by Nicki Elson
Trish regarded her friend with more scrutinizing eyes. “As much as I like it, it’s missing the coziness of your apartment in Lincoln Park. Are you comfortable here?”
Lyssa’s shoulders rose sharply and slowly lowered as she let out a long sigh. “It’s not home yet. I still feel like a visitor.”
“Well, that’s the problem—this place was Hayden’s for a year before you moved in. You two should find a new place you pick out together so it’ll feel like it belongs to both of you.”
Lyssa wagged her head back and forth. “The thought crossed my mind, but this is close to his work, and it is his place. I’m freeloading until I get through my two-year program, so I’m not going to suggest he give up this apartment that he loves so much.”
Trish didn’t pursue it. If her friend was willing to sacrifice her own sense of home to be with a man, that was her decision. “What’ll the commute to campus be like?”
“Not bad. I can catch a couple of trains that’ll get me there in about thirty minutes. I was thinking I could show you around BU tomorrow.”
“That’d be great. Speaking of college, I haven’t told you my major discovery about our ol’ buddy from Iowa—Cliff’s not gay.”
Lyssa lowered her mug to a coaster on the glass-topped coffee table. “Who said he was?”
Trish’s forehead pinched. “Didn’t you think he was?”
“No. Were you really that oblivious? He had a thing for you back then.”
“What? No, he didn’t.”
“Whatever. Even if he wasn’t crushing on you, he and JoAnne got it on in very heterosexual ways.”
“When?”
“I don’t know…junior or senior year. Maybe both.”
“Where was I for all of that?”
“Probably off with your boyfriend du jour. It wasn’t as if JoJo and Cliff were dating or anything. It was just a couple of random hookups. I actually had the impression that unless they were making out, they couldn’t even stand each other.”
Trish laid her pillow on the sofa and gathered her sheets into a ball. “I sure wish someone would’ve enlightened me before I set him up on a blind date with James from the gym.”
“You didn’t!”
Trish laughed. “I totally did.” She went on to tell the whole story.
While she listened, Lyssa grabbed the sheet and folded it into a neat, drill sergeant-approved square. Then she moved to the small kitchen to clean up their breakfast things.
Trish followed her over. When she finished her tale, she leaned a hip against the counter and folded her arms. Fixing her friend with a curious stare, she said, “I don’t remember you being such a clutter-phobe. Would it kill you to leave a dirty dish on the counter?”
Lyssa looked around at the gleaming kitchen. “We like it neat, and if I don’t do it now, Hayden’ll do it before he lets himself sit down to relax. That hardly seems fair after he’s been at work all day.”
“Okay, nineteen-fifties housewife.”
“Shut it, nineteen-seventies independent, hear-me-roar woman.” Lyssa’s eyes trailed over to the microwave. “Yikes. It’s already almost one. I told Hayden we’d meet him for happy hour by five thirty. Our dinner reservation is at eight so we’ll be there for sunset over the harbor. Or as they say around here, the haahbah.”
Trish only half heard anything after sunset. Her mind was back on the Chicago rooftop with Adam.
“He was that good, huh?”
Trish’s eyes snapped to Lyssa. “What?”
“You have the same look on your face that you did when you told me about your date. How big is this guy’s mouth if he’s giving you lockjaw from kisses?”
“Sweetie pie, don’t you know by now? It’s not the size that counts. It’s what he does with it. Oh, mama, did he do all the right things.”
“He must’ve to get you all googly like this. How many times have you gone out with him?”
“That was the second date. On the first we had a drink at a quiet bar and talked.”
“Only one more left, then?” Lyssa followed her question with a challenging slant of her pursed mouth.
Trish shrugged. “If that.”
Lyssa blew out a derisive breath. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious. That night ended so…so wretchedly perfect that the only direction things can go with him is down. Why sully the memory by going out with him again?”
Lyssa opened her mouth and shut it, giving her head a shake. “You’re going through such a weird phase. We better get ready. I want to show you around the neighborhood before we have to meet Hayden. We can grab sandwiches while we’re out.”
