Birthday Suit

by Lauren Blakely

  Midway through the highlands inhabited by giant tortoises, Dean texts.

  * * *

  Dean: Rah rah. Go, team, go. Can you hear me rooting for you all the way across town?

  * * *

  Leo: With amazing enthusiasm and incredible clarity. Do you have pom-poms too?

  * * *

  Dean: For you, I’d consider it.

  * * *

  Leo: I’m honored that you take my corporate pursuits so seriously.

  * * *

  Dean: Oh, please. It’s not you. We started a betting pool at The Pub last night. We have all sorts of wagers going on for the Crisps vs. Chocolate scavenger hunt.

  * * *

  Leo: Chips, dude. Chips.

  * * *

  Dean: Two words I will never utter. “Chips” and “dude.” *shudders*

  * * *

  Leo: I’ll Americanize you in no time, bro.

  * * *

  Dean: And yet another.

  * * *

  Leo: Anyway, how much did you bet on me?

  * * *

  Dean: Did I say I bet on you?

  * * *

  Leo: Ah. Should have known you wouldn’t bet on me.

  * * *

  Dean: What do you expect? Once I got word that it had spiraled beyond those two companies and somehow, mind-bogglingly, had become all of the packaged food firms in New York, what was I to do? Deny myself the chance to bet on a stallion?

  * * *

  Leo: And who is your stallion?

  * * *

  Dean: Anyone but the guy on the team with the girl he once fancied.

  * * *

  As I crest a hill, I find the middle finger emoticon and send it back to him. If I were him, I’d poke fun at me too.

  I keep up a steady clip through the park. A guy who looks familiar tears past me, seeming hell-bent on racing to the edge of the world.

  Like a car whips around in a U-turn, the guy zips back to me. It’s Noah. He’s slowed to a jog at my side. “Whoa. Thought it might be you, big man.”

  “You can just call me Leo.”

  “Dude, you’re a fucking EVP. I’m a director of sales. You’re the big man in charge, even if we’re in different departments.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but there’s a woman in charge.”

  “Ha. Good point.” He smacks my arm. “Hey, you’re friendly with Ginny, right?”

  “I am.”

  “You know her well then?”

  “Well enough. She’s a colleague and a friend.”

  He slides into a Hispanic accent. Mexican, I think. “Question then. Do you think I should lean on my natural Latino flare with her?”

  I stare at him in question. “Um, you’ve literally never used that accent before.”

  “Yeah, because I grew up in New York. But I can pull it off. My whole family is from Mexico. And I am fluent, bi-lingual, and hella sexy. Like Michael Peña.”

  “I’m going to take the fifth on the last point. To the first, yes you absolutely can pull off the accent. I’m just not sure it’s necessary since she knows you as you.”

  “So you don’t think she likes a sexy, seductive accent?”

  “No idea. But I think you should be yourself.”

  His voice turns earnest. “Fair enough. Think you could put in a word for me? Let her know I’m a good guy?”

  “Why can’t you do that yourself?”

  “Please. I need to wear her down. It’s the only way a woman like her will go for a guy like me.”

  “A guy who sees himself as Michael Peña?”

  “And that dude scores. But no, I mean someone she works with.”

  I’m not sure if the specter of an office romance is the issue with Ginny, or if she has one, or if she even likes Noah, or Michael Peña for that matter. I give Noah the best advice I can. “Just ask her out, man.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. It’s simple. Only way you’ll know.”

  He strokes his goatee as he trots. “You’re right. Damn, you’re always right. Also, no offense, big man, but you’re slow as shit. I need to go full cheetah.”

  Laughing, I wave as he takes off like he has spots.

  With Noah already on another continent, I return to the thread with Dean, rereading his last note, then his follow-up to it.

  * * *

  Dean: Anyone but the guy on the team with the girl he once fancied.

  * * *

  Dean: You see, I’m betting you’ll be a wee bit distracted.

  * * *

  Leo: Distraction is for wusses. I have a powerful mind-vise, and I’m not afraid to use it.

  * * *

  Dean: Fair enough. So, speaking of things you put in mind-vises, how is our fair maiden?

  * * *

  The answer arrives as swiftly as a Bugatti.

  Lulu is mesmerizing, she’s charming, and she’s enchanting.

  It’s as if I’m getting to know her all over again. Like we’re having conversations for the first time, talks that exist only between the two of us, and I don’t have to worry about crossing any lines with my best friend. Though, in the back of my mind, I’m vaulting over all the boundaries.

  The woman is still off-limits, and that’s not merely because of that tangled skein of history stretching between us across the years.

  It’s because I’d be a stupid ass to pursue something with a woman I now have a business deal with.

  We’re team building, not team fucking. I want this partnership to be successful, and success won’t come from distraction.

  Yet as my sneakers pound against the dirt path, I can’t stop thinking about last night.

  The caveman part of me—hell, all of me—loves that she thinks I’m good-looking. I feel a little bit like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer did when Clarice told him he was cute. I could go skipping and jumping and flying into the air. She thinks I’m cute, she thinks I’m cuuuuuuuuuuute.

