Seven Books for Seven Lovers

by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair

  Amanda looked back at Priscilla, who leaned precariously toward Grady. If he hadn’t caught her, she would have tumbled to the floor. “Easy,” he said, and propped her back up.

  “Kiss me,” Priscilla said, smiling with half-closed eyes. She started her Leaning Tower of Pisa imitation again.

  “Whoa, Blondie.” Grady steadied the slight, drunk starlet.

  “Kiss me!”

  “Why don’t you have some water?” He handed her a glass. “Alcohol always hits you hard because you’re tiny. And we’re at altitude.”

  “Myth!” Harris said. “An old, flawed study. You don’t get any drunker up here than at sea level. I’m living proof. And believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “Kiss me!” she repeated.

  Grady kissed her cheek quickly. “Okay. Now how about we go home?”

  “Maybe,” Priscilla said. She tucked her chin to her chest and looked up at Grady with huge blue eyes. “Oh dear. I don’t feel so good.”

  Amanda shot up. “Come on, let’s find the restroom.”

  She dragged Priscilla to her feet and rushed her to the ladies’ room. Priscilla continued her interpretative tour of Italian landmarks and did Mt. Vesuvius into a potted plant just outside the bathroom. Her Jimmy Choos suffered collateral damage. Amanda guided the limp-limbed Barbie doll into the ladies’ room to clean up the goo, Priscilla somehow sitting on the counter with Amanda washing her delicate feet in the sink. The blonde looked at Amanda with watery eyes and said quietly, “I love him so much!”

  Amanda’s stomach clenched, but she nodded and chucked the ruined shoes, figuring Priscilla wouldn’t be able to walk in them anyway. Even with the Grinch-green complexion, bloodshot eyes, and disheveled hair, the actress looked beautiful and desirable. Amanda looked at her own water-splattered outfit. Compared to Priscilla, she looked about as sexy as the head librarian at the Vatican.

  Priscilla continued. “I thought I was over him. Is he seeing anyone?”

  “What? Um. I don’t— Wow, really sorry about your shoes. They must’ve cost a fortune.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell Priscilla no.

  “No,” Priscilla drawled. “The Chimmy Choo people give them to me.”

  Amanda helped Priscilla to the table, where Harris and Grady took over the wine-sodden sex symbol. Grady stood and said to Amanda, “Be right back.”

  “It’s okay. We can all go home together,” she said, rising.

  “No,” Grady said. “I want dessert.” He kept his eyes on hers a millisecond too long. This sent the herd of foals in her belly off and running as she sat.

  Harris winked at her. “You kids be sure to use protection.” Then he helped Grady heave a chatty Priscilla through the restaurant.

  Their merry party had become the restaurant’s main attraction. Even world-weary Aspenites, inured to celebrities, couldn’t ignore this spectacle. Unfortunately, Amanda saw the flashes of camera phones as the threesome exited. She was grateful she wasn’t a celebrity.

  Grady returned in a few minutes and sat. “Hey. Thanks for taking care of her. Sorry you got stuck batting cleanup.” He put his hand on hers on the table and squeezed.

  “All in a day’s work. You know she got drunk because of you, right?”

  “Uh, no, it was because of a supersized vodka martini, then those twenty glasses of wine she had.” He began to absently dance his fingertips over the back of her hand and up her wrist. Amanda willed her hand to move away, but it didn’t budge.

  “She drank because she’s still in love with you.”

  He coughed a laugh, then looked at her. “You’re serious.”

  “That’s what she told me. She’s still in love with you.”

  “Oh.” He blew out a breath. He was silent for what felt like hours before he spoke. “You know I don’t feel that way about her, right?”

  “I know it’s none of my business.” She placed her hand in her lap.

  The waiter came with dessert menus. Grady put his down without looking at it.

  Amanda said, “I thought you wanted dessert.”

  “I do,” he said. Staring at her. “But it’s not on this menu.”

  The foals in her stomach did wind sprints. “Well, I want something from here.” Amanda studied her menu. The waiter returned and she ordered two pieces of chocolate cake, because she wanted to spend as much time as possible eating. Grady ordered tea.

