Just a Number (Downtown #1)

by Fifi Flowers

  Chapter Thirteen

  Willow

  Thanks to Dash, I was having a hard time sleeping until the sun streamed through my windows. I had been home almost three weeks and he hadn’t gotten out of my system, yet. Giving up most days, I showered, got ready for work, made coffee and sat down to read emails from my mother. Except for Thursdays when I waited for my faithful morning cup of coffee made by my wonderful housekeeper… my British friend. What did Marian have to say?

  From: Marian Dane

  To: Willow Dane

  Getting the hang of this

  Today at 1:00 AM

  Hello Dear,

  I couldn’t sleep. Things sometimes feel like my first days with toddlers. The boys were so needy. Your father was so proud of me for giving him healthy, strong boys to carrying on his name. When you came along, we were a little shocked. Guess that proves we weren’t so square-ish. Sorry. Gross to think of your parents that way. LOL-laugh out loud! The boys were already ten and thirteen. You were the complete opposite. You were actually stronger than them. So independent from day one. You rarely cried. You didn’t fuss. You were the perfect sleeper. As you grew up, we grew apart. I think you saw me as a frail, mousy, meek woman, taking care of the house and doting on your father. That was what I wanted. Believe it or not, I got my dream life and if you wanted the same thing, I would’ve been fine with that, but I knew you wouldn’t. You were so opposite of me. More like your father. The boys are more like me. Happy, with their lives falling into place. Not ambitious, like you. Good for you.

  Love,

  Your Mother

  Conversations with Hazel were so different than the email exchanges with my mother. I could never be open with her. I could never talk to her about my relationships with men or my lack of relationships with them. I wished I could talk to my mother. But, I knew what she would say. I’d heard it my whole life. Women need to be married. Taken care of by their husbands. Home with their children. Cooking. Baking. Cleaning. My mother was not typical.

  She was a stylish woman with a 1950s mentality, passed down from generation to generation by her family. The idea stopped with me. I was a career girl. A definite disappointment by their standards. I wondered what they would say about their perfect little Marian being modernized by her friends. Disgraceful? Distasteful? Taking to the World Wide Web, surfing the internet and emailing her corporate daughter. I laughed, thinking of them rolling in their graves when—if she set up a social media account.

  She hadn’t mentioned telling my father about her emailing adventures. He still must have been kept in the dark. My mother. Ha! The rebellious woman! I giggled.

  “What is amusing you so, love?” Hazel asked as she entered my apartment with Mr. Simon. “We heard you in the hallway.” I hadn’t realized I was so loud.

  Waiting for a cup of coffee, I sat down on a stool at my kitchen island. “I’ve being getting emails from my mother lately. She’s sneaking around behind my father’s back, it appears. She got the idea from her book club girlfriends after reading a book about old sweethearts having an affair after hooking up… reconnecting on the internet.”

  “You’re mother’s having an affair? Harriet is cheating on Ozzie?” Hazel knew all about my mother and how I referenced my parents as the perfect 1950s sitcom couple.

  I laughed at her comment. “No. Not Marian Dane. She would never break her marriage vows.” I couldn’t imagine her with another man.

  “Have you ever been married, Hazel?” I asked as she joined me at the island.

  “No, love. But I did have a wonderful man in my life. I believe the new term is: partner. For us, we were sinners, shacking up.” She snickered. “We never felt the need to wed. We never wanted children. We just wanted to be together.”

  “Did you meet him here?”

  “We met in London. He was the boss.” A wonderful grin decorated her face, making me join her with my own silly smirk.

  “Scandalous. You minx!” I nudged her.

  “I was a brilliant assistant to him. He brought me with him when his company asked him to relocate in America. We bought a condominium in Century City and commuted to work every day for twenty years. He passed away eleven years ago.” She paused, placing her hand over heart.

  “I’m sorry.” I put my hand over the hand in her lap and she patted me.

