This Tangled Thing Called Love: A Contemporary Romance Novel

by Marie Astor

  A cab pulled along the curb, and Lindsay hurriedly climbed out of the car.

  “So sorry I’m late. Traffic was horrible.” She hugged Claire and waved at Amber.

  “That’s what happens when you live in a bohemian neighborhood.” Amber air-kissed Lindsay.

  “Well, not all of us have grandmothers bequeathing Fifth Avenue apartments.”

  Amber shrugged. “I offered you to take over a lease on Lex and Sixtieth at a perfectly good price when a friend of mine was moving out.”

  “I like my neighborhood.” Lindsay crossed her arms.

  “Enough already.” Claire tapped her foot on the sidewalk. Bickering between Amber and Lindsay stemmed all the way from middle school. “We’re here to find a gift for David, not discuss real estate.”

  Over the next hour, from Bergdorf to Bulgari, Claire left no store unturned on Fifth Avenue, but despite many yeses from Amber and occasional maybes from Lindsay, she failed to find even one possibility.

  “Well, this leaves only one obvious choice.” A furtive smile played on Lindsay’s face.

  “Name it.” Claire sighed with exhaustion. Anniversaries were supposed to be about romance, not frenetic shopping.

  “SoHo.”

  “Why not?” Claire jumped at the suggestion. “I could use a break from the tourist crowd, and who knows? Maybe I will have better luck there.”

  “Surely we could find a suitable gift for David on Fifth Avenue.” Amber pursed her lips. “What about that gorgeous pair of cufflinks we saw at Saks?”

  “How predictable,” Lindsay muttered. “Claire wants something original, so original we will help her find.” Making clear that the topic was not up for further discussion, Lindsay started signaling for a cab.

  Claire noticed Amber stealing a glance at her watch.

  “Look, Amber, if you have plans, it’s totally okay with me. Go, have fun with Adam.”

  “Are you sure?” Amber flushed guiltily.

  “Positive. At this point I’m about ready to buy David the first thing I see in the next store. I’ve tortured you long enough, and I appreciate you putting up with me. Now, go, have fun.”

  “Thanks!” Amber’s eyes lit up. “Call me if you need me, all right?”

  Before Claire could respond, she heard the sound of Amber’s heels clicking away. That Adam must be really hot, Claire mused, surprised by her own wistfulness. It was not that sex with David was not wonderful. It was gentle and sweet, just like David, but it simply was not hot or crazy or wild. Sometimes she wondered what it would feel like to go crazy with desire like Amber.

  “All right, we are on my turf now, and I promise you that we will find a gift for David before the day is out.” Lindsay announced as the cab pulled over at West Broadway and Prince Street.

  “So, where should we begin?” Claire smiled brightly, trying not to think about the hot sex that Amber was probably having this very second.

  “Well, since it’s clear that you’re not interested in cufflinks or tie pins, I think we should try something different. Follow me.”

  “Lead the way.” Claire smiled. She loved SoHo: the cast-iron buildings that lined the neighborhood’s streets had substance and solidity, reminding one of New York’s rich past. The unexpected cobbled streets never failed to surprise one with romantic flair, and countless galleries and boutiques guaranteed an entertaining outing.

  A few moments later, Lindsay stopped in front of a glass display that contained a giant lithograph.

  “Since David already has all the watches and cufflinks he could ever want, perhaps he’d be surprised with a painting?”

  “Lindsay, you’re a genius!” Claire flushed with embarrassment, wondering why on earth she had not thought of this idea herself. After all, her second major in college had been Art. She hesitated briefly. What if David would misconstrue her gift as meddlesome? She knew how picky he was about his digs. He had hired one of New York’s top interior designers to furnish his loft in Battery Park. What if he hated Claire’s contribution to his perfect pad? I’ll take my chances, Claire thought as she thrust the door open.

  The gallery space was wide open, with white-washed walls and artwork displayed on almost every available bit of space. What would David like? Claire mused as she surveyed paintings, lithographs, and sculptures, suddenly realizing that this was going to be trickier than she thought. Her eyes darted to the collection of Joan Miro’s lithographs on the far wall, and she stopped still. She knew exactly the piece she would get for David. In her mind, she could visualize the spot on the wall of his apartment where the lithograph would go - right over the bar in the living room. It would be the perfect finishing touch.

