Space Between (Smart Girl Mafia Series: Book 3)

by Amiee Smith

  I know this Brit. When I get anxious and controlling, she plays clueless and aloof. I need to back off. I need to stop trippin’. But this morning, my pride is getting the best of me. I grab her phone from the nightstand.

  “One text. Just tell Jen,” I say, dropping her phone on top of a pile of clothes on hangers next to her on the floor.

  “Why are you scared of her?”

  “Because Mafia girls are scary and she’s your leader. I’m... I’m... afraid she’s going to call me out in front of everyone tonight.”

  “Dragon, if you had friends, would you let one of them call me out?”

  “Fuck, no.”

  “Well, why would I let anyone in the Mafia call you out? I may be a weirdo, but I’d never let anyone talk shit about the Warriors, Miz Pepper, or my husband. Of all people, Jen will understand. Well, not the Warriors. She lives and breathes the Lakers.”

  “That’s it! I’ll call my ticket guy and get her courtside seats for next season.”

  My wife lifts her palm. “Please. Jen spent her twenties sitting courtside. She only gave up her season tickets when she married Jon because she didn’t want him to know she’s rich.”

  “Wait. Even I know Jen’s net worth. How does her husband not know?”

  “You only know because I told you. And that information is not to be repeated to Jon. You’re a Mafia Man, but the secrets between us trump the group.”

  “Do you think they’ll induct me?”

  “Of course. You’re my husband and that meets the requirement.”

  “Hold on. You’re leaving out important information. Why doesn’t Jon know?”

  “Remember when you were my student and I told you to first study the information you need to know to pass the class and then if you’re interested in learning more about a particular topic to take the time to explore it at your leisure?”

  “Yeah. But that’s not the way you study. You study everything.”

  “Duh, I’m like a genius, I have to keep myself engaged. But...”

  “I’m not a genius and I need to focus on passing the test...”

  “I didn’t mean that as an insult, hunky husband. However, in this situation, it is best to focus on being the best Mafia husband ever instead of trying to impress Jen or get all up in the Jen + Jon dynamic. If she wants Jon to think she’s a down-and-out actor turned devoted, Pasadena housewife, that’s their business.”

  “But she’s not down-and-out, she makes five million dollars a year in residual income from her show and commercials. And her estimated net worth is 20 million dollars.”

  “I don’t know those details and she’s my best friend. How do you know?”

  “You know I do research on anyone I’m pursuing to be my client. Also, our admin, Megan, went to Stanford with her agent’s assistant.”

  “Small L.A. world. But yeah, Jen’s hella rich, but Jon only knows she had money at one time. He thinks she’s broke. Not broke like me, but you know, definitely not a multi-millionaire.”

  “They live in a five million dollar house in Pasadena and she owns a place in Malibu. I manage his mother’s estate. I know he doesn’t have that kind of money. How does he not know?”

  “This totally stays between us, Alex. Promise?”

  “Is it criminal?” I ask, only kind of joking.

  “No. Nothing like that. Jen just failed to tell Jon she has money. When they met, she wanted to create a new life for herself. She didn’t want to be famous, or richer than her husband. A part of her new persona involved telling Jon that her dad gave them the money for their house in Pasadena as a wedding gift, but it was really her money. Unfortunately, she tired of being a housewife a year into their marriage, but since she had changed her last name to Manning, she’s been struggling to get a role.”

  “But how does he not know? Jon is far from ignorant.”

  “Stop with the questions. It’s none of our business. And no, you cannot make Jen a client. Her family has a longtime financial planner that manages her investments.”

  “Rick Altman. Old timer. I can do better than that guy’s plan of low yielding mutual funds.”

  “Do I have to remind you? You can’t trade right now!”

  “My suspension will be up in a couple of months.”

  “I’m confused. Do you want Jen to like you or do you want to manage her money?”

  “Both.”

  “You’re not going to give up?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. Make nice with Jen tonight. She’s a sucker for compliments. Particularly about her guacamole, which is hella delicious with a dash of hot sauce. I’ll convince her to meet you for lunch at the Raymond after your suspension is over. She doesn’t trust anyone that doesn’t order a martini at lunch. And even though she’s stunning with a superb set of tits, never forget that she’s wicked smart and will come to the meeting more prepared than you.”

