by Kylie Adams
Suddenly, Kiki took one look at the cabdriver's posted identification and realized that his name had, like, fifteen consonants. Impossible. Out of sheer frustration, she screamed out the address for Pastis and told him to drive on the sidewalk if he had to. "Otherwise, you might not get the full fare. I'm short on cash."
He took off like Dale Earnhardt Jr.
Kiki slumped back in the battered seat and fanned herself in an attempt to help the car's clunky air conditioner do its work. No mercy. The long wait on the angry, steaming concrete. The stifling cabin. Her legs were actually sticking to the leatherette. God, it felt like a tour of duty. This definitely made her an honorary Swift Boat Veteran.
At last! They pulled up to Pastis on Ninth Avenue. Kiki handed over the fare (plus a little tip!) and swung out. She was only twenty minutes late. For her, that was basically early. Definitely on time. Suzi-Suzi and Danni would be so proud, as she was working on punctuality as a personal improvement issue, and this represented significant growth.
The French bistro bustled with buoyant chatter and the requisite power lunch activity. Surreptitiously, Kiki checked her reflection in one of the antique mirrors as she click-clacked along the mosaic floor tiles to find her adorable friends at a corner table.
"Oh, my God!" Suzi-Suzi squealed, beaming as if Kiki had just put on a magic show. "You are so early!"
Danni checked her watchthe Chanel J12 number. Kiki loved that timepiece, and if any woman in the restaurant other than Danni were wearing it, then she would have to hate her on principle. But sweet Danni got a pass. "We've only been here for about twenty minutes."
Kiki plunked down with a dramatic sigh and immediately flagged a waiter for a Diet Coke with lime. "You don't know what I went through to get here." She glanced around quickly for famous faces. Celeb-rities frequented the eatery all the time. Ooh. Wasn't that the hot guy from Survivor ? Yummy. Civilization definitely agreed with him. "I have two dollars to my name," she announced without preamble. "And a credit card that the manager will probably cut up in front of my face."
Danni opened up her clutch to flash a thick wad of cash. "No worries, sweetheart. I did a new routine to Tour Some Sugar on Me' by Def Leppard last night. After I nailed my new move on the pole, it rained money."
Danni Summer worked as an exotic dancer at Camisole, the hottest gentleman's nightspot in Manhattan. The hysterical part was this: She never took off her clothes. For Danni, a nice Christian girl from Mississippi, it got no skimpier than a modest bra and panties set. She merely loved choreographing and performing dance routines to songs by her favorite bands from the eightiesDef Leppard, Poison, Bon Jovithe list went on. Where else could a girl do that but a strip club? And who else could get away it but Danni Summer? She was drop-dead beautiful. A near dead ringer for Nicole Kidman with her auburn hair, lissome body, and porcelain skin. Management at Camisole kept her on because she packed the club even without flashing the goods.
Suzi-Suzi glanced at Danni with imploring eyes.
"Everything's on me today," Danni offered. As if anyone had to hold their breath. She was one of the most generous people Kiki had ever known.
"I didn't get that feminine pain relief commercial I was called back for," Suzi-Suzi grumbled. "It's all because of that irritable bowel syndrome campaign. I just know it. People already think of me as the girl with cramps. They want a fresh face."
Suzi-Suzi had to be the wnluckiest model in the entire world. Or maybe she just got hooked up with the worst agency. PLK Management had done nothing for her. They goofed and allowed her to sign a few modeling releases with broad language. With considerable legal latitude at work protecting "editorial usage" of photographs, she had no recourse when the trouble started. Like the public service announcements for STDs. Or the photo illustrating the advice column in Cosmopolitan dealing with a wife whose creepy husband wanted to "swing" with a neighbor couple. Now Suzi-Suzi was part of an aggressive ad blitz promoting a new treatment for IBS. People stopped her on the street all the time to talk about diarrhea. She wasn't supermodel gorgeous. Her beauty was much more accessible than that, nonthreatening to women, yet still captivating to men. Most people said she had a girl-next-door quality like Jennifer Garner. Only Suzi-Suzi didn't have the action heroine body. She hated working out.
