Serious Potential

by Maggie Cummings

  “You can’t avoid me forever, you know.”

  Tracy put on a fake smile. “I don’t know, I’ve been pretty successful so far,” she snapped, fixing her gaze on her ex for the first time in months. Jezebel Stone was something to look at. Even now in ridiculously high heels, she was several inches shorter than Tracy. What she lacked in stature, she made up for in her larger-than-life persona. Her look was always over the top, crazy hairstyles in an assortment of colors, clothes that constantly pushed the envelope. Tonight was no exception. This evening she was an almost white-blond in a risqué number that revealed as much skin as it covered, highlighting her stick-thin frame and fabulously expensive, perfectly proportioned, store-bought breasts. It was a look only a bona fide rock star could pull off, and she did it with aplomb.

  Underneath it all, Tracy knew, Jezebel was a sandy blonde with greenish-brown eyes that were speckled with gold flecks. She had beautiful creamy skin and a layer of soft freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, but she hid all that real beauty under layers and layers of façade. Tracy couldn’t help but shake her head at the adaptation standing in front of her.

  She didn’t even attempt to hide her bitter tone. “The dress is a bit much, don’t you think?”

  “You seem to be enjoying it,” Jezebel countered with a coy smile.

  Tracy huffed and turned to walk away but Jezebel caught her arm. “Wait. I want to talk to you.”

  Tracy glanced at the hand on her forearm. It annoyed her that Jezebel assumed she had a right to touch her, but her irritation was overshadowed by her surprise that the closeted musician dared to make contact with her in public at all.

  Seeming suddenly aware of her actions, Jezebel dropped her hand. “Tracy, it’s been five months. You made your point.” She paused and flashed a look from under lush counterfeit eyelashes. Jezebel was trying for a light tone, employing her signature charm to defuse the situation. It wasn’t working, and she must have read the frustration in Tracy’s body language because she softened her voice, sounding a little hurt. “So that’s it? You’re just never going to talk to me again.”

  “I’m talking to you.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “What do you want from me, Jez?”

  Jezebel smiled and swayed her hips a little as she spoke. “Despite your lack of response, I’m sure you’ve at least listened to my voice mails, read my messages.” She licked her lips. “I think you know what I want.”

  Tracy raised her eyebrows in disbelief that her ex was still trying to flirt her way out of her duplicitous behavior, but Jezebel was undeterred.

  “Come on, Trace.” She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “Don’t act like what we had was nothing. That’s not true and you know it.” She leaned in a hair. “What we had was real. It was special.”

  The comment stung and although Tracy was keeping her cool, she couldn’t hold back her animosity over the situation.

  “Who exactly is we?” she barked. “I’m curious. Would that be me and you? Or is it me, you, and Trina?” She swallowed hard and tapped her chin for effect as she continued. “Wait, wait, I know.” She counted off each finger. “It’s me, you, Trina, and Jasper, right?”

  “I suppose I deserve that,” Jezebel said through her clenched jaw.

  Tracy was on a roll. “How is your husband, by the way? I didn’t see him here.” Tracy rose up on her toes, making a grand gesture of looking around the room.

  Jezebel was well rehearsed. “Jasper had a previous commitment.”

  “Oh, I bet he has a lot of those.”

  Jezebel breezed past Tracy’s biting sarcasm. “Tracy, I want to talk about you and me.”

  “There is no you and me,” Tracy said sharply.

  Jezebel’s voice dropped again. “Can’t we just talk? Not here obviously—”

  “I don’t have anything to say.”

  “I do.”

  “Oh, you do?” Tracy’s voice was full of sass.

  Jezebel focused her hazel eyes on Tracy. “I know our situation was not ideal.”

  Tracy laughed out loud and lifted a champagne flute from a passing waiter, draining a third of it in one gulp as she tried to cover her nerves while Jezebel spoke.

  “Tracy, you know you were always my number one. Always.”

  A forced chuckle escaped Tracy’s grimace. “I’m supposed to be flattered by that, right?” Tracy was trying for flip, but her voice shook and she knew her ex-girlfriend heard her emotion.