  But I can’t say that aloud, for fuck’s sake.

  And honestly, I should relinquish my man card for a full twenty-four hours for even letting myself think it. In fact, I’d like to slap my brain for suggesting that Rudolph the fucking Red-Nosed Reindeer and I have anything in common.

  I’m not Rudolph.

  I’m Iron Man.

  I’m impervious to Lulu.

  I’m stoic and tough as motherfucking nails.

  Just to prove it, I reply to Dean’s how is Lulu question with a curt great.

  I exit the park, slowing to a fast walk as I hit the cobbled sidewalk.

  * * *

  Dean: She’s great, as in a great conversationalist? Great contortionist? Great lady? Great time? Elaborate, mate. You’re killing me.

  * * *

  Leo: Great friend.

  * * *

  As I weave past fellow New Yorkers speed-walking to work, I stare at that lie.

  The last time I felt anything for Lulu, there was no one I could turn to, so I choked down all my emotions. I didn’t utter a word of my feelings to anyone until much later on, when I vomited up the pathetic truth to Dean one night over beer at a hockey game.

  As that memory rises, another one does too—telling Dean helped me breathe again. To unknot the noose of emotion around my neck.

  I want to move forward, not backward.

  Reaching the corner, I tap out a text.

  * * *

  Leo: Actually . . . let me be brutally honest. I meant, great in the sense that . . . hell. You know what I mean.

  * * *

  My phone rings instantly.

  Dean wastes no time. “Where is this coming from?” His tone is earnest, thoughtful. It reminds me that maybe I don’t need to process these new twists alone.

  Besides, just because I once had monster feelings for Lulu doesn’t mean that these new ones are poised to become the same size. Hell, this pitter-patter of emotions is merely a petering-out tropical storm, a category-five hurricane that’s been downgraded multiple times.

 
; “We just . . . we spent a little time together. Had dinner with her mom.”

  “Oh. Dinner with the mum.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “But is it? Is it really no big deal? Time hasn’t entirely erased the way you feel for her.”

  “It has,” I insist as I try to sort out the remains of the storm. “It’s different now.”

  “It’s different because she’s actually single.”

  She’s been single for a few years now. She wasn’t always married to Tripp.

  16

  Lulu

  Three years ago

  * * *

  When I left for work on a warm April morning, I reminded Tripp it was a half day for me. “Don’t forget to meet me at the eye doctor this afternoon for my Lasik appointment.”

  “I will be there to service all of your needs, my lady.”

  “Mostly you just need to sign me out so I’m not stuck spending the night there.”

  “No soon-to-be-eagle-eyed wife of mine will spend the night stuck in a Lasik surgery center.”

  Tripp met me in Midtown that afternoon and was with me when I checked in, signing the requisite form that he’d be there to take me home too.

  The surgeon was running behind. Tripp said he was going to grab a coffee while they gave me new eyes.

  I encouraged him to get a cup. He was antsy and easily distracted. He kissed me goodbye, said he’d be back in no time, and joked that he’d be even better looking when I had my new eyesight.

  The procedure began late. It ended after six.

  He wasn’t in the waiting room.

  Embarrassment clung to me like bad perfume. They wouldn’t let me leave alone. The nurses kept asking if anyone else could take me home.

  “I’ll get a cab.”

  That wasn’t acceptable. I needed a person. They wouldn't let me leave without a human by my side.

  Tripp didn’t answer his phone, and I thought about calling my mom, or calling Leo, but they worked on opposite ends of the city. I was close to Mariana’s building, and she always worked late.

  “Can you come get me and sign me out like I’m in grade school?” I tried to make it sound light.

  She told me she’d be there in ten minutes.

  She arrived in eight, signed the discharge forms, and walked me to a waiting town car. Her regular car.

  Once inside, she looked me over. “Sweetie, tell me one thing. What are we going to do about this?”

  Her accent came out to play when she wasn’t in court or at work. She liked to joke that she saved her all-neutral, no-nonsense voice for when she needed to scare other attorneys, but when she needed to give tough love to her friends, she was the girl from Puerto Rico.

  I started to speak. To defend him. To say, It’s just one appointment. People forget.

  But I couldn't. I heaved a sigh. “What do I do?”

  “Is this what you want? Is this what you signed up for? A man who doesn’t keep his commitments?”

  I jerked my gaze to the window, staring through the tinted glass at the sea of New Yorkers, wondering where my husband was among them.

  A few minutes later, my phone rang.

  “Where are you, babe? I’m here, looking for you. I was running late.” I could hear the tequila on his breath.

  Tears didn’t come. Anger did. “Running late? You should have been running early. It was a cup of coffee and a phone call. That was all you had to do. Instead, Mariana is taking me home, and my vision is hazy, my eyes are bloodshot, and I’m wearing sunglasses at six thirty at night and it’s April.”

  “I’m sorry. I got a call from a supplier, and I had to deal with it.”

