“No, I mean what do you think it means?” Lisa said, leaning forward.
“If I were going to take a wild guess, I’d say I think it means he’d like to go to Key West. And that he’d like you to accompany him,” Audrey said.
“You don’t think it means he’s ready to get serious?” Lisa asked.
“I have no idea. I don’t know Jared well enough to say,” Audrey said. Thankfully, the bell on the front door to the spa jingled just then. “You’d better get up front. Someone just came in.”
Lisa reluctantly got to her feet and clumped out of the office on four-inch platform heel sandals. She was back a moment later.
“It’s for you,” Lisa said.
“Really? Okay, I’ll be right there.”
Lisa didn’t move. She stood at the door, her eyes gleaming expectantly.
“What?” Audrey asked.
“It’s a guy,” Lisa said. “A really cute guy. Actually,” she said, lowering her voice, “he’s not cute so much as he is sexy. Like, really, really sexy.”
Audrey had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Did you ask him what he wants to see me about?”
“No, I forgot,” Lisa said, without a hint of apology in her voice. “I’ll go tell him you’re coming.”
Lisa turned and clattered off again, before Audrey had a chance to ask her to find out what the man wanted or perhaps get his business card. Audrey closed her email and stood, shaking her head. She was going to have to have yet another talk with Lisa about her professional duties.
She headed out of her office, took a left, and walked down the short hallway to the doorway that led into the reception area. Then she stopped dead.
“Hey, there,” Coop said.
He was leaning against the counter, propped up by one arm. Lisa was sitting in her chair, watching him with an avid sort of interest that Jared would most certainly not approve of.
“Oh. Hello. Can I help you?” Audrey said. She clasped her hands together, knowing she looked and sounded stiff, but not sure what she was supposed to do. Why was he here? Hadn’t she made it clear that she wasn’t interested in him?
“Actually, yes,” Coop said, grinning lazily at her.
Audrey knew that the smile was meant to be sexy—and, in truth, it was—but the fact that he knew it was sexy just irritated her. It was exactly why she’d turned him down when he asked her out. His ego was out of control. She folded her arms and waited.
“I’m interested in signing up for one of your treatments,” Coop said.
Audrey’s eyebrows shot up. “You want a spa treatment?” she asked.
“That’s right,” Coop said. He shrugged. “But I’ve never done this before, so I need some guidance.”
“Lisa would be more than happy to help you select a treatment and make an appointment for you,” Audrey said smoothly.
Lisa nodded enthusiastically. “Sure,” she said.
“I appreciate that,” Coop said, flashing his smile in Lisa’s direction. “But Audrey here was telling me all about the spa treatments she’s developed especially for her male clients, and I was hoping to get some of her seasoned advice.”
Smug bastard, Audrey thought, flushing. He was bringing up that night just to embarrass her. And seasoned advice? It made her sound geriatric.
Lisa’s head was bobbing up and down. “Actually, Audrey knows a lot more about all of the procedures and stuff than I do. I’m just the receptionist,” she confessed.
“Of course. How can I help?” Audrey asked smoothly.
Coop grinned at Audrey again and said, “What do you recommend?”
Audrey ran down the various treatments the spa offered, pointless as it seemed. He was surely going to opt for a massage. It was practically the only service straight men came to the spa for. This thought reminded her again of when she’d made a fool of herself trying to talk Coop into a man-icure. She could feel heat staining her cheeks, and knew by Coop’s deepening grin that he’d noticed.
That’s it, Audrey thought. He asked for it.
“Why don’t you just leave yourself in my hands?” Audrey suggested.
“I like the sound of that,” Coop said flirtatiously.
“Lisa, show Coop back to Farrah’s station,” Audrey said.
Lisa looked confused. “Farrah?” she said.
“That’s right,” Audrey said. “She has an opening for an m/p.”
Lisa looked from Audrey to Coop and back to Audrey again. “But I wouldn’t think …,” she tried again. Then, catching the quelling expression on her boss’s face, Lisa shrugged helplessly, stood, and said, “Come right this way. Would you like some ice water with lemon in it?”
