by Kylie Adams
Kiki crouched down on all fours. Holding her breath, she moved, inch by inch, hoping to just snatch it in a flash without being noticed. God, her shorts were really riding up high in this position. She glanced behind quickly, just to make sure someone wouldn't walk by and mistake her for Christina Aguilera. Then she turned back around, only to find a spotless pair of Gucci loafers in front of her face. Slowly, her gaze traveled all the way up.
Tom Brock was holding the heart charm. "Is it just me, or is this circumstance eerily familiar?" He offered a hand to help her up.
Kiki attempted to laugh it off. "Again, I do have better jewelry. You seem to always catch me when I'm feeling a costume vibe. It's the strangest thing."
Kirsten moved quickly toward Kiki to take possession of both of her hands. "I've tried to call you a
million times. I'm so glad that you're okay. This whole mess has been awful."
"I know. For you, too, I'm sure." Kiki managed to get this out calmly, though deep down, she was hysterically praying that Kirsten had left messages on the machine so that they could be played back for Suzi-Suzi and Danni.
She peered over at Fab. Yes, he was the same. Deliciously gorgeous in a way that almost took her breath away each time she saw him. But there was something else, too, an effect mirrored in his eyes, an effect that she had on him.
"I have an idea!" Kirsten blurted. The confidence in her tone argued instantly that it was a damn good one. "We should call a press conference. The three of us." She looked at Tom and Kiki as she said this. "We'll dismiss all of these lies for the garbage that they are. Together. As a unified front."
Okay, no matter what Kirsten had suggested, Kiki would've eagerly gone along with it. Let's give all of our couture fashions away and dress in Old Navy for a year . If you say so! Let's lock ourselves in a bunker and listen to Debbie Gibson CDs over and over again . Right there with you! Really, it could've been anything. But the upside was, this was a truly fantastic idea.
Fab nodded to the beat of Kirsten's enthusiasm. "The image of the three of you standing in solidarity? That's a very powerful diffuser. I like it."
"We should do it as soon as possible," Kirsten said eagerly. "I want an end to this nonsense once and for all." She looked at Fab. "What about your lobby?"
"It's yours," he said.
Tom merely shrugged, as if down for whatever.
Kirsten moved fast, commandeering Fab's desk phone first and asking permission to do so later. "Sarah Ann, it's Kirsten Brock I'm fine Listen, I'm at Affair with Tom, and Kiki Douglas is here, too. I want a press conference within the hour. Here in the lobby. We're going to take questions together and put a stop to all of this absurdity right now No, it's not a mistake Sarah Ann, this is not open for debate. Just get the media here, okay? I'll prepare my own statement This is me calling to ask for your help. If you're not willing to do it, then this is me calling to fire you." Kirsten checked her watch. "You've got five seconds to decide Good." And then she hung up and let out a frustrated groan, rolling her eyes. "She is such a bitch. After this is over, I am going to fire her."
Kiki smiled. If only she could be dancing in the room when Sarah Ann Duckworth got that news.
Kirsten turned to Tom. "We should go change. Kiki looks amazing, and I'm standing here in a Juicy warm-up with a baby formula stain on it." Now she addressed Fab. "So the May-December suite is out. What's the next best thing?"
"Wait," Kiki interjected. "I couldn't help but overhear when you mentioned your fondness for that suite. I insist that you take it. I need to return to my apartment anyway."
Kirsten shook her head no. "Absolutely not. We can take another suite. In fact, I insist. Besides, you're already settled in, and after the press conference, we're all going out together. You can go back to your apartment tomorrow."
Kiki was quick to accept the new plan. It was, after all, Kirsten Brock's plan. Who was she to argue?
Fab concentrated on his iMac. "The Nine and a Half Weeks suite is available." He looked up. "It's like an adult playpen with lots of toys and mild fetish accessories." His expression turned doubtful. "Too hot for new parents?"
"Nothing's too hot for us," Tom joked. "Compared to us, Mickey and Kim were like clumsy band geeks on a first date in that movie."
"Tom!" Kirsten scolded, blushing an instant pink
Everybody laughed.
Tom and Kirsten ambled out to check into their S and M suite, leaving Kiki alone with Fab. She could feel the heat of his gaze burning up her body before turning to him.