  “Noted. Thank you, sweetheart.”

  “What did your parents say about us getting together?”

  “I haven’t told them.”

  “Alex!”

  “I’ve been occupied here. I play racquetball with my dad in the morning and we’ll meet my mom for breakfast afterward. I’ll talk then.”

  “Okay. It’s important to me that everything is out in the open now. We don’t have to tell everyone everything, but we do need to tell people we’re together.”

  “We’re not together, Brit. We’re married. We will tell everyone we’re married.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’m fine with that. But your parents may not like everyone knowing their youngest son is suddenly married to a weirdo.”

  “We are both weirdos. My brother is giving them their fairy tale wedding, so that should appease them.”

  “Yeah, against Lynn’s will. She really hates all this wedding stuff. She sent a text to the chain last night, a list of 15 things she’d rather do than have a big wedding. Writing and having sex with Nick appeared on the list. Along with getting a root canal and gaining fifteen pounds.”

  “My brother, on the other hand, sent a text this morning that he’s happy with the work his tailor did on his Ralph Lauren tuxedo and to remind me to pick up mine.”

  “Yeah, Lynn’s only doing this wedding to make him happy.”

  “Why don’t you come over here and make me happy?”

  “Dragon, I don’t have time for you to eat my pussy again. I gotta go meet with my boss. But tonight, at the party, maybe we can sneak away. I’ve always imagined hooking up with you at one of Jen’s parties.”

  “You never told me that!”

  She closes her luggage and stands.

  “Oh, and I’m not staying at your place. Emma booked us an Airbnb in Pasadena. We scheduled it before you and I became official. Sorry, hunky husband, I’m choosing a chick before a dick.”

  “I’d expect nothing less.”

  CHAPTER 22

  BRIT PALMER

  “Congratulations!”

  We stand around Jen’s expansive island in the kitchen. Each of my friends tip their drink in my direction.

  The Lynn + Nick wedding pre-party circles around us. There are at least 75 people milling around the Jen + Jon expansive Craftsman house. En Vogue’s “Hold On” pours through the speakers. For the first hour of every party, Jen plays En Vogue’s greatest hits.

  Alex has not arrived. I know he had scheduled a meeting shortly after his flight landed in L.A., but I thought he would be here by now. I want to tell him my good news. I want to see his handsome half-smile of approval. After a week of navigating the dark side of my love of fashion and shopping, I need him to know I am a capable human being.

  “Earning a tenure-track position in academia is a true accomplishment. I’m so happy for you,” Lilly says, holding her virgin margarita.

  Fierce and glowing, Lilly slays tonight in a white knee-length Prada dress with a black stripe down the middle, and black Freda Salvador slip-on oxford shoes. Willowy thin, light rich-brown skin, dramatic ca
t-eyeliner, and a brilliant scientific mind, Lilly is the newest member of the Smart Girl Mafia. A pregnant powerhouse PhD, she’s pursuing her dream to save the world by eradicating disease. I enviously eye her belly. Over the last few days, I’ve started to long for a bump of my own.

  “Thank you. I was just hoping they’d hire me back for another semester, but to earn a tenure-track position feels fantastic.”

  My informal coffee meeting with the dean of the music department at Mills College turned into a formal offer of a tenure-track position starting in the fall. I will be the Director of Jazz Curriculum.

  “You must have made quite an impression this semester. You are definitely in alignment with your life purpose,” Dana says.

  Fierce and powerful, Dana wears a black, Derek Lam cocktail dress with black, Balenciaga patent leather pumps. Thick, dark brown hair shapes her very attractive face and dazzling smile. Latina. Type-A. Zen. Fit. When she’s not closing multi-million-dollar deals, she’s working out or meditating. Underneath it all, Dana is a love bug, ready for happily-ever-after, but she’s even worse at dating than I am.

  “I guess someone was so moved by my arrangement of ‘Take the A Train’ for the spring big band concert, they anonymously donated a quarter of a million dollars to the program,” I share.