“I never say no to ice water with lemon,” Coop drawled.
Audrey smiled, while fantasizing about kicking him in the shin with the pointy toe of her four-inch pumps. “Farrah will take good care of you,” she promised.
Lisa led Coop away. Audrey went behind the desk and busied herself checking the appointment schedule again, while she waited for Lisa to come back. When the younger woman returned, she looked perplexed.
“Are you sure about this? He doesn’t strike me as the sort of guy who’d want a mani-pedi. He looks more like the massage type.”
“I’m sure,” Audrey said. “Is Farrah with him?”
“Yes. She was just getting started with the manicure. He seemed a little confused when she told him to put his hand in the bowl of warm water, but he went along with it.”
“Good,” Audrey said with satisfaction. That would teach Coop not to play games with her. What was he thinking bothering her at work like this? Hadn’t she made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t interested when he asked her out to dinner? She had obviously been right about him. He was cocky, so much so that he obviously couldn’t conceive of any woman rejecting him.
“Where do you know him from?” Lisa asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“What?” Audrey glanced up. “Oh. We have mutual friends.”
Lisa smiled coyly. “You know that he’s into you, right?”
Audrey’s pulse gave a quick, nervous jump. “No, he’s not. Not really.”
“He totally is,” Lisa said with relish.
“Why do you say that?” Audrey asked, although the conversation was starting to make her feel like a teenage girl with a crush on the star of her high school lacrosse team.
“I could tell by the way he was looking at you. And he obviously came into the spa to see you,” Lisa said.
Audrey realized that this had officially become a conversation she didn’t want to have with her airheaded, twenty-two-year-old employee. “I’ll be in my office,” she said, turning away.
But once she was back at her desk, staring at her computer screen and futilely trying to make sense of the payroll, Audrey realized that Coop’s presence in the spa was making it impossible for her to concentrate.
Audrey’s eyes fell on a cardboard box full of organic face creams she’d stashed in the corner of her office. She’d been meaning to make room for them on the bamboo display shelving that lined the entrance to the spa. It was just the sort of mindless busywork she could manage in her current state, she decided, and grabbing the box, headed back out of her office. But instead of taking the shorter route straight to the front, she hooked left and then right, so that she’d loop past Farrah’s station, tucked back next to the massage room. She hadn’t planned to spy on Coop, but once she was up and moving, she couldn’t help herself.
I’ll walk briskly past them and just sneak a peek, Audrey decided.
But the sight that met her eyes stopped her in her tracks.
Coop was sitting in one of the two raised pedicure chairs, his faded jeans rolled up to his shins and his feet soaking in soapy water. Farrah—short and round, with hennaed hair and tattooed arms—was sitting at his feet, looking up adoringly at him. Coop grinned when he saw Audrey.
“Having fun?” she asked.
“I had never had my nails buffed before. I
feel like one of those mob guys in the movies,” Coop said. He held up his hands to show her his nails, which did look especially clean and shiny.
“Mob guys get manicures?” Audrey asked.
“Apparently. At least, Hollywood’s version of the mob. The wiseguys are always getting manicures, and those hot towel shaves and massages,” Coop said.
“And this is behavior you want to emulate?” Audrey asked, her eyebrows arching high. She shifted the box of face creams to her left hip.
“Fuggedaboutit,” Coop said in a throaty voice, waving one manicured hand around.
Farrah giggled and held up a towel. “Give me one foot,” she said.
Coop obliged, lifting one tanned foot out of the water. Farrah toweled it off and then began rubbing it with exfoliant cream. Coop laughed and squirmed.
“That tickles,” Coop said.
“It smoothes your skin,” she explained. “You don’t want to have nasty scaly patches on your feet, do you?”
“I don’t know. Do I?”
“No, you don’t,” Farrah purred, clearly deeply infatuated.
“I’ll leave you to your pedicure,” Audrey said.
“No, don’t go,” Coop said. “Keep me company.”
Audrey hesitated. Just go, she told herself. Don’t feed into his ego.