  Amanda’s slices arrived, prompting him to say, “I’m sorry they don’t have the famous Mountain Man Belly Buster here. You’re not sticking your finger down your throat or anything, are you?”

  “No!”

  “I love that you eat more dessert than anyone I’ve ever met. And I’ve met linebackers.”

  “I work in a barn. Five horses. Five stalls. Just me. I burn this off in an hour.”

  He grinned. “If you’re ever interested, I know some other, more pleasant ways to burn calories.”

  “Isn’t your plate kinda full with Priscilla?”

  He sipped his tea. “I told you, I’m not interested in her. I am, however,” he said, leaning toward her, “interested in you.”

  “Why not Priscilla?” Amanda said around a mouthful of cake.

  “Oh, let’s see. For starters, I’m not in love with her. She requires constant attention—as you saw tonight. Unfortunately, this wasn’t an isolated incident. The drinking isn’t standard, but she craves the spotlight, no matter where she is. The bigger the crowd, the better. Uh, it takes her forever to get dressed. She begged me to invite her here, then on our ride today told me she doesn’t like to be outside. She’s afraid of horse slobber. She was thrilled about tonight’s dinner because she said she was getting hives from being so far from a nail salon and civilization. And the capper, she claims she loves children, yet can’t seem to remember my daughters’ names. Ever. That enough for you?”

  “Quite a list,” she said as she licked her fork.

  “Could you do that again?”

  “Gah.” She rolled her eyes at him. Again.

  “You look beautiful tonight.”

  “Please. I got drenched in the bathroom, and I’m sorry to say I don’t think it was all water.”

  “No ‘please.’ ” He took her fork from her and placed it on her empty plate. He held her fingers lightly with both of his hands. “You look beautiful. You are beautiful. Yes, I want to kiss you and, yes, I want to sleep with you. But I’ll go at your pace. You call the shots. But I do want you. Just so we’re clear.”

  The herd of foals, now hampered by cake, still managed a lap or two.

  He said, “Would you like anything else? That guy over there had some cheesecake that looked pretty good. Maybe they have flan. Or pie? You want to get something to go, for the ride home?”

  She laughed. “I’ll manage.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t offer.” And he grinned at her.

  Oh, he offered, she thought. He’d offered more than she was ready for. Yet.

  The next day, the Brunswick estate morphed into party-prep central, one full day before the party. Trucks lined the driveway. Workers hung decorations and lights and assembled a stage on the patio for the band. Harris met with the caterers. The dapper Mark Rivers and his event team worked with Jacqueline to coordinate everyone else. Amanda shortened her workday by taking the girls on a trail ride for their lesson together and riding Titanium herself. She gave Vern and Smooch the day off, since Harris was taking her dress shopping, then for a haircut, massage, facial, manicure, and pedicure. She felt like an expensive horse the day before a big show.

  Amanda loathed shopping unless it was for riding clothes. She usually got new clothes only because her friends forced her to, pointing out disintegrating jeans that were barely presentable. She didn’t have a dress for the party, and Harris decreed something had to be done with her hair and nails.

  They began their spree with a champagne lunch, during which they discussed Priscilla’s adventures from the night before. Although she loved Harris, she didn’t tell him
about Grady and her knee and his, er, offers. She was still grappling with her feelings for the screen star and didn’t need Harris humming “Here Comes the Bride” every time she saw him.

  They hit the stores, and after some disagreements—Harris felt Amanda should show a lot of skin, somewhere in the realm of a Vegas showgirl or ice dancer—they settled on a simple red dress with a scoop neck that hugged her waist and became diabolically flirtatious when she twirled and the skirt billowed à la Marilyn Monroe on that sidewalk grate. The color complemented her dark eyes and hair. And as Harris pointed out, most of the women would be wearing black, so red was a perfect choice for her to succeed.

  “Succeed at what?”

  “Getting Grady.”

  “I don’t think that’s a problem. And who says I want him?”

