“Go.” She pushed me.
“Why me?”
She answered with her eyes. How can I leave in the middle of the year’s biggest story to hunt down a man I supposedly despise?
I was dazed, starved, exhausted, and desperate for my alarm to ring so the nightmare would be over. But when I turned around, it was just beginning. My mother was flirting with a cameraman, while a now braless Sierra sat on a stage manager’s lap. Where were the cute little summer interns when you needed them most?
“Getting some fresh air.” I waved good-bye. And never coming back.
If anyone had a reason to run away, it was me. But just as Gretchen suspected, Kevin had beat me to it, holing up at their hideaway hotel. According to Antonio, the coconspirator, housekeeping had found him passed out in his room after dining on scotch and Sleep-Eze. Which explained how he missed the eleven calls to his cell.
Apparently he was showering and had assured Simon he would be at the studio in an hour. Now all Simon had to do was pray that Kevin was not only sober enough to read the teleprompter, but that Antonio didn’t keep the tabloid reporters on speed dial. A “Just Asking” blurb in tomorrow’s Page Six would be disastrous:
What bickering news duo is actually engaged in a torrid affair at a midtown hotel, weekdays at three? They’ll need the luck of the Irish when the little wife finds out.
When I reported in to Gretchen, I couldn’t help but ask if she trusted Antonio not to alert the gossip mongers. “Damn right we trust him. The little douche bag is taking his family to Italy on what we pay him.”
Then, generous soul that she was, she gave me the rest of the night off, except it was now almost eleven, and I had to be back at work by five A.M. But shlep back to Brooklyn? I couldn’t bear the thought. Not when that’s where my mother and Sierra were headed. “Don’t worry, darling. Sierra Paige Mather doesn’t mind sleeping on the couch.”
She doesn’t mind? I mind! I might as well spend the night in Kevin and Gretchen’s already paid-for room, and hope he hadn’t finished the scotch. But just as I headed back into the hotel, it hit me that I did have a place to hide. An excellent place.
“Shhh.” I pet a barking Rookie as I let myself in. “Remember me? The nice girl who fed you? Let’s make a deal. You don’t tell Ken I was here, and I’ll give you an extra green treat.”
Smart doggy. He wagged in favor, which was good because I wasn’t leaving. I was now only a few blocks from the studio, so I could sleep until 4:30. Heaven! A few blissful hours alone in a king-sized bed with five hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets.
I threw my bag on Ken’s couch and scouted out the place for, let’s see, the third time that day. And each time it was a self-tour. So why not continue the stroll and check out the fridge? God willing there was real food, and enough of it not to notice Goldilocks helped herself.
Rookie followed, barking when I opened the refrigerator door. “I’ll share. I promise.” He wagged his tail. “Wow! Three kinds of beer, spare ribs, is that a tomato…gross, an apple, no thanks, I’m stuffed from the last one. Ah! The bag of goodies Ken was carrying when I spotted him on the street…cheese, stuffed mushrooms, prosciutto…Yum! And since it was intended for me in the first place, how could he mind?”
I was breaking into the Gouda when I saw his answering machine blinking. “Should we see who it is?” I asked an even happier Rookie, who was gnawing at a spare rib. “He’ll never know.”
“Ken? Hi. I don’t know if you’ll remember me. We were on a panel discussion together a few years back…This is Rachel Waldman…”
Rachel Waldman? My Rachel Waldman?
“It’s the funniest thing. I just heard through the grapevine that you’re single again, and amazingly enough, haha, so am I…I was wondering…would you like to meet for drinks? Talk old times? We were quite a team on Torts-R-Us. Haha.”
“That bitch!” I grabbed a spare rib for myself. “Can you believe her?” I asked Rookie.
I played the message again to make sure I’d heard right, and she sounded like an even bigger backstabber the second time. But now what? Call her back and tell her friends didn’t let other friends call drunk?
“It’s like being sixteen again,” I said to Rookie as I crawled into Ken’s bed. “You’d like a guy, then your friend decides she likes him too, and makes her move. Jeez! Grow up already.”