"If you heard the bit about the Brocks, then I'm guessing you heard what I had to say, too." His eyes were still doing that intense survey thing.
Kiki had Fab hooked up like a light switch, and the sassy Vuitton number was flicking him up and down, playfully, cruelly, just because he was there, as if a bored child were operating the panel. She thought about responding coolly, to make him work harder, but in the end, she just gave in to her impulse. And that was to lose herself in his embrace. "Oh, Fab," she whispered, grinning against his chest.
His arms tightened around her. "I was miserable last night. I never went to sleep. No woman has ever made me lose sleep before." One beat. "That's not exactly true. But I've always been there. Rewrite. No woman has ever made me lose sleep when I haven't been with her. Except you."
Kiki leaned back and looked at him. "Now is not the time to bring up all of your ex-lovers. Relationship rule number one: Pretend you never had any."
Fab laughed and spun her around. And then he stopped, planting her firmly down before cupping her face in his hands and moving his lips millimeters from hers. "Haven't you heard? I'm a virgin."
Kiki felt his tongue brushing against her own, and she opened her mouth wide. They were kissing now. It wasn't the first. It wouldn't be the last.
Slowly, his lips retreated from hers. "Still bored with me?"
Kiki smiled the smile of a woman in love. "You know, I must admit you're getting a bit more interesting."
* * *
The Manhattan press corps turned out in full force. Kirsten Brock, the media darling of the moment, had summoned them. No matter what she had to say, they considered the trip worth it just to get a new picture, some fresh B-roll footage, a quote about anythingthe weather, what she ate for breakfast, her impressions of the new fall fashion lines, the last time Music pooped.
The photoreporters were flying by the seat of their Nikons. The broadcast news babes were tapping impatient pumps while their cameramen balanced heavy video equipment on tired shoulders. And the shock jocks were waiting, phallic microphones in hand, proving the old saying, "He has a face for radio," more relevant than ever.
Kiki could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Nervous sweat slicked her breasts. Out there were the vultures she'd been running from. And now she was standing in open field, inviting them to take another dive at her. She glanced at the woman to her left, uncertainty in her eyes.
Kirsten clasped Kiki's hand in a public gesture of friendship, female solidarity, and sisterly support, a move that triggered a blinding lightning storm of flashbulbs in overdrive.
Kiki prayed that the image would find its way to the front page, that no mistake would ruin the picture. Finally, a headline to be proud of.
Kirsten somberly stepped to the podium.
The Affair lobby was pin-drop quiet.
And then she began to speak in a voice serious, stoic, and more than a little angry. "Members of the press, thank you for accepting this invitation. The last few days have been very difficult for the Brock family and for Kiki Douglas. The gross speculations, offensive innuendos, and outright lies that have been brandished in newspapers, on television screens, on the Internet, and over the radio is a disgusting example of the Fourth Estate operating on its most vile and irresponsible impulses. There is nothing to explain or defend here today because nothing happened. My family has been put through undue stress and humiliation. For no reason. Kiki Douglas has endured the same. Again, for no reason
. Other than the sick hunger certain media channels have for creating scandal when scandal is nowhere to be found." She cast scolding eyes over the crowd. "You know who you are."
Kiki observed a collective shame swamp down on almost every media representative in attendance.
Kirsten reached for Kiki's hand again, pulling her up to the podium, and raising their arms in a show of us-against-the-world unity. "This woman is not a home wrecker, ladies and gentlemen. She's my friend."
A belligerent tabloid scribbler elbowed his way to the front. "Kiki!" he screamed out. "If Tom Brock's not the man in your life, then who is it?"
Kiki aimed a secret look at Fab. "I appreciate your interest, but that's really none of your business. I will say this, though. He's fabulous ."
* * *
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected] [email protected]
Subject: A Fashion Tragedy of Epic Proportions Avoided
Sydney and Vivien!