  Jezebel capitalized on it immediately. “I think given my particular predicament…” She looked at the floor before meeting Tracy’s eyes again. “Considering our history, I think I deserve at least a conversation.”

  “But not a public one, I’m sure.”

  Jezebel ignored the comment. “Are you going to the Xmas Bash in LA on the twenty-second?”

  Tracy didn’t bother to dignify the question. It was a foregone conclusion that everyone associated with Every Youth Counts, from the biggest celeb to the D-listers on the foundation’s roster, were required to attend the charity’s largest fund-raiser of the year.

  “I have a new place in Malibu,” Jezebel continued. “We could have some privacy there. Afterward.”

  Of course Tracy knew she should flat-out refuse the invitation. She should be firm and resolute. But she wasn’t and they both knew it. If Tracy was being honest with herself, she was more than a little curious as to what Jezebel had to say about their relationship. But agreeing to such an arrangement was as good as forgiving Jezebel, and that was something she wasn’t sure she would ever be willing to do.

  By the grace of the gods, she was spared a response at all when she spotted a tall, gorgeous blonde in a sleek black dress scanning the crowd from the entranceway. Betsy saw her right away, gave her an enormous smile, and gracefully crossed the room. She took Tracy’s hand in her own as she reached her. “Honey, I am so sorry I’m late,” she said, placing a kiss on Tracy’s cheek. “Did I miss anything?”

  They were joined almost simultaneously by the return of the senator, who was obviously using Tracy as a conduit to Jezebel.

  “Tracy, introduce the colonel and his wife to these beautiful ladies.” He furrowed his brow at Betsy’s face, trying to figure out if he should know who she was.

  Tracy took over right away. “Of course. Jezebel Stone, you all know.” She gave all her attention to Betsy, her smile shy and a little proud. “This is my very good friend, Dr. Jennifer Betsy.”

  Right away Betsy addressed the colonel by rank, recognizing his military achievements proudly displayed on his left lapel. Then, when the right moment presented itself, she blew them all away, volunteering that she too was a veteran, having served two tours with the Medical Corps in Iraq and Afghanistan. Betsy and the colonel carried the conversation about duty, honor, and country as the others listened.

  The senator was seriously impressed. He leaned over. “Tracy, your girlfriend is something else.”

  “Yeah, she really is,” she responded under her breath. She glanced sideways and caught Betsy’s eye, taking the opportunity to exchange a wordless thank you. Betsy smiled and squeezed her hand in response. Tracy wondered if she had any clue the effect such a small gesture had on her whole body.

  Midway through the evening, when the Gala was at peak capacity, Tracy lost sight of Betsy for more than a few minutes and conducted a small search until she found her outside on the expansive roof deck looking at the breathtaking New York City skyline under a crescent moon.

  Betsy smiled over her shoulder as she watched Tracy approach. Fueled by their charade, Tracy decided to take a small risk and walked up directly behind Betsy, placing her hands on Betsy’s hips. She kept her hands still only for a second before moving them carefully along each side of Betsy’s abdomen until they met at the center. Betsy didn’t protest as Tracy thought she might. Instead, she relaxed into Tracy’s body. Tracy knew she was enjoying their pretense too much but she didn’t care. Betsy seemed not to mind either,
placing her hands on top of Tracy’s and lightly brushing along each knuckle with her fingertips.

  “Are you having an okay time?” Tracy asked.

  “Mm-hmm,” Betsy responded, without turning around.

  Tracy was going to suggest they cut out soon to spare her date any more conversations with the senator and the colonel, but Betsy seemed so content with the view that she didn’t want to ruin the moment by speaking. The car horns and sirens from the street were a distant whisper. Likewise, the band and boisterous party crowd were a murmur beyond the glass doors that separated them.

  It was a warm night—warmer than it should be in December—and even with the slight breeze they were able to stand on the lavish rooftop forty stories high without overcoats. Tracy was still holding Betsy from behind, gratuitously basking in the feel of her body. Of course Betsy was playing it up for her, fulfilling her role as the dutiful, pretend girlfriend. But then it occurred to her—there was no one outside with them. No one was watching, there was no show to put on. It was just the two of them. This display of affection was for no one’s benefit. No one, but their own.