A confused Rookie stared up at me and barked.
“Come here boy.” I patted the bed. “It’s you and me against the world.”
Then I realized he wasn’t waiting for an engraved invitation. He was too small to jump. I picked him up and watched him circle the bed, sniff for the best spot, lick himself, lay his head on my feet, and, I swear, sneeze like my grandfather.
“Are we happy now? Damn. You don’t suppose Ken keeps makeup remover around…Didn’t think so. Okay. Night, Rookie. Sweet dreams.”
I’m not sure what woke me. The erotic dream or the sound of the phone ringing. But the dream might explain why I was in a sweat. Damn whoever was calling for interrupting the best sex I’d had in…ever.
I lay there trying to figure out who had been on top of me. I’d e-mailed Derek Jeter, but he’d yet to reply. All I knew was that this guy smelled of cognac and cologne, had swimmer abs and these dazzling, rum-colored eyes.
Rookie barked and I looked at the clock. Twelve goddamn thirty. Who would call now?
I walked into the kitchen as a woman was taping a message. It was probably his ex-wife. They were notorious for calling at all hours. But no, Nina’s voice wouldn’t sound this familiar.
“Anyway, sorry to be calling so late, sweetie. I’m still on the coast…Call me back…It’s very important that we talk…”
Oh my God. It was Mira Darryl. And though I met celebrities all the time, it was still a thrill. “Hello?” I picked up.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“Who is this?” I replied.
“I asked you first.”
“It’s…Sierra.”
“Sierra Paige Mather?”
Oh my God! You know her? “Who?” I shivered.
“A friend of mine from LA…Her daughter’s name is…oh never mind.”
“Can I help you?”
“Yes. Is Ken there?”
“Um…he’s asleep.” Not lying yet…“He had a rough day.” Also true.
“Well, this is quite important. Can you tell him that Mira is on the phone?”
“How about I take a message?”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Someone named Mira who is a little pushy?”
“This is Mira Darryl.”
“Wait. Let me get a pen…How do you spell that?” Couldn’t deny it. Having fun.
“You don’t recognize my name?”
“Uh, no. Sorry. Are you the lady who comes to clean on Fridays?”
“Jesus Christ. Is he dating twelve-year-olds now…Look…This matter cannot wait, and since he’s not answering his cell…”
“Okay. Okay…Rookie, go get Daddy…Tell him he’s got a phone call…Thatta boy.”
“Hi Rookie,” she oozed. “It’s Mira? Remember me?”
“What’s wrong?” Pause. “He won’t wake up? I guess the sleeping pills knocked him out.”
“Fine!” She snorted. “I’ll leave a message. Do you think you can get it right?”
“Not usually.” This call may be monitored for quality assurance.
“Tell Ken that Kyle has asked me to marry him and…I don’t know how to answer.”
“Ken. Kyle. Maybe it’s time to start with the Ls?”
“What?”
“Nothing…Okay. I’ve got it…Kyle wants to marry you…what should you do?” Hello, Page Six. How much do you pay for exclusives?
“Good. Now continue…Kyle is wonderful, but so are you, and I know I told you that we were through, but I think about you a lot…I worry about you…I’m so confused and you understand me so well…”
“Whoa, slow down. I
graduated from Penn State, not Katharine Gibbs…Okay, let’s see…He’s really wonderful…but so are you…”
“Oh fuck! Just tell him to call me first thing in the morning. I don’t care how early.”
“Good-bye?” I said to a dial tone. “She is not a nice lady.” I turned to Rookie.
He barked in agreement. Good doggy.
Now I was torn between not wanting to waste another precious minute of sleep and wanting to return to our regularly scheduled fantasy, in which I was being made love to by a man who was getting me so hot, I would never change the channel.
Unfortunately, too much time had elapsed and the images were mere fragments. But I didn’t need Freud for the analysis. Yesterday I’d had two accidental penis sightings, Kevin’s and Ken’s. I was sleeping on pillows with traces of a wooded scent, and feeling pent-up demand for the mornings I would arouse David, then playfully climb aboard for a steamy wake-up call.