“There’s an empty seat right here. We can have a lemon water together,” Coop said temptingly, gesturing toward the empty pedicure station. Even though Farrah was the only nail technician on staff, Audrey had opted to put in a double pedicure station when she opened the spa, which allowed girlfriends or a mother and daughter pair to get pedicures together.
“I guess I have a minute,” Audrey said, setting the box down in a corner.
“Okay, put that foot back in the water, and give me your other foot,” Farrah instructed Coop, as Audrey climbed somewhat tentatively up onto the pedicure chair. It wasn’t the easiest task to manage in four-inch heels.
“Did you see Leland’s email with the menu for the next dinner party club?” Audrey asked.
“No. What’s he serving?”
“Something called S and M chicken,” Audrey said. She smiled. “What on earth does that mean?”
Coop laughed. “Let me guess—bacon is somehow involved.”
Audrey nodded. “I definitely remember bacon being well represented on the menu.”
Farrah wrinkled her nose. “Gross,” she said.
Coop looked down at her in surprise. “You don’t like bacon?”
“I’m a vegetarian,” Farrah said.
“I guess I’ll just have to eat extra meat for you,” Coop teased.
Audrey expected Farrah to get huffy. She was the sort of vegetarian who made pointed comments about “food with faces” while eating with non-vegetarians. When Audrey took her staff out for a holiday lunch the previous December, Farrah made gagging sounds when Lisa ordered a cheeseburger, and a fight nearly broke out at the table. But, apparently, it was a different story when the gentle teasing came from an attractive man, for Farrah just giggled and began rubbing Coop’s foot with a pumice stone.
“Do mafia guys get pedicures, too?” Audrey asked.
“Somehow I doubt it. It’s not very manly, is it?” Coop said. He shot Audrey a sideways grin. “But something tells me that you knew that when you suggested this.”
“I just thought you’d enjoy it.”
“I am enjoying it,” Coop said. He wiggled his toes. “And, after all, what man doesn’t want to have pretty feet? All of the guys at the editing studio will be so jealous.”
Audrey couldn’t help laughing. Coop was being a good sport, she’d have to give him that.
“Tell me more about the movie you’re working on,” she said, kicking off her heels, and tucking one foot underneath her leg. “You said it was about the effect of tidal waters on migrating sea animals, right?”
FRAN BALANCED THE POTTED orchid in her left hand and rang Leland’s doorbell with her right. A few minutes passed before Leland came to the door—he moved slowly these days, which worried Fran—but when he saw her, he beamed.
“What a nice surprise,” Leland said. He was wearing a crisp white apron over his golf shirt and khaki shorts. His bulldog, Winston, sniffed in Fran’s direction, before sitting down with a deep sigh, as though the effort of walking to the door was too much to bear. “Come in, come in.”
“You look like you’re busy,” Fran said, hesitating. She bent over to pet Winston on his white head. In return, he snorted and slobbered into her hand. “I’m just here to drop off this orchid for you. They were having a sale on them today at the farmers’ market. Isn’t it pretty?”
“It is. Thank you,” Leland said, taking the orchid. “But you have to come in. I was just about to make lunch. No, no refusals, I insist.”
“Are you all ready for tonight?” Fran asked, as she followed Leland, Winston at his heels, back to the kitchen. Most of the interior was still painted the boring beige shade the builder had slapped on. But the kitchen was the one room Leland had put his imprint on. The kitchen walls were a sunny yellow, and all of the cabinets had been painted a crisp glossy white. A framed poster of Picasso’s Petite Fleurs hung on one wall. Winston hopped into his basket, circled three times, lay down, and was instantly asleep.
“I was just putting the finishing touches on my dessert,” Leland said, setting the orchid down in the middle of the oak pedestal table.
“It looks amazing,” Fran said, admiring the towering coconut layer cake rising up from a glass cake stand. “A real showstopper.”
“Baking has always been my favorite of the culinary arts. There’s something so magical about it. You mix together ordinary ingredients—butter, sugar, flour, and eggs—and somehow they transform into something special,” Leland said.
