I’ll relax and live in the moment. I have never had any man serenade me before, and certainly not one that looks like Reed Samuels. He puts his guitar away and comes to sit beside me. Reed gathers me in his arms and kisses the top of my head.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m a little tired.”
“So am I,” he says, yawning loudly.
Here it comes. I should have expected it, but I’d come up to his apartment voluntarily and should be prepared.
“Perhaps we should lie down for a moment and catch a few winks.”
I remain silent but my expression says it all.
“I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”
The funny thing is that now I do want him to. Still, in the back of my mind I’m thinking, he needs to work a little bit if he wants me. I remember something my mother once told me, no woman should give it up that easily.
Reed stands up and reaches out a hand. I take it. I follow him up the hallway and into a room that is more vanilla than the living room. All of the furniture is blond. The bed matches the dresser, which matches the nightstand. The walls are bare and there are few personal effects in sight. What’s up with that I wonder?
Fully clothed, we slide under the covers. Reed wraps me in his arms. He even smells like vanilla. When he kisses me I taste his champagne. I snuggle up next to him and rest my head on his chest. He strokes my hair.
When I open my eyes the room is coated in sunshine. So much for staying awake to watch the sun rise, but we have gotten through this and managed not to have sex. Reed kisses the top of my head then sticks his legs out from under the comforter and plants them firmly on the floor.
“I’m starving,” he says. “We should think about breakfast.” He walks into the bathroom and closes the door.
My mouth is feeling as if a sewer erupted in it. I dare not open it. I need a shower, and since I didn’t plan this to be an overnight adventure, I wonder how to handle a change of clothes.
Fifteen minutes later Reed is back bearing towels and a new toothbrush. He opens closet doors and hands me a sweatsuit.
“Not sure I can manage underwear,” he says, smiling, “unless you would like to wear mine.” He shakes a package of briefs at me.
Hand over my mouth, I mutter my thank-you and grab the stuff. I head for the bathroom and the shower. I brush my teeth and recycle my underwear. It is much too intimate a gesture to think about wearing his, new or otherwise. I bunch up the arms and legs of the sweatsuit after I put it on.
My hair is all frizzy from the steam of the shower. I pinch my cheeks and put on lip gloss. Then I gaze in the mirror, thinking how odd I look in Reed’s oversize sweats with my strappy sandals from the night before. Reed’s feet have to be at least a size twelve—no hope of borrowing his sneakers.
He is in the kitchen making omelets that smell heavenly. There is toast in the toaster and coffee dripping from the pot. A huge bowl of fruit is already on the table. Reed stops flipping the omelet to kiss my cheek. He hands me a bottle of springwater.
“I was thinking of taking you to brunch, but thought it might be cozier to stay in,” he says. “You look wonderful in that sweatsuit.”
The man is blind. Then again if he thinks I look good in oversize clothes and no makeup he just might be a keeper.
He finishes what he’s doing, turns off the stove and takes me with him to the window. We stand staring out on the East River and the few boats making their way slowly up and down. Come spring and summer the river will be crowded with party boats.
“I loved having you next to me,” Reed whispers in my ear.
“Me, too. It felt natural, comfortable.”
He kisses me. This time a real kiss. Long, deep and meaningful. At least, I think it is meaningful. My head spins as I kiss him back.
My cell phone rings and I go instantly on the alert. I press my palms against his chest forcing us apart. I am thinking maybe it’s Lindsay.
The phone is in my purse. I hurry to find it. The ringing stops before I get to it. I hit the missed call button and Margot’s name pops up. I hear the ping notifying me that a message has been left. What now? It is early for her to be up.
Reed meanwhile is getting breakfast on the table.
I retrieve the message. Margot’s high-pitched keening greets me. My euphoric moment is over.
“Roxi, I need you,” she wails. “Where exactly are you again?”
And with that, stone-cold reality returns.
I am hesitant to tell Margot that I am still at Reed’s.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, knowing that once that door is open this conversation could go on for hours. And I don’t have hours. My eggs are waiting. I smell buttery croissants and dark roasted coffee. The combined aromas make my stomach grumble.
“I woke up this morning and Earl was gone,” Margot says between sniffs.
“I’d think he’d have to get home.” I bit back the words on the tip of my tongue. What does she expect of a man who’s involved with another woman?
“There was no note. Nothing. He just left.”
“Okay, take a deep breath. Breathe.”
“Easy for you to say. Where are you, anyway? I drove to your house but you weren’t home. I need you.”
Although he doesn’t interrupt, I know Reed is waiting. I also know he is tuned in to the conversation.
“I’ll stop by your house later. We’ll have a mimosa and toast to a better year.”
I hang up quickly and take the chair Reed holds out. He pours us both coffee and dishes an omelet onto my plate. He even butters my toast. Then he places a pitcher of orange juice in the center of the table and takes his seat. Guinness is sprawled on his back under the table. He doesn’t whine and he doesn’t beg.
Although I don’t owe Reed an explanation I begin to explain.
“She sounds lonely,” Reed said with amazing insight.
