Russ clicked his fingers and stared at Bea as though she had just shared the meaning of life with him. ‘That’s perfect! We’ll call her Marilyn.’
‘We will?’
‘Sure! Men will want to worship at her feet, women will want to hang out with her and bask in her beauty.’
‘O-K … Well, when you’re done worshipping her, perhaps you can help me clear the corner where her shrine will be? The carpenter will be here in an hour.’
Reluctantly, Russ left the gleaming object of his affections to begin packing boxes of books as Bea dismantled a shelving unit that was making way for the new coffee bar. He shook his head as they worked, casting wry glances at Bea. And, while it pained her to admit it, Bea loved him for it. This was the way things had always been between them since the day they first met in a mutual friend’s dorm at Columbia. They had gone under the auspices of studying for a group project, but somebody had found a bottle of vodka and the gathering had quickly descended into hook-ups and hilarity. Attempting to avoid the advances of a particularly persistent English Lit major, Bea had headed for Russ, who looked like the only other person in the room who was as uncomfortable as she felt. Acting quickly upon seeing her predicament, Russ pulled her to him for a hugely theatrical stage kiss, sending her disappointed would-be suitor sulking away. When Bea recovered from the shock of his sudden embrace they struck up a conversation, and Bea discovered a kindred spirit with a wicked sense of humour whom she quickly felt an affinity with.
They had once tried to recreate the fake kiss for real, not long after their graduation when, both despondent after recent break-ups, they ended up drowning their sorrows in beer and cheap takeaway pizza at Bea’s apartment. It was a spontaneous moment that very nearly progressed further than either of them was prepared for, but before clothes were removed, Russ had pulled away. Bea had understood completely – the sudden awkwardness of their kiss sobering her – and they had never spoken of it since. Russ relied on Bea to be his closest friend and Bea felt the same. Their relationship represented the nearest thing to a successful partnership that either of them had experienced and therefore was not something they were willing to risk.
‘Look at this,’ Bea said, keen to take her mind off the sudden recollection of their historic drunken clinch. She held up a slightly faded hardback, its cover protected with the kind of plastic sleeve usually seen in libraries.
Her colleague’s expression instantly softened. ‘Oh, hello old friend! I didn’t realise Sid was still with us.’
Bea gave the cover an affectionate pat. ‘I think HRB would collapse if Sid ever left.’
Motorcycling For Life by Sid ‘Wolfman’ Wolkevic was the very first book Bea had unpacked as she and Russ had prepared to open their store, just over three years ago. At the time it had been the cause of their first argument in Hudson River Books, as neither of them would admit to ordering the book from the distributor. Since then, the book had periodically appeared on different shelves around the bookstore and, consequently, had become something of a phenomenon.
‘We should put him somewhere prominent,’ Russ suggested. ‘Or make him a one-off sale item. See if we can re-home him at last.’
Bea stared at her friend. ‘Or maybe we could just hide him on a new shelf and see if he finds his way to another one?’
‘You don’t want to let Sid leave, do you?’ Russ grinned, knowing he was right.
Bea hugged the book. There was no use denying the fact. ‘He’s like one of the family now. I’m not sure how I’d feel if someone tried to buy him.’
‘So take him home.’
‘But he lives here.’ Bea knew she was being sentimental, but Motorcycling for Life had become as much a part of the fixtures of Hudson River Books as the exposed brick walls, worn American oak floorboards or brushed steel lamps that hung from the high ceiling. Knowing that there was one book in their stock that never changed was oddly comforting, as if demonstrating to Bea that the hope and ambition with which she and Russ had founded the bookstore was unchanged too.
‘It’s one of the countless things I love about you,’ Russ replied. ‘Fine, you find Sid a new hiding place and I won’t look. That way his legacy will be preserved.’
‘Thank you.’ She checked her watch. ‘How do you feel about us closing a little early this evening? Once the carpenter has built the bar the bookstore will probably be full of sawdust anyway.’
Russ put the pile of books he was sorting into a box and folded his arms. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’
‘I swear the tectonic plates beneath us shifted.’
‘Come on, it’s not that unusual for us to close early.’
