Craving Perfect

by Liz Fichera

  Quickly, I slipped on the red dress. It slid like silk over my shoulders and hugged me in all the right places. There were no bulges or buttons that strained to close. No broken zippers. The dress fit like it was custom-made, which I supposed it probably was.

  But then my eyes rose to my face. I’d forgotten one itsy, bitsy detail…

  Make-up. Face paint. Gunk. I was clueless about the whole cosmetics thing.

  And I was embarrassed to admit that other than a little mascara and lip gloss, I was a complete novice. In that department, I usually had Kathryn’s help—

  Kathryn…

  I pushed her out of my mind too.

  Standing in my new bathroom, I picked up bottles of something called Baked Bronzer and Afterglow Blush that sat alongside the sink. Make-up had never been my thing, not that anyone noticed.

  Would anyone notice now? After all, the bar would be dark. And why would someone as gorgeous as Callie Collins need to bother with make-up? If only I had known the phone number of the nice girl who did my make-up at the TV station. Maybe next time I could offer to pay her for some private lessons.

  “Callie?” said a voice from outside my bedroom door.

  Startled, I turned to find Max leaning against the doorframe, dressed in a pair of black pants and an untucked pale green shirt. He held a black leather jacket and dangled a key—my house key—from his forefinger. He looked me up and down as if I were ice cream.

  My body froze. For months, I had wanted him, dreamed of him, ached for him to notice a speck of my existence. Now that I had him, I’d lost my nerve. What was wrong with me?

  He pocketed the key and tossed his coat on the king-size bed as he crossed the room. The same smoldering smile he had when he left me earlier spread across his face. It was enough to jumpstart a freight train.

  In three steps, he held me in his arms, not before unwrapping the towel from around my head, letting my hair drop to my shoulders. His eyes wanted me, that much was clear, although the bulge below his waist made his intentions pretty obvious.

  He drew an audible breath and then began to nuzzle the side of my neck with his nose. “Jeez, I’ve missed you,” he whispered as his fingers began to peel down my zipper.

  My voice cracked. “But…we just saw each other a couple of hours ago.”

  Max chuckled and proceeded to nibble my earlobe.

  My eyes closed as I inhaled him. He smelled like musk and soap and hair gel. There was no denying his touch burned my skin in a good way. But when I closed my eyes, it wasn’t Max that I saw, not exactly. Still, it would be so easy to sink against him and let myself go completely. It had been so long…

  But then the tip of his tongue traced the side of my neck and I giggled. I pulled away, embarrassed. And uncomfortable. “Shouldn’t we get going?” I said to fill the silence.

  Max’s nostrils flared, just before he tossed me onto the bed. An avalanche of decorative pillows fell to the floor.

  Max didn’t answer. He proceeded to kick off his shoes and unbutton his shirt.

  My throat turned dry at the slow reveal of his hairless chest, one opened button at a time. And a nipple ring.

  Wasn’t expecting that.

  Breathing became difficult.

  His hands reached for the button on his pants. Then the zipper.

  I had to say something.

  “But…but I’m kind of hungry,” I blurted out.

  Conveniently, my stomach growled.

  “See?” I winced, pointing to my stomach with relief. Unfortunately, make-up lessons weren’t the only lessons I needed, no matter who I happened to be. Protection, positions, pregnancy—all the p words nibbled around the edges of my mind. I at least needed a glass of wine.

  “Hungry?” Max’s jaw dropped, along with his hands, like I’d just suggested drowning a puppy.

  Slowly, I rose to my knees. “Yeah.” I said. “You do eat, don’t you?”

  With a frustrated sigh, Max sat on the bed, his shirt still open from the impromptu striptease. He pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger and then said, “Yeah, well I do…but you don’t. Remember? At least, rarely.”

  I half expected him to laugh at the absurdity of his statement. But he didn’t. He was completely serious.

  “Well, I’ve got to eat sometimes.” I lifted off the bed. “Tonight might be one of those times.” I trotted back into the bathroom. Quickly.

