With Troy there were no pretenses. I could be myself around him: silly and laugh-out-loud goofy, dancing around his apartment in a big T-shirt, imitating the latest dance craze—or be a hardball businesswoman who kicked butt and took names later. My future with Troy seemed assured and effortless.
Chapter 10
Operator . . . Can You Check This Line?
I can’t believe how fast time flies, especially when you’re supposed to walk down the aisle in less than six months. Christmas Eve is the day I’m to profess my love for Michael Rivera in front of two hundred guests. It’s already July and I still haven’t found that damn “killer dress”! I’m panicking because I used to complain that I didn’t have enough time to look. That excuse doesn’t work anymore. I have plenty of free time now with the kids being gone for the summer.
I pressed number one on the keypad, speed-dialing Granny.
“Hey, Granny.”
“Hey, you must have been reading my mind. I was just about to call you. Sounds quiet over there,” she said.
“Yes, Lord. The kids are still away visiting Juanita’s mother in Florida for the summer. Her moving there was good timing. Michael and I lucked up by default.”
We laughed.
“I went by the church today and Pastor Harris is pleased to have the ceremony there, especially with the new renovations.” I could hear the delight in Granny’s voice.
“That’s great news,” I said, growing more excited about my big day. Bethesda was a nondenominational church where I used to be a member. Now, I visit every chance I get when I go home for the holidays.
“Honey, wait until you see it. You know they moved the church to Main Street, the heart of the city.” Granny was raving like she was preaching the gospel.
“Good, that makes for easy directions for my guests,” I said.
“Yes, and you should see the skylight. Charlie, it’s right in the front. I can see it now, as the guests are coming in, they’ll look up and swear the snow is about to fall on them. That’s how beautiful it is,” Granny said, laughing to herself.
“Sounds beautiful.” Just then the call waiting alerted me. “Granny hold on, that’s my other line,” I said before clicking over. “Hello?” I said, waiting to hear another voice. “Hello?” I asked again, hearing heavy breathing on the other end. “Hello!” I said, growing impatient. The caller hung up. Must’ve been a wrong number. I clicked back over to Granny.
“Granny, you still there?” I asked.
“Yes baby?”
“Granny, I still haven’t found a dress.”
“Charlie, please tell me you’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not, and trust me. I’ve been looking all over.”
“I wish you would just listen to me and stop being so hardheaded. All you have to do is fly in for the weekend and we can go downtown to Brides R Us. I bet you’ll find the perfect dress there. I see really nice ones in their commercials all the time.” Granny didn’t realize that her grandbaby was just a little bit too stuck-up for Brides R Us. The call waiting interrupted for the second time.
“Hold on Granny, it’s my other line again,” I said, checking the caller ID this time. It was a Manhattan area code. I remembered it was the same number that was on the caller ID screen when we returned from the Poconos. “Hello?” I said. There was no answer, and again I could hear someone breathing. “I know someone is there, I can hear you, jack-ass!” I was getting more agitated by the minute. “Hello?” Was this Juanita up to her old tricks again? Whoever it was knew they were working my nerves. On second thought, silence wasn’t Juanita’s style. “I don’t know who this is, but call me when you have enough courage to open your mouth.” I was using my hard-core Brooklyn voice. Clicking back over I was surprised to hear Granny wasn’t on the line.
“Hey baby girl.” It was my mother.
“Hi Mom. I was going to call you next,” I lied.
I love my mother but sometimes she just gets under my skin. I have this thing about how she is and the type of men she goes after. Ever since she and my father got divorced some thirty years ago, it seems like my mother became terribly insecure.
The men she chooses to date are nowhere near the quality of man my father was. Don’t get me wrong, my dad is no saint, but at least he’s an educated, hardworking man who actually loved her. Now it seems like her only qualifications are: Don’t have a job; think you’re fine; and think you’re pimp-player of the year. FYI, I’m only interested if you can’t do a damn thing for me. That would be Mom’s ad in the personals. I just hate this about her. I braced myself.