  They had a few minutes to kill before their spa appointment, so they sat on a bench outside the Ajax Tavern and watched the Silver Queen Gondola glide up and down Aspen Mountain. The dress sat in a bag at their feet, along with a bag containing a pair of strappy silver sandals with four-inch heels that Harris had insisted she buy. Amanda wasn’t sure how she’d wear them without snapping an ankle, but when she tried them on, even she had to admit they made her legs look better than they ever had in their lives. In a third bag was a decadent black lace bra and thong set Harris bought for her because she was too self-conscious to buy it herself.

  He said, “You two have been hot for each other since the day you started. You both try to hide it, but you can’t fool this gay. What better time to hook up than this party? You slay him with this dress, then whoosh! Off to bed.” He lowered his voice, “I’ve heard that in the bed department, Grady’s spec-fucking-tacular.”

  “Harris!” She looked around to see if anyone had heard. “I can’t get involved with anyone right now.”

  “So don’t get involved. Just get laid.”

  “No sex without a relationship, remember? I can’t sample the appetizers when I want the entire pantry. See? I used a food analogy so you’d understand.”

  He was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. “I think there’s a pantry. I think there’s a whole kitchen. He’s . . . different with you.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I leave at the end of the summer. No flings.”

  “So don’t fling. Stay.”

  He wasn’t kidding.

  “I have to go back to Florida.”

  “You’d be much happier in California.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh darling. Because I’m there. And Grady. And that pantry and kitchen and whatever else you think you need from him.”

  Four hours later Amanda was transformed. Her hair was shaped and styled, with subtle caramel highlights. Her hands and feet were soft and smooth, with sheer pink polish on her fingernails and classic red on her toenails. Her face glowed. Harris pronounced her en fuego.

  “Grady won’t know what hit him,” Harris said as they sipped champagne while waiting for her nails to dry. “I’ll start your hair and makeup at six thirty tomorrow evening.”

  “Do you want me to come up—”

  He looked at her as though she had suggested a new cocktail featuring drain cleaner. “Are you insane? I’ll come to you. Grady is verboten to see you until the party.”

  “It’s not like we’re getting married!”

  “Yet.” He raised his glass. “To glamour.”

  “To good friends.” She clinked his flute.

  Amanda and Harris got home just in time for Harris to grill a quick dinner and for Amanda to put the horses to bed. She looked in on the horses as they ate their grain—but her heart stopped when she saw Bramble. The big brown horse stood in the middle of his run, head down, eyes dull, his grain and hay untouched.

  Colic.

  Shit.

  13

  Amanda stepped into Bramble’s stall and he barely flicked an ear. “Oh, buddy.” She stroked his neck. “Hang on, okay?” She took him out for grass to see if he was interested. He wasn’t. She got a stethoscope to listen to his pulse at his elbow and took his temperature. Then she called the vet.

  As luck would have it, the girls’ show clothes had just arrived, and as the vet pulled up, they galloped to the barn in their crisp new shirts, breeches, show coats, and helmets with a little diamond pattern on the front.

  “You guys look great!” Amanda said. She stood next to the barn, holding Bramble’s lead rope, willing him to eat grass. “Spin around for me, supermodels!” They obliged. Wave’s jacket sleeves were a little long, but in two weeks she might grow into them. “Runway walk!” she ordered, and they imitated models, complete with the pout. “Perfect!” she pronounced. “Did you show your dad and grandmother?”

  “We wanted to show you first,” Wave said.

  “You’re gonna knock ’em dead at the show. You’ll be the best-looking riders there.”

  Wave grinned, but Solstice knitted her brows. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Amanda sighed. “He has colic. Dr. Llewellyn is coming.”

  “What’s colic?” Wave asked, her sunny expression darkening.

  “It’s a stomachache.”

  Dr. Llewellyn was a slight man with a shocking head of bright red, curly hair that Amanda wanted to stare at. But he was competent, kind, and answered questions thoroughly, so Amanda liked him. He gave Bramble a shot of Banamine for pain, then began his exam. Wave and Solstice wanted to stay, but it was dinnertime. As she saw a tear edge down Wave’s face, she handed Bramble’s lead rope to Solstice and crouched in front of the blonde.

