“You’re mother said I was a nice boy, didn’t she?”
“Actually she said you’re an asshole and I should never talk to you again.”
“Very funny.” Jeff straightens the collar on Renny’s jacket. “I don’t know why you talk to him.”
“Who?”
“Mendelbaum. He’s obviously a nut.”
“But he’s my nut.” She checks herself in the hallway mirror.
“You should change your number.”
“I can’t do that. What if some old boyfriend has a change of heart and tries to call? He won’t be able to, and I’ll end up alone forever.”
“For all you know Mendelbaum’s a stalker,” Jeff warns.
“For all I know you’re a stalker.”
“Thanks.”
“He’s harmless. I can tell.” At least she hopes. Renny has tried to track him down but always hits a dead end. Two trips to the Social Security office on 48th Street, a zillion Internet searches and countless sessions plowing through the phone books at the Public Library haven’t turned up anything. There are just too many Mendelbaums in the New York area and Renny doesn’t even know his first name. The only thing she uncovered is that her phone number once belonged to a restaurant called Cosmo’s Deli off Delancey Street, three months before she moved into her apartment five years ago. She wrote to the city’s health department to find out more about the place, but that was a month ago and she hasn’t heard back.
She heads out the door and Jeff follows after her. “So am I driving you?”
With a quick wave, Renny dashes down the hall and into the waiting elevator.
“I guess that means no,” he calls, watching the doors close.
***
Renny runs into Volume and scans the packed bar. She spots Gaby, drink in hand, and hustles over, trying to make up a few seconds out of the fifteen minutes she’s late. “I’m so sorry. Jeff stopped by and then I couldn’t get a cab. God, it took forever, and Third was like a parking lot.”
“It’s okay,” Gaby says, sipping her purple-tinted martini.
Ceasing the avalanche of apologies, Renny waits expectantly.
“Oh, Happy Birthday!” Gaby says, giving Renny a limp one-armed hug.
She’s even more distracted than last week, Renny discerns, noticing the heaviness surrounding Gaby’s vacant eyes.
“Do you want a drink?” Gaby waves toward the bar, only her hand motion and words are out of sync, like the dialog in an old black and white Godzilla film.
A year ago, Renny would have walked into the restaurant and found her friend holding court with a collection of new acquaintances—men, women, it didn’t matter, people gravitated to her. Gaby Bowers, originally from North Carolina, is a Southern belle with an adopted New York attitude. From the start, she took to the city like a new skyscraper—everyone who met her looked up to her. With her sandy hair attractively rumpled and her wide mouth often curled in a playful smile as if someone had whispered the most delicious secret to her, Gaby’s beauty is unconventional, but unmistakable. However, the past months have been unkind to her. It began with the demise of her business, which was followed immediately by the sudden death of her mother and a painful break-up. This left Gaby’s emotions lying there like shards of glass.
“Are you okay?” Renny asks.
“Yeah, sure,” Gaby says, turning her head away. “We should get a table.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Sara?”
“Here I am.” Sara comes up from behind. “I was in the bathroom. I think this baby is sitting right on my bladder. I pee every three seconds.” They exchange air kisses and Sara adds, “It’s your birthday, so we’ll forgive you for keeping us waiting.”
Renny detects the annoyance in her tone. Sara is very punctual and Renny knows her own tardiness has always irritated her. Sara is the only one in their trio to have taken the marriage plunge. She is breathtakingly beautiful, looking as though she’s been lifted off the pages of a Ralph Lauren ad and set in the real world like a human Colorform. Renny has always envied the ease with which Sara could get ready to go out, everything looking fabulous on her and without any size twelves lurking in the shadows of her closet. With an unintentional air of “look but don’t touch,” most people assume her to be an ice princess, aloof and distant, her features carefully sculpted on her face.
But Renny knows different.
She knows the Sara who makes a riotous squeaking when she laughs hard. She knows the Sara who despite her perfect figure has an insatiable hankering for junk food, including a heavy addiction to Butterfingers.
Renny’s mother frequently points out that Sara is the luckiest of their threesome.
Her exact words: “Sara has it all.”