‘Hello? This is so unusual the Discovery Channel is commissioning a show on it. May I ask why?’
Bea groaned. ‘Celia and Stewart have invited me to a party this evening, that’s all. Is that a problem?’
Russ shook his head, but was still looking at her as if she had just grown another nose. ‘No problem at all. I have a gig later anyway. I could use the time to work on my material. I was kinda hoping you’d come. You’ve been to every other one. You’re my one-woman receptive crowd, after all.’
Bea instantly felt like the worst friend in the world. Since Russ had embarked on his part-time onslaught on the local comedy club circuit, he had encountered more than one hostile crowd and, even though Bea was pretty sure she could recite his entire routine in her sleep, she had made a point of going to his stand-up gigs as often as she could. ‘I’m sorry, Russ, I didn’t know. Celia suggested it a few days ago and I think going somewhere different might be good for me.’
‘Go. It’ll do you good. Just – just don’t go looking for someone to replace Otis yet, OK?’
Bea couldn’t believe what Russ had said. Had he listened to nothing during their many conversations about her new single status that week? Did he honestly think she would dash into another relationship when the dust was still clearing after the collapse of her last?
‘I am going to get out of my apartment and try to live a little,’ she stated, aware of the defensiveness in her reply. ‘I have no intention of replacing anyone.’
‘Hell, Bea …’
Realising his mistake, Russ moved towards her but Bea, rattled by his obvious loyalty to Otis and inference that she couldn’t function without a boyfriend, turned and headed towards the back stairs which led to the office above the bookstore. She thought he might follow her but was relieved to see him return to the half-packed boxes as she left the shop floor.
She was still annoyed three hours later as she stood in her bedroom deciding what to wear for the party. Russ had apologised in all but words when she had finally rejoined him in the store, but it irked her that he could know her so well yet understand this aspect of her life so little. She held up a black skater dress with a red patent belt. Otis had never really liked it; although the few times she’d worn the dress her other friends had complimented her on it. That was enough of a reason to choose it, she decided. Stuff Otis. Tonight was about her embarking on the next phase of her life – where relationships didn’t cloud the issue and she could be true to herself. It would be good to be selfish for a change. Finding a pair of red patent heels, she nodded at her reflection in the bedroom mirror.
Tonight is all about Bea James, she told herself. Get ready for me, New York!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Private loft apartment, Upper West Side
They were all couples.
Why hadn’t he noticed this when he was sending out the eighty invitations for the party? Jake mentally kicked himself for being so naïve. Of course they would all be couples! People their age generally were. He and Jessica had fitted the demographic until recently and all their friends in San Francisco were either remarrying, having kids or just loved-up.
As Chez Henri’s polished waiting staff buzzed about the beautiful loft apartment, Jake watched each new couple arrive. The elegant champagne flutes they were furnished with at
the door seemed to underline their quiet satisfaction with their situation in life. And each one reminded Jake that he could no longer be counted among their ranks.
He shook his irritation away. It would be fine. He was the party organiser and, as such, could legitimately busy himself with anything that looked like it could be part of his job. The evening would pass quickly, he could give Rosie and Ed the celebration they both deserved and everyone would be happy. He remembered countless conversations with his clients over the years about facing their fears head-on: The longer you hide from what you fear, the more seemingly insurmountable it becomes … When you put yourself in challenging situations, you find you have what you need to cope within you … He knew he was doing the right thing by being here. Jess was gone and he shouldn’t give up his life simply because she wasn’t a part of it any more.
A polite burst of applause drew his attention back to the apartment’s entrance lobby and Jake smiled as Rosie and Ed entered. He was struck by the way his brother looked at Rosie, a regard magnified by the company around them. Jake momentarily forgot his own battles, filled with deep love for the beautiful couple walking towards him.
‘This is amazing, Jake.’ Rosie kissed his cheek and Jake drew her into a hug. ‘It’s so lovely of you to do this for us.’
‘It’s my pleasure. And you look incredible, Ms Duncan.’ Jake was struck by how a simple red silk strapless dress was transformed on his soon-to-be sister-in-law, the vivid material contrasting with Rosie’s pale English rose skin, dark wavy hair and deep chocolate eyes. She was radiant. No wonder Ed looked like the kid that got all the candy from Santa Claus.
