by Eva Sloan
“So let me tell you about our new opera house,” Susan purred, nodding to Jill to start the slides on the screen behind her.
~*~
The opera house committee was enraptured by Susan’s pitch, and by the time the first visuals of the actual opera house lit up the screen behind Susan, the members were oohing and ahhing, and each one had the same mesmerized expression on their face--eyes bright, mouths alternating between smiling and slack-jawed wonder. As Susan explained the finer points of the opera house, the state-of-the-art stage, and the tourist magnet that the mall would become, she could see the green light blinking on each and every face of the board.
Except one: Maestro Antonio Rossi. The hoary, cadaverously thin Maestro sat quietly with his arms folded over his chest, listening to Susan’s every word. And as each visual of Susan’s opera house blazed across the screen, Maestro Rossi’s impassive expression changed, slowly falling into a scowl, those severe gray eyebrows dipping down into a disdainful V.
Susan ignored the sullen orchestra leader and pushed on as the 3-D virtual walk-through began. Glowing green lines made up the matrix that constructed the building. As they moved through the building, they passed under the arches of the main entrance, through the massive lobby, and the twin bars for intermission, and in through the main entrance to the music hall. There, the giant screen behind Susan made all the difference, expanding the scope of the presentation, allowing the board members to feel how massive and grand the hall would be.
The tour went on to show many of the cutting-edge stage changing devices, and some of the backstage devices, even moving back to show the enormous loading bay, just so there would never be a problem with bringing scenery in, no matter what its size.
The tour moved swiftly through the large office spaces and practice halls that littered the upper floors, even the possible apartments and condos further up.
The virtual tour shot up through the top of the tower, spun around, and arched downward until the point of view was at eye level, standing in front of the whole complex.
The council broke out in a round of applause, making Susan smile broadly and even blush. But further up the table, right beside the council chairman, Maestro Rossi shot her a scornful glare.
Susan gulped but returned her attention to those who were now standing and moving toward her to ask her questions about her “amazing opera house.”
After almost ten minutes of this, the council finally took their seats. The chairman was talking quietly, yet animatedly, to the Maestro. Susan waited patiently for the two men to give her their attention again.
“Ah, Miss. Rhodes,” the chairman said, finally looking up. “Your presentation was very impressive. We’ll give it the utmost...consideration.” At the last word he glanced at the brooding Maestro.
Susan smiled at the chairman, at each of the council members, and even to the taciturn Maestro. “Thank you all for your time.”
She turned to help Jill gather their supplies, but Jill already had everything stowed away in her carryall satchel. Jill really was too good. Susan looked at her watch. Only a quarter to eleven, so they had time to shop for Jill’s new shoes before lunch at Bloomy’s.
They exited the conference room and strode out to the waiting room. There were already other architectural firms in waiting. Brad Nichols and Ed White from Roman and Hendrickson, a congregation of drones from Architect House, and--
“There’s Francesca Costa,” Jill groaned, glancing in the woman’s direction.
Susan didn’t look, she knew all too well what Francesca Costa looked like--Michelle Pfeiffer with bigger boobs. She was always impeccably dressed, though those Armani, Prada, and Dolce & Gabbana suits always had to be specially tailored to showcase the woman’s magnificent rack. And even though the first major building she’d designed was back in the eighties, she didn’t look a day over thirty, not a line on her exquisite, angular face, and her hair always a soft, natural-looking blond.
Susan would know. Francesca Costa had been her idol in college, her aspiration. She admired Francesca’s style, her accomplishments, that she owned her own architectural firm and yet made time to design many of the more monumental buildings herself.
That was until Francesca hadn’t hired Susan.
Susan had prepared like mad, pouring over her résumé and portfolio, having her hair and nails done, and maxing out her Visa to buy the perfect black power suit. Francesca had glanced at her résumé, and had flipped through the designs in her portfolio like a bored teenager flipping through Time Magazine. She’d snapped the case shut and impatiently handed it back to Susan.
