Birthday Suit

by Lauren Blakely

  A sunflower bloomed inside me. A whole field. “Ginger ale and Diet Coke are the bomb.”

  “I can’t wait to fill our fridge with 7 Up.” He stopped in his tracks, pressing his fingers to his forehead. “I have an idea. I’m going to become a tea master. That’s it! I’m going to be the reigning king of Earl Grey, jasmine green, and English breakfast.”

  “Don’t forget oolong,” I called out.

  He ran back to me, cupped my cheeks. “Why can’t we all just get oolong?”

  I laughed so damn hard I nearly peed. This was the man I’d married. He’d be back. Just wait and see.

  Two weeks later, he was kicked out of rehab for drinking. I didn’t know how he got that bottle of Cuervo, but where there was a will, there was a way.

  Three months later, I served him with divorce papers.

  17

  Leo

  Present Day

  * * *

  In the middle of traffic-clogged, people-drenched Midtown Manhattan is a two-by-two-block park. You’d be hard-pressed to believe anything abutting Forty-Second Street could be peaceful, but Bryant Park is a hamlet in the middle of the metropolis, and on Wednesday morning, it’s the epicenter of the hunt.

  I emerge from the subway, aviator shades on, getting the lay of the land. As I walk toward the park, familiar faces come into view—some competitors, some business partners. Teams are ready, sporting their corporate gear in some cases, and in others they’re wearing their casual best.

  Draped in Jackie O sunglasses and nursing a coffee drink that’s as tall as a baseball bat is Kingsley, her sister Scarlett by her side. The two women are laughing, a sign that this event has sprung from good-natured sibling rivalry.

  But both are serious as sharks. You don’t make it to the top of a major corporation without a little great white in you. Winning will make Kingsley happy. I like it when she’s happy.

  As I enter the park, a woman jogs toward me, her hair color so bright I have to squint, making it impossible to pretend I don’t see her.

  “Hey, RaeLynn.” We met at an industry event a few years ago. She works at a candy company, and last year we were both vying for a partnership with a gourmet pretzel-maker.

  The hyperblonde smiles; it’s fierce and full of teeth, and her tone is oh so calculating.

  “Leo, it’s been ages. But I’ve totally forgiven you. Just kidding. I was never mad.” She shoots me a we’re all good even though you beat me in the chocolate-covered-pretzel game smile.

  “I’m glad to hear I’ve received your absolution.”

  “Absolution. I love it. You were always a dictionary, weren’t you?”

  “I don’t know. Was I?” I’m not sure what her agenda is, but I’m confident she has one. She’s always had one.

  She rolls her ice-blue eyes. “You were. And I’m sure you still are. Now, listen. I know we’re going to compete, but I think we should let bygones be bygones. I’ve forgiven you for stealing my dream client.”

  “You know the facts. The business was up for grabs. I think we’re good on this count, RaeLynn.”

  She laughs. “Fine, up for grabs. Have it your way.”

  “It’s not about my way. It’s how it was.”

  “It’s water under the bridge. I’m not upset you won Pretzel-ology. Just like I’m sure you’re not upset that we’re launching a Hottest Young Stars line.”

  I let that little nugget sink in—that she’s copycatting us. “Is that so?”

  “Didn’t you get my e-mail? I sent you one. You know I like to give you a heads-up.” She wags a finger at me. “I bet it went to your spam. Leo, you need to check your spam.”

  “I check it religiously. Didn’t see one.”

  “Anyhoo, maybe we can help each other on the hunt. The way I figure is if we both work together, and our teams both wind up with the same amount of points, or within five points of each other, we can both win, since I hear that’s how the rules are structured. That way, we can ensure each of our groups gets a full week off.”

  Ah, the plot thickens like pea soup. Someone is currying favor with her employees. But I don’t want to cozy up with this someone, since I don’t trust her. “I’ll think about that, RaeLynn.”

  She takes a step closer, lowers her voice to a throaty whisper. “This might be a chance for us to get to know each other better.” She winks, and the agenda sharpens even more.