Beep! This time, I gladly welcomed call waiting.
“Mom, hold on, I have to get the other line.” I clicked over. “Hello!” This time I snapped, ready for another match with the silent stalker.
“Hey sweetie, why are you screaming?” It was Michael.
“Oh, sorry baby. Somebody has been calling and not saying anything. What’s up? I’m on the phone with the family.”
“I was calling to let you know that I’m working another double shift. So if you haven’t started already, don’t cook. I’ll grab something from the deli.”
“Too late, I just finished. So, I guess I shouldn’t wait up?”
“No, I’ll be in late. I’ll try to call you on my dinner break. All right, let me get back. Love you,” Michael said, blowing me a kiss over the phone.
“Love you too,” I said, clicking back over. “Ma?”
“Yeah, baby girl, I’m still here,” my mother said.
“So what’s up?” I asked.
“Well Jake and I went to the movies and he was looking too fine . . .”
Chapter 11
Hanging by a Thread
The sound of my clattering heels running up Troy’s front steps could be heard a mile away. By the time I reached the door, I was breathless but happy and excited. Troy thought we were going out to dinner, but I had a better plan. Chinese takeout and a romantic evening at home.
His house had been the last fixer-upper to be sold in the quaint tree-lined Brooklyn Heights neighborhood. I called it his work-in-progress. Troy was still slowly pulling it all together, but I didn’t care how it looked, as long as I was with him. And lately, that’s all I’d been wanting.
Troy was expecting me and left the door unlocked. I collected myself and walked through the unfurnished house, carefully stepping over the workmen’s gear scattered about. I could still hear the shower running. I quickly moved around in the kitchen grabbing plates and silverware, then rushed up the narrow staircase that connected the kitchen to the rooftop patio.
From Troy’s Brooklyn Heights view, Manhattan’s twinkling Lower East Side glistened off the not-so-distant East River. Troy stepped onto the patio with a big grin on his face.
“All this for me?”
“Yep.”
“Any special reason?”
“Just because . . . ”
Troy grabbed my hand and led me away from the table. I was facing the full moon as he slipped behind me, taking my forearms and stretching them out to the sides. The warm summer evening breeze ran over me.
Troy’s large fingers fumbled with each delicate crystal button on my silk blouse. He turned me around and kissed my lips with his full mouth and lingered on the dimple in my chin, eventually making his way down to my breasts. He smiled. My Chantilly lace bra revealed just enough for a good imagination. “Firm, yet supple, like small ripe grape-fruits, ready for the picking,” Troy teased sexily, making me giggle.
He unhooked my bra and it floated to the ground. Then he unbuttoned my slacks, kissing the natural curve of my belly as they slid over my hips. He pulled me close. While touching my thighs and buttocks, Troy lifted his sweatshirt over his head, exposing his soft torso. My eyes met his tanned skin that still glowed from St.-Martin. He was all mine. Life couldn’t get any better.
“You make me so happy, Troy,” I whispered softly.
“Baby, so do you.”
“No.”
I looked at him seriously. “I mean happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
“You’re a good woman, Lindsay. I’m lucky to have you in my life.”
I was overwhelmed with emotion. Could I have finally found my dream guy?
“I could stay with you like this forever,” I hinted. Suddenly, my pager went off and I knew it could only be one person, Robert.
“Let me guess,” Troy said with disgust.
“No, it couldn’t be, it’s too late,” I said, looking at my watch.
“What’s new? Why would tonight be any different than any other damn night.” My pager buzzed again. “Just answer the damn thing!” Troy demanded as he stood up and walked into the house.
After I finished my call, I made sure I turned both the two-way and cell phone off. I couldn’t afford any more interruptions.
Troy was seething as he downed his glass of Merlot. He felt, as always, that Robert intentionally interrupted us just to test his manhood. He tried his best to cover up his insecurity. But for months now, he’s been referring to us as a threesome: me, Robert, and him.