  “Albert was the love of my life.” She shook her head with a slight smile, wiping a stray tear. “Crazy how life is; he retired on a Friday and by Sunday, he was gone. We came downtown for brunch and a concert at the Music Center. After eating his favorites and sipping a couple mimosas, we walked across the street, and when he stepped up on the curb he fell flat on his face. Just like that.” She clapped a hand on top of the other. “A couple people performed CPR until the emergency team arrived and carted him away by ambulance to the hospital. It was too late. He was gone on the sidewalk.” She looked as if she could see him or as if she was reliving the moment. “He had such a smile on his face. He died peacefully. What a lovely, lovely man.”

  “Sounds like you had a wonderful time together.”

  “Oh the best, love. But, life goes on. I stayed in our place for about a year. Hated the commute by bus. I’ve never had a driver’s license. I moved in here. Work was across the street at the end of the block.”

  “You stayed working at the same place?”

  “Yes. I was hired, or you might say kept on, by Albert’s replacement. I thought for sure the young lad would want a younger assistant to chase around the desk.” She laughed. “But he insisted he wanted to keep the old bird. Told me ‘abso-fucking-lutely’ he wanted me and said ‘who said I’m not going to chase you, pull your skirt up, and bend you over my desk.’ He was a naughty one. We had such fun. I stayed with him for five years. Helped him find my replacement, and he even married her. They reminded me of us when we worked side by side.”

  “I’m sure you miss him.”

  “Every day, but I keep busy. And, I have some companionship from time to time. This city is filled with activities and volunteer programs. You…” Hazel took my hands in her own. “Why all the questions, love? Tell me about your young man.”

  “I… I don’t know what it is about him…” My cellphone began to sing. “There she goes… there she goes again…” I turned my screen alarm off, grabbed my thermos, and handbag. “Never going to see him again.”

  “You never know, love,” she said. I smiled, said goodbye, and left for work.

  The streets were bustling with cars and buses. A few people walked, nothing like New York City, even with more and more apartment loft buildings going up and people moving into downtown to live.

  As I strolled along, I thought of Hazel’s words that I didn’t respond to. How did I tell her that I had slept with a stranger? That I had rules and regulations. That we didn’t exchange more information than first names and casual conversation. I could’ve learned more about him; that was true. I had seen full-color brochures available on his mat at the end of each class. I imagine they outlined his yoga practices, and his education along with his business contact info, I refused to pick one up. And even if I did not have one of his dynamic rockstar-yoga-god brochures, I could’ve contacted the hotel for his professional information. But, we had agreed nothing more than a week fling. It had been amazing. Off the chart sex. Fun!

  He hadn’t been my first getaway-get-some. He probably wouldn’t be my last. But unlike any other holiday hunks from my past, he left me wanting more. Wanting him, again. He was in my thoughts, too often.

  Thanks to an account issue, I was able to put him on the back burner to simmer for a while. Apparently, there was still opposition to my new client’s name. Needing to get Suze on board, I buzzed her assistant to see if I could speak with her. I got lucky.

  I explained to her that a catchy name was not necessary. Her business was already established, just ready for more. I had spoken with Skylar, my friend, the fashionista and co-owner of Dupree-Lovingier Showrooms in New York and L
A. Lark, as I call her, informed me that they would gladly represent her custom swim line for store distribution. The line would be under the name Katie Custom Swimwear. A buy and information link would take customers to a separate page with a subtitle heading just for the swimwear. Sam was working on it as we spoke.

  As for the website and brick and mortar business, the original name, I insisted, should remain. It was really catching if you thought about it. “When I buy my swimwear, I go back to Katie’s Swim Shack.” I sang it as I would the traditional hula song “I want to go back to my little grass shack.” Katie’s boutique and the warehouse were filled with hula-dancing women, salespeople, and seamstresses, constructing her creations under grass roofs.

  Suze agreed with me that she would express my take, the additional page information and the line representation. I had one hour to get the mock up from our graphic designer, when she was to meet with the new players across town. I quickly hung up with her and began to make the phone calls. I would win this one!