  Betsy turned her head slightly and she was inches from Tracy’s face. She parted her lips a little to say something—Tracy figured it would be a comment about how beautiful the night was, how perfect the view. But the wind kicked up and sent a strand of her silky blond hair aloft until it caught on her sheer lipstick before she could speak. Betsy smiled at the interruption but before she could remove it, Tracy brushed the hair off her face and brought their lips together in a perfect kiss, slow and deliberate, capturing the moment in a way that surpassed words.

  Mere seconds later they were interrupted by a member of the waitstaff announcing the nonprofit’s president was about to make the evening address. Following the cue, Tracy and Betsy moved inside, and while the moment had been broken, the mood held up for the rest of the evening.

  The second the speech finished, Jezebel crossed the floor with her small entourage trailing her. She walked right up to where Tracy was seated with her arm around the back of Betsy’s chair, caressing the top of her bare shoulder with her fingertips.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Jezebel announced in an unapologetic voice. “I’m out of here.”

  Tracy stood to say good-bye and Betsy followed suit. Jezebel looked right at Betsy, gave a lame smirk, and offered a limp handshake. “Nice meeting you, Doc.” Then she reached up and put her arms around Tracy’s neck, pulling her in and placing a kiss close to her ear. She slid her hands all the way down Tracy’s arms and held on to her hands longer than was necessary. As she backed away, she never broke eye contact.

  “Seventeen days, Trace,” she announced, as though it were a deadline. “See you in LA.”

  *

  “I cannot believe she did that right in front of me.” Betsy turned to Tracy as they walked to the garage. “Can you believe it?”

  “Yes, I can,” Tracy deadpanned. They were still holding hands as Tracy gave the parking attendant her ticket, but Betsy wasn’t finished ranting over Jezebel’s behavior. “I mean, the nerve. As far as she knows I’m your girlfriend.” She lowered her voice. “She has no idea we’re not really together.”

  “I told you what she’s like.” Tracy smiled as she held the door open for Betsy and gave the garage attendant a tip at the same time.

  “Just who does she think she is, calling me Doc. She doesn’t even know me.” Betsy shook her head in disbelief. “And what happens in seventeen days exactly? What was that even about?” She stared at Tracy, waiting for an explanation.

  When she stopped smiling at Betsy’s exasperation over Jezebel’s antics, Tracy filled her in on the West Coast version of this evening, which was scheduled to take place seventeen days from tonight, providing an edited version of her conversation with Jezebel prior to Betsy’s arrival. Tracy then pointedly redirected the conversation to talking about the party itself and Betsy’s remarkable impression on the colonel and the senator.

  The mood eased as they made their way back to Staten Island and deconstructed everything. Everything, that is, except their behavior toward each other. Tracy watched for signs Betsy hadn’t simply been playing it up, that she was finally giving in to what they were both feeling. She was dying to kiss Betsy again and hoped for an opening at every red light along the way. Now, sitting at a full stop outside of Betsy’s house, she unbuckled her seat belt and leaned back as Betsy stared straight ahead, seeming in no rush to get out of the car.

  “Are you going to go?”

  “Where?” Tracy asked.

  When Betsy looked over her eyes were serious. “To the Christmas thing in California that Jezebel asked you about.”

  “Yes.” She looked at Betsy and saw an emotion she didn’t recognize. “It’s a long story, but I sort of have to,” she half explained.

  Betsy raised her eyebrows in judgment. “You know she’s going to try to…to…” She shook her head in frustration. “I don’t know what she’s going to do exactly, but I’m pretty sure she’s going to try to get back with you or, like, seduce you, you know.” It sounded adorably awkward coming out, and Tracy bit her cheek to keep from laughing.

  “You could come with me.” Tracy smiled mischievously. “Keep me from making any mistakes you think I might be prone to.” She couldn’t keep her mouth from turning up in a devilish grin.

  Betsy cocked her head to the side as though that was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. She huffed out a breath. “I’m not even sure that would matter. She’d probably just slip you her hotel room key right in front of my face this time.”