  “Because that arrangement was amazeballs. It got a two-minute standing ovation,” Emma says.

  Fierce and lively, Emma bounces up and down in an H & M black baby doll romper and teal, handmade, Spirit Walker booties, her brown eyes are aglow behind big blue, Wilma-inspired glasses.

  “The girls worked really hard. I was so proud of them,” I say, shifting my weight in my platinum Jimmy Choo 100mm pumps.

  One of the ways I kept my extensive fashion collection a secret for so many years was to mix my super expensive pieces with mid-range ready-to-wear. Now that everything is out in the open, I no longer have to hide. Tonight, I paired my Choos with a strapless electric blue one-of-a-kind Betsey Johnson dress with a full knee-length ruffled skirt.

  “Brit is a jazz wizard. She turned those twenty girls from a slightly off-key collective into a band that could play any concert hall in the country,” Emma continues.

  “Brit says you used to be a musician. Why did you give it up?” Claire asks Emma.

  “Injury. Now I’m trying to make a go of a career in finance. I’m interning at Willingham Wealth Management this summer.”

  “Did you hook that up?” Jen asks, curtly.

  Fierce and damn near flawless, Jen’s vibrant red hair hangs around her off-the-shoulder, butterfly-print, Dolce and Gabbana poplin dress paired with yellow, Stuart Weitzman pumps. Pearly skin. Shimmery crystal-blue eyes. Shapely. She has the confidence of a woman who knows she’s a star. Tonight, with her 4-carat cushion-cut diamond ring and matching platinum band on her finger, she plays the role of the best real housewife of Pasadena.

  Eager to get back on TV, I bet she’d sign-on to be a reality star on a Bravo show about our hometown. Jen would be the bitchiest, most-deceptive housewife of them all, and still be the most lovable and humorous cast member. The fan favorite. Tough as a demon, but as kind as an angel. (I love her!)

  “Yes, she got me the job! And she hooked up too!” Emma says.

  “Wait, you hooked up?!” Lynn asks, perking up.

  Fierce and surprisingly sullen, Lynn has been quiet for most of the night. Her brown face is even slimmer than the last time I saw her. Dressed in a black Anthropologie jumpsuit that dips low in the front and hot pink Tory Burch flats, she fidgets with the very large rose gold diamond engagement ring on her finger.

  Normally vivacious in nature, the stress of a big Pasadena wedding has made her “hate life.” A true introvert, she loathes the attention and fuss. But her star-athlete husband’s parents want their son to publicly declare his love for his vegan writer girl in front of 200 people.

  “You haven’t told the Mafia you lost your V-card?!” Emma asks.

  “I’ve been hella busy. I was going to tell them tonight.”

  “By whom?” Claire asks.

  “When?!” Lynn yells.

  “How was it?” Dana asks.

  “There is only one reason she didn’t text us as soon as dude rolled off her,” Jen states with darkness in her heart.

  “Alex,” everyone says in unison.

  “We won!” Dana says, raising her hand to high-five Lilly.

  “What did you win?” I ask.

  “For the record, I already knew. I just was giving Brit the opportunity to share her good news,” Lilly says, high-fiving Dana.

  “A stupid bet that Alex would be the one to take your virginity. A bet they excluded me from. You all thought I wouldn’t find out, but Jon would never keep a secret from me,” Jen declares.

  “How did you find out, Lilly?” I ask.

  “Alex called Michael for help with getting QR codes for all of us to your show last Friday. He was trying to surprise you.”

  “Ahh, that’s so sweet,” Dana says.

  “Totally,” Claire chimes in.

  “Ugh. Nick and I spent Friday night signing thank you cards. Going to the show would have been way more fun. By the time we were done he was too tired to fuck again. ‘Too tired to fuck again,’ like, that’s a thing!” Lynn rambles under her breath.

  “The nerve of Alex thinking he could get QR codes. I couldn’t!” Jen says, before draining the last of her martini.

  “He wasn’t trying to override you, Jen,” Lilly says.

  “No. Alex isn’t like that. He was probably trying really hard to impress us,” Lynn says.

