by Kim Izzo
Better still, as we moved about the room and flitted from chat to chat, I sensed Scott watching and studying me as though he was weighing the benefits of a woman like me versus a girl like Tatiana. At least I hoped so for it seemed obvious that his friends liked me and that I belonged in his social sphere. He didn’t say anything, of course, but he seemed pleased and would rub my back and I would squeeze his arm for emphasis if I felt it was appropriate. I wanted him to see us as a team. And as luck would have it, I got my chance to prove once and for all that a savvy financier like Scott needed a woman on his arm who could impress potential investors.
A balding man with gold-rimmed glasses approached us; he was tall and very thin and had a long pointy nose. If his tux had been pink he would have easily passed for a flamingo. He explained that an old friend had recommended Scott to him but they hadn’t met until now. The mutual friend was discussed in that “how is so-and-so” way that men have, but I knew that Flamingo Man wanted to get down to business and it didn’t take long for him to ask Scott how his clients were faring in the recession. Now it was my turn to be impressed. Scott had a quiet confidence and reassuring ease with which he answered the man’s questions. Still, Flamingo Man wasn’t entirely convinced that he should trust anyone with his investments during such a bad economy. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, that he was the UK CEO for a cosmetics company, one of the biggest, and that was my signal to act.
“I used to be a beauty editor,” I spoke up suddenly. Flamingo Man turned his beady bird eyes my way. “I love your products. In fact, I was very impressed with how your company decided to increase advertising when your competitors shriveled up. Women love to buy cosmetics and it’s reassuring that even in this economic climate we can count on your makeup to keep us looking pretty, even if we don’t always feel that way.”
By then Flamingo Man was transfixed and we had a lovely chat about the ups and downs of the beauty business and how lipstick sales increased in a recession. It was clear I knew far more about his particular business than Scott did. But Scott, to his credit, wasn’t in the least threatened; in fact, he stood and listened and even put his arm around me as though bringing home the point that we were together. By the end of our conversation Flamingo Man asked for Scott’s card and mine, too. I didn’t have any but took the risk of saying, “Scott knows how to reach me.”
“She’s a keeper,” Flamingo Man said to Scott as he shook our hands.
“I have a feeling she’s not going far,” Scott said to him. I was elated.
But the Flamingo Man had exhausted me and I was desperate for another drink. Scott stepped out for a cigar and I had a self-congratulatory moment with champagne and a platter of prawns. I was relieved that the evening had turned out so well. I had to be making progress with Scott; he’d be blind not to see how much more appropriate I was than Tatiana, and that a polished, classy woman was even sexier than a buxom, blond twenty-one-year-old. Okay, I may be kidding myself there, but I was an asset to him. The thought made me giddy.
Then out of nowhere I spied Griff across the room. I couldn’t believe it. Why was he suddenly everywhere I turned? He had said something about arts events but this was ridiculous. I gnawed on a prawn, absentmindedly double dipping the shellfish into the cocktail sauce until one of the staffers gave me a dirty look and removed the sauce altogether. I had bitten into another prawn, pinched its tail and sucked out the flesh, when Griff finally saw me. He raised his glass. I sighed and pushed my way to the bar.
“Pink champagne, please,” I ordered.
As the bartender filled a flute with rosé Veuve, Griff appeared at my side. At least he was wearing a proper tuxedo and had combed his hair.
“What brings you here?” he asked me, as though I didn’t have the right to be there.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I said. “I’m surprised they let you out of the B and B so often.”
“I’m on holiday.” He laughed. “And I like art. We’re trying to be friends, remember? Let me buy you a drink.”
“It’s an open bar.”
“Precisely.” He smiled, then looked me up and down, examining every detail, or so it seemed. “Makes you a cheap date.”
“It just so happens I’m on a date,” I corrected him. “Scott brought me.”
His expression turned serious, which unnerved me.
“So, you managed to bump off Tatiana?” he asked dryly. “That poor Slovenian girl sent back to her homeland to work in the salt mines.”