Rosie giggled and gave a little twirl. ‘I’m glad you approve.’
‘Hey, I’m pretty impressive too,’ Ed said, running a hand down his pale blue shirt. ‘Rosie says it brings out the colour of my eyes, you know.’
Jake laughed. ‘You look great, bro. Now, make yourselves at home, eat, drink and be happily engaged. If you want to make a speech I’d suggest waiting till nine when most people have arrived.’
He watched the happy couple wander away and smiled to himself as they received the warm congratulations of their friends. Many people in the room tonight knew what both Ed and Rosie had travelled through in their lives before they found each other. Consequently, the atmosphere in the party was one of genuine support and celebration.
There are worse places I could be tonight, Jake thought. Watching two of his most favourite people in the world being loved by so many guests was far from a chore.
He accepted a champagne flute from a passing waiter and enjoyed the chilled bubbles as they slipped down his throat.
‘Jake.’
He turned to see Chef Henri standing beside him. ‘Hey, Henri. Everything looks good.’
Henri didn’t smile. ‘We’re one member of waiting staff short,’ he apologised, his annoyance plain to see. ‘It is late notice but, apparently, unavoidable. Of course we will rectify this in your bill …’
Jake clapped a hand on the chef’s shoulder. ‘I’m not worried. We have a beautiful event, your food is the best in the city and everyone here is smiling. If there’s a rush for the bar, I can pitch in.’
‘I can’t ask that of you …’
‘Sure you can. Call it a crazy demand from your client.’
The chef wasn’t convinced. ‘I am sure it won’t come to that. But thank you for your understanding.’
Jake chuckled to himself as he walked through the small clusters of guests. The prospect of working the bar at least gave him a legitimate job to do if the large number of couples became too much for him.
‘Jacob Steinmann!’ A deep voice boomed across the room, closely followed by a balding, rotund man in his early fifties. ‘Do you ever age?’
Jake shook hands with his former practice partner. ‘On the inside I’m one hundred and forty. How are you, Bob?’
Bob Dillinger laughed. ‘Good, good. What’s this I hear about you setting up a rival business in Manhattan?’
‘All true. I’m going to steal every one of your clients. Except I don’t play golf as well as you do, so I fear my world domination attempt is doomed to failure.’
‘You really should learn now you’re back in the land of the living,’ Bob said. ‘Got premises yet?’
Jake shook his head. ‘I’m seeing a couple of places on Monday morning.’
‘Take my advice: choose your location with care. The city’s a different animal since we worked together. You know if you need referrals you can count on me, I hope?’
‘That means a lot, Bob. How’s business for you?’
Bob’s chocolate brown eyes twinkled. ‘The financial crisis has been kind. Some people need reassurance; some just need a badge for their hang-ups. People have exchanged their job titles for professional psychosis lately. I swear thirty-five percent of my clients need recognition instead of therapy. Which means rich pickings for us guys as long as you don’t mind needy rich people.’
Jake hated to admit it, but he’d witnessed the same thing in his West Coast clients. Therapy was the new cosmetic surgery: cheaper than a facelift and easier to brag about at parties. ‘We do what we can.’
‘That we do, Jake. And hey, I’m truly sorry to hear about you and Jessica. So unexpected. Barbara and I were shocked when we heard.’
And there it is. Jake felt the thud of disappointment as his old foe reared its head once more. ‘It’s been tough. But we’ll get through it. I’m looking to the future and so is she.’ Please let that be enough, he added silently, knowing full well it wouldn’t be.
‘Still, being single in Manhattan is no easy run. I mean, look around you. Can you see anyone else single in this room?’
Every defence in Jake rose like sheets of steel. ‘I hear Chef Henri’s on the lookout for Wife Number Three.’
‘Bad news for you, then.’ Bob slapped his hand a little too enthusiastically on Jake’s back. ‘Don’t sweat it, man. You’ll bounce back. In the meantime, if you need setting up on any dates Barbara can put you in touch with lots of lovely ladies from her club. Just say the word and she’ll play Cupid.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
‘Good, good. Ah, I’m being summoned. You take care, Jake.’