If only I could replay this dream on demand, like an HBO movie. And not have to focus on the clock’s loud ticking, Rookie’s scratching, and my own self-loathing.
How could I have interfered in Ken’s personal life when I didn’t know or even like him? It was his business if he wanted to go out with a two-faced lawyer who would urge her best friend to hook up with him and then go behind her back to do the same. Ditto for getting back with a fickle Hollywood star who would drop him again as soon as the wind blew east.
So why was I feeling possessive, like a dog marking his territory? Maybe other women chasing him upped his value, though that wasn’t what normally inspired me…It had to be something else that was drawing me to Ken. His testy bedside manner? His presumptuous demands? His extreme negativity?
Of course! I was destined to cure the emotionally disabled, one sorry dude at a time…provided they were irresistibly sexy and had a goose down comforter with sumptuous sheets…But who was I kidding? I was so conflicted about my feelings. Time for the old list of pros and cons. Luckily, Ken kept paper and pen at his bedside.
Pro: (1) We have a history even if we don’t know what it is. (2) He is sooooo hot oh my God what a body I love his hands. (3) Smart, successful, not in bankruptcy. (4) Weird sense of humor but at least he has one. (5) Contacted by his dead friend to pay attention to him.
Con: (1) He needs Rookie’s distemper shots. (2) Not his type/only stunning girls need apply.
Pro: What if it’s fate we met now?
Fate? Really?
I erased Rachel’s phone message and decided to mention nothing to Ken about Mira Darryl’s call. It was the least I could do to honor the memory of his beloved friends Mo and Larry.
Chapter 14
TURNS OUT I couldn’t live with myself unless I confessed my crimes.
“I slept in your bed, I ate your food, I erased a phone message, and I pretended to be your girlfriend.”
“Yesterday you were my wife.” Ken took the clothes I’d brought him.” Do you ever just pose as yourself?”
“Only on payday…Did you hear what I just said?”
“Yeah. It’s fine. Whatever. I need help getting dressed.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You try balancing on one foot. Besides, the nurses all think you’re my wife.”
“Right…but they do plan on giving you crutches?”
“No, roller skates. Yes I’m getting crutches.” He looked at the time. “We’re late. I thought you’d be here sooner.”
“Oh my God. I have a job, remember? And maybe you didn’t hear, but it’s Pope week at the networks. I’m lucky my boss gave me any time off.”
“Sorry. You’re right…Let’s get moving. First stop is the john.”
“Oh no. No, no, no…I’ll get a nurse.”
“Why? So we can take a vote? I just have to pee. And it’s not like you haven’t seen my—”
“Why are you being so mean?”
“I’m not. This is my normal, pleasant self…Here. Grab my waist and I’ll hop.”
“Where’s Eddie Fisher?” We slowly maneuvered to the bathroom.
“In surgery. A hip replacement I think. Nice guy, but too much of a talker…you shouldn’t have encouraged him.”
“I swear I’m going to drop you right on your head.”
“No don’t.” He laughed. “I’ll be nice.”
“Is that possible?” I flipped on the bathroom light. “Oooh. Gross. Don’t they ever clean these? This is a job for Mira Darryl.”
“What?” Ken stopped so we were wedged in the doorway face to face.
“Nothing,” I gulped. “Why don’t you hold on to that rail and I’ll turn around and…”
He didn’t budge. “What did you mean by what you just said?”
“Okay. See. That’s what I was trying to tell you before. I was too tired to go home last night so I stayed at your place.” You are very cute. “And your friend Mira called.” It’s very hard standing this close…“I kind of let her think I was your girlfriend…and she was your cleaning lady.” Are you feeling the electricity?
“YOU WHAT?”
Apparently not. I turned my head. “Just…you know. Do your thing and I’ll tell you the whole story.”
“Oh my God. You’re a menace.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d be this mad.”
“Mad? Who’s mad? You slept in my bed, you ate my food, you listened to my phone messages…You’re like a stunt double for Goldilocks!”