  “Lindsay, what do you think?” Claire tugged Lindsay’s sleeve, motioning at the lithograph excitedly.

  “I love it.” Lindsay cocked her head back to get a better view. “But will David?”

  “Why? You don’t think he’ll like it?”

  “I don’t know. From what I’ve seen of him, he seems a bit…” Lindsay lingered, searching for the correct word. “Conservative?”

  Lindsay had the worst poker face in the world, and Claire cut right to the chase.

  “You mean that he can be kind of a stuffed shirt at times?”

  “Conservative.” Lindsay grinned. “But don’t get me wrong. I think the painting is great, so I’d go for it.”

  “It’s a lithograph,” Claire could not help making the correction.

  “Whatever. I didn’t double major in architecture and art, so I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Sorry - I can’t help it at times. I’m going to find out the price,” Claire added hurriedly.

  Bracing herself for the worst, Claire tiptoed across the floor toward the gallery clerk. A lithograph of Joan Miro was bound to be expensive, but she was prepared to sacrifice up to a month’s salary. It turned out that there were downsides when one dated a boyfriend who had everything.

  A few minutes later Claire joined Lindsay, who was looking at some paintings on the opposite wall of the gallery.

  “It’s worse than I thought,” Claire announced.

  “How bad?”

  “Two months’ salary. I could go as far as one and half, but two months would wipe me out. I guess we’d better keep looking.”

  “Hold your horses. I’ll be right back. Just stand by and look disinterested.”

  Lindsay jaunted in the direction of the gallery clerk. Out of the corner of her eye, Claire observed the animated exchange between Lindsay and the gallery clerk. She strained her ears, but their voices were muted, so she could not hear a word.

  “How about this?” Lindsay named the new price, and Claire’s jaw almost dropped with disbelief. The price was now over thirty percent less.

  “How on earth did you manage that? I mean how could a gallery clerk lower the price by so much?”

  “Well, he is not exactly a clerk. He is the owner. And let’s just say that I promised him a press mention.”

  “You’re the best!”

  Claire’s purchase was almost wrapped up when the front door swung open, blowing in a fresh burst of May air. Hearing the noise, Claire turned toward the source of distraction and immediately regretted her decision.

  “Are you okay?” Lindsay nudged her. “Your face is all flushed.”

  “I’m fine,” Claire murmured. “I’m just really hungry, that’s all. Let’s go grab a bite to eat after this.” Claire ducked her head, hoping to remain unnoticed.

  “Claire?”

  She had only heard his voice a handful of times, and yet it was enough to unleash a flurry of goose bumps on her skin.

  “Hi, Alec.” Claire widened her lips in a bright smile, attempting to sound nonchalant.

  “Hi, I’m Lindsay.” Lindsay stepped in, alternately darting curious glances at Claire and Alec.

  “This is Alec, my new neighbor.” Claire swiped away at an unruly strand of hair that fell over her forehead.

  Alec momentarily tore his gaze a
way from Claire.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lindsay.”

  “Likewise. So, are you an art fan, Alec?” Lindsay asked, clearly oblivious to Claire’s tense state.

  “You could certainly say that, although dance is my first love, as Claire might have told you.”

  “No, she did not.”

  “Alec is a big tango fan,” Claire cut in, eager to put an end to this unnerving chitchat.

  “Actually, I’m a dance teacher. I teach tango, and I also compete professionally.” Alec’s dark brown eyes found Claire’s. “I’m afraid Claire and I had started off on the wrong foot when I inadvertently woke her up on a Saturday morning by playing my tango music too loud, but I hope that she has forgiven me.”

  Alec kept his eyes on Claire during the entire tirade, and all she could do was blush and mumble a muffled yes.

  “Ah, that’s much better.” Alec exhaled, his muscular chest puffing out. “I’ve always had a good rapport with all of my neighbors and I was hoping that my good record would not get marred. So, are you doing some decorating, Claire?”