By “all” Renny’s mother is of course referring to Sara’s handsome, wealthy husband Bart Matthews, their two-year-old daughter Megan, her current pregnancy and the recently acquired four-bedroom house in Greenwich. Only her mother doesn’t know that three weeks ago Bart walked out.
Settling at a table in the middle of the restaurant, Gaby shoves a small Modine’s shopping bag under her chair, which strikes Renny as odd. “Are you doing a story on Modine’s?” Renny asks. Modine’s is an exclusive handbag boutique where the prices start at $1,000. Most of their clientele lunch at restaurants that begin with Le and whose Maitre D’s are as French as the food.
Gaby stammers, “No, I, uh, needed something to put my sneakers in. Toni, the style editor, she loaned it to me. The shopping bag, that is. It’s so silly, right? Modine’s is as Ultra as they come. I’m embarrassed to even have my sneakers in this thing.”
For the last few months Gaby has been the shopping columnist for It’s New York, a hip New York City ‘zine. In one of her columns, she coined the phrase “Ultra” in reference to the chi-chi boutiques where Ms. Average would have to line up angel investors before buying anything. Readers ate it up, already sympathizing with Gaby’s own rise and fall tale. Three years earlier, while sleeping with an inventor named Victor, Gaby hatched an idea involving fabric reactions to body temperature. When the sex waned, she walked away with custody of their tinkering—mood fabric—and the wild idea of creating underwear for women so that at the point of arousal a phrase appears on the crotch.
“Crazy? Sure,” Gaby said as part of her sales pitch. “But Pet Rocks and Chia Pets were crazy all the way to the bank.”
She showed a prototype to a few garmento friends; they went nuts over it. Six months later, Unmentionables underwear debuted with the tagline “I Dare You To Find My Password.” At first orders were scarce, trickling in from out-of-the-way shops. Then Nina, the hot new R&B singer, accepted her Magic Music Award for Best New Artist wearing just a pair of Unmentionables and a sliced up tee shirt. Everyone assumed that it was the excitement of winning that made Nina’s custom password, “I WON,” show up during her acceptance speech.
Store orders flooded in from department stores and tabloids reported that even the First Lady had a pair tucked in her bureau at the White House. Gaby raked in a small fortune and became a minor celebrity appearing on all the morning talk shows.
Then Gaby decided to add rhinestones to the new line. This made it harder to keep up with the demand so she brought in some new suppliers, who unbeknownst to Gaby, cut corners. It wasn’t long before some guy in Olive Hill, Kentucky was giving his fiance an oral gift, password flaming, when he swallowed a rogue rhinestone and choked to death.
The newspaper headline blared, “The Cat Got His Tongue.” The grieving fiance filed a lawsuit and though it eventually was settled out of court, the damage had been done and Unmentionables folded.
Renny opens her mouth to ask more about the Modine’s bag when Gaby tosses her head back and exclaims, “Lord, I need another drink,” her honeyed drawl making “I” sound like a long sigh that makes the listener want to snuggle next to her on a porch swing, sipping sweet tea.
Renny takes a cue from Gaby’s jittery expression and sweat-beaded face not to press the issue of th
e shopping bag. The last time she pressed her on anything, Gaby cried for hours.
Gaby signals the waiter, who immediately comes over. He takes their drink and dinner orders and is off. She volleys the conversation to Renny. “I got your message. What happened at work?”
Renny dives into her story of the ultimatum she received from Val. As she talks, the waiter brings a breadbasket and their drinks.
Gaby gulps the purple liquid set in front of her as if it held medicinal powers. “Just keep them coming,” she tells the waiter.
“What do you think I should do?” Renny asks.
“Huh?” Gaby answers.
“I asked what should I do?”
“About?” Gaby’s face is blank.
“About work?” Renny knew Gaby was spacing out during her story, clearly visiting an alcohol-infused planet.
“I don’t know.” Polishing off her drink, Gaby motions to the waiter to bring another. “Sara, what do you think?”
Sara and Renny exchange looks.
“Renny, just do the presentation. It’ll work out.” Sara sips her water.
“That’s it? My career is in a shambles and my two best friends couldn’t care less.”