The waiter swooped by with Kiki's Diet Coke but forgot the lime.
"I'll die without the lime," she told him.
He smiled tightly in apology and off he went.
"Did you get my e-mail?" Kiki demanded.
The girls nodded.
"It was hilarious," Suzi-Suzi put in. "I want to know who this girl is that your brother's marrying all of a sudden. But I guess the more pressing question is when's the baby due?"
A chorus of girlish giggles.
"She's from New Jersey ," Kiki said, putting enough topspin on the words to equate New York's neighbor state to the hills of Appalachia.
Danni pointed to Kiki's Diet Coke, which sat there untouched and sweating, as if angry about its no-lime status. " New Jersey ? You're going to need a stronger drink than that."
"Ughthat's only the beginning," Kiki said. "Her family owns a chain of motels. Marv's Motor Inns . Can you imagine?"
"Is that the kind of place where kids with no money go on prom night?" Suzi-Suzi asked.
"They're actually not that bad," Danni put in. "I have an aunt and uncle who love road trips. I've heard them rave about the chain."
Kiki remained skeptical. "Oh, and here's another fun fact. Guess who's best friends with the bride?"
Suzi-Suzi's eyes sparkled. "Is she famous?"
"Yes," Kiki answered. "Famously awful. It's Vivien . That horrible woman who represented Walter in our divorce."
A look of alarm flashed across Danni's face. "Is she a bridesmaid?"
Kiki nodded. "Why can't my brother elope? Or just get drunk in Vegas and be done with it like Britney and Nicky Hilton managed to do."
"Um, I think both of those marriages were annulled," Suzi-Suzi pointed out.
"Whatever," Kiki grumbled. "It's just so unfair. I don't expect this Julia girl to know any better. I mean, she's from New Jersey. But Roman's my brother! And did he consider me in any of this? How self-involved can one person be?"
The waiter returned with the lime and stood poised for their orders. It was salads all around plus an entree to share of steak frites with the thinnest, most perfectly salted fries in the world.
"Why couldn't Roman have been gay?" Kiki went on. "It would've been like having a sister all these years, and I wouldn't be dealing with any of this."
"Look at the bright side," Suzi-Suzi offered. "In a few months, you'll have a niece or nephew to spoil rotten."
Kiki blanched. "No more baby jokes. Please . One day, yes, but not so soon after the wedding. I think a couple should be married for at least five years before having kids. I mean, you have to build in time for the possibility of divorce." She shook her head and sipped on her drink before erupting with, "All these weddings! And none of them are mine!"
Suzi-Suzi piped up again. "That's okay. We shouldn't be made to feel less than just because we don't have husbands." She halted. "Well, I sort of have one, but he's not mine legally, and I never get him on holidays. And when he's around, he never wants to do manly things like fix the running toilet or move furniture. He saves that part of himself for his real wife. Chad just wants to have sex. Come to think of it, he's really just some asshole guy who calls me up when he happens to be free and horny. Remind me to break up with him. But back to my point. Most of the married women I know are not the happiest bunch. They pop Xanax and Paxil like Tic Tacs and constantly complain about their husbands not being interested in anything they have to say. If that's the case, aren't we better off single?"
"Most days," Kiki said. "But right now I wouldn't mind having a husband with a nice income to rely on." Thoughts of Kiki's short-lived first marriage smoked her brain. Walter Sharpe. What had she ever seen in that rich old bastard? Besides al
l the exotic trips, new clothes, and jewelry. Hmm. That list seemed fairly complete. Basically, it was a starter marriage. Every girl needed one of those. These days, a first husband was sort of like a first heartbreak something you just had to muddle through.
Don't worry, everything will work out, Danni whispered soothingly. "You're just in a bit of a slump. I can help you out. In my bedroom closet, I've got shoe boxes stuffed with cash I've earned from dancing. Just take one. I'll never know the difference."
"Do you really think it's safe to keep all that cash around?" Suzi-Suzi asked. "Why don't you put it in the bank?"
Danni shrugged. "I keep meaning to, but the banks are closed when I get off work." She reached for Kiki's hand and squeezed it for emphasis. "I'm serious. Come over and grab a box. Take the one my Gucci boots came in. That's a big box with lots of money."