  Tracy tipped her head down and let out a small snicker.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “I’m not,” she said. She continued to grin as she met Betsy’s eyes. “You’re jealous. It’s hot.”

  Betsy dropped her jaw. “I’m not jealous.”

  “I don’t know.” Tracy raised her eyebrows in confident challenge. “You sound a little bit jealous,” she said, pinching her thumb and forefinger together for added emphasis.

  Betsy leaned over the console and swatted Tracy’s shoulder playfully with her clutch, but Tracy held on to her wrist and pulled her all the way in, their mouths meeting for the second time in as many hours.

  Their kiss was long and passionate as they leaned into one another. Betsy pressed her purse tight against Tracy’s chest, while Tracy moved her hand from behind Betsy’s neck all the way down her body, pulling them closer, before Betsy broke them apart.

  “Tracy,” Betsy breathed out.

  They were both gasping a little from the intensity of the moment, and Tracy held Betsy’s face and pressed their foreheads together gently as she spoke.

  “Betsy, I want to be with you.” She looked down, a little shy over her words. “Not just tonight,” she continued, a small desperate sigh escaping her. “I mean, yeah, tonight.” She swallowed hard and looked right into Betsy’s gorgeous eyes. “But more than that. I want to be with you, like we were tonight, but for real.”

  “Tracy, we talked about this.”

  “I know we did.” She licked her lips. “But it’s different now. Everything is different. You know it is.” She leaned forward to kiss her again, but Betsy pulled away.

  Betsy shook her head and reached for the door handle. “It’s not going to happen. It can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Without looking at Tracy again, she darted out of the car and was gone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  For the first time in her life, Meg understood the desire to wear sunglasses indoors. At ten forty in the morning, Sullivan’s fluorescent lights blared through Meg’s squinted gaze as she skulked through the reception area. As if her head wasn’t already throbbing, Anne came up behind her and boomed into her ear. “Good morning, Megan,” she said, before breaking for the kitchen with a hearty chuckle. Her boss had obviously read between the lines of Meg’s late-night email stating she would be late this morning and knew she was extremely hungover. />
  She had barely reached her desk, flopping into her chair to rest her head on the cool wooden desktop as she waited for the room to slow its spin, before Sasha was inside her office.

  “Are you okay?” Sasha eased herself onto the corner of Meg’s desk.

  “I think I might still be drunk,” Meg answered from under her covered eyes.

  “Did you go out last night?” Sasha’s tone had a little kick, like she was annoyed Meg might have ventured out without her approval or knowledge.

  Meg could have called her on the hypocrisy of her tone—Sasha often went out for drinks with Jane-Anne without her—but that wasn’t her speed, and truthfully she kind of enjoyed hearing Sasha’s mild jealousy. Still, Meg didn’t want her to think she had stepped out. They were being afforded a rare moment alone in her office, and because Sasha was sitting on the edge of Meg’s desk blocking the view from the doorway, Meg was certain no one could see in. She took advantage of the privacy, gently rubbing the top of Sasha’s leg over her skirt for reassurance. “No,” she answered sweetly.

  Meg cocked her head to the side, still using one hand to support it as she rested her elbow on the desktop. She watched Sasha’s expression relax completely as she filled her in on the events of Tracy’s night, which had stretched into the early morning hours as she and Meg polished off half a bottle of Jameson at Meg’s kitchen table lamenting Tracy’s spurned advances and decrying women in general. Even though Meg omitted that much of the discussion had focused on her own confusing courtship, Sasha must’ve read it on her face because she lifted up Meg’s hand—an unusually overt gesture for her—and smiled as she played along. “As a member of the offending class, which, by the way, you are actually part of,” she said with a huge grin, “how about a peace offering? I’ll get you a cup of coffee and we call it even.”

  “You are a goddess. I take back everything I said about you last night.”

  Sasha lifted her eyebrows in playful challenge.

  “I’m just kidding.”

  Their fingers were still interlaced when Anne popped her head in the doorway. “Meg, I need to see you when you have a second.” Sasha dropped her hand immediately, but Meg was pretty sure it wasn’t in time.