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Bad Boy

Page 20

by Olivia Goldsmith


  Beth laughed. “You are too weird.” She laughed again. They talked for a while. “I like your jacket. Where did you get it?” she asked.

  “My girlfriend‌—I mean a girl who’s a friend of mine‌—I mean a friend of mine who’s a girl‌—she thought it would‌—”

  She interrupted him. “Are you seeing somebody? I mean in a serious way?”

  Had Tracie told him what to answer to that? If she had, he couldn’t remember. “No. No. I‌—”

  “You’re not living with her, are you?” Beth asked.

  He remembered his line for that. “No. I live alone. But you can’t come over.”

  “Well then, let’s go to my place,” Beth said.

  Jon put down his fork. Had he heard right? He almost asked Beth to repeat it but, with his heart and other parts of him leaping, he figured he shouldn’t press his luck. He gestured for the check and left cash on the table as soon as it was handed to him. (Tracie had told him not to use a charge card, and anyway, he wanted to be quick just in case Beth changed her mind.) Now he just had to get her out the door before she noticed Tracie and Phil at the other side of the restaurant.

  Out of anxiety, he took her by the shoulder and gently but firmly pushed her toward the door, turning her body so that she’d be angled toward the bar and not the other dining room.

  She turned her head over her shoulder. “That’s sexy,” she said.

  Jon couldn’t believe it. As he was opening the door and about to disappear through it, he only had time to give Tracie a fleeting glance. She had her neck craned and, though he couldn’t be sure, the expression on her face looked a little bewildered.

  Chapter 23

  Tracie lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, with both her dinner and Phil’s leg pressing heavily on her. He was sprawled across more than his share of the bed, making the little groaning sound he made at irregular intervals just before he fell asleep. She tried to extricate her leg from under his without disturbing him, but it wasn’t possible.

  After Jon and Beth’s quick departure from the Merchants Café, she and Phil had finished their dinner. Phil had also finished the entire bread basket, most of the second one‌—except for the piece she couldn’t resist‌—along with a large salad with blue cheese dressing, and then a very rich dessert. She thought of one of the Encino sayings she and Laura had used when they were learning the times tables: “I ate and ate and got sick on the floor. So eight times eight is sixty-four.” He had finished up with brandy and two double espressos. Just to keep him company, she’d had one. It must be the espresso, mixed with my natural anxiety for Jon, that’s keeping me awake now, she told herself.

  They had come in more than forty-five minutes ago and collapsed on the bed. Since then, Tracie had had trouble sleeping. She wasn’t used to such a rich meal at that time of night, and she never ate bread and desserts. But she’d been so nervous, expecting an emergency call on her cell phone to explain what had gone wrong at the restaurant.

  It hadn’t been going well. She could tell that from Jon’s feverish questions and his report on Beth’s comments. Beth, of all her friends, wasn’t going to like a nice boy. What went wrong? she wondered. She supposed it wasn’t possible to change Jon, and his true-blue color had shown, despite the camouflage they had tried. Well, Beth’s loss. She just hoped that Jon wasn’t too decimated. She had done this to build his self-confidence, but it seemed it was working the opposite way.

  She shifted her weight. Phil’s long leg still hung over hers. Her right foot was going to sleep. She would have to nudge him to get out from under. He was such a bed hog, she wondered why she even wanted to win her bet. He’d been awful at the restaurant, imitating Jon and making fun of both of them. He ate like a pig, he never had any money, and though he was undeniably good-looking, he looked at other girls. Sex was great, but sleeping with him certainly wasn’t easy.

  But that didn’t cause her insomnia. What she couldn’t understand was why they’d left the restaurant so soon, why Jon hadn’t called her, and why he didn’t answer when she rang his phone. Of course, she’d told him that he’d have to work at being unavailable, but she hadn’t meant unavailable to her . Knowing Jon, he just didn’t want to bother her with yet more bad news. Still, she’d called four times already and let it ring, hoping he hadn’t turned the phone off and that he would pick up so she could comfort him.