Kiki was touched. "You're so sweet. But since I'm taking the box anyway, do you mind if I borrow the boots, too?"
"Not at all," Danni said. "And they will look so cute on you."
Kiki experienced a surge of relief. Financial crisis avertedfor the moment. Suddenly, it dawned on her that there would be no funding emergency at all if Walter had not been so well represented by Vivien. Evil divorce lawyer. Sworn enemy. Now a fellow bridesmaid. "Whenever I think about that prenup, I just feel like screaming. So what if I didn't read it before I signed. I barely have time to read Us magazine, and the courts expect me to study a thick legal document? Besides, what sane person would agree to anything other than lifetime alimony? I should've been declared incompetent just for signing it in the first place. God, it's ridiculous. I gave that man ten months of my life, and all I got in return was three years of support and a gag order to never speak about him in public."
"It's all because of that Vivien," Suzi-Suzi spat. "How are you going to stand being in the same bridal party with her?"
"Keep in mind that what happened had no personal intent," Danni reasoned. "Think about it. Walter hired her to do a job. She would've fought just as hard no matter who was on the other side."
"You know, I've read that women are the real sharks in divorce law these days," Suzi-Suzi said. "Men are hiring them left and right because they work like hell upholding prenups and even get fathers full custody of their children. What, I ask you, I has happened to sisterhood?"
Kiki sighed wearily. "I don't know. But I bet you anything these women were not popular in high school. I mean, take Vivien. She's very tall. You know how boys are about that. I can't see her having many dates back then."
Suzi-Suzi and Danni nodded in agreement.
"I probably represented every mean girl who called her beanstalk and then turned around to win homecoming queen. That's why she worked so hard.
It's called anger transference. Dr. Phil did a whole show about it once."
"It's so classic," Suzi-Suzi remarked. "She makes you pay for her childhood wounds."
"I know," Kiki said. "It's so wrong. And they say beautiful people go through life with such ease. If you ask me, it's the pretty girls who suffer the most."
* * *
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: SOS
Breckin!
It's been a million years. At least. But here I am, reaching out via e-mail to beg for help. Please say yes. Do you remember Roman, my adorable brother? Certainly you do. As I recall, you had a mad crush on him all through high school. Well, he's getting married. To a GIRL. How many times did I tell you he wasn't gay? At least five hundred or more. That was just your wishful thinking at work. Homosexuals can be so optimistic! Isn't that how those Tom Cruise rumors got started? Hysterical. Okay, where was I? Oh, the girl. Ugh. Get thisshe's from New Jersey, and her family runs a chain of roadside motels. You know, the kind of places where people in scary movies are always killed. Anyway, I'm coming back to Fredericks-burg for Roman's big day. Can you believe it? After all these years. But you HAVE to agree to help plan this wedding. Okay? This is me begging
Air Kisses,
Kiki
P.S. You do know that I dropped Sonntag for the snazzier stage name of Douglas, right?
* * *
Chapter Two
The day was in complete turnaround. First, a fun and supportive lunch with the girls (very therapeutic). And now, a little shopping spree with the girls (equally therapeutic). All these women marching in and out of psychiatrists' offices to blather on about old childhood wounds or to tick off the top five reasons they feel unfulfilled were just wasting their time. Hmm. Another good insight for the book. "Doctor Visa Is In." A great chapter title!
"What do you think of these?" Kiki asked, donning a pair of funky mirrored sunglasses and vamping appropriately. They were in the Stella McCartney boutique on Fourteenth Street, one of Kiki's favorite places on earth.
"They're so you," Danni said. "You should get them."
Kiki consulted the mirror. The sunglasses were definitely her. Hmm. But did they make her look like
Teri Hatcher? People always told her that. Of course, it was a flattering comparison. They both had gorgeously styled brunette hair, inviting smiles, Yoga-perfect bodies, and the uncanny ability to wear skimpy outfits without coming off slutty. But deep down, Kiki would've likedat least every once in a whileto hear someone say, "Teri Hatcher looks like you ." Kiki removed the shades to check the price. Two hundred dollars. Very reasonable. Especially when you considered the fact that they came emblazoned with the Stella McCartney name. Face it, that woman was only going to put her moniker on a fashionable, well-designed product of impeccable quality. After all, she's Stella. In fact, to not snatch up the glasses immediately would be practically insulting. And Kiki would never dream of offending Stella McCartney.