My, what a big penis you have. Although technically, Goldilocks didn’t have to confess details of her bad-girl behavior while trying to help Papa Bear into a Brooks Brothers suit.
Trust me, it was a delicate operation—dressing a naked stranger who was pissed at you. But at least I didn’t have to wait long to solve the new-guy mystery. Boxers or briefs? Briefs!
And to my surprise, the more he lectured me, the more turned on I got. Yes, yes, I should have respected his privacy, I said as I pulled the curtain around us, wondering if it was against hospital policy to use their beds for nonmedical procedures. Yes, it was wrong of me to misrepresent myself, I said as I buttoned his shirt and helped him wriggle into his pants, wondering if maybe we had time for a quickie before the funeral.
Unfortunately he wasn’t thinking about sex. At least with me.
“Was she in New York or California?” He tightened his belt.
“California. Definitely.”
“Did she seem upset?” He held up the shirt and tie and looked stumped.
“You could say that…What’s wrong?”
“This is one bizarre combination. I never would have picked it out.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know your taste.”
“But I like it.” He checked out his reflection in the window. “It’s sharp-looking.”
“Thank you.” I blushed. “I have a good eye for color…”
“Yeah. Too bad you’re not as good at minding your own business…”
“I really am sorry. I guess it freaked me out that my good friend Rachel Waldman would go behind my back to try to hook up with you. Incidentally, hers is the message I erased. And then you get this call from Mira, and it’s really late, and she doesn’t seem to care that she might have woken you, plus you could tell she was just jerkin’ your chain…”
“You know me for one day but you already have keen insight into my relationships?”
“Am I wrong?”
“Dead wrong.”
“Really? Did you know that Kyle proposed to her?”
“What?”
“Yes. And she wants your advice on what to tell him since lately she’s been worried about you and she wanted to know what you made of that…Excuse me, but what an asshole.”
“Did she leave a number?” His breathing was uneven.
“No…I assumed you knew it. Are you really going to call her back?”
He grabbed my arm. “Did she say…do you think…where do I stand?”
“Well, I’m no expert. But if she didn’t still care about you, why b
other calling? She’d just go get married, and you’d see the photo spread of the wedding in People like the rest of us.”
“Good point…Let’s stop at my place so I can get her number off the caller ID.”
“You don’t have it?”
“Not after she dumped me. I deleted it from my cell and blocked her on line.”
“Gee. That does sound like someone you should stay in touch with.”
“You don’t understand. If there’s any chance of us getting back together, I’m going for it. Thanks Robyn.” He hugged me. “You’ve been great.”
Thanks Robyn. I like you but I’m not inspired to offer you monogamy.
I am sure Sharon Horowitz was a loving wife and mother. A devoted daughter. A cherished friend and colleague. A whip-smart attorney. But not for one second could I focus on the rabbi’s eulogy, for my mind was racing like a lawyer’s, trying to grapple with the facts of this case.
Fact: I couldn’t sit this close to Ken, inhale his cologne, and still be able to focus on her life story. I was too engaged in a lusty daydream that was most inappropriate for a funeral.
Fact: Ken had no reason to fall for me when he was being lured by a beautiful actress.
Fact: He was self-centered, insensitive, and behaved as if he was taking emotional anaesthetics.
On the other hand: If he really was such an ogre, how come when we got to the funeral, he was swarmed by coworkers who were begging him to come back? “We miss you so much,” I heard over and over. And didn’t he ask this older lady about her husband’s heart condition? And what about the young girl he promised to take to the ballet because he hadn’t forgotten their bet?
I glanced at his chiseled jaw and rum-colored eyes for a sign that I wasn’t crazy to want to hook up with him, and then felt this unexplainable rush. Ken was not only the guy I’d loved from afar in college, he was the one in my hot-hot-hot dream last night. And though the cautious fairy said, “He’s nothing but trouble,” the little princess in me said, “Don’t care. No one’s perfect…and have you noticed how cute he is?”
“Let’s go,” he whispered.
Fate and Ms. Fortune Page 13