At times like this, I feel conflicted. I want Troy to understand. Women don’t normally have someone with stroke in the business looking out for their best interest.
“So, did you handle your business?” Troy said sarcastically. His voice echoed in the large empty room.
“Robert just needed some quick info.”
“He needed? I’m sick of what he needs. You’re mine after work hours, on weekends and holidays! He’s pushing my buttons and disrespecting me by intruding on my territory!”
I poured on the charm, and another glass of wine to calm him. “I promise to talk to Robert first thing in the morning. I’m gonna tell him he better stop, before I have my man beat him up!” I teased, kissing Troy’s neck, his weak spot, making him give in.
Troy gripped my thighs. His fingers snatching hold of my panties, pulling them down. I clawed his back as he carried me up the small winding staircase. Troy laid me across the futon. I felt for Troy. The silky wetness between my legs excited him. He grew harder and larger. With each thrust, I became more and more overcome with emotion. I loved this man and wanted the world to know. I couldn’t stop shaking as I started to come down. Troy quietly grunted with satisfaction. He wrapped his arms around me, as if he would never let go. My whole life I’d dreamed of being held like this.
“Troy?” I said, burying my face in his chest.
“Yeah, L?”
“I just wanted to tell you how much I . . .” I paused. My heart was moving faster than my brain and I couldn’t believe I was about to tell Troy those three magic words. A sudden fear of rejection made me rethink. “I love being with you.”
“Me too,” Troy mumbled, half asleep.
The next morning while Troy finished dressing, I paced the kitchen floor, rehearsing my memorized lines. I wasn’t going to let another day go by without telling him.
Troy was concentrating on shots and angles for his first national commercial in L.A. He stuffed his camera lens and other last-minute items into a leather duffle. If I didn’t say it now I might not have the courage again. A horn blew. The car service was outside waiting. I poured a cup of coffee.
“Troy?”
“Yeah, L?” He was patting his jacket pockets. “You seen my cell?”
Pointing to it on the counter, I grabbed his arm with my free hand.
“I’m really going to miss you, Troy. I’m so proud of you getting the Nike campaign.”
“Thank you, baby.”
The car horn sounded again. “Baby, I gotta go.” I clenched his arm. “Troy, I just wanted you to know,” I swallowed hard, “I love you.” Troy froze. He leaned down slowly and kissed me on the forehead like a puppy, and whispered, “Don’t forget to lock up, Lindsay. I’ll call you.” Troy walked out, leaving me standing in the kitchen, clad only in my underwear, holding a piping hot cup of coffee.
I struggled desperately to hide an oncoming anxiety attack. Frantic and unsure thoughts bounced around in my head, while butterflies danced a light salsa in my stomach. I checked my phone, no messages, and nervously ran my fingers through my limp hair.
My behavior all boiled down to Troy. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since the morning I told him I loved him almost two weeks ago. I chalked the first few days up to the possibility that I’d simply scared him. How could he just kiss me and walk out the door like nothing happened, like I’d just said, “Looks like rain today, better carry an umbrella.” Not even a “Thank you very much, but no thanks” or a “Gee, what a nice surprise.”
I hadn’t been able to get him or that day off my mind. I’ve even tried to bury myself in the Alix Alexander project. Robert keeps catching simple mistakes in the script that I should’ve noticed, but I’m distracted thinking about Troy. I haven’t had much sleep, and I’ve got to pull it together.
Today’s staff meeting had been a disaster. I excused myself and ran out of the conference room midsentence in front of my entire department. How could that be? Lindsay Bradley was always in control, a perfectionist. Thank God I was hidden behind the walls of my cubicle and no one could see me cry.
I peered out from my Times Square perch. New York was a living, breathing museum. Neon flashed even in broad daylight. Everything moving in various directions, the bird’s-eye view seemed to be a splattered patchwork of Basquiat. But the sight was somehow soothing for my troubled mind. Today, I wanted to be an unknown piece of the human jigsaw puzzle below too.