"Can you see me in this?" Suzi-Suzi inquired, holding up a sexy, lacy top with a loose, plunging neckline.
Kiki visualized. "With some shrewdly positioned invisible tape and those breasts, you might even make the gayest of men stop and reconsider their orientation."
Suzi-Suzi smiled as she consulted a mirror. "Chad seems a little distant lately. Maybe I need to sex it up a bit. You know, really differentiate myself from his wife."
"You're not covered on his insurance," Danni put in. "Isn't that enough?"
"And ten minutes ago you wanted to break up with him," Kiki added.
"I still do," Suzi-Suzi insisted. "But first I want him to really get into me again. You know?"
Kiki meandered a bit, checking out a few handbags, a sales rack, some shoes. From behind a privacy wall, she heard the chatter of shopgirl to VIP customer and stopped cold.
"Mrs. Brock, that is too hot. It's impossible to believe that you were pregnant six weeks ago," a raspy, Demi-like voice praised.
Kiki gasped. Mrs. Brock. Pregnant six weeks ago . That could only mean Kirsten Brock.
"You're officially a MILF," the salesgirl went on.
"What's a MILF?" Kirsten asked innocently.
Kiki frantically motioned for Suzi-Suzi and Danni to come over.
"It's a guy expression for hot moms," the salesgirl answered. "Kind of vulgar."
"Oh, I get it," Kirsten said. "Did you hear that, Tom? I'm a MILF now."
Kiki stifled a shriek. Tom . That could only mean Tom Brock!
"What is"
Kiki clamped a hand over Suzi-Suzi's mouth before she could get the question out. "Tom and Kirsten Brock are behind that wall," she hissed.
"Oh, my God! Are you serious?" Danni asked in a voice way too loud.
Kiki hushed her. "Of course, I'm serious. Would I joke about Tom and Kirsten Brock?"
Tom Brock was possibly the sexiest, most romantic man alive. Imagine Brad Pitt singing and sounding just like Frank Sinatra. Now multiply by one hundred. Yes. That hot.
Kiki experienced a warm flush. "Is my face red?" she whispered.
Suzi-Suzi began to fan her with the sexy top.
Tom Brock was New York's top cabaret act. To see him perform live
was standing room only. He did a sweep of shows each fall and spring, and tickets sold out faster than J.Lo can scribble her name onto a marriage license. Kiki had seen him once during a special limited engagement at Feinstein's at the Regency. Oh, God. When she heard him sing "Put Your Head on My Shoulder," Kiki cried so much that her eye makeup got ruined. Now that was real emotion.
Suzi-Suzi and Danni were whispering and craning their necks, brainstorming ways to get a closer look at Manhattan's supercouple.
Tom was a total dream. No debate there. But Kirsten Brock, his wife of just a few years, was an icon of class, style, and sophistication. So perfect. She was the sacred object of envy/worship for single and married women alike. What clothes she wore. The exact shade of blond her colorist used. Where she ate. Everything she said. It was all slavishly monitored. And subsequently imitated.
"I forgot to tell you," Suzi-Suzi whispered. "Last week I saw Kirsten racing down Fifth Avenue on a mint green Vespa."
Silently, the girls processed this important information. Then, in almost perfect harmony (practically Destiny's Child, but, in all honesty, Danni chimed in a smidge late), they murmured, "We should all get one."
"I'll make inquiries at a dealership," Suzi-Suzi offered.
Kiki realized that riding a scooter in New York traffic probably meant risking their lives at every motorized moment, but if Kirsten Brock thought it safe enough, then it must be okay. After all, she was a mother now to a beautiful baby they called Music. Kiki had seen a picture in the New York Post of Kirsten pushing Music in a Lulu Guinness stroller. So inspiring. A true testament to family values. It made Kiki want to rush out and demand that Tom Brock get her pregnant.