“No imagination,” Francesca had said, smiling beautifully, yet looking disappointed.
Her assistant had ushered Susan from her office before she could say anything. Not that Susan could’ve said anything. She was in shock. Costa Architectural Consortium was her first and only choice. She hadn’t planned on working at any other firm. For the next week, Susan stayed in bed, ordered in pizza, and didn’t bother with any sort of grooming, not even a shower.
When Liz arrived--having excluded New York and Los Angeles as potential cities to start her art career in, and insisting that Chicago was an up and coming Mecca--she’d found Susan holed up in her apartment, hair a horror, pizza boxes strewn everywhere, and smelling like the ninth circle of hell.
She herded Susan into the shower and dragged her out for Chinese food and a night on the town. Some sesame chicken and three lemon drop martinis later, she had a smile on Susan’s face, and half the bar hitting on them both.
The next day, after her hangover had faded, Susan started sending out her résumé all over town--even out of town--and had wound up with a great offer from Woods, Farrow, Blank and Stein.
So Susan felt no need, compulsion or want, to ever lay eyes on Francesca Costa again. All it meant was she had a little competition now. And if it had been Francesca herself pitching a design for the opera house, Susan would’ve given it a second thought. But Susan knew that Francesca hadn’t designed anything in almost five years.
“So what’s this one look like?” she asked Jill, pulling out her cellphone, just in case there was another message from Kevin. Susan was referring to the men Francesca was now infamous for surrounding herself with. Always tall, devastatingly handsome, and always, always more than twenty years younger than Francesca herself.
Francesca Costa was a cougar. And like her wardrobe, she got herself a new young man for every season. She’d latch onto these twenty-somethings and paw them with unabashed crudeness. The youngsters were always good architects, and working with Francesca would make them very good. Chicago was littered with her cast-offs, and the architectural community looked upon her firm as a sort of training ground--waiting to scoop up the next Costa refugee.
“Mmm,” Jill moaned.
Susan looked at her and saw Jill purse her lips, tilting her head so she could better ogle the guy over her reading glasses.
“If I weren’t happily married…”
“Really?” Susan chuckled. “That good?”
Jill licked her lips. “Mmm.”
Susan had never seen her like this. The guy must be hot.
“Not as young as usual, but...” Jill took a deep breath and seemed totally mesmerized as she let it out in a hiss.
“This has to be good,” Susan said, turning to take a look. She dropped her Gucci leather portfolio, gasped, and lost all ability to speak as she clung to Jill’s arm.
Francesca Costa was hanging all over her new boy-toy.
The new boy-toy was Kevin.
Her Kevin!
Kevin and Francesca were talking with Lou Dante, the owner of Waterhouse Architectural Design. Kevin was smiling, looking tall and broad and devastatingly handsome. And even six months later, Susan could mentally take away the gorgeous dark blue pinstriped suit and picture him naked. Every detail. Every freckle and scar…and his beautiful penis.
But that vision of naked Kevin blew away like tumbleweed as Francesca pressed
in closer, her entire body now cleaved against Kevin’s side, her breasts squished against his arm, and she leaned up and whispered something in his ear, her white teeth dazzling against her blood red lipstick.
And those lips! Totally synthetic! Lips weren’t like that naturally. She’d had them, like everything else on her body, surgically enhanced.
Kevin smiled and looked at her, and the look on his face was downright rapturous.
Susan felt something in her drop with a thud, leaving her confused and dizzy. She gave Jill a pleading look. “This just can’t be happening.”
Jill looked even more alarmed than she had in the boardroom. “What can’t be happening?”
Susan searched for the words, and tried like hell to take a breath. “That’s Kevin!”
Jill shook her head, not understanding, and then the realization dawned across her face. “Kevin from the text message?”
Susan nodded.
Jill made the last connection. “Kevin, your-best-friend-from-college Kevin?”
Susan nodded again. “That’s him.”