Okay, girls, even if you don't smoke, get ready to light up a cigarette. Why? Because you just might have an orgasm while reading this e-mail. By now I'm sure you've heard about the little scandal involving me and Tom Brock. Ridiculous! Tabloids can lie better than married men at a convention/conference in Vegas. Anyway, that is so over. In fact, Kirsten Brock and I laugh about it all the time. We're very good friends now. So here's how it happened. I'm talking to Kirsten about my brother's wedding and telling her how worried I am about the bridesmaid dresses. I mean, it's going to be impossible to find a dress that we all look fabulous in. Think about it. Sydney, you're an accountant. Don't take this the wrong way, but most dresses probably wear YOU. That's just how it is with girls who wear too many conservative suits. And Vivien, you know better than anyone that your height presents a few fashion challenges. I'm sure prom night was murder for you. Did your date have lifts built in to his rented shoes? I hope so. Anyway, Kirsten Brock (she's my friend nowdid I mention that?) thinks this problem through. It takes her, like, a minute. And she's got a solution. Amazing. Meanwhile social security is still a mess after all these years. Send this girl to Washington!
Where was I? Oh, the best part! Kirsten's suggestion? VERA WANG! Yes! THE Vera Wang! Vera designed Kirsten's wedding dress. So she calls up Vera right there on the spot and says please, please, please design bridesmaid dresses for my friend and two other girls. And Vera said YES! Oh, my God! Can you believe it? Are you totally having a Meg Ryan diner scene moment from When Harry Met Sally right now?
Air Kisses, Kiki
* * *
Chapter Eighteen
Kiki and Fab lived in Affair's May-December suite for a week following the press conference. It was heaven on earth. With maid service!
During the day, Fab would tend to the management of the hotel and work on details for the imminent opening of the nightclub, Foreign Affair. Meanwhile, Kiki worked slavishly on her book proposal, cranking it out page by page with the kind of iron-fisted discipline that Jackie Collins brought to her work.
Suzi-Suzi and Danni stopped by every day to read new pages. And Tiffany Lynn dropped in to proof the work line by line. A stripper who was a genius at grammar and spelling. What a brilliant paradox! Even Kirsten got into the mix, as she took Kiki shopping to find the perfect outfit for the first lunch with her new agent, Marc Weisberg, a friend of Fab's. He was a mere baby at twenty-four but knew his way around the publishing world like Doogie Howser had known the ins and outs of an operating room. Everything had happened so fast. Exactly the sort of whiz-bang turn of events that could make a girl stand in front of the refrigerator and sample everything in sight while she left the door open. Luckily, the minibar was small. Because it could've been a serious situation.
Marc had sold the book in a flash. He sent it out to his top three editor picks. They all wanted to pounce, so it ended up going to auction. So exciting! Of course, waiting for The Call had been pure torture. Especially with Suzi-Suzi beeping in every three minutes to ask, "Has he called yet? Has he called yet?" Ugh! Annoying. But so sweet. You had to love her.
Finally, Marc had phoned her with the low six-figure offer. Amazing! Of course, now she had to actually write the damn thing. With the signing money, though, she planned to begin building her promotional tour wardrobe in earnest. Basically, that was more important than composing the book itself. Because the right image was invaluable to an author.
Marc's incredible news had arrived right on top of Keith buzzing by to announce the official closing of the ABC deal. A three-year contract to return to All My Children as Jeannette and a one-year talent-holding deal with the network for a prime-time drama, sitcom, or reality-based program.
Still, it was the simple things that filled her chocka-block full of happiness. Like right now. Here she was sitting in a hot bath with Fab. The egg-shaped tub was easily built for two, and their ritual all week had been to indulge in a long soak with a bottle of red wine while they shared details about their days. Kiki did most of the talking, though. Fab mainly just listened, interjecting only occasionally.
"Did I tell you that Chad is back under hypnosis with the sex therapist?" Kiki asked.
Fab shook his head, massaging her right foot under the soapy water. He was practically a reflexologist. Phenomenal hands.
"Oh, Suzi-Suzi is a wreck," she charged on in speed-talk. "I told you what his problem is, right? He cries when he comes, hates a hand on his penis. Well, turns out it's all trauma from a repressed memory of getting caught masturbating in the high school library. The first hypnosis worked. Sort of. There's no problem with a hand on his willy anymore. As long as it's his own. Now he's addicted to Internet porn. The man will sit there and do this even if Suzi-Suzi's in the room. He's only got dial-up access at home, and, apparently, that's way too slow for online smut. So he spends all his free time on Suzi-Suzi's computer. She said he got come on her keyboard and that it was totally disgusting."