“You do tend to overreact when it comes to work. I’m sure you’ll do a great presentation and everything will be fine.” Sara reaches for the bread. “Can you pass that?”
“Val said she would fire me.”
“You’re not going to get fired,” Sara says.
“You know it’s not even two full weeks, it’s two work weeks. That’s only ten days really. Here I am the big 3-0 and I’m alone and doomed to get fired.”
“What on earth does being alone have to do with getting fired?” Gaby asks.
“I don’t know, but something I’m sure,” Renny says dismally.
Next to their table, the waiter sets up a serving tray with their food and Gaby’s fresh drink. As he picks up their plates, Gaby grabs the martini off the waiter’s tray and takes a long sip. The waiter smirks as he walks away with the empty tray under his arm.
Sara touches Gaby’s arm. “You should slow down. Eat something.”
“It’s Renny’s birthday. I’m celebrating.” Gaby raises her glass, sloshing purple liquid onto her hand.
Oh no, Renny detects the crack in Gaby’s voice and the moisture amassing at the rim of her eyes. Quickly she turns toward Sara, “Have you heard from Bart?”
Sara shifts in her chair. “No.”
“Not anything?” Renny presses trying to show concern. For the last few weeks Sara has kept a pretty tight lid on her emotions. Every time Renny tries to reach in, Sara makes her feel more like a prying nuisance than a caring friend.
Sara glances over her shoulders at the surrounding tables.
“No one’s listening to us.” Renny tells her.
Sara leans in anyway. “His mother called yesterday. She said Megan and I have nothing to worry about financially. You both know that the Matthews family practically prints money. She said they’ll take care of Bart’s responsibilities. That’s what his parents think of Megan and me—we’re not family, we’re just his responsibilities. Like I’m a dog he dropped at the kennel and forgot to pick up. I guess they don’t consider emotional support as part of their son’s responsibilities.”
“That’s just awful,” Gaby says.
“They think that just because they’re depositing money into my account each week we’re taken care of. They haven’t even bothered to ask anything about the baby.”
Renny ponders, “God, I wish someone would just make a big weekly deposit in my account. Then I could tell Val to fuck off.”
Sara’s lips purse and her face turns red.
“Sara, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” Renny says.
“No, I understand what you meant,” Sara says cutting her off. “Listen, I know I’m fortunate that at least I don’t have to worry about how to feed my child and keep a roof over our heads. I just have to figure out a way to tell her how come Daddy doesn’t come home anymore.” Sara stabs at her food with a fork.
Renny wishes the fork would stab her in the hand instead, at least then she wouldn’t feel so bad. She opens her mouth to apologize again.
“The strangest thing happened when I went to the drycleaners today,” Sara begins. “The stuff I picked up had the weirdest smell. Did that ever happen to you?”
Polishing off her drink, Gaby chimes in. “I know! What is that smell? It’s like it crawls up your nostrils.”
“You’re right. I still smell it,” Sara says. “Did you ever get someone else’s clothes mixed in with your stuff?”
“That’s happened to me,” Renny says.
“Me, too,” Gaby adds. “And if I like it, I keep it.”
“You keep it?” Renny and Sara ask at the same time.
Gaby nods. “Y’all don’t expect me to give if it back as long as it fits?”
“How can you do that?” Sara asks.
Renny eats and listens to the two of them discuss this innocuous topic for another fifteen minutes. Then they move on to manicures and pedicures for another ten minutes. Their conversation is like a pinball game, each of them flipping the discussion away from the taboo subjects that would make the evening tilt.
What’s happened to their ability to confide in each other, Renny wonders?
Sara checks her watch and motions to the waiter. “We should get the check. I have a long drive back to Greenwich. I hope the Triboro isn’t backed up.”
Renny knows that is Sara’s code for ‘don’t ask me to drive you home.’ She tries to hide her disappointment that their evening is ending so early. Having told them no cake or fuss for her birthday, Renny had still expected something. Within a second of her thought, five waiters appear with a flaming dessert singing “Happy Birthday” a cappella. Sara and Gaby join in.