“That she is. Margot measures her worth in terms of a man. Unfortunately she’s not over Earl and probably never will be. And he encourages the codependency.”
“Sounds like a pretty dysfunctional pair.”
“They are.”
Reed begins to talk about himself. I hear about his parents passing at an early age and how he basically raised himself. I hear about his two failed marriages, both of which were brief. My antenna goes up again. I wonder why he can’t sustain a relationship. Someone who looks like him, has a decent job and a caring personality, is every woman’s dream.
Breakfast is over with. We have eaten everything including the fruit. I don’t want to overstay my welcome. I tell Reed I’ll take the Long Island Railroad home but he won’t hear of it.
“I’ll drive you back, but I wish you would stay longer,” he says. “If we’re going to be spending time together. I might as well see how you live.”
I keep my expression neutral but he’s blown me away. It sounds to me as if he intends for this to be an ongoing thing. That is A-okay with me. As I said before, I like this man.
There is a dusting of snow on the highway when he drives me back to Long Island. Reed drives with one hand, the other is on my leg. I feel comfortable with him. He’s what I’ve been waiting for my entire life: kind, attentive and respectful of me.
We pull up in front of my Tudor and he gets out and comes around to the passenger door and gives me his hand. I am hoping that my house is in good shape and that Bacci hasn’t urinated on the floor or shredded the upholstery. Alexandra is supposed to come and get him tomorrow. I’d hoped it would be Carlo but I’ve gotten over that. Funny how little thought I’ve given to a man that I’d been obsessing over for years.
“I’ve always liked this town,” Reed says as he walks me to my door.
“You know Malverne?” I give him my are-you-shitting-me-or-what? look and wait for more.
He places a hand on my arm. “I’ve had an occasion or two to come out here,” he says, straight-faced.
Until then, I haven’t thought of the po
ssibility he might be seeing someone. When you meet a man on the Internet that is just the way that it goes.
We stand on the landing. I have my keys out.
“Would you like to come in?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
With that Reed enters my house. Margot and her emergency are placed on the back burner.
I need to cultivate this relationship, develop it into more.
CHAPTER 16
The holidays are finally over but business sucks big-time. I am willing to pretty much do anything to keep afloat—even discount my services. I’ve met with the marketing consultant and together we’ve come up with a concept called January Madness. The idea being you pay a flat, nominal fee for any service, and the remainder is due thirty days later. If you don’t pay in full after the grace period there is a premium. This involves some level of trust, and I hope I will not live to regret this crazy marketing decision. The good thing is I get the credit card up-front and I have the customer’s signature that he will be charged.
My across-the-street neighbor, Yvette Applebaum is aboard and doing quite well. I am used to being a one-man band, but Yvette is good at taking pressure off. I trust her to answer phones, create schedules and take care of jobs that require a certain level of diplomacy. As predicted, the delightful French accent is going over big.
I have heard from Reed every day and we are getting closer. I like the attention and support. Now I hardly ever think about Carlo, who incidentally sent me a wonderful note to thank me for caring for Bacci. He really is a sweet man and considerate.
I am in the middle of ordering dessert for a dinner party when my cell phone rings. I allow it to go to voice mail until I negotiate the price and complete the transaction. My client will be pleased. Fresh strawberries are exactly what she wanted, and those are hard to come by in winter without paying a small fortune for them.
I wait until I’m in the Land Rover to check my message. It is Reed. My heart does a triple beat when I hear his voice.
“Hello, doll. I’ve just scored tickets for the symphony tonight. Tell me you are free.”
I call him back. I am free and very much looking forward to seeing him. We decide I will take the train in and meet him at his apartment. We will have drinks and dinner before the symphony.
After I get off, I call Margot and find her in a surprisingly upbeat mood.
“Have you heard from Earl?” I ask cautiously because usually Margot’s good moods are associated with Earl contacting her.
“No, but I’ve heard from Theo.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Theodore Fitzpatrick. The guy I met at the lock-and-key party, remember him?”
“Oh, yeah, him. What’s with him?”
Theo is the homie with the heavy urban accent that I suspect Margot went home with. Hopefully he is single. But at this point anyone is better than Earl, who can’t seem to leave Margot alone or make up his mind.
Margot is rambling on telling me that Theo has asked her out to dinner. It’s taken him several weeks to ask her out. What’s with that? Sounds to me as if he’s just been dumped or why is he suddenly available?
I force enthusiasm into my voice. “That’s nice. So where are you two going?”
Margot names a well-known restaurant which is a bit on the pricey side. It sounds as if the doc is willing to invest a dollar or two. I become hopeful again. Margot needs a break.
I tell Margot I have to go. I need to figure out what to wear to the symphony. I’ve not been invited to attend this type of event before. The closest I’ve come is a front-row seat on my couch, staring at the television.
When I enter my house, my cell phone rings. I heave out a breath, thinking, Margot again.
“Hello, princess.” I don’t quite get the voice.
“Who’s this?”
“How was your holiday?”
“Fine, and yours?”
“It’s Max. How soon we forget.”