  “I’m buying an anniversary gift for my boyfriend,” Claire snapped, wishing the store clerk would hurry up with the wrapping.

  “Oh, I see. Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’ll be on my way now.”

  As Alec walked away, Claire was caught off guard by a sudden sense of regret. “Come, let’s get out of here.” She grabbed Lindsay’s arm.

  “So, are you going to tell me what that was all about?” Lindsay stared at Claire once they stood outside the gallery.

  “Yeah, but I need a drink first.”

  Chapter 7

  “You think you’ve got enough liquor in you to finally start talking?” Lindsay signaled the bartender for the second round of drinks. “I’m not going to leave you alone until I get to the bottom of this, you know.”

  Claire finished the remnants of her apple martini, baffled by what it was about Alec that threw her off keel. She could not think of a time she had been so baffled by a guy – probably never. But that did not mean she could not control the raging, inexplicable emotions that engulfed her every time she bumped into the man, and she certainly was not going to talk about him with Lindsay, or anyone else for that matter. Out of mind, out of sight.

  “There’s nothing really to tell.” Claire did her best to sound as casual as possible. “He is just some guy who moved into my building and woke me up by blasting his music on a Saturday morning a couple weeks back. So, I walked into his apartment and told him to turn it down a notch. For some reason, he insists on chatting me up every time we bump into each other. He’s probably used to women falling all over him, but I’m certainly not interested.”

  “You’re not, huh?” Lindsay glanced over the rim of her glass.

  “Nope.” Claire shook her head and smiled a bright smile - the kind of smile she used for closed subjects. “Now, where’s that drink?” She rammed her fingers on the bar stand.

  “And your irritation would not have anything to do with the tango fiasco in Miss Katz’s dance class?”

  “Oh, God – I can’t believe you still remember that! That’s not even ancient history – that’s before the ice age. Besides, you weren’t even there.”

  “No, but I’ve been your friend since the ice age, and I remember you agonizing about it for years. Don’t you think it’s time to face your demons?”

  “What demons?”

  “The fear of dancing demons. Amber certainly did. From what I recall, she made out even worse in Miss Katz’s class than you did, but she doesn’t shy away from the dance floor these days.”

  “I told you that in strict secret! Amber is going to flip if she ever finds out that I told you.”

  “And she has not so far, has she? I know how to keep secrets, but you need to learn to let go of things.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Tell me that you don’t find Alec even a little bit intriguing, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  “I don’t find Alec even a little bit intriguing.”

  “Liar.”

  “So are you – you said you’d leave me alone.” Claire sighed. “Fine, you win. I suppose, if I were single, I might have been tempted.”

  “And you are not tempted now?”

  “Even if I were, I wouldn’t do anything about it. I’m in love with David, remember?”

  “So you keep saying. I’m just not sure whom you are trying to convince so hard.”

  “Lindsay! Where did this come from? I love David. He is absolutely wonderful.”

  “If he asked you to marry him tomorrow, would you?”

  “What is it with everyone suddenly thinking that David and I are headed for the altar? And yes, if he asked me, I would marry him without any reservations,” Claire added.

  “Okay. Just as long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Maybe you could hire Alec as a dance instructor for your wedding.”

  “Why would we need a dance instructor?”

  “Well, you will have a bride and groom first dance at your wedding, won’t you?”

  “David doesn’t dance, and in any case, why don’t we wait for him to propose first?”

  “Agreed. I just hope you’ll have your mind made up when he does.”

  Alec opened the door of his apartment and carefully placed the bundled package from the art gallery onto the floor. His new digs were shaping up quite nicely: the red wall he’d repainted added just the right amount of dramatic flair he had been hoping for, and the newly washed parquet floors sparkled. The art deco tango poster he had asked the gallery owner to track down for him would be the final touch. Alec shook his head, remembering his botched attempt at painting. Sure, he could slather paint with a roller all day long, but to think that he could actually paint had been overconfident. His attempt to draw a silhouette of a tango couple had turned into a complete fiasco, and he had to repaint the red wall. Well, now it was finally dry and ready for the poster to be hung up.