  “Well, if he wanted to impress me, he should have formally asked me if he could marry Brit,” Jen says.

  A deep voice slices through the thick tension in the room.

  “Jen, believe me, if the circumstances had been different, I would have asked. I would have asked all of you if I could marry Brit,” Alex says from the doorway of the kitchen.

  My heart melts a bit. Tonight, my husband ditched his suit for a pair of dark-washed distressed jeans. A crisp white shirt rolled to his elbows hugs his muscular chest. His black leather belt matches his black leather Chuck Taylors.

  He waits for permission to enter the space.

  “Come join us, Alex. We are celebrating your wife,” Dana says, radiantly.

  Alex moves to stand next to me.

  “And what are we celebrating? The appearance of the Betsey Johnson runway dress?”

  “Oh, my word. He even knows fashion,” Claire says with glee.

  “No. He knows the real Brit,” Lynn says.

  “Wow! Brit told the Mafia something before she told you. I thought you’d be the first to know Mills offered her a tenure-track position,” Jen says mockingly.

  Through the ruffles of my dress, Alex’s hand strokes my hip. I can feel his nerves.

  The music changes to En Vogue’s “Don’t Let Go.”

  Draping my arm over his shoulders, I telepathically command him to relax. He’s among friends.

  He meets my gaze. “Congratulations, Brit. You deserve the job.”

  “I don’t know if I deserve it, but I guess someone really liked my arrangement of ‘Take the A Train’ from the spring big band concert. They donated a big chunk of cash to the music department.”

  “It was... or I hear it was a wonderful rendition,” Alex says, dipping a chip into Jen’s guacamole.

  My eyes narrow. After almost nine years of marriage-friendship, I know that tone. I know that slight twitch of his eyelid. He’s evading the truth.

  “How do you know that?” I question, calling him out.

  “Malachi or maybe Alisha must have mentioned it,” he says, in between crunchy bites.

  “No, they weren’t at the concert. They were in Big Sur celebrating their anniversary. I took care of their dogs while they were away.”

  “Jen! This guacamole is outstanding,” Alex charms.

  “I know,” she smiles, shaking up another martini.


  “Oooh, try my onion dip! It was my grandmother’s recipe,” Claire says, pointing her French-manicured nail in the direction of a silver bowl of white dip surrounded by homemade potato chips.

  Fierce and lady-like, Claire wears a red, Rachel Roy fit and flare dress and a nude, Sam Edelman strappy high heel sandal. Her long dark hair is styled in a sleek ponytail. Always well-put together, she spends an hour every morning applying makeup to her beautifully exotic face. Spanx and body shapers are a part of her daily attire. And in between being the boss of the best flower shop in the San Gabriel Valley, she cooks, bakes, and heads an all-women political organization. A single gal, she’d be the perfect wife to any man who can accept her competitive, well-mannered perfectionism.

  Alex scoops a chip into her onion dip and gives her an enthusiastic thumbs up as he chews. Claire beams.

  “Don’t butter up Jen and Claire right now. It was you! You donated the money to the program!”

  “He’s going to have to do more than just compliment my guacamole to get on my good side,” Jen says.

  “Donating money to Brit’s program is baller. That’s a page out of Michael’s book,” Lilly praises.

  “So romantic!” Dana coos.

  Emma jumps in. “What the what?! You were at the spring show? Why didn’t you come up to talk to us? You would have saved Brit like four really bad Tinder dates.”

  “Goddess, I miss app dating... and non-monogamy,” Lynn whispers.

  Alex doesn’t miss a beat. “Sister-in-law, I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Jen, what would it take to get on your good side?”

  “It depends. Did you make the donation to Brit’s program?” Jen asks, handing him a martini.

  Alex only drinks beer but he receives the glass.

  “I flew up the Friday before to see Herbie Hancock at SFJazz...”

  “For the Wayne Shorter tribute. I saw the Thursday night performance,” I say.

  “...I heard on the jazz radio station the Mills College Big Band was performing on Saturday night, so I stayed for the show. My donation was anonymous because I was truly touched by the performance. Brit, you are a modern jazz master. And you looked spectacular in that black Dior pantsuit and white Manolos.”