  “I had something to deal with too.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’ll see you at home in a few minutes?”

  “Obviously, you’ll see me at home since that’s where you were supposed to be taking me.”

  I ended the call. Tears welled up in my eyes. They weren’t from the surgery.

  “It’s just Lasik. It’s not a deal-breaker,” I said.

  Mariana arched a brow. “This may not be the deal-breaker. This may be forgivable. But it’s not about this time. It’s about the collective times. Think about the other times you’ve called me, wishing you were opening your own shop, wishing you had the time to open your own shop. But your time is all his. Think about where you want to be right now and how you want to get there.”

  “Are you saying I should leave him?”

  She held up her hands as stop signs. “That is not my place. What I am saying is maybe it’s time for some tough love.”

  A few weeks later, my eyesight was perfect. It was twenty-twenty, and the irony wasn’t lost on me as I went to a kickboxing class with my new eyes.

  With each punch, I counted. I still hadn’t opened my chocolate shop, I was still paying bills that weren’t mine, his restaurant was still struggling, and his loans were coming due.

  Too many nights of him out late with his chef friends, coming home stinking of wine and tequila then crawling into bed, wanting to make love like that, needed to end.

  We’d gone to therapy. We’d seen a counselor. I’d asked him to go to AA. He’d attended a few meetings. He’d earned his one-day sober chip five times over. And he’d lost it every time.

  Five years after I said I do, I said something else. At the end of the workout, I turned to Mariana. “It’s time.”

  She smiled. “You know I’m behind you, every step of the way.”

  That meant the world to me. That was the opposite of a deal-breaker.

  I left class, called Leo, and asked him to meet me later that day for coffee.

  At the coffee shop, Leo ordered a coffee with extra cream, just the way I liked it. He brought two mugs to the table. I clicked open the web page on my computer and toggled to the open tabs. “This one is nearby. I read about all its programs, and I think it can help him.”

  Leo peered at the screen, nodding as he read. “I’m no expert, but it sounds like a good choice.”

  “There are some others, but they’re farther away and more expensive.”

  “I can pay for it.” His eyes were flooded with hope and a strength that floored me. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t even think to ask for help, not from Leo and not from Tripp’s parents. But Leo’s willingness to do it, to put his money where his mouth was, stunned me.

  “Thank you, but he’s my responsibility.”

  He didn’t answer right away. When he did, he pinned my gaze with his serious eyes. “He’s our responsibility, Lulu.”

  A headache brewed out of nowhere behind my temples. I rubbed them, trying to rub away the pain. “He’s my husband. I have to try.”

  “It’s hard. It’s harder on you than anyone else.” That was all he said. All he needed to say. But he knew it. He understood.

  “Paying for it is my responsibility. I took a vow, and I take it seriously.”

  “I know you do, but I’d like to help. I’d like to pay.”

  “No, thank you.”

  He sighed. “Tell me what I can do.”

  I inhaled and drew on all my strength, wavering though it was. But I had it in me. I had stores of it, thanks to my mom and the way I was raised. I’d been a strong girl growing up. I would be a strong woman. “I want us to tell him together. He’ll do better if he knows we both want him to get well. That it’s not just for me, but for you too.”

  “Strength in numbers. Of course.”

  “He loves me like crazy. But you, Leo? You’re like his brother. He looks up to you. He needs to know it’s hurting both of us. Most of all, though, he needs to know it’s hurting him.”

  And so we planned. I talked to the rehab programs. I soaked up all the advice I could. I knew the risks. I knew the numbers and the high likelihood of a relapse.

  But it needed to be done.

  A few days later, I told Tripp I was sending him to a twenty-eight-day program. Leo stood by my side in the apartment I shar
ed with the man I’d promised to cherish.

  And dammit, I would. Helping him was cherishing him.

  I sat Tripp down on the sofa. “I booked you into the program. You’re leaving tomorrow.”

  He sputtered. “But what about the restaurant?”

  Leo stepped in, brooking no argument. “I have it covered. I asked a sous-chef I know to fill in for you.”

  “But can he make all the dishes the same way? Can he handle the waiters? Can he handle—?”

  “Yes.”

  That was all Leo said to the questions. Yes. He made it clear Tripp had no wiggle room on the work issue.

  Tripp sighed heavily, sadness creeping over his face, but a newfound humility too. “Shit, man, you did that for me?”

  “I’d do just about anything for you. And your wife would too. You need to know that.”

  Tripp’s eyes welled with tears and gratitude. “Lulu, is this what you want?”

  I got down on my knees, took his hands in mine. “Tripp, I want the man I married. I want you back. But I need you to do it for you.”

  “I will. I’ll do it for me. I want to change. For you, and for me.”

  The next day Leo and I drove him to upstate New York. After Tripp checked in, he saluted me, his head held high. “I’m doing this. Thanks to you guys.” He waved at us like a sailor boarding a ship bound to battle the enemy. No—to positively vanquish the enemy. “When you see me again, I’ll be the king of seltzer water. We’ll celebrate the new me with apple juice.”