Renny fakes embarrassment. They didn’t let her down after all. She blows out the candles wishing for things to get better—for all of them.
The waiter walks over and places a shot glass in front of Renny. “It’s from the gentleman at the bar.”
A handsome man standing at the bar smiles at Renny.
Sara sucks in air and caresses her belly for a moment.
“Are you all right? You look pale.” Renny sneaks a peek at the bar.
Sara waves off the question. “It’s just a Braxton Hicks. I get them all the time now. It’s normal.”
Absorbed in the moment Renny asks them, “What should I do? He’s cute.”
“I saw him looking at you before,” Sara says tiredly.
“Really?” Renny smiles.
A woman sitting at the next table leans over her chair and taps Renny on the shoulder. She is dressed in a tight aqua tee shirt, with big diamond studs on her ears and a matching pendent hanging just above her leathery, tanned cleavage. Her sculpted physique bespeaks many hours in the gym, but the thick make-up on her face can’t mask the forty-nine hard-living years she’s clocked. “Do you know who that is?” she asks in a gravelly smoker’s voice.
Renny, Sara and Gaby shake their heads no.
“He’s one of the morning deejays on Q92.7.”
Gaby nods, her speech slow and rubbery from alcohol, “I listen to ‘em. Which one is he?”
“Georgie,” Cleavage Lady says.
Renny thinks she looks crazy.
Gaby puts down her drink for the first time that evening. “The magazine I write for is sponsoring the station’s charity bachelor auction. Isn’t he the one fixing to be auctioned?”
“No, that’s the other guy, his partner. Georgie has been dating a supermodel for years. I know because she and I go to the same manicurist, Fong.” Cleavage Lady waits for a reaction, as if they should recognize the name.
They don’t.
She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, Fong told me that they’re on and off like a light switch.” Pointing at Renny she chuckles, her laugh sounding like tires on a dirt road. “Looks like its time to screw in a new bulb.
”
“What should I do?” Renny asks.
“Listen to me, honey,” Cleavage Lady says. “Prince Charming doesn’t come knocking every day. You got to at least have the brains to open the door.”
Renny stares at her.
“I’ll spell it out—get up and go talk to him!” Having spoken her mind, she coughs and turns back to her own table.
Renny finds Sara and Gaby nodding in agreement.
Sara tells her, “Go ahead, we’ll take care of the bill. I’ve got to get home anyway.”
“Me-a, toe.” Gaby slurs.
Renny and Sara exchange concerned looks.
Sara sighs, “I’ll drop you at home, Gaby. It’s on my way.”
Gaby nods obediently and Renny mouths a ‘thank you’ to Sara.
Rising from the table, Renny feels like Cinderella going to the ball, with Cleavage Lady as her fairy godmother. She gaily utters the ultimate parting gift to her friends. “I’ll call you with details in the morning.”
Chapter Three
Three hours and four shots later, Renny tries unsuccessfully to navigate her key into the lock of her front door. Georgie’s warm hand wraps itself around her waist and his lips brush her neck, sending a shiver rippling down her back. His hand covers hers, gliding the key to its destination. The door swings open.
“Can you handle this?” he purrs in her ear.
Renny turns and they meet in a kiss so delicious, she feels her tongue may explode. Maintaining their oral connection, Renny and Georgie move into the apartment and his fingers start on the buttons of her shirt.
Renny sobers up just enough to make a quick mental check of whether things can proceed.
Wearing good bra and underwear? Check.
Bikini line? Waxed a week and a half ago, it’ll have to do.
Still on the pill? Yes, thank God!
Sensing her mental green light, Georgie roams from her shirt to her pants, undoing the clasp. He flashes a boyish grin and she catches her breath at how handsome he is. His sharp cheekbones are hidden by dark honey-colored stubble that matches his tousled mane, thick enough for a girl’s fingers to get lost in. Kissing him, Renny lets her hands roam down over his pants, finding him very ready for action. Impressive, she thinks. Most guys wouldn’t be able to resist rubbing their eager warrior up against her thigh or groin, a major turn off for her. But not Georgie, he patiently kept his package to himself until she went looking for it.
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