“I did no such thing,” I said defensively. “It’s not my fault Scott lost interest in her, and besides, she was too young for him.”
“And you’re not?” he asked. “He must be at least fifteen years older than you, I’d even say closer to twenty.”
“Age is only a number,” I said dismissively.
“As is the amount on his bank balance,” said Griff slyly. “But unlike age, the larger the better.”
“Don’t judge me, Griff,” I said staunchly. “I’m sorry I ever told you anything. Besides, I think we’re falling in love, so there.”
“Love, eh?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “As honorable as all that?”
“Don’t you believe in love, Griff?” I challenged with my best flirtatious smile.
“What else is there to believe in?” he said seriously.
His answer surprised me. I was so accustomed to his sardonic tone. “Then we’re both hopeless romantics. Who would have guessed?” I said and touched his arm. Once again, the sensation it aroused was startling. He looked down at my hand on his sleeve, but I couldn’t read his expression at all. Our eyes locked and we remained that way for several seconds.
“That’s quite the dress,” he said, changing the subject and slowly looked me up and down.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, breaking out of my haze. I realized I was standing beneath one of the few spotlights in the room and stepped away, but he followed.
“It’s rather insubstantial,” he retorted.
“You don’t like it?” I said, worried that people could see through it after all.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he replied. “On the contrary, it’s very eye-catching.”
The moment we’d shared evaporated and feeling suddenly insecure I snapped at him. “I hate to tell you this, Griff, but for a gay man your taste is all in your mouth.”
I expected a bitchy comeback; instead, he stood stalk straight and gasped. “A what?” he said, clearly astonished.
I felt horrible for outing him like this and quickly scanned the room. No one could have heard me. I lowered my voice. “I’m sorry, I said I would keep your secret and I will. You’re just so infuriating.”
“I’m not gay!” he blurted a little too loudly. “I’m English!”
“It’s okay, Griff, I don’t care,” I insisted, trying to soothe him. He really was a closet case. “You don’t have to deny it.”
“Where on earth did you get that idea?” he practically shouted.
“I heard you tell Scott,” I explained impatiently. “You told him to keep it a secret … he said he wouldn’t out you.”
“That’s not what I told him,” he stammered.
“Yes it is,” I insisted again.
“You heard me say I was gay?”
“Well, not exactly,” I admitted. “But what else would be such a big deal? Not that being gay is a big deal, but you know what I mean.”
“Well, you assumed wrong,” he snapped.
“So, you’re not gay?” I asked, still not sure I could believe him. “Then …?”
“Then what?” he asked and glared at me.
“Then when you wanted to have dinner with me …?”
“Go on.”
“It was a date?”
He exhaled in frustration. “Yes, it was a bloody date. Or it would have been.”
“You really wanted to go out with me?” It was my turn to stammer.
“Yes. Despite you insulting my tast
e, impersonating an aristocrat, and chasing after Scott and Vlad and whoever else I may have missed …”
I flinched a little.
“And yet,” he continued without cracking even the slightest smile. “There’s something about you, Kate. Something I feel like I want to know.”
I was dumbfounded. “I don’t know what to say,” I sputtered, not able to meet his gaze. My reaction, or lack of one, seemed to irritate him.
“I have to get a drink,” he announced and stormed off.
Before I could go after him Scott had returned. “Is that Griff you chased away?”
“Yes,” I answered, feeling horrible for what I’d done. “I mean no, I didn’t chase him away. I offended him without really meaning to.”
“He’s the sensitive, poetic type,” Scott said with smile.
“What secret did he tell you to keep?” I asked bluntly. “In Switzerland I overheard you both talking and he asked you not to tell anyone.”
Scott pondered this for a moment as though he couldn’t recall any such conversation. “Oh that,” he said and I perked up. “I can’t tell you, Kate. He asked me not to and a man doesn’t tell another man’s secrets. That’s for women to do.”
I felt my shoulders slump.