Jake maintained his smile until Bob had disappeared into the crowd, letting out a sigh and downing the rest of his champagne in a single gulp, then reaching for a fresh glass when a waitress passed by. It was going to be a long night …
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Private loft apartment, Upper West Side
As soon as Bea entered the expensive loft apartment, her heart sank.
Couples. As far as the eye could see.
In the middle of the room, a tall, good-looking man with an endearing mess of dark hair and vivid blue eyes was tapping a fork against his champagne glass to summon the guests’ attention. Bea took a glass from the smiling waiter and huddled between her brother and Celia as the room fell silent.
‘Hey, everyone. Now you know I’m not one for long speeches so this will be short and sweet. But I just wanted to thank you all for coming this evening and, especially, to my bro over there for arranging this whole event.’
The guests clapped and over their heads Bea saw a hand rise in acknowledgement.
‘But the main reason we’re here – as you all know – is a long overdue celebration of the best day of my life so far.’ He turned to a beautiful dark-haired woman in a stunning red dress beside him. ‘Rosie, when you agreed to marry me I couldn’t believe my luck.’
A chorus of ‘ahh’s came from the guests, closely followed by spontaneous laughter.
The man raised an eyebrow. ‘Wow, you guys are more pathetic than I am.’
‘Get on with it!’ someone yelled.
‘OK, OK. I’m going to be serious for precisely one minute and then we can all enjoy the night.’ He smiled at his fiancée and a reverent silence claimed the room as every guest witnessed exactly how he felt about her. ‘Rosie Dun
can, I love you. And I can’t wait to make you Mrs Steinmann this Christmas. You are all I want in life and to know I’m yours is better than breathing.’ He reddened and laughed at his own words. ‘And so, before I embarrass myself and everyone else beyond rescue, I’ll just say please raise your glasses to wish us the best.’
‘To Rosie and Ed!’ the crowd replied as one, crystal champagne flutes lifting around the room.
Bea’s skin felt damp and cold as sickening reality hit. This isn’t just a regular party. It’s an engagement party. How had Celia failed to mention this small detail? And how did she think going to an engagement party in a room full of couples she didn’t know would help Bea forget everything that happened with Otis?
Looking into her glass she realised she had already emptied it. Right now, getting drunk seemed like the perfect option …
‘See? I told you that you’d love these people!’ Celia said, swapping Bea’s empty glass for a fresh one without question.
‘It’s an engagement party,’ Bea hissed back.
‘Of course it is, honey. Rosie is one of my dearest friends and she and Ed are just such an adorable couple, don’t you think?’
‘They seem very happy … But that’s the point, Celia: they’re a couple. Just like everyone else in the room?’
Celia waved her hand. ‘Nonsense. Several of these gorgeous waiters must be single. Look at them, Bea! I’d say your luck’s in this evening …’
Bea resisted the urge to scream. Celia had a heart of gold but she could make the Dalai Lama lose his cool. ‘I didn’t come to find a man,’ she said carefully. ‘I came to get away from Brooklyn for a few hours.’
‘Well, in that case, the couples shouldn’t bother you at all, honey! Drink champagne, eat some of this fabulous food and relax. You’ll thank me for bringing you here, I promise.’
As Celia wafted away in a cloud of Chanel No. 5, Bea looked around the party. The full-length windows at the opposite end of the apartment gave a wonderful view of the Upper West Side, the lights from surrounding buildings a stunning mosaic set against a blue-black cloudless New York sky. She moved towards it, the beauty of her adopted city stealing her attention. Whatever else happened in her life, New York was the constant. The city could change and forge a blazing path of progress, but the vibrant heart of the Big Apple beat as surely as it ever had. It was the city that had called to Bea many years before as she dreamed of it in her family home in Shropshire, and being part of New York had been the reason for all of her decisions since the age of seventeen. It had painted an East Coast note in her accent, bled into her emotions and laid claim to her heart.
I'll Take New York Page 6