  Alec reached for his tool kit, searching for a hook strong enough to hold up the poster’s weighty frame. The frame had cost almost as much as the poster did, but it was well worth it. As he plunged the drill bit into the wall, Alec felt his frustration ebbing. There was no point in sulking. So, Claire had a boyfriend. There were plenty of fish in the sea, and he had never found himself wanting in the women department. And yet, the thought of his downstairs neighbor with another man made his mouth turn sour with jealousy. Alec’s competitive streak had always been strong, but it was more than that. Granted, he had only seen Claire for a handful of moments, and she was snapping at him during the majority of them, but for some perverse reason, her irate demeanor only seemed to fuel his interest in her. Perhaps he was a closet masochist. He had never shied away from a challenge, but presently, he had to admit that he had struck out on this one.

  As she walked up Second Avenue toward her building, Claire’s gaze traveled to the top floor apartment. The light was on, and before she could stop herself with thoughts of propriety, her head was tilting for a better view. A glimpse of Alec lurked in the window. It was only his silhouette really, but the shape of his lean torso was unmistakable, as was the cat-like grace of his movements. Again, it looked like he was dancing, but then that was the way Alec moved, even when he was simply walking.

  I wonder what’s he doing up there? Claire mused, as she recounted her earlier encounter with Alec at the art gallery: the flirtatious tone of his voice, the playful sparks in his eyes, the way his hair brushed against his neck. She had been so brisk with him, her voice prim and her lips set, while all she wanted to do instead was break into a smile and flirt right back. What harm could there be in a little flirtation? Jake flirted with her at work all the time, and that did not mean a thing. Jake knew she was with David and confided to her all of his love conquests. But with Alec, she could not bring herself to say anything other than matter-of-fact remarks. Every time she saw him, something inside her constricted, making her run for the cover o
f prudishness. The forced primness felt like both a haven and a jail: a haven from anything that might go awry, and a jail that precluded anything wonderful from happening. For that was exactly the emotion that stirred in her every time she ran into Alec: an inexplicable feeling that something incredibly wonderful might happen. It was also the emotion that sent Claire scurrying for cover, acting as a bona fide ice maiden, leaving her trapped in her own confusion. Just what it was about Alec that affected her so, Claire had no idea. She barely knew the guy, and yet, every time she saw him, she felt her breath catch. She did not even feel that way about David. Granted, her feelings for David went beyond some silly infatuation. Theirs was a deep-rooted affection, but even when they first met, Claire did not remember the prickling, disorienting, but also wonderfully uplifting sensation that overtook her every time she looked at Alec.

  But the sensible part of Claire knew that nothing good could come out of her ambiguous feelings for her upstairs neighbor. From what she could tell, Alec was a good-for-nothing flirt, and Claire had no intention of encouraging him when she was happily in love with David. I’ll just look up one more time, and then I’ll be on my way, Claire thought.

  What she saw next confirmed her misgivings. Now, there were two silhouettes in the window instead of one: a woman and a man. The female shade arched her back in Alec’s arms as he tilted her back, leaning over her. Claire looked away, as though jolted by electricity. Even without the music, she could recognize the pattern of the tango. Alec was so in sync with his partner that it looked as though the two were connected by an invisible thread. Oh, what Claire would give to be able to lose herself to music so completely, and even more, to know that her lover’s arms were there to hold her.

  Back in her apartment, Claire threw her bag on the dresser and sank into her couch. As she closed her eyes, she could hear faint sounds of a milonga coming through her ceiling. It was more a throbbing than an actual sound, but it was still audible enough for her to hear the rhythm of the sensual dance. Right now, separated by only a couple of feet of flooring above her, Alec held another woman in his arms. To Claire she was only a faceless shade, an outline, but to him she was flesh and bones, her body pressing firmly against his. And what a body it was. The glimpse that Claire had caught through the window left her speechless with intimidation: a willowy, slender flute of a body, a dancer’s body that was full of grace - the kind of grace that Claire would never dare attempt.