I’d left messages for Troy at work, home, and on his cell. I even had a crystal bowl of floating white roses from the Daily Blossom waiting at his office the day he was scheduled to return from his shoot. Whatever was going on with Troy, I couldn’t call again. Damn it! I could hear Robert’s footsteps heavy and sure coming toward me. I tried to arrange myself in a more confident posture. The look in my eyes was far from the commanding certainty I normally felt.
I’d left Robert to clean up the mess from the meeting, and he was furious. He whipped around my cubicle wall.
“What the hell was that show all about, Lindsay?”
“I’m sorry Robert,” I stuttered.
“Sorry? Listen, if you weren’t ready for this kind of responsibility you should’ve told me a long time ago.” He didn’t care that the entire staff could hear him yelling.
I stiffened, hoping I wouldn’t be completely humiliated. “I want to,” I said, clearing my throat. “I mean I am ready.”
“Well, act like it!”
Robert’s words were trapped in my ears like standing water. I couldn’t hold up any longer. My mouth felt like sticky gauze on an open wound. Robert turned his back to me, facing outside, and continued his rant.
“You’ve been off your game for over a week now. If I have to step in and do your job, then you don’t need that nice big check I’m paying you each week,” Robert growled.
What I really needed was some water, but I was afraid to get up for fear both legs would give way.
“Is it something in your personal life? Do you need time off?” he drilled, though I felt a hint of sarcasm in his tone.
“Robert, I’ll get it together,” I said, trying my best to get my words out.
“Then you better dig in and do just that. It’s about focus!”
After that I swear I didn’t hear a word he was saying. I think he was preaching one of his favorites. Sermon #202 about the goals of the company and the responsibilities of its executives. My brain felt like it would implode at any minute. I really needed some air.
Robert stopped ranting, looked down, and suddenly noticed my state. “Lindsay are you all right?” His slightly weathered face zoomed toward mine. “Can you hear me?” Robert said, shaking me. “Somebody bring her some water,” he barked.
I snapped out of it. The last thing I wanted was for the paramedics to come. “I’m okay,” I said, squinting.
Robert placed the glass of water gently in my hands. I couldn’t gulp fast
enough. I cleared the lump lodged in my throat.
“I swear I’m fine. I think I’m just coming down with the flu, and need to go home.”
Robert softly patted my shoulders and helped me up.
“I don’t want you driving. Take a car service and call me if you need anything.”
I made my way into the ladies’ room and ran my fingers through my hair again, shaking the morning out. I rinsed water over my face, pursed my lips, and frowned. Two vertical lines cut between my thinly arched eyebrows. I tied my hair in a high bun, and collected myself for the last time.
Chapter 12
The Village
I was twenty minutes late meeting Kyle on Sixth Avenue in front of Pizzeria Uno—what’s come to be our regular meeting spot since Kyle started helping with my wedding errands. He thinks I don’t know why he chose this location. A few blocks south are the basketball courts, and in the summertime on most days you’ll find Gotham’s best selection of men there. Kyle is always on time and since his subway exit is right across from the courts, he can sneak all the eye candy he desires. I’m sure that’s why he always gets here extra early.
I was speed-walking up the block. Kyle gave me an exaggerated glare.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, Kyle,” I said apologetically.
“Save it, I’m PMSing, Miss Honey, and we’ve got way too much to do, so let’s move it,” Kyle said, switching off up Eighth Street, dragging me along.
“Remind me again, Bridezilla, exactly what are we looking for today?” Kyle asked, checking out the male flavor walking about.
“Gifts for my bridesmaids. I want them to be one of a kind, something you can only find in New York.”
“Sounds like a job for the flea market on Fourth Street,” Kyle declared.
The flea market was an open lot full of vendors that sold just about everything from T-shirts, CDs, and antiques to jewelry and bongs. You name it, they’ve got it. The best part about the market is that most of the vendors make their own merchandise. And—one of the beauties of New York—the price is always negotiable!
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