  “Okay, but don’t tell Alexandra…” he called after me.

  I stopped in the doorway. “Don’t tell her what?”

  “I think she mentioned once that she keeps a calorie diary for both of you.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Not kidding.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “And why would she do that?” Never mind that it was one of the dumbest things I’d ever heard in, like, forever.

  “Um, ’cause she’s your personal assistant?” His eyes narrowed at me, as if assistants kept crazy calorie diaries for people all the time.

  My arms dropped to my sides. I composed my expression. “Oh yeah. I forgot.”

  “Well, don’t forget that the camera adds an extra ten pounds.” Max’s voice trailed off in a Don’t blame me, I warned you kind of way.

  My teeth clenched in a frozen smile. “I’ll try and remember that.” As if being one hundred and ten pounds instead of one hundred pounds would make me look enormous.

  Some things were going to have to change around here. For starters, I would eat more than just on days beginning with T.

  “So you still want to get something to eat?” His eyebrow lifted.

  I sighed heavily as I turned back inside the bathroom. “We’ll see.” Make that, yes. “I’m thirsty, anyway.”

  Ten minutes later, I returned to the bedroom wearing my zipped up red dress and black heels. My hair? Well, all I did was run a comb through it. With my new soft natural curl, it looked like it had been professionally styled, in an ultra chic, cool messy sort of way. So unlike my old hair, which would have looked like I’d just put my finger in an electrical socket. “Ready?” I asked Max.

  “Yeah, sure.” He didn’t bother to hide the disappointment in his voice. He lifted himself heavily from the bed, one heavy leg at a time, never releasing his eyes from mine. Instead of an invitation, it felt like a warning. He watched me as he buttoned up his shirt.

  My body stiffened.

  “We could have had a lot more fun here.” He nodded at the rumpled bed sheets and fallen pillows.

  My eyes lowered to my hands. They fidgeted with the clasp on my purse. Opening it, I pretended to hunt for something. Anything. Weirdly, Carlos’s face flashed in my mind. Again.

  I just needed a little time to get used to everything.

  “Ready?” I asked again, my eyes buried inside my purse as I headed for the door. My stilettos clicked like typewriter keys against the hardwood floors.

  “I guess.” Max caught up behind me. “But I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” I stopped, facing the front door.

  “Okay,” he exhaled, more disbelief filling his voice.

  I changed subjects. “So what kind of appetizers do you want to get tonight?” My insides swooned. A cheeseburger with fries sounded good, but I supposed that would have to change too—like to a cheeseburger and no fries. But who could seriously enjoy a cheeseburger without a couple of fries?

  Max unlocked the bolt and opened the door. I ducked under his arm. “I really don’t know, Callie. We’ve never ordered anything but drinks at Chocolat. You know that…” He threaded his arm around my waist as we walked to the elevators.

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything.” My stomach growled again. Besides an out-dated carton of soy milk and a jar of designer mustard, Callie kept nothing in her refrigerator.

  “We can always dance off any extra calories,” he added, just as the elevator door opened.

  “Dancing?” I turned abruptly. My ankles already wobbled in my s
ix-inch heels. “Who said anything about dancing?”

  Max gave me that look again. Like he was seeing me for the first time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Carlos

  I drove over the speed limit the whole way till Elena and I reached the Desert Java. Elena insisted on coming with me. She didn’t talk much during the drive and that was probably wise. Normally I was calm and rarely rattled, but this was different.

  Grace was missing and no one knew where she was, least of all Eddie, the last guy to see her.

  She hadn’t been answering her cell, and when I found Kathryn, she was seated next to Eddie in the Desert Java kitchen, crying into her hands. Someone had turned on all the lights and the café looked stark and unfriendly, so different than it had a couple hours earlier. Fear choked the air.

  My whole body was on fire. If only I had insisted on staying, if only I hadn’t ignored my instincts. If I hadn’t left, Grace would be with me. I should have known better than to leave her with Eddie.