He is acting as if nothing has happened, as if he hasn’t just disappeared on me. This is the man who’d supposedly come to New York to spend the holiday with me. I wait for an explanation, an excuse. Something.
“I’m flying out to catch the ship in a couple of days and thought we might get together.”
The unmitigated gall of him.
“Sorry, Max. I can’t.” I say. There is no explanation for his callous, self-focused behavior, and I don’t feel I owe him a thing. What’s more, I don’t want to see him.
“Oh, come on,” Max wheedles. “I really would like to see my favorite girl.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’ve never been too busy for me before,” Max says.
I decide this is going around in circles. We are clearly going nowhere, just like our relationship is not going anywhere. Max has served a purpose. He has helped me transition from divorcée to more-confident single woman. It is time to cut the strings, and it is time for me to be straight so there’s no misunderstanding.
“Max,” I say. “Despite you giving me a lot of lip service about being here for me, I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”
Long sigh on the other end. “So that’s the problem.”
“A big one for me. I need friends I can rely on.”
“Whoa!” he says. “And you can’t rely on me?”
“I can’t depend or rely on you, and that’s a big problem for me.”
I can hear the wheels turning, and I am not feeling very patient.
“I have to go, Max,” I say. “I have things to take care of.”
I hang up.
I am a little sad because having Max as a friend was nice while it lasted. Now I am at a different place altogether. When you are looking for a potential long-term mate you need someone as solid as a rock, not someone floating in and out of your life when it pleases him.
I go into my closet looking for something to wear tonight. Twenty minutes and several discarded outfits later I decide on simple but classic. I choose a full, ankle-length black skirt and an ivory silk top. I accessorize with pearls and add a black satin belt at the waist, the type that has a bow where a buckle should be.
I decide to take a bath and spend a half hour luxuriating in bubbles. I get out before I turn into a prune and begin the business of dressing. Then I sweep my hair off my face, twist it into another of those pretzels and add a sparkly comb. My makeup is simple, just a touch of foundation, some blush and mascara. I step into black pumps, grab a red pashmina and I am ready to go.
The train is on time. I take a cab from Penn Station to Reed’s apartment. He has left a message with his doorman to expect me. His door is ajar when I get off the elevator.
“Anyone home,” I call, not wanting to just walk in.
Guinness comes bounding out of the bedroom. He licks my hand, but well-trained dog that he is, does not jump. Reed follows, looking devastatingly handsome in a dark suit, his shirt open at the collar, his hair still wet and in tight little salt-and-pepper ringlets.
“Just look at you,” he says. “Beautiful as always.” He kisses me on the mouth and when we come up for air he says, “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be out in a minute.” He waves me toward the sofa.
Guinness follows me and sits at my feet. I stare out at the East River and the twinkling lights of the far shore. A jazz guitarist plays mood music in the background. So far everything is perfect.
Reed’s house phone rings and rings. He doesn’t pick it up. I make out a female voice but can’t hear the message. I’m not particularly bent out of shape because he is a good-looking man with a great job, and it’s natural that there would be women. And we haven’t had the talk about exclusivity.
When Reed returns, his hair is dry. “We could stay in and have drinks here if you’d like,” he offers.
I shake my head. I am intensely attracted to this man and if we don’t go out we’ll never make it to the symphony.
Outside, Reed’s doorman flags us down a taxi. We decide it’s quicker and more ef
ficient. This way we don’t have to deal with traffic and parking. Reed folds a bill into the doorman’s palm before we get in.
We are dropped off about two blocks away from Carnegie Hall. Reed has reservations at a new restaurant that has received wonderful reviews. It is one of those chi-chi places with warm dark wood, plush carpeting and cavernous banquettes. It smells like pine and cranberries.
After telling the maître d’ who we are, Reed takes my elbow. We follow a hostess, sidestepping an affluent after-work crowd, knocking back drinks. Reed exchanges nods with several of the men. Finally we are taken to a table in the back.
As we wait for the waitress to come over, Reed asks, “So what is it you like to do when you’re not running a business?”
“I play tennis, work out at the gym, travel when there’s disposable income, and now I’m thinking of taking a watercolor class. What about you?”
“I play squash and racquetball. I fence and horseback ride every chance I get. I’m also an archer.”
All gentlemen’s games. That explains the collection of bows and arrows I’ve seen at Reed’s home.
“How did you get into archery?” I ask.
“My father was an archer. He used to take me to the range with him. He wasn’t a very demonstrative man so that was the way we bonded.”
Reed’s cell phone rings. He glances at the number and snaps the phone off.
“You could have answered,” I said. “I wouldn’t have been insulted.”
“Not important.”
The waitress comes and takes our drink order. We talk about one thing or another. Reed tells me that he’s thought about me a lot and how much he enjoys my company.
We have dinner. We go to the symphony. Reed keeps his arm around me the whole time. Afterward he runs into some people he knows and introduces me. This is another good sign. I interpret it as me being around for a while. He asks me to go home with him. I say yes. I am fully aware of what I am doing. I am violating my own three-date rule. Three dates before I consider going to bed with a man.
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