  Would I be opposed in other matters? Was this what I was going to face with this merger? I was thorough. I made sure everything was outlined. No holes left unfilled before I pitched anything. I avoided rejection at all cost.

  Just jumping in and doing something was not my style. My decision to represent Katie’s Swim Shack was made in one afternoon, but I had already examined her site the night before. On my visit, I looked at every corner of the boutique and workshop. Most importantly, I listened to Katie before proposing anything. Her history. Her philosophy. Her ideas. Her wishes. Her dreams. Bottom line, I was doing my public relations job correctly. I was willing to support my new client. A client I believed in! We all needed people who believed in us. I knew I did. Besides, I knew my business. I refused to fail. I was a strong woman. I would go to bat for my clients against the new players.

  Once the task was completed on Sam’s design work, I emailed it to Suze. With a freshly delivered, piping hot latte in hand, I turned my attention to my inbox and laughed out loud at my mother’s subject heading.

  From: Marian Dane

  To: Willow Dane

  Modern mom-LOL

  Today at 1:00 PM

  Hello Dear,

  Sylvia, Mrs. Hoolihan, said I don’t have to write laugh out loud every time I type LOL. Always learning. I bet that’s what you like about being a business woman. I think of Marlo Thomas in That Girl when I picture you living in the city. I’m not sure you know that show, but I’m sure I showed you it on that TV rerun channel. If not, I’m sure you can find it online. I can’t believe what’s out there. I got some recipes the other day. Next thing, I will be reading books on an electronic reader. The book club ladies say it’s great for vacation reading. You can leave room in your luggage for clothes. I can’t remember how many books they hold, but I hear it’s a lot. Most girls have them at our meetings. I think I can order one off some bookstore online at a good price. Better than in stores. I don’t get out to shop much, lately. I bet you shop for beautiful suits.

  Love,

  Your Mother

  Romance. Even my mother was wrapped up in it. Her book club. Now, talking about an e-reader. Hiding sexy book covers? I couldn’t see her reading the ones like Tomasina adored… craved… drooled over. The ones that she insisted I read. The ones that I couldn’t read without thinking of Dash. He was every book boyfriend I read. Didn’t matter how the hero was described, he was pictured with brown hair, denim-blue eyes and full, dark, dusty rose lips. Why couldn’t I get him out of my mind?

  Had to be the fact that I had been talking to Tomasina. Being the hopeless romantic that she is, she thought it was destiny. “He rescued you. He’s your hero. Your paths will cross. It’s in the stars. I feel it.” She sounded like she should be wearing a gypsy turban seated with a crystal ball and tarot cards in front of her. She read far too many romance novels.

  Thanks to a business trip I would be taking with her over the weekend, I was sure to hear more. From time to time, I traveled to conventions with clients. It was sometimes beneficial for clients to see the overall competition in their market. Tomasina had collaborated with her family to pen a, what I would call, coffee table book that highlighted her travels to various exotic locations while buying loose gems with her brother. We would be sharing it at the convention, and I would be dragged along to meet some of her favorite naughty authors in one of the adjoining rooms, undoubtedly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dash

  Late Friday afternoon, I flew into Chicago and met Rex at the Intercontinental Hotel, where we were staying. Then later in the early evening, after grabbing a couple beers in the bar lobby, we checked in with the hosts of the book signing in the same hotel. In conjunction with a large book convention in town, they had sold out both days of their event, along with special VIP gatherings with the attending authors.

  The ladies at the draped table literally cooed and purred his name. They seemed to like their first glimpse of Rex Holden, male indie romance author. Before this event commitment, he had been a complete mystery. No photographs of him—using his pen name—could be found on the internet. The hostesses would certainly spread the word before he stepped through the doors of the banquet room that he was, in fact, all male. Something that readers and bloggers often challenged.