  “Listen, buttercup, Dr. Llewellyn is going to take good care of Bramble, okay?” She had to be careful not to overpromise, since colic could be unpredictable. “I’m going to keep him company. Try not to worry, okay kiddo?”

  “Okay.” Wave hugged her tightly and Amanda smelled the plastic odor of new clothes.

  “You, too,” Amanda said to Solstice. “Try not to worry.”

  “Kinda hard not to.”

  Jacqueline called the girls to dinner and Amanda took the lead rope.

  “Do not eat dinner in those clothes,” Amanda said to the girls as they started up the hill. “Or I will kill you both!”

  “We won’t!” Wave yelled back.

  Dr. Llewellyn checked the horse’s heart rate again, and said he heard some gut sounds, but they were quieter than normal. Bramble looked more comfortable as the Banamine took effect. Because the horse seemed to be improving, the vet didn’t think it was necessary to do anything more yet, but told Amanda to call him if anything changed. She thanked Dr. Llewellyn and prepared to stay with Bramble until he was back to his old self.

  She put the tank of a horse in his stall, removed the grain, and went upstairs to her apartment. She changed into a comfortable white tank top with lace trim and her favorite navy hoodie sweatshirt with sleeves that came almost to her fingertips. She left her breeches on and exchanged her paddock boots for sneakers. She grabbed a few horse magazines, a paperback she’d been meaning to start, and a bag of carrots and went downstairs to begin the vigil.

  Having worked around horses since she was a teen, she knew the drill. Make sure he didn’t roll violently. Otherwise, let him be and watch his symptoms. She sat on a wooden tack trunk the size of a small desk across from Bramble’s stall. She called Solstice and Wave thirty minutes later and told them Bramble seemed to feel better.

  An hour later Bramble looked more alert but still hadn’t eaten. He wasn’t pacing, pawing, sweating, breathing hard or biting, or even looking at his flanks, he was just standing. She was grateful he didn’t seem to be in distress, and she went up to his stall bars to offer him a carrot. He came to her—a good sign—but wasn’t interested in the temptation.

  “Come on, big guy. You’d run through a brick wall for one of these.” She went into his stall and massaged the crest of his neck with her hands, squeezing and scratching along it the way another horse would do with its mouth. She kept it up for as long as she could, but after fifteen min
utes her hands began to cramp.

  At nine twenty, the phone rang. Amanda tucked the carrot into her waistband behind her back and answered.

  It was Wave. “Dad’s making me go to bed but said I could call.”

  “He’s doing better,” Amanda said. She reassured Solstice as well.

  She hung up and leaned her forearms against Bramble’s stall bars and rested her chin on her arms. At the front entrance to the barn, she heard shuffling. It was Grady, carrying something. Why was he here? And what did he have?

  “Is that a carrot in your pants or are you just glad to see me?”

  She pressed her lips into a quick, tense smile. “Are the girls okay?”

  “They’re fine.” He closed the distance between them. He was carrying a big cooler, the kind used for soda and beer at picnics. It was awkward to carry, and it was odd to see Grady struggle with anything. He set it on the floor in front of the trunk. “They made me promise to come and check on Bramble. Why do you have a carrot in your breeches?”

  “Small pockets.”

  Grady stood next to her and looked at Bramble. “How’s the big guy?”

  Her voice softened. “Getting there. Not normal yet, but better.”

  “What’s normal?”

  “He has to poop and eat. So far there’s been some gas, which is good, but nothing else.”

  “So you’re waiting for poo.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m paying you to wait for poo.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay.” He raised his eyebrows. He sat on the trunk. Amanda stood in front of it, facing him, her hands on her hips.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Now, that’s not very welcoming, Ms. Vogel.”

  “Sorry. I’m concerned about him.” She indicated Bramble with a nod. “And you don’t come here very often.”

  “I thought you might enjoy some refreshments. And cookies. What with your fondness for desserts.”

  He opened the cooler to reveal five thermoses, a bottle of some sort, coffee condiments, two mugs, two spoons, two cloth napkins, and a plate of cookies.

  “Opening a Starbucks? They actually send you a kit?”