  “What happened after I left?” I asked Eddie, fighting to keep calm as I stood over him.

  His words slurred less than before. He kept blinking though, like he was fighting to stay awake. “We talked.” He licked his lips. “We argued.” He paused, embarrassed. “And then she stormed out.” He nodded to the front door. “I’m sorry, Carlos. I didn’t mean to make her so angry.”

  “Why did she leave? What did you say?”

  Kathryn lifted her head. Her eyes met Eddie’s. “This is my fault, not Eddie’s. I shouldn’t have ignored her all week. Then Eddie wouldn’t have acted this way. I should have said something to her. And I shouldn’t have said some of the things I did.” Her face crumpled with guilt. Her lips began to quiver again.

  I dragged my free hand through my hair. It angered me that a single word had been said to upset Grace. What little composure I had began to fade.

  “We’re wasting time sitting here.” I paused to draw a breath. “We should be out looking for her.”

  “Carlos is right,” Elena said quietly. “We need to start looking for her. It’s late. But she couldn’t have gone very far.” Her tone was hopeful, but that was like her.

  “Where could she be?” Kathryn’s voice rose another octave. “She’s here.” Her hand waved about the kitchen. “She’s always here. It’s not like her to leave in the middle of the night. Ever.”

  The bell over the front door jingled. Everybody turned.

  “Hola, Carlos,” my uncle Mario said, entering the kitchen.

  “Hola, Tío,” I said.

  Behind Uncle Mario, six of my cousins filled the kitchen. There were probably another twelve men outside, waiting. I made one call to Uncle Mario about Grace before I left home. Without so much as a single question, mi familia had gathered to help find her.

  “Carlos,” Kathryn stood, surprised. She shook her head at the army of men in her café, speechless.

  “What’s the plan?” Uncle Mario said. “Where do we start?”

  “First of all, she drives a yellow Volkswagen. Can’t be too many of them on the roads right now.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the police?” Kathryn said.

  “They won’t do anything for at least twenty-four hours,” I said. “But it wouldn’t hurt to tell them.” My eyes locked onto Eddie’s.

  “I’m on it.” Eddie rose as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and walked to the other side of the room.

  “What about friends?” I asked Kathryn.

  Kathryn’s voice got smaller again. “She knows a lot of people, working here. But they’re more like acquaintances.” Her voice cracked again. “I’ve always been her best friend.”

  I drew back a breath. “What about old boyfriends?”

  Kathryn shook her head. “You’re the first person she’s dated in a very long time.”

  My throat tightened. Any other time, I would have been delighted by this news. Tonight, it only tugged at my chest. “What about family? Any other place or person she would visit?” My tone was doubtful, remembering the scattered family Grace described at dinner. But I felt compelled to ask. Maybe she’d forgotten to mention somebody.

  Kathryn shook her head. She bit her lip and then said, “Our parents are dead. There’s no one…” Her voice shook. “She’s just got me.”

  Elena left my side to sit beside Kathryn. She put her arm across Kathryn’s shoulders and I thought Kathryn was going to start crying again.

  “When was the last time you tried her cell?” I asked.

  “Just before you got here. It keeps going to voicemail.”

  “Maybe she just doesn’t want to be found,” Eddie said from across the room.

  I glared at him and his teeth clamped shut. Then I turned to Uncle Mario and my cousins. “What if we fan out across Tempe in all directions, begin by looking for her car.”

  “We’ve got to start somewhere,” Uncle Mario agreed. He lifted his cell phone. “Anybody sees anything? You call me. Then I’ll call Carlos.” Then he turned to me and managed a smile. “Don’t worry. She couldn’t have gotten very far. And a yellow Volkswagen is easy to find. Probably just has a flat tire somewhere. We’ll find her.”

  I wanted to believe him but the fact that she wasn’t answering her cell phone worried me the most. As much as I hated to admit it, Grace sounded like someone who didn’t want to be found.

  But I refused to believe it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Callie

  My days of waiting to get inside a trendy nightclub were over. I was officially part of the in-crowd.