“Oh my God!” Jill reached out and grasped Susan by the shoulders, and looked over at him again. “He’s hot as hell.” She gave Susan a strange look. “You made him sound like just another architect geek.”
Susan rolled her eyes. “He used to be.”
“Used to be,” Jill said. “And now he’s gorgeous, and Francesca Costa is rubbing herself all over him, marking her territory.” She shot Susan with a scathing glance. “So why haven’t you gone after him?”
“What?” Susan was ready to scream. He was her best friend. What had happened in Cancun was wrong. And no matter how many times she tried to rationalize it, no matter how many times her dreams had been filled with the instant replays of them making love--argh, that word!--she couldn’t escape the fact that they were still just friends.
Yet he hadn’t so much as texted her in six months. What kind of friend was that?
But then, what kind of friend would force her best friend to do her, just so she could get over her ex?
That’s when Kevin turned around, Francesca Costa still surgically attached to his arm by her boobs. He looked genuinely surprised when he saw Susan. A wide, happy grin spread across his face as he rushed forward to Susan. She thought he was about to hug her, like he always did when they hadn’t seen each other in a while. But just as he was going to scoop her up in his arms, he stopped. He faltered, halting, his smile dimming dramatically--and he didn’t look like Kevin anymore.
He looked...
He looked like she did when she was missing him.
He started talking in a formal, business-y way. “Susan, this is Francesca Costa. Francesca, this is Susan Rhodes.”
“We’ve met,” both women said in unison. Susan glared at her, wanting to chop her hands off from where they were clutching Kevin’s arm, with a machete. Francesca had the look on her face she always had when she saw Susan. No matter how many parties they met at, even parties for buildings Susan designed herself, she always gave Susan this look: still no imagination.
Kevin smiled and gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, right. Francesca was your hero in college.”
Susan glared murderously at Kevin. Francesca looked taken aback.
“You’re kidding?” Francesca’s smile wavered, but came back with an arrogance more befitting her. “So you’re the president of my fan club. Good to finally meet you after all these years.”
Susan saw red, and her fist clenched, her arm jerking back, ready to lay the bitch out.
But Jill caught hold of her and changed the subject with astonishing speed. “So what are you doing in this neck of the woods?”
Francesca gave Jill an interested look, and Susan mentally started planning Francesca Costa’s death. Painful. Slow. Bloody.
“I’m here for the opera house. Kevin is my lead, go-to man.” Francesca’s smile was both gloating and filled with pride.
Sure, she was still hot. But with enough cosmetic surgery anyone can be. So she should stop looking so goddamn proud of herself for catching some handsome stud. He’s more than just a great body and pretty face, he’s Kevin...
“Susan just made her presentation,” Jill said, keeping the civilized conversation going, yet not letting go of Susan’s still straining arm. “The council members loved it.”
Jill was getting a big raise, even if Susan had to pay it out of her own pocket. Not only had she saved her in that boardroom, but now she was keeping her from making a spectacle of herself, and possibly getting arrested for assault, and was loyally letting Francesca Costa have it.
She’s a doll!
“Suze always swings for the stands,” Kevin said, his expression melting momentarily from cordial to downright affectionate. The effect left Susan breathless.
“They haven’t seen Kevin’s designs yet,” Francesca said, puffing up her chest and pushing her boobs all the harder against Kevin’s arm. “They’ll be eating out of his hand.”
“I don’t know,” Jill said, her smile beatific and a little malicious. “They spent ten minutes just slapping Susan on the back. Looked like a sure thing to me.”
Francesca leaned back from Kevin to give Jill her undivided attention, her eyes flashing with delight. “So Maestro Rossi was enamored with Susan’s proposal?”
That would be a no.
“You bet. I had to make him let go of her by force. Didn’t seem to want to let her go.”
Francesca’s left eyebrow lifted with practiced scrutiny. “Sure he didn’t.”
The next couple of beats were deathly silent, and then the council’s secretary came through the big oak doors and beckoned to Kevin and Francesca to come in.