  A throat clears. I follow the sound, and it’s Lulu, looking delicious in shorts, sneakers, and a T-shirt that says Life is too short to remove USBs safely.

  After I make quick introductions, RaeLynn eyes Lulu’s shirt suspiciously. “You do know you should be careful with USBs, right?”

  “I should?” Lulu acts shocked, and it’s utterly delightful to watch.

  “You’re really not supposed to pull them out quickly.”

  Lulu’s lips twitch, her eyes sparkle, and then words tumble from her mouth. “That’s what she said.”

  I laugh heartily, and RaeLynn laughs obligatorily.

  “Nice to meet you, RaeLynn.”

  “Nice to meet you too.” She doesn’t use Lulu’s name, and the dig isn’t lost on either one of us. “Anyway, think about my offer, Leo.”

  As RaeLynn strides away, Lulu stares at me, tapping her toe. “Let me guess. Little Miss Stick Up Her USB Butt was trying to convince you to team up with her?”

  I laugh. “How could you tell?”

  She shrugs. “Gosh, I have no idea. Also, I don’t think she just wanted to team up with you for the hunt.”

  “You think she was making a play?”

  She shoots me a Silly Leo, Trix are for Kids look. “I’m all for sisterhood and girl power, but that woman looked at you like she wanted to eat you up.”

  “And what does that look like?”

  Parking her hands on her hips, straightening her shoulders, and jutting out her perky breasts, Lulu adopts the poutiest, sultriest look. When she’s on this edge of caricature, she pushes herself over the line, making her lips look huge, Botoxed and bee-stung, before she puckers up.

  Logically, she shouldn’t look sexy right now. But the fact that she nailed RaeLynn’s MO in seconds makes her sexy-smart, and her portrayal makes me laugh.

  “Also, I don’t want her making a play for you.”

  Make that sexy-smart and a little jealous. I love this look on her. “Are you jealous, Lulu Diamond?”

  She takes my arm and links hers through it possessively. “You’re my teammate. Mine, mine, mine.”

  It’s a possessiveness born of friendship, but I like it. Because it doesn’t feel the same as the first go-round. It’s a little bit of the past, mixed with a lot of the present.

  Still friends.

  But a little flirty now.

  Lulu was never flirty back then.

  I like her flirty. I like her jealous. Everything feels like a new start, without a third person, without me as that third person.

  A terrible fist of guilt claws at me out of nowhere, grappling my chest and telling me she’s not just my best friend’s girl, she’s my dead best friend’s girl.

  It’s one of my rules to live by.

  Yet, here we are, walking together across this enclave in the middle of Manhattan. “Besides, I can’t have you distracted by pretty girls. I need you focused.”

  That’s an opening if I ever saw one. Before my mind clouds with lines crossed and codes broken, before regret lassoes me, I go for it. “If I’m distracted by pretty girls, you only have yourself to blame.”

  She stops, surprise etched in her eyes, both the green and the blue. “I do?” Her voice rises in question, as if she’s opening the door a notch.

  I kick it open, because screw regret. I don’t have any this second. In fact, I’ll regret it more if I don’t speak my mind. “Just saying, I’m not blind.” I step closer, studying her eyes, though I know them by heart. They’re imprinted in my mind, in my soul. “By the way, I don’t buy the green and not-so-green.”

  “
You don’t?”

  Shaking my head, I run my finger across her cheekbone, beneath her right eye. Her breath catches. The sound emboldens me. “To me, one is the blue of the early morning sky, with flecks of green that almost, in certain light, give the illusion of this eye being pale green.” I move my finger, tracing the line under her other eye, the movement rewarded by a tremble in her shoulders. “And the other is a cat’s-eye green.”

  She’s quiet as she raises her hand, her fingers fluttering across her cheek. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. And they’re beautiful.”

  She whispers a shuddery “Thank you,” and the look on her face makes me feel like a king.

  Sometimes you go against the rules.

  The rules of the hunt?