  She decided to try one more time. As gently as she could, she pushed Phil’s hip with her hand while she tried to wriggle her leg free. She had extricated her knee when he lifted his head. “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Sleepy-sleep time,” she told him. “Roll over.” He did, and Tracie got up and looked over his shoulder at the clock. She picked up the phone, dialed Jon’s number, and, when there was still no answer, decided to dial Beth. What the hell. Beth might ream her for setting her up, or for waking her up, but she could always pretend she was upset over Phil. She’d gotten enough calls from Beth over Marcus to make that all right.

  But there was no answer at Beth’s, either. “It’s almost two A.M. Where are they?” she murmured to herself. Phil grunted. Worry now mixed with her curiosity. Maybe . . .

  “Downloading recipes, for all I know,” Phil said. He sounded incredibly cranky. He always did if he was awakened. “Come on, go to sleep. You’re nobody’s mother,” he reminded her. “What’s it to you?”

  “Well . . . I just hope they’re all right,” Tracie told him, then sat back down on her side of the bed. She imagined Jon finally giving up and hanging himself in his new, pared-down closet. Or snapping, and attacking Beth like a sex-crazed weasel.

  Phil turned over, but Tracie continued to stare into the darkness. In a moment, she heard his snores.

  She was sitting on the sofa in the dark, trying to think of what she’d do next, when Laura got up from her futon and stealthily walked to the side table and lifted up the phone. “What are you doing?” Tracie asked.

  Laura jumped in surprise and strangled a scream. “Oh my God! Tracie! I didn’t know you were there.”

  “Obviously not,” Tracie said. “Who were you about to call? No one in Encino,” she said accusingly.

  “I wasn’t going to call anyone,” Laura said.

  “No,” Tracie agreed, her voice mockingly sarcastic. “You just woke up in the middle of the night with a phenomenal need to dust the phone.” Tracie narrowed her eyes, although in the dark she could barely see Laura’s white shape. Has she been doing this all along, while I thought she was getting over it? Tracie wondered. “Since no 900 numbers have shown up on my bill, I have to think that you’ve been calling Peter,” she said bitterly.

  “No, Tracie. I swear I haven’t been. This was the first time. It was just that I . . .” Laura sat down beside Tracie. She picked up one of the throw pillows and pulled it to her chest. There, together in their nightgowns in the darkness, Tracie was suddenly flooded with tremendous affection for her friend. It wasn’t easy being Laura. Who could understand a big, funny, smart, wisecracking girl with a passion for cooking? Who would want to be with her, to love her as much as she deserved to be? Well, Tracie would, and any man who wouldn’t was losing out. And not just on great dinners.

  “I don’t know. I watched Beth get ready for her date, and then you had to rush off to Phil, and it seemed like everyone had someone but me. And I thought of Peter. I know I shouldn’t even think about him,” Laura admitted, her voice full of pain. “I know that. But . . .”

  “I know,” Tracie echoed, putting her arm across Laura’s shoulder. “It’s hard to be alone in a world of couples. I hope that Phil and I don’t make you feel left out. I’d hate that.”

  “No. No. You never make me feel like the third wheel. It’s so nice that you’d even have me here.” She paused. “It got really bad in Sacramento.” Laura made a little choking noise. “You know, I don’t want Peter back. It was just hearing Phil’s snore that somehow made me so lonely.” She paused, and Tracie could see a single tear roll do
wn Laura’s cheek. “I wanted to be next to my own snorer,” Laura said, then sniffed. “So sue me.”

  “I won’t sue you this time,” Tracie told her, “but I am going to tell you that you have to give up the reruns of Quincy. Jack’s a bad influence on you. You know, Mr. Bill at my video store won’t let me watch Love with the Proper Stranger anymore.”

  “He won’t?”

  “Nope. And that’s a good thing. You have to get out there again. Oddly enough, you’re not likely to meet anybody in front of my TV or in my kitchen.”

  “You may have a point there,” Laura admitted.

  Tracie moved her hand to Laura’s two and rubbed them. They were big and warm and capable, just like Laura. “Come on,” Tracie said. “Don’t you think it’s time you decided to stay up here? Look for a job?”