For the rest of the night I kept an eye out for Griff to apologize. But I also wanted to continue our talk. He had to know that despite being attracted to him, I could never be with him. I had to keep my sights set on one man. Scott. And by midnight he had determined our night was over; I was exhausted and relieved to go. Maybe Emma was right, being a lady in London was more than I could handle. Then it got worse.
As we left the gallery we were greeted by a slew of press photographers who happily snapped away as if we were celebrities. I stood arm in arm with Scott, trying to shield my eyes from the flashbulbs.
“That’s enough,” Scott announced and taking my arm, walked through the horde toward his idling limo. I heard one of the shooters call out, “Excuse me, miss, can I get your name? I’m from the Daily Mail.”
“Don’t you know, man? That’s Lady Kate.”
I strained against the flashes and saw Flamingo Man, the cosmetics executive, wink at me approvingly.
The photographer jotted it down. But what did it matter? I was nobody to the British press.
Luckily, once inside the safety of the limo, I began to relax and all thoughts of Griff faded—I was finally alone with Scott. Something romantic was bound to happen. But I remembered Fawn’s rule: withhold sex. I wasn’t convinced her rule should be applied to Scott. Any chance to move the relationship forward I would take. And the evening was ending in the right direction. As we drove through the city he played travel guide and pointed out the sights, and I leaned on him and he put his arm around me. I looked up at him as he spoke, ignoring the passing scenery. He was handsome, but, and maybe this was because it was late; he looked older than he had in Switzerland or in Florida. He was probably just tired. Damn Griff for pointing out that Scott was so much older than I was. I refused to think about it.
But suddenly all I could think about was what sex would be like with a sixty-year-old man. Probably great; after all, he had decades of experience. Yes, I would assume amazing sex was ahead for me. But I wasn’t going to find out anytime soon, and I didn’t need Fawn’s rule to prevent it. When the limo stopped we weren’t at Scott’s hotel as I’d assumed, we were in front of Emma and Clive’s town house.
“Here you are,” Scott said. “Thanks for being my guest.”
At first I just sat there motionless, unsure how to react. Was he being a gentleman, or didn’t he find me attractive after all, or worse, did he think I was too old for him? It’s one thing to have a no-sex rule but it was quite another not to be asked.
“It’s so early,” I suggested feebly, wanting to make a move. “Did you want to go someplace for a drink?”
“Not tonight; it’s been a long day and it’s past my bedtime,” he said gently and gave me a hug. A hug! Then, as if sensing my disappointment, he added, “Are you free for dinner tomorrow?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.” I smiled at last and stepped out of the car into the damp night alone. A dinner date was nice but I would have preferred a kiss good night. As I slowly climbed up the front steps of the town house in my wasted effort, aka too expensive outfit, I watched the limo pull away. He didn’t even wait to make sure I got inside. I slumped into the house. All the lights were off. I crawled into bed and lay awake most of the night until sleep eventually won out.
“Oh my God!” Emma squealed as she stared at her laptop. We were having breakfast when she shouted at me, “Kate, you’re in the Daily Mail!”
Clive ran to the computer. “Bloody hell!”
“What is it?” I asked and nervously stood over their shoulders to take a peek. My eyes widened in horror. It was from last night’s gala. Scott had been cropped out of the photo; it was just me and my boy briefs on full display, illuminated by dozens of flashbulbs. I looked practically naked and not dissimilar from some of the Z-list celebrities who had also made the page. I felt sick. And if my skin and undies weren’t enough, the caption read, “Lady Kate dares to bare more than most.”
“I want to die,” I said and flopped onto the sofa.
Clive burst out laughing. “Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance into London society,” he said.
Emma had her hand cupped over her mouth. “You didn’t go around telling people you were Lady Kate, did you?”
“Maybe,” I admitted.
There was no denying that everyone in England would think there was a Lady Kate.
“I guess we really will have to call you ‘lady.’ ” Emma chuckled.