  Those, I intend to follow to the letter.

  When it comes to games, sports, and work, cheating sucks.

  Wait. Cheating sucks all the time.

  But I’m not cheating on anyone or violating any bro codes, I tell myself.

  A dark voice in my head whispers back, You are, and you know it.

  As Kingsley and Scarlett rise majestically—the sisters might as well wield scepters and don fur-lined robes—a voice in my head needles me.

  What would Tripp say if he knew you were angling for his wife?

  She’s not his wife, I mutter privately to the insidious voice.

  You’re still his friend. That bond is stronger than death, the voice hisses.

  I do my damnedest to quiet the voice as Kingsley reviews the rules of the hunt.

  Ten teams are competing. Each will face three challenges, one on each of three successive days. Each challenge yields points. Teams will be given different clues, though most teams will wind up at the same general destination for each item, albeit searching for something different. You can’t piggyback off another team to try to win. You need to figure out the clue, track down the item, and do the photo challenge to prove it, then return to the park, in most cases, to check in.

  “Now, if you’re thinking you can google the riddle, think again.” Kingsley’s voice booms. “One, that’s seriously lame. Two, this is supposed to be fun. Three, see point number one. Four, and most important, take it to the bank, this is the God’s honest truth: Google doesn’t know everything.”

  “Take that back. Google is all-knowing,” I tease, hoping to inject some levity into myself right now. Lord knows, I need it.

  She shoots over a smile as a stocky guy in a golf shirt rubs his palms together, chiming in, “Who needs Google? I have a better incentive. The biggest one ever. My wife made it clear I need to deliver a week of paid vacation. Or else. Mua ha ha ha.”

  “And what’s the ‘or else,’ George?” Kingsley asks.

  He shudders. “Have you met my wife? You don’t want to mess with her . . . or else. No greater incentive for a man than a honey, do, or else order. Am I right or am I right?” He turns to me, eyebrows lifted, arms out.

  Something about him is wildly familiar, and it dawns on me. He’s the Finger-Licking-Good Guy, the one who said his wife would have him by the balls if he arrived home late. “Never disobey your commander in chief.”

  “Exactly.”

  Maybe I need to add that to my rules to live by.

  Sure, you can replace the one you’re bending, the voice whispers.

  I square my shoulders and tell the voice to fuck the hell off.

  This man is my levity. He’s a character. I try to wind him up more, so I can coattail off his amusing attitude. “What would she do, though, do you think, if you didn’t deliver on the or else?”

  His face turns ashen. “Don’t say such a thing. I don’t want to know. You don’t want to know. No one wants to know.”

  “Try me. I kind of do.”

  Under his breath, he whispers, “The look. She’ll give me the look. And I value my existence, so I won’t say any more.”

  I shudder on his behalf and pat myself on the back for successfully quieting the voice by drafting off George like I’m riding the edge of a wave.

  I turn to my team, so I can focus on the task at hand. I motion for Ginny, Noah, and Lulu to huddle, taking the quarterback role. “Guys, let’s concentrate. We want to win this because we love Kingsley, we like our jobs, and because we aren’t dickweed, cutthroat bloodhounds who possess zero original ideas. Plus, our team would love a week off, and we’d love to win the money for charity. Wouldn’t we?”

  A chorus of “Yes, we would” comes from them, and we smack palms, energized.

  When we separate from the huddle, Lulu smirks.

  I take the bait. “What’s so funny?”

  “Your go-go-go side. It’s cute.”

  My heart threatens to go Rudolph again, which is thoroughly unacceptable. I grab that reindeer’s tail and pull him down to earth, donning my sarcasm deflector shield. “That’s me. I’m a cutie-pie.”

  She squeezes my arm and smiles at me, so damn warmly. “Don’t deny it. You’re a total cutie-pie.”

  And the shield falls to the ground. “You too,” I murmur.

  Then George chimes in once more, whispering in a man-to-man tone. “My wife says I’m a cutie-pie too. That’s why I listen to her.”