“Well, that’s us, so you ladies have a lovely day,” Francesca purred as she walked gracefully past them and toward the boardroom.
Susan and Jill shared a look, both thinking the same thing: bitch!
Kevin grabbed Susan by the arm, looking like he was about to blurt out something. But he didn’t. He slowly let go and straightened up to stand at his full height. “So, we still on for dinner tonight?”
Susan gulped. In all her shock and dismay, she had forgotten about dinner. “Of course. What? Eight o’clock.”
“Eight it is,” he said, his eyes focusing on her a few beats too long. “I’ll pick you up.”
Susan almost stuttered, took a deep breath and said, “Okay.”
Kevin turned, a big smile spreading across his face as he strode toward Francesca and the boardroom.
Susan stood in stunned silence as the boardroom door swung closed, and Kevin disappeared from view.
“So what the hell was that all about?” Jill said, standing defensively on Susan’s flank.
“Beats the hell out of me.”
Chapter 12
A FEW MINUTES LATER, Jill had Susan in a cab and they were headed back to the office. Susan had been sitting quietly, desperately clutching at the now scuffed and fingernail marked Gucci portfolio case, lost in her own, rather vacant thoughts.
“You’ll be fine once I get you back to the office,” Jill said, a worried expression on her pretty face.
She couldn’t go back to the office. Susan pulled the battered portfolio case to her chest, like a little girl clutching her pillow. She needed any excuse not to go back to the office. She was certain she wouldn’t be able to make civilized conversation with anyone there, not to mention explain how thing went with her proposal.
At least the proposal had gone well. Hell, it had gone great. The only holdout being the brooding, goat-like Maestro. Suddenly Francesca Costa’s words hit her. So Maestro Rossi was enamored with Susan’s proposal?
What did that mean? Who cared if the conductor liked her proposal? He certainly couldn’t have final say. That would be ludicrous.
But the way Francesca had said it...
Suddenly Susan remembered her lunch plans with Jill. “Aren’t we headed for Bloomy’s?”
Jill smiled wanly. “I didn’t think y
ou’d be up for that. I mean, with all the surprises this morning...”
“Hey, I promised you shoes and an extravagant lunch. I’m not one of those forgets-their-promises bosses.”
Jill’s smile brightened and she elbowed the Plexiglass partition with a hard rap. “Thirty East Oak Street. The Prada store.”
She even knew the address for the damn store. Susan couldn’t believe it. Jill did know everything.
~*~
Susan floated numbly through the Prada store. Even all those stunning leather shoes surrounding her couldn’t keep her attention. All her mental energies were trying to piece together her drastically changed reality.
Jill passed right by the sling-backs that Susan had on, and fell in love with an exquisite pair of mules that not only made her legs look elegantly long and sexy, but were two hundred dollars less.
At Bloomy’s Jill tried to get away with ordering just a salad, but Susan caught her mid-order and changed it. “We’ll be having the filet mignon with shrimp and those marvelous garlic whipped potatoes. Portabella mushrooms stuffed with lobster, and the French onion soup to start out with.”
Jill’s jaw dropped as she looked down at the menu, obviously mentally tallying up the bill.
“And we’re going to want the chocolate soufflé for dessert.”
“Very good, madam.” The waiter scribbled down the order.
Susan waited until he was done before adding, “And two Cosmos. Straight up.”
The waiter disappeared and Jill gave Susan a strange, tense look.
“I don’t know about you,” Susan said. “But I need a drink after all that.”
~*~
An hour and twenty-five minutes later, both women had a nice buzz going as they poured themselves into a taxi. Jill was holding her belly, happily stuffed to the gills. Susan had eaten a few bites of her meal, but mostly she was still lost, thinking about Kevin, and wondering why on earth he was working for a barracuda like Francesca Costa.
She wasn’t a barracuda. She was a cougar. And Kevin was young, fresh meat.