  :’Well, I already went to one interview,” Laura said hopefully.

  “It’s a start,” Tracie told her. “And let me make you an appointment with Stefan to add some streaks to your hair. It’ll be fun.”

  “Hey, what do you say if just this once we make farm cakes? I know how you love them.” She took one look at Tracie’s expression and backed off. “Okay. Okay. Just a pan of brownies from a box.”

  “I ate and ate and got sick on the floor. So eight times eight is sixty-four,” Tracie sang as she got up to go to the kitchen. “And then we sit here on the sofa together and watch Barnaby Jones or whatever else is on.”

  “Really?” Laura asked, her voice full of enthusiasm again.

  “Sure. Maybe you could wean yourself off Klugman with Buddy Ebsen,” Tracie told her. “Think of Buddy as the patch. Did I tell you Jon wanted his nickname to be Bud?” Tracie asked, then wondered again for a minute what Jon was doing at that moment.

  “Bud? You’re dreaming, right?” Laura asked, and they both giggled in the darkness.

  Chapter 24

  Jon sat in one of his beanbag chairs, his helmet in his lap and with what he knew was a dopey look on his face. He couldn’t get the half smile off his face, despite the fact there was a big Parsifal project meeting that afternoon‌—unprecedented for a Saturday‌—and he wasn’t prepared to lead it. Instead of focusing on the next steps he and his staff had to take on Parsifal, he was replaying moments from the night before over and over.

  Beth had been an enthusiastic partner, but a little too athletic and fast-tempoed. Jon had put his hands on her and slowed her down the way you would with a nervous dog. Every time she wanted to jump to some new position, he’d reminded her with his hands and his tongue‌—and sometimes by pressing his chest against her‌—to take it slower. He wanted her to savor each stroke, each caress, each flick of the tongue.

  And, once she relaxed, she seemed to enjoy herself. He could tell that she’d had plenty of experience, but he thought she was probably more practiced at pleasing men than at taking her own pleasure. The first time they’d made love, he’d come far too quickly. But that had given him the advantage when they made love the second time, and using his hand as well as long, slow strokes, he’d been able to make her come.

  At least he thought so. Jon sighed. The night with Beth had given him a new attitude. He was surprised that it didn’t really bother him that he didn’t know her very well and didn’t think that he’d like her too much when he did. What they had done had just been healthy and fun, but the only thing he didn’t like about sex with an almost stranger was that you could never be sure if your partner had come or not. With his last girlfriend, they had had an agreement that she wouldn’t fake it. He hoped Beth hadn’t, but he couldn’t know for sure. Jon looked around the table in his office, imagining the faces of his department staff, who in the next half hour would all be sitting there looking at him. Not one of them, he guessed, would feel as good, as relaxed, as he did at that moment. Or as unmotivated. Or as unprepared. He hoped that they had not been goofing off as much as he had.

  As the meeting time approached, he couldn’t keep his mind on the matters at hand. Visions from the previous night kept coming back to him: his hand moving down Beth’s back into the hollow right above the swell of her hips; the way her eyelids flickered when he moved his hand slowly from her neck to her breast. He moved his tongue against his top lip and then thought about her nipples and how they’d felt against his lips. He felt a stirring in his trousers and realized he better focus on Parsifal, since he’d have to stand up for a good part of the meeting.

  Beth was nice enough, but kind of silly. If he wasn’t playing the game by Tracie’s rules, he didn’t know what they would talk about. Yet he felt a tug toward the phone. He wanted to call her. No, he didn’t want to talk to her; he just wanted to meet her somewhere for an instant replay.

  More and more, he was coming to understand that all was fair in love and war. It wasn’t that his father or Phil didn’t like the women they hooked up with. They just didn’t like them enough. Sex with a stranger‌—and Jon knew that Beth was a virtual stranger‌—could be a lot of fun, but afterward there wouldn’t be much to say.