  Trouble is, I don’t know who to listen to—my rules, the voice, George, or someone else.

  Good thing Kingsley hands out the clues next, telling the teams that the first to complete the task and send in photographic proof wins that challenge.

  On the count of three, the teams rip open the envelopes. I peer at the piece of paper, reading the words.

  * * *

  Everyone likes to leave his or her mark. It’s a sign of the human condition to paint, scrawl, draw, or write your name on a wall. Indeed, graffiti is found all over this city, even in an Egyptian area, where the years don’t always align, but where a signature arrived out of time.

  Find it, take a photo with your team, then snap a picture outside demonstrating how you work together. Two-hour deadline. Fifty points.

  18

  Lulu

  We huddle. We confab. We study the clue, whispering it under our collective breaths. We speak with hushed voices, as if we’re protecting something precious, and we try to figure out where this riddle might lead us.

  And then, it crystallizes. Like the sun rising over the horizon, and all at once the sky is bright. “I know what it is.”

  I gather them close and tell my team members. Leo’s smile is magnetic and proud. Noah thrusts a fist in the air, John Bender Breakfast Club–style.

  Ginny squeezes my arm. “Girl power.”

  I point to the subway entrance. “Let’s get on the nearest train.”

  My feet are ready to fly when Noah slices a hand through the air. “This is the wrong time of day for the subway. It’ll take fifteen minutes, but we can snag an Uber like that, and be uptown in ten.”

  Noah whips out his cell phone, swipes his thumb across it, and, like he’s the fastest draw in the West, he calls an Uber. It’s here in forty-five seconds.

  “Impressive transportation skills,” Ginny says.

  “I have many impressive skills.”

  “Is that so?”

  “That is indeed so. I can share them with you over dinner.”

  “We should have dinner to talk about your impressive skills?”

  “We could have dinner to talk about other impressive things.”

  Ginny shakes her head, laughing as we head uptown, and I guess Noah’s attempt to ask out Ginny hasn’t quite hit the mark.

  Along the way, I send a quick text to Cameron, who’s still on the road working on more deals, and then to my new shop manager, who’s been doing a bang-up job so far here in Manhattan. All is well, they report.

  I breathe a sigh of relief and devote all my energy to riddling.

  Ten minutes later, we arrive at our destination.

  The desire to run is intense. It looks like we’re the first team here, and we hoof it up the steps, taking them two by two into the
Metropolitan Museum of Art. I don’t see any other teams here as we grab our tickets, thrusting bills at the ticket taker because credit cards would take too long, and then we race-walk down the corridor like we’re 1980s New Yorkers doing that speed-walking thing, elbows snapping at our sides, legs moving as quickly as they can.

  Down the hall, we scurry past a sign for a Gustav Klimt visiting exhibit in the other wing, then rush by the Tomb of Perneb, and after that a gilded coffin.

  A temple stands tall and proud in the middle of the museum, and it takes my breath away. More than two thousand years old, it must have so many stories to tell.

  “If walls could talk,” I whisper as we reach the Temple of Dendur, seen in films like When Harry Met Sally and Ocean’s 8. We hunt around, trying desperately to find the graffiti.

  My heart beats faster, and I hope I haven’t made a mistake by assuming this is the location from the clue. I don’t know if there actually is any graffiti on this temple, but when I read the clue, I had a gut feeling.

  As I turn the corner, scanning the walls, I gasp.

  “Guys.” I motion for them to come over. I point to a name and a year carved into the temple. Leonardo 1820.

  Leo regards it with a curious huh. “Who do you think that is?”

  “Your long-lost relative?” Noah chimes in.

  I glance at Leo. “Now you know I want to find out.”

  Noah shakes a finger at me. “Now is not the time to satisfy your curiosity, Miss Diamond. We need to finish up the task because we’re on track to be the first team to win today, and hopefully to beat everyone else by a long shot.”

  “My, my, someone is slightly competitive,” Ginny remarks.

  He shoots her an isn’t that obvious look. “I have my reasons.”