"Here's an idea for your friend," Fab cut in. "End the relationship."
Kiki sighed. "It's not that simple. Suzi-Suzi's the kind of girl who sticks with things until they re right. Like modeling. Anyone else would've quit a long time ago. But she stuck with it, and now with her new television agent, she's got a callback for a national commercial. She's not thrilled that it's for a vaginal itching cream, but the pay would be great. Anyway, she actually believes that Chad is the one for her. Oh, and Chad knows that you own a hotel. He wants to stop by and talk to you about putting Tempur-Pedic mattresses in all the rooms. There's a whole spiel he'll take you through on the advanced construction, and you'll have to endure some bad mattress jokes, too. Chad's never been to Spice Market, so I told him you'd let him take you out for lunch. I know it's crazy with the nightclub getting ready to open, but the restaurant's just around the corner. I figured you could squeeze the appointment in. Spicy food gives him gas, though, so steer him clear of the really hot dishes. Next Thursday works great for him."
Fab nodded helplessly, love and amusement beaming from his eyes.
"Great," Kiki chirped. "Suzi-Suzi will be so excited. Chad's been depressed because he hasn't opened a new account in months. All the sexual problems have been a huge distraction for him."
"I didn't agree to buy anything," Fab warned, starting the magic rubbing on her left foot now. "I'm just having lunch with the guy."
"Oh, you've got , to. Suzi-Suzi let slip that it was a done deal, and Chad's already told his boss that he landed a hotel account. You can't change your mind now."
" Change my mind?" Fab asked. "This is the first I've heard of it."
Kiki shrugged. "Whatever oh, keep it right there God, that feels amazing." Suddenly, she lurched forward, kissing him full on the mouth with the desperation of a love addict, then leaned back against the basin.
He smiled. "What was that for?"
"For helping out my friends. It's very sweet."
Fab gave her a quizzical look. He seemed hung up on something. "You said friends ." The impression
lingered that the plural usage was troubling.
But Kiki returned an upbeat nod. "Suzi-Suzi, Danni, and Tiffany Lynn."
"I'm almost afraid to ask, but exactly what have I done for Tiffany Lynn?"
Kiki splashed him playfully. "Oh, stop!"
"I'm serious," Fab said. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Kirby's going to manage the bar at Foreign Affair." Kiki announced this as if it were common knowledge on the AP wire.
Now Fab splashed back. "Absolutely not."
"I didn't tell you? Oh, my God! This week has been so insane, what with the book proposal, shop-
?£
ping with Kirsten for my lunch with Marc, the whole ABC thing, trying to schedule fittings with Vera Wang for the bridesmaid dresses. It completely slipped my mind. Anyway, you have to say yes. He's already given notice at Camisole. Besides, he'll be fantastic. And he's got really big arms. So not only can he keep the drinks coming, but he's strong enough to throw someone out if they get too rowdy."
There was the slightest hint of a smile curling onto Fab's lips. Tacit agreement. But agreement nonetheless.
"You're going to end up thanking me ," Kiki said with self-satisfied confidence. "Kirby will be a true asset. And Tiffany Lynn is on the moon about it. I mean, at first she was a little bummed because it meant they wouldn't see each other as much. But now they're going to be working together again, so it's really"
"Wait a minute." Fab laughed the laugh of the weary. "I've hired Tiffany Lynn, too?"
Kiki hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. "God! I am such a ditz!" She took in a deep breath. "Tiffany Lynn is going to dance in a cage at Foreign Affair."
Fab shook his head in disbelief. "There is no such cage at Foreign Affair."
"Oh." Kiki bit down on her lower lip. "Well, there has to be now. Where else is she going to dance? You don't want her dancing on the bar. She might knock someone's drink over. Or what if a guy gets too fresh with her? Then you've got Kirby kicking a customer's ass in the middle of peak bar time. Not a good situation. Better make arrangements for a cage. That way she's safe from jerky guys. And Kirby stays calm and concentrates on the job you hired him to do."