The two of them took showers and got dressed. As they headed out the door, Trish said, “Hold on a sec. I forgot something.” She skipped over to the couch and grabbed an edge of the tightly folded sheet, pulling it and tossing it kitty corner over the cushion. She was curious to see how many milliseconds it would take Hayden to fold it tight again after walking through the front door.
Lyssa showed Trish around the financial district, retelling as much history as she could recall of pre-Revolutionary buildings like Faneuil Hall and King’s Chapel. She also pointed out her favorite places to shop, eat, and otherwise spend her days off until classes started. They ended the tour by wandering along the wide walkways of the Wharf District Parks—strips of manicured greenery and pavement sandwiched between two multi-lane roads.
They arrived at the bar early. After all the walking, Trish was glad to spot an available high table with two stools on the tiny patio. Like everywhere else the girls had been that day, people bustled along the sidewalk. Most were dressed for the office, but the occasional pair of cutoffs and flip-flops thwapped by. Lyssa and Trish were dressed somewhere in-between, comfortable enough for daytime gallivanting but dressy enough for their dinner reservations.
Lyssa read a text on her phone. “Hayden says a couple of the guys from his office will join him—but they’re both married, so hands off.”
“Would asking one of them to rub my feet be inappropriate?” Trish asked.
Lyssa shook her head. “I told you to pack a pair of sensible shoes.”
“I did! They’re in my suitcase. I’ll show you when we get back.” She slipped off one of her less sensible shoes and kneaded the ball of her foot with her fingertips. Over Lyssa’s shoulder, three attractive men in suits caught her attention. They veered off the sidewalk to step within the chained boundary of the patio bar. Trish wasn’t used to Hayden’s cleanly shaven face, so she didn’t recognize him until he put a finger to his lips while he snuck up behind his girlfriend.
Lyssa squeaked and jumped in her tall chair when his wiggling fingertips plunged into her sides. The second she turned and saw who it was, she pulled his face to hers for a sweet kiss. Hayden rubbed his nose over hers, staying close and asking how her day was in what Trish could only classify as a baby-talk. It was only with great effort that she refrained from teasing them with a faux retching sound. She did, however, let out an ahem.
Lyssa’s head swiveled toward her. “Sorry. Len, Craig, this is Trish, my best friend from Chicago.”
“Hi,” Trish said, extending her hand to shake with each man in turn. They remained standing around the high table. “Which is which?” she asked.
“I’m Len,” said the tall, curly-haired brunet. “This guy’s Craig.” He pointed a thumb at the stocky strawberry blond.
“So you’re the two who stole the love of Lyssa’s life away from the Midwest, eh?” Trish said.
Len held his hands up in defense. “That was all big Carlo’s doing…though I can’t say I tried to talk him out of it.”
“Yeah, it’s great having junior here to kick around,” Craig said, nudging Hayden with his elbow.
“You wish, mincemeat,” Hayden retorted.
Len busted out laughing, and Craig’s rosy skin went a shade darker. Hayden answered the girls’ curious looks with, “Inside joke.”
“Not that far inside,” Len s
niggered. He and Hayden shared another laugh—at Craig’s expense judging by the glares the shorter man shot them.
“All right, enough of that,” Hayden said. “First round’s on me. What’ll you have, Trish? How was your first full day in Boston? Was the couch comfortable to sleep on?”
“In reverse order: very comfy, fun, and I think a white wine—something crisp. A pinot grigio or chenin blanc.”
“I’ll help you get them,” Lyssa said, hopping off her chair. “You two want the usual?” she asked Len and Craig.
“As long as it’s wet, I’ll drink it,” Len said.
While Lyssa and Hayden got the drinks, Trish made small talk with the guys. From their accents, she guessed they’d both lived in the Boston area for a long while, and she was right. Lyssa resumed her seat while Trish explained to Len and Craig that she didn’t have an accent.
“I grew up in the suburbs, so I never picked up the Chicaaago ayxcent. The northern suburbs of Illinois represent the pure absence of accent. We’re the baseline against which all the rest of you have perverted the language.” With a straight face, she picked up her sweating glass and leisurely tilted the cool liquid past her lips.