“What if the reporter snoops around to see who Lady Kate is?” I asked, suddenly worried. “Scott thinks I really am an aristocrat.”
“That is a problem,” Emma agreed.
“Just say you’re a budding pop singer and it’s a stage name,” Clive suggested.
“Ha!” I said with a fake laugh. “A pop singer using a fake title like ‘Lady So-and-So’? That would never fly!”
Clive shrugged.
“The evening went downhill as soon as I saw your friend, Griff Saunderson,” I said accusingly.
“Oh, was Griff there?” Clive asked innocently.
“Yes,” I said tartly. “We had a fight. I told him I knew he was gay and—”
Clive spit coffee everywhere. “He’s not gay!”
Emma burst out laughing. “What makes you think that?”
“I thought I heard him admit it to someone,” I said sheepishly.
“You can’t have. I mean, he’s no ladies man,” Clive explained. “But he’s as straight as a poker. Just never met the right girl to marry. I’ve met several of his exes, though, and trust me, they were all real women.”
“Apparently I heard wrong. Griff was offended,” I said, cringing as I recalled the conversation.
“Don’t worry, it’s an easy mistake to make. It is hard to tell with boys who went to their school,” Emma said as Clive shot her a look. “Joking, darling!”
Clive shook his head in disbelief and Emma kept chuckling.
“Turns out he’s been trying to get me to go out with him. On a date,” I admitted.
The exchanged looks made me wonder if this wasn’t news to them.
“Has he said anything about me?” I wondered.
Clive shook his head. “He wouldn’t. Strong, silent type.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Do you want to go out with him?” Emma asked with a raised eyebrow.
I had pondered this all morning but there was only one answer. “No,” I said with authority. “I admit I find him attractive. But I can’t let myself be distracted from Scott. He’s the man I’m meant to be with.”
“Because he’s rich?” Emma said derisively.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I said, trying to make it a joke. No one laughed.
“Don’t worry, Kate,” Clive
said. “Griff will be at our party tonight. You can get a second look at him before you decide once and for all to kick him to the curb.”
Then it hit me. The repossession party was tonight and I had made plans for dinner with Scott.
“You okay?” Emma asked, seeing the look of panic on my face.
“Scott invited me to dinner tonight. I forgot about your party.”
Clive said nothing, choosing to busy himself with cleaning the espresso machine. Emma looked at him and then back to me.
“You can bring Scott to the party,” she said thoughtfully. Again, Clive was silent.
“That would be wonderful. Thanks,” I said gratefully. “Can we come here after our dinner? I need to have some alone time with him.”
Clive banged a pot in the sink. Emma glared at him.
“Of course,” she said with a weak smile. “After your dinner.”
“Let me call and ask him,” I offered and dashed upstairs for some privacy. The call was brief—he didn’t appreciate the humor of a repossession party but if that’s what I wanted to do, he was in. I hung up, pleased that I could uphold both obligations. I came downstairs to tell Clive and Emma the good news but paused when I heard what sounded like arguing.
“She’s just a bit much,” Clive said angrily. “You never told me that Kate was such a shallow, inconsiderate little bitch! I mean ‘Lady Kate,’ what the fuck is that about?”
I gasped. They were fighting about me.
“She isn’t like that; you hardly know her,” Emma defended. “She’s been through hell. Losing her grandmother, her house, her job. She’s struggling to find herself.”
“Well, she can take her bloody midlife crisis or whatever it is out of our home,” he snapped. “Trotting out some billionaire to our repossession party! Bloody insensitive. And you’re pregnant; why can’t she see that her escapades have been a drain on you? It’s all Kate, Kate, Kate! Or rather, Lady Kate!”
I felt wretched. But Clive was right. It was the slap in the face I needed. I hadn’t given much thought to their situation, or anyone else’s, since I began this marrying well journey. I had to do better. I coughed loudly and entered the kitchen. They straightened their posture and got busy cleaning, but I couldn’t let it drop.