  Max and I breezed right through the velvet ropes and burly bouncers outside Chocolat as if we owned the place. The bouncer even smiled at me as we passed.

  Smiled!

  Like I was royalty or something.

  Chocolat seemed like the kind of place Max and I would frequent often, the place for people with plenty of money and access to a perfect gene pool. That didn’t mean it wasn’t going to take some getting used to.

  Hardwood floors, mahogany tables, brushed nickel hardware, soft lighting, private leather booths and gorgeous customers, Chocolat was by far the coolest bar I’d ever been to. If Chocolat had ever lost electricity, the blinding whites of everyone’s teeth could have illuminated the entire room for at least twelve hours.

  Then there was the artwork.

  Clever.

  Framed photographs of chocolate—dark, white, mocha, even chocolate with walnuts—adorned the dark walls, despite the fact that none of the customers, including the servers, looked like they consumed more than five hundred calories a day. The artwork, in my opinion, was just plain cruel. Look but don’t touch.

  Once inside, Max and I followed behind a platinum blonde woman with gorgeous legs who Max called Shelley. She led us to a private corner booth.

  I had a feeling we’d been inside this booth before too.

  “The usual, Miss Collins?” Shelley asked as she removed the brass Reserved sign from our table.

  “Um…sssure?” I stammered. I’d just hoped that my usual didn’t include anything with a maraschino cherry or gin.

  “And for me, too,” Max added with a helpful wink as he draped his arm behind me along the top of the booth before he looked around the bar, almost as if waiting for people to notice us.

  There might as well have been a spotlight. Our booth was the perfect lookout spot for the entire bar. We could have been a Christmas display window.

  Shelley pursed her red lips before she turned to leave, presumably to fetch our drinks.

  “Oh, did you want to order an appetizer?” Max whispered as Shelley sashayed away.

  Before answering, I turned and scanned the bar. There wasn’t a basket of chips, a buffet line, or even a tiny bowl of green olives anywhere.

  No one eats.

  Instead, everyone sipped colorful, undoubtedly expensive martinis. Other than the artwork, there wasn’t a morsel of food anywhere. My stomach growled with frustration.

 
“Is it…is it allowed?” I turned back to Max who narrowed his eyes at the stupidity of my question.

  “Is what allowed?” he asked anyway.

  “Eating?”

  But then he sighed. “Of course it is. I’m sure they can whip up something.” Although he didn’t sound optimistic.

  Another stomach growl.

  “Besides,” he continued. “I brought a little something special for later…” He reached into his pants pocket and then opened his palm so that only I could see. A square baggy about the size of a postage stamp sat in his hand. It looked like powdered sugar.

  My eyes widened. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is…”

  Max arched one of his eyes. Under the low lighting, they look greener than normal, more like the eyes of an alley cat. “Of course it is.” He stuffed the baggy back in his pocket. “Hey, you asked me to buy it.” His tone got defensive.

  “I did?” The words jumped out of my throat.

  Just as I was about to tell him to go flush the junk down the toilet, Shelley returned with two monstrous, martini-shaped glasses.

  “Here you go.” From a silver shaker, she poured a liquid the color of an Arizona sunset into each glass.

  “Jason used the organic, sugar-free mixes, right?” Max asked her.

  “Bien sûr.”

  Pursing his lips, he turned to me. “And I think Callie wants to order an appetizer.” His fingers strummed the table, waiting for me to speak.

  I turned to Shelley but her delicate mouth hung open in a perfect circle, as if she had never taken a food order before—which, in her defense, she probably hadn’t. I cleared my throat. “What would you recommend?”

  Shelley finally closed her mouth only to open it again. “How about a small salad?”

  “Salad?” I grimaced. “Anything a little more…substantial?” I’d sell my soul for a raspberry scone right now.

  “Well, I can ask Jason to add a slice of sourdough bread to it?” Her tone was doubtful and I felt my chances of real sustenance slipping fast.