“If believing that helps yah sleep bettah at night…” Len said.
“You ah wicked deluded.” Craig shook his head.
Trish laughed at their overly emphasized dialects, and the five of them moved on to other topics. The summer warmth and the snappy, fermented fruit on her tongue combined flawlessly with the easy companionship. It was one of those blissful moments in which she truly felt as if there was no other space or time in which she’d rather be. She was perfectly content.
Craig swigged the last two inches of his pint. “I’ve got to hit it. Taking Benny out tonight to buy his first suit. Big family wedding coming up.”
“I remember my first suit,” Hayden said in a wistful tone. He and Len reverently clinked their glasses to Craig’s empty one.
“Godspeed,” Len said.
“Good grief,” Lyssa groaned. “Are suits what you guys resort to since you don’t have your periods to bond over?” Her eyes slid toward Trish, clearly looking for female support.
“I don’t know…” Trish shrugged. “A quality suit is nothing to thumb your nose at.”
“There’s that look again,” Lyssa said.
“What look?” Trish asked.
“That I’m-mooning-over-Adam-Helms look.”
Trish couldn’t deny it. “Technically, I’m mooning over his suits. He has a tailor in Hong Kong and one in London.”
“You don’t happen to be talking about Adam Helms of Helms Enterprises, do you?” Len asked.
An irrational tightness pinched Trish’s belly. She didn’t want to know that people in the outside world knew Adam—that would bring him out of the dream bubble she’d formed around him. “That’s the one,” she admitted.
“That guy has great suits,” Craig said, setting his glass on the table. “Trish, nice to meet you. Always a pleasure to see you, Lyss. I’ll catch up with you two knuckleheads at the office tomorrow.”
Craig made his exit, and Hayden asked, “What’s so great about this guy’s suits?”
“King —” Len clapped a hand onto his shoulder “—you’ve never even seen a suit until you see Helms wearing one.”
Hayden grunted. “Sounds like the Emperor’s New Clothes to me. Nothing can be better than the Alan Rouleau in my closet. It’s woven with threads from heaven and makes me look like an angel. A very successful, very studly angel.”
Len gave Trish a conspiratorial wink. “You think guys compare engine size and sexual conquests? Hell no—it’s all about thread count and cut. So, you got something going with Helms?”
“No, not really. I’ve just gone on a couple of dates with him.” She flicked her hand in the air in an attempt to dismiss the subject entirely.
“Dates?” Len arched a bushy, dark eyebrow.
The way he’d said it threw Trish off, causing her to hesitate. Hayden covered Trish’s muteness: “You’ll have to forgive Len. He’s been an old married man for years now and can’t remember the customs of us single folk.” Turning to Len, he spoke as if talking to a kindergartener. “A date is when a man spends a lot of money on dinner and maybe a show in hopes that the woman will have sex with him.”
“So, kind of like prostitution but with a much lower probability of success,” Len said.
“How do you know Adam Helms?” Lyssa asked him.
“Bell Funds invested in shares of Helms Enterprises. We did a lot of face-to-face due diligence with him.”
“Is the company part of the portfolios at the new place?” Lyssa asked.
“No.” Len took a sip of his beer.
“Why not?” Lyssa asked.
“As Adam took over more of the firm’s leadership from his father, the company moved into new areas we weren’t entirely comfortable with—from an investment perspective, nothing illegal or anything,” he added.
“What areas?” Lyssa pursued.
“Oh, come on!” Trish blurted before toning it down a notch. “Can’t you financial nerds even finish one drink before analyzing everything?” If she’d wanted to know about Adam’s company, she’d have asked him herself. This was starting to feel like voyeurism. “How ’bout those Sox, eh?”
“Red or White?” Len asked, graciously letting the conversation turn.
“I like my team the way I like my wine.” Trish swirled the remaining pale sips in her glass.