“I think you missed your calling. You could have been a master pastry chef,” Fran said. She perched on one of the tall wooden stools lined up in front of the island.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Leland asked.
Fran glanced at the clock. “It’s only eleven-thirty,” she said.
“So? If we were French, we’d have consumed a whole bottle before lunch even started,” Leland said.
“That’s true. And it is a Saturday,” Fran said. “What the hell, why not? I’m easily persuaded.”
Leland uncorked a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and poured them each a glass.
“Yum,” Fran said, taking a sip.
“It will go well with our lunch,” Leland said. He opened the refrigerator and began pulling out eggs, spinach, cold red potatoes, and, of course, bacon.
“You really don’t have to cook for me. You are hosting a dinner party tonight, after all,” Fran said. “Better yet, why don’t you sit down and let me cook lunch?”
“No, let me enjoy cooking for a beautiful lady. It happens all too rarely these days. Just keep me company,” Leland said. Brandishing a large chef’s knife, he began to dice the bacon. And it will give us a chance to talk.”
“Uh-oh,” Fran said. “Am I in trouble?”
“You? Never. It’s only that I’ve noticed you haven’t seemed yourself lately.”
“Really? How so?”
“You’ve seemed distracted. And your gardenias need watering. It’s not like you to neglect them,” Leland said.
“I guess I have been a little distracted,” Fran said. She twirled the wineglass in her hand. “When I’m at work, I’m thinking about the girls or what needs doing around the house. And when I’m at home, I’m thinking about work, I can’t seem to settle to anything.”
Fran didn’t add that the one constant in her otherwise scattered thoughts was Coop. Ever since the day she’d seen him in the wine store, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. She knew it was stupid to obsess—Coop clearly wasn’t interested in her, and besides, there was the not-insignificant detail that she was married. And yet, it was out of her control. She found her mind wandering throughout the day, imagining scenario
s in which she and Coop might bump into each other. Feeling his lips grazing over her cheek as he kissed her in greeting. Picturing herself touching his arm lightly as they spoke.
If she was feeling particularly fanciful, these daydreams would spin into increasingly outlandish scenarios. Coop confessing his attraction to her. A hastily arranged assignation. And, once there, ripping each other’s clothes off …
No, Fran thought. Stop it. She wondered if she was having a midlife crisis, or if it could possibly be some sort of hormonal imbalance.
She and Coop had always flirted with each other. Why, after all these years, was her imagination getting carried away? And to such X-rated places? Had there always been an attraction between them that she was just now noticing? Or had it come about recently? Maybe it had to do with the decline of her marriage. These days, she and Will were like roommates—companionable and comfortable and utterly passionless. Fran had tolerated the situation for years, assuming it was where all couples ended up eventually, and that on balance, it was all right.
Except that now, suddenly, it wasn’t.
“It happens. You just have to be careful,” Leland said. He transferred the bacon and what looked like minced shallots into a hot skillet, where the mixture began to sizzle at once.
Fran looked up, startled, wondering if he’d been reading her thoughts. Did he mean she had to be careful about Coop? Dear God, had she been so obvious? Then she remembered the last thing she’d said out loud was that she’d been distracted lately.
That’s an understatement, Fran thought.
“Careful, how?” Fran asked.
“You don’t want to spend so much time worrying about life that you miss out on it while it’s happening,” Leland said, stirring the bacon with a heat-proof spatula. He looked up from his work and smiled wryly. The network of lines on his face creased like a paper fan. “I sound like an old fart, don’t I?”
“Never,” Fran said. “And you’re absolutely right. I’ve been in my head too often lately. I need to be more present.”
She meant what she said. And yet, the fantasies about Coop—of kissing Coop, feeling his arms around her, the imagined lovemaking—were irresistible. She was too addicted to them to give them up. It was like jelly beans—as long as they were in reach, she was incapable of not eating them. The only solution was to never keep them in the house. But what did you do when the thing you were addicted to existed inside your own thoughts?
Table for Seven: A Novel Page 12