  He had never been into writing more than verbiage for advertising, associated with working in graphic design. Owning an art business, he dabbled in various avenues of design. Finding his niche online, he began designing websites. One of his web clients asked him if he could help her with a book cover layout. Up for the task, he delivered, and she loved it. Passing his name along to her fellow indie authors, he soon had a large client base, creating their book covers and their author websites.

  In his spare time, he decided to read what his clients had sent him as a thank you—signed copies of their books. The books that he had received were all adult romance, some written as if they were men. Reading so many male perspectives penned by women, he decided to try his hand at writing romance from a real male point of view. Carefully taking note of what he’d read, he asked himself “what do women want?” He made a list: good looking, hot body, cocky, alpha, domination, spanking, restraining, dirty talk, charm, success. Then he opened a spiral-bound notebook and scribbled away. Seventy thousand words later, he asked his first author if she would read his work. She was blown away. “Go for it!” she said, offering up contact information for editing and formatting services, and guided him through the steps to self-publish.

  Enter Rex Holden (legally Rex Holden Jamesson). He thought of other alternatives: R.J. Holden, R. Jamesson, R. H. Jamesson, and R. Holden. A polling of his author friends, gave us Rex Holden. He was an instant hit. The readers loved that they were getting a man’s point of view on love, though some were skeptic of his gender. Seeing his sales, his rise to number one on various bestseller lists with his debut book, he was encouraged to keep going.

  With a bit of research, I talked him into going public. At least giving it a try with one author event. According to a book publicist he had been in contact with, his looks alone, would help him reach new heights and accumulate many more readers. Listening to her rave about him, he was feeling more pumped up. “I mean, come on, what would be better than hearing a man’s romantic tales than to see a six foot two hunky man? He is muscle bound, rugged. And his face isn’t too bad, if I do say so myself.” Good that he had her for that boost. Hey. He’s my friend. I didn’t really think about his looks. However on a marketing level, she was right, he was a good bet compared to the likes of Paul Walker. And, if his first event was any indication of his potential popularity with the public, he was sure to sell even more romance novels. He had already hit the bestseller list with all five he had already published. With all the notoriety, and showing his face to his readers, I wondered how long it would be before he came out of the author closet to our friends.

  After an eye-opening morning session the following day, the hall doors we
re closed and we were escorted to another ballroom for a lunch break. Along with fellow signing authors they were joined by a few VIP readers who paid to eat with their favorite authors. Waiting to be seated, I watched—stared in shock as my gorgeous Willow entered with, I believe, her friend Thumbelina with a different hair color (emerald green) and longer length. How did she accomplish that? Wigs? Bewildered, I shook my head and focused on the woman that was now making eye contact with me. She smiled; my cue to approach.

  “What are you doing here?” she inquired with a confused look on her beautiful face. My chest tightened, hearing her voice again.

  “Supporting a friend,” I could barely get the words out, I was so tongue tied.

  “Oh…” Her eyes narrowed. Was she jealous?

  “He’s an author at this event.” I emphasized that my friend was male.

  “Really? Who?” Thumbelina cut in.

  “Rex Holden. Know him?” I was thrilled to say his name. Proud of him.

  A smile lit her stunning face. Damn! Those red lips! “Seriously? She loves him. Forced me to read him.” Her friend nudged her and giggled.

  “Thumbelina, right?”

  “Tomasina, actually.” She extended her bejeweled hand with green-tipped nails that matched her hair. “Nice to see you again… I mean meet you. You do look familiar. Anyway, I’m off to stalk authors. I’ll leave you two alone.” She winked and was gone.

  “I don’t know why everyone wants to call her that. She is far from thumb-size…” She watched her friend disappear in the distance, then turned to me. “Wow! Your friend is Rex Holden. She will flip her lid when she finds him. Hope he’s prepared.”

  “A favorite of hers? Oh, he will be ready for anything. The ladies have been all over him since we arrived yesterday.”

  “Actually. Yes. But…” I watched her bite her lower lip before she continued, possibly choosing her next words. “She was afraid that he was a female writer using a man’s name. Oh, please tell me he is real? And male?”