  His phone rang again, but, as Tracie had warned him, he didn’t answer it. That was really putting a crimp in his professional life, but, remembering the previous night, he knew it was worth it. Jon grinned. The thought that he could do it again gave him a little thrill. He thought of the women that were coming to the meeting today: Elizabeth, Cindy, and Susan. He certainly wouldn’t mess with anyone who worked for him, but Samantha‌—she was a different story. Jon wondered if his new look might work on Samantha. His phone rang again, but again he ignored it. His assistant was calling everyone to remind them about the meeting. Again the phone rang. Annoyed, he got up to check the caller ID and realized it was Tracie.

  He reached out to pick up the receiver and then stopped. He was embarrassed. He knew Tracie. She wasn’t a reporter for nothing. She’d question him on every detail, and somehow it would feel bad to tell Tracie how much he’d enjoyed her friend Beth. It would, however, be equally wrong to pretend that he hadn’t enjoyed being with her. He sat back down on the beanbag, and as it gave a sigh of escaping air, so did he. In a way, he owed last night to Tracie and many nights to come. Somehow, though, he really didn’t want to talk about it with her.

  He’d left Beth’s apartment, just as he’d been instructed to do, but shouldn’t he eventually call her? Tracie was going too far with that. Still, what she had prescribed had worked. And if he was honest with himself, he knew he didn’t actually want a relationship with Beth. So what was he going to do? Tell Beth he’d like to see her again just for sex? Lie to Tracie and pretend the sex hadn’t happened? Betray Beth and tell her it did?

  Lauren, his assistant, stuck her head into the office. “George says he doesn’t have the time line ready,” she told him. Jon was out of the chair in a minute. “Goddamn it! How can we schedule each work step without the time line?” he asked. “We’re counting on it.”

  Lauren shrugged. “He says he tried to call you but that he didn’t get you.”

  “Well, he didn’t leave a message,” Jon said. What he didn’t say was that he had rigged his voice mail so that it would always say his message box was full. Lauren shrugged again and disappeared. Shit, Jon thought. While he was getting laid, Parsifal was getting screwed.

  He had to review his E-mail, get a copy of the database report, and check his new voice mail messages. Even though Tracie had told him to get rid of voice mail, he couldn’t do it at work. Since he was used to getting half a dozen phone calls at home from Micro/Con people, just aborting his home system was traumatic. And using the filled-mailbox ploy was dangerous. Look at what had happened with George and the time line. He got on the phone and began to listen, a pen ready. “You have twenty-seven new messages.” Jon groaned. It would take him until the meeting just to clear the messages.

  The first message was from Tracie. “I called you at home, but you didn’t pick up. Are you depressed? How did it go? Call me.”

  The second one was also from Tracie. “I’ve tried you
about four times at home again. I’m dying to know how it went. Look, she’s not worth getting upset over. There will be others.”

  Jon had to smile at that, though he felt a little guilty for not having called her. The third call was from his mother. “Hi, Jonathan. I know you must be working very hard, but I wanted to talk to you. It’s not very important, but if you have a spare moment, give me a call.”

  Oooh. He hadn’t seen or talked to his mom since Mother’s Day. Of course, she thought he was busy with work, as he usually was. He told himself he’d call her back that evening.

  The fourth call was also from Tracie, but it was from that morning. “Where are you?” she said. “Come on. Call me. I’m at work. I haven’t heard from Beth yet. I hope you didn’t murder her.” The next call was really breathy, and for a moment he thought it was Tracie again, fooling around. Then he realized it was Beth.

  “Hi,” she whispered. “Last night was . . . well, you know what last night was. Where did you go? Thanks for leaving your number. Call me.” Jon hunched his shoulders guiltily. Tracie had been very clear that he shouldn’t reveal where he worked or give out his number, but when he’d snuck out of Beth’s bedroom, he’d felt so guilty that he had left his Micro/Con number and he’d rigged the phone so that anyone calling in wouldn’t necessarily know that it was Micro/Con. He sighed. This was all so much more complicated than he had imagined.

  Jon repressed a grin and listened to the rest of his messages. There were four more from Tracie, each one making him feel more guilty, and two more from Beth. He wasn’t the only one who called over and over again. Obviously, women did it, too; it was just that they had never done it to him until now.

 

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