Len departed for home soon after, and Hayden, Lyssa, and Trish went to the seaside restaurant. Buttery lobster melted on their tongues while the expansive surface of the Atlantic gently surged, as if a powerful monster underneath was awakening. Clouds crept into the sky throughout the evening, and by morning a light drizzle coated Boston in steely gray.
Despite the subdued cast of dampened daylight over the pale neutrals of Hayden’s apartment, the girls got themselves pulled together and out the door much earlier than they had the day before. Their first stop was the Museum of Fine Arts. They lingered longest among the collection of couture dresses in the Textiles and Fashion Arts exhibit, which dated back to the days when Boston had been the center of the US textile industry. The rain persisted, so they decided to stay at the museum for lunch, sitting at a table in the middle of the towering atrium that separated the historic part of the museum from the newer wing.
“This is more impressive when the sun is shining.” Lyssa frowned, her eyes raised toward the thousands of drops racing down the enormous glass wall.
“It’s still pretty cool,” Trish said. “A dreary day is sort of nice once in a while. Not every day can be sunny. Though I imagine that—” she tilted her head to indicate a spiky lime green spire; it was made entirely of glass and rose straight up from the floor near the window “—is amazing when the sun hits it.”
Lyssa sighed. “Yeah, it is. Guess this means you’ll have to come back soon so you can see it.”
“Definitely.” Trish smiled. “You know what that thing keeps making me think of?”
“What?”
“A tiger penis.”
Lyssa choked on her ice water and threw her hand to her mouth, her eyes going wide in shocked question.
“Sorry,” Trish said, not making any effort to sound the least bit remorseful. “Tigers have barbed penises. It helps them stay in while mating.”
Dabbing at her lips with her napkin, Lyssa asked, “Why do you know that?”
“After I started relating to the feline, I did a little Googling. Fascinating creature, the tiger.”
“I bring the girl to a museum, try to show her a little culture, and she turns a Chihuly into a giant phallus.”
“I’d say the artist did a fine job of that all by himself.”
Lyssa’s gaze scanned the length of the piece. “I suppose he did. Still, this could be a sign that it’s time for you to get yourself some.”
Trish laughed but declined to respond, instead giving
her attention to the menu. Adam Helms was the first man to make her seriously consider losing her revirginity. If his kisses were any indication, a night of wrestling between the sheets with him could be the one way to top their perfect second date.
After lunch, the two friends took in a few more exhibits, taking pictures of their attempts at funny poses with the Greek and Roman statues. Trish sent the best ones to Cliff, who texted back immediately that the ladies of leisure should stop trying to distract men at work…and if they came across an Aphrodite, please, please, please send over a threesome shot.
When they’d absorbed all they cared to at the museum, the girls took a taxi to the Boston University campus. Instead of getting out to walk in the rain, they asked the driver to take them down a few streets so Lyssa could point out buildings of interest. Though the campus was distinctly urban, it still managed classic ivy-covered walls. The girls spotted a cozy-looking coffeehouse and asked the driver to drop them off there. After securing warm mugs of caffeinated joy, they settled into a pair of cushy, worn armchairs.
“All right, I’ve been good all day, but you’re leaving tomorrow, and I’m going to explode if I don’t ask,” Lyssa said. “Are you not the least bit curious to find out why Len seemed surprised that you and Adam are dating?”
“We’re not dating. We’ve just gone on a couple of dates.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Don’t you want to know?”
“He was probably surprised that someone of Adam’s stature would stoop to dating a lowly secretary.”
“Len’s not like that. Do you think this Adam has some sort of juicy skeleton in his closet? I wonder if it has something to do with the ‘new areas’ Len wasn’t comfortable investing in.” Lyssa pulled out her phone and held its face toward Trish. “We could do a search for Helms Enterprises right now and I bet we’d find out.”
“No!” Trish shot her hand out to grasp onto the phone, covering its screen with her palm.
“Why not? Afraid of what we’ll find? Have you never Googled him before?”
“Of course I haven’t. I don’t want guys searching my name on the Internet; I’m not going to search theirs. It’s creepy.”