hallway.
“Mimi, get the door, that’ll be the takeout guy,” I called, rummaging through my purse.
“Got it,” she yelled, and I heard the door open. “Oh, hey there, Simon!” she said, and then I heard the strangest sound.
I would swear, on a stack of Bibles in a court of actual law, that I heard my cat speak.
“Porrrrreeeennnnnya,” Clive said, and I whirled about.
In the span of five seconds, a thousand things happened: I saw Simon and Purina in the hallway, bags from Whole Foods in hands, key in front door. I saw Mimi at the door, barefoot and leaning (again with the leaning) in the doorway. I saw Clive rear back on his hind legs preparing to jump in a way that I’d only ever seen him do once, when I hid the catnip on the top of the fridge. Babies were born, old people died, stocks were traded, and someone faked an orgasm. All in those five seconds.
I launched myself at the door in a slow-motion run reminiscent of every action movie ever made.
“Nooooooooo!” I cried as I saw a look of panic cross Purina’s face and a look of pure lust cross Clive’s as he prepared to woo. If I’d started for the door any earlier, maybe even a second earlier, I could’ve prevented the pandemonium that ensued.
Simon pushed his door open and smiled a confused smile at me as I caught his eye. No doubt he was wondering why I was chargin
g the door and screaming nooooooooo. Just then Clive jumped. Leaped. Charged. Purina saw Clive jumping directly at her, and she did the worst thing she could’ve done. She ran. She ran into Simon’s apartment. Of course the girl who meows when she has an orgasm is afraid of cats.
Clive gave chase, and as I stood in the hallway with Simon and Mimi, we heard shrieking and meowing echoing back to us. It sounded oddly familiar, and I was reminded of Simon bringing it on home. I shook my head and took over.
“Caroline, what the hell was that? Your cat just—” Simon was saying, and I placed my hand over his mouth as I hurried past him.
“We don’t have time, Simon! We have to get Clive!”
Mimi followed me into his apartment, Ned Nickerson to my Nancy Drew. I tracked the shrieks and meows to the back of the apartment, noticing that Simon’s place was an exact mirror image of mine. It was very single guy, with the flat-screen TV and the amazing sound system. I didn’t really have time for a proper shakedown, but I did notice the mountain bike in the dining room, as well as beautiful framed photographs all over the walls lit by retro sconces. I couldn’t admire for long, as I could hear Clive getting worked up in the bedroom.
I paused by the door, listening to Purina scream. I looked back at Simon and Mimi, who wore twin expressions of fear and confusion—although Mimi’s also showed quite a bit of merriment.
“I’m going in,” I said in a low, brave voice. With a deep breath I pushed the door open, and saw the Bedroom of Sin for the first time. Desk in the corner. Dresser against one wall, with top covered in loose change. More photographs on the wall, black-and-whites. And there it was: his bed.
Cue trumpets.
Pushed up against the wall, my wall, was a giant California king, complete with a padded, leather headboard. Padded. It would have to be, now wouldn’t it? It was immense. And he had the power to move that thing with his hips alone? Once again Lower Caroline sat up straight and took notice.
I centered, I focused, and I pried my eyes away from Orgasm Central. I scanned and acquired the target: there at the leather club chair in front of the window. Purina perched on the back of this chair, hands in her hair, moaning and wailing and crying. Her skirt was shredded, and there were tiny claw marks in her stockings. She attempted with every fiber of her being to shrink away from the cat on the floor in front of her.
The Cocktail Collection Page 8