Hot and Bothered
Page 5
“We’ll go shopping for real after this,” I said. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you something. Just have fun looking.” I thought of Jack at the hotel and wished I’d put my pride aside long enough to accept the gala invite when I had the chance.
The bathroom door squeaked open, and I didn’t hear Anna’s reply. The next thing I did hear was the middle of an already-started conversation being continued by heads that belonged to some very distinctive feet, from what I could see through the cracks in the stall.
“Anna’s really sweet,” Beatrix said.
“She’s like a fat widdle bunny wabbit. Squish!”
I winced, and apparently so did Beatrix who shrieked, “Mary-Ann!”
Anna, in the stall next to me, must have frozen.
“Her sister, though…” Beatrix continued.
Oh, please. Do go on.
“So…pedestrian.”
That’s the best you can do?
“It’s really embarrassing the way she’s still chasing Jack,” Mary-Ann continued. “Across the world?”
“Do I even need to say he’s so out of her league?” Beatrix asked. “It’s like fucking the help.”
The red-hot anger consuming my brain muted the soft intake of breath I heard from Anna’s stall, but it was enough for me to process that my sister might not be taking this well. I processed my options, but in the end I reminded myself I was not going to be embarrassed by who I’d become, certainly not when it was so unimpressive who they’d become. I flushed the toilet, and Anna followed my lead. Through the crack in the door, I saw the two girls pause, lipsticks in the air, and look at each other.
I straightened myself up and pushed the door open, Anna beautifully synchronized at my right, though her pale skin was red as the rouge in Mary-Ann’s hand.
I smiled at the surprised—but not entirely ashamed—faces in the mirror’s reflection, washed my hands and left without a word. Anna didn’t say anything as we headed back to the table where Irina was fluffing the bow on a long box, probably one of the modeled scarves Anna had been coveting. “Happy Birthday, Anna,” she said as we reached our seats and collected our coats and bags.
Anna managed a pinched smile. Robotically, she took the gift and stuffed it in the favor bag. “Thanks, Irina. See you later.”
“Did something happen?” Irina asked cluelessly as Anna headed for the door.
“Have a nice day,” I said and followed my sister outside, where she stood on the cobblestones trying not to hyperventilate. Two red spots burned on her cheeks as she raised her chin in a measure of defiance and gave her war cry: “To les soldes!”
Which I happily translated as, “Don’t let the bastards get us down…let’s shop!”
Three hours later, we’d shopped enough to cut down the number of psychiatric hours Anna would need to recover from the day’s nasty comments by at least half. “How are you doing?” I asked.
We’d done the department stores and then took the metro to the Marais to hit the boutiques. Our mountain of shopping bags was now stuffed alongside us in the loud, crowded back room of a famous falafel joint called L’As, which was so good it pretty much made it impossible for me to eat falafel anywhere else in the world.
Anna sipped at her lemonade. “How am I doing? I’ve just been reminded that I’m overweight and underpaid.”
“By two girls who have no business passing judgment.”
Anna rolled her eyes at me. “Pretty words, Cass. But reality bites. I’m thinking of taking you up on your offer.”
“Which offer?”
“The one where you talk Mr. Brooks into hiring me. Foreign travel, excessive amounts of spending money, private parties in grand apartments. I don’t think I fully understood before when you said you were involved in international real estate.”
I laughed. “Don’t gloss it. You know how much work goes into setting up these rentals.” She was forgetting or willfully ignoring what I’d told her about the more mundane bits of the job like negotiating the deal to buy the property and cleaning grout with a toothbrush. That said, I might be more sharkish than my sister, but she could charm anyone, which could be just as useful in this line of work.
“Or maybe you could just sublet your Italy job to me while you stay in Paris, frolicking with Jack.” She leaned over the table and in a cheeky, conspiratorial whisper added, “I think he’s turned into a good egg.”
I wiped falafel sauce off my chin and in my sternest tone said, “Jack is…well, I don’t know what Jack is. A diversion? An exorcism of ghosts from my past? I’m not staying behind with him. But you can come with me to Italy if you want.” I shrugged. “Just change your ticket.”
Anna put her chin on her hand and looked at me dreamily. “I love how you make anything seem not just possible, but simple.”
“Money makes things possible and simple. You really should get a better job.”
“I know,” she said mournfully. “I won’t be able to coast on this face and these tits forever.”
After wiping up the soda I’d spewed through my nose, I added, “Really, if you are serious about doing this, I’ll talk to Brooks.”
“Thanks. I’d like that.” Anna poked at the ice in her lemonade for a bit before a wrinkle furrowed her brow. “Don’t get mad at me for saying this, but I think it might have done some good, what happened with Jack in high school.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I remember you saying that someday you’d have just as much money as they had, and you wouldn’t be on the outside, and they’d never laugh at you again.” She looked up at me. “It was all true. I wish I could be more like you. I think it made you stronger.”
I think it made me colder. I leaned over the table. “You’re the best sister ever. But I’m glad you’re exactly like you are.” My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so answered it as if it might be a potential rental client.
“It’s Jack. Where are you right now?” He sounded tense.
“Is something wrong?” I asked. Anna arched an eyebrow, and I raised a finger to stave off her questions.
He muttered something in French that I didn’t catch and then he repeated, “I’m in the car. Just tell me where you are.”
“In the Marais at L’As. But we’ll be leaving soon. Is something—”
“I’m close by. Don’t move. I’ll call when I get there.” He hung up on me, and I stared at the phone for a minute. My sister waited patiently for an explanation. I just looked at her and asked, “Did you give Jack my cell number?”
“Yes,” she said, batting her Bambi eyes before getting serious. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know.” Anna and I had only just tossed our trash, collected our bags and left the restaurant when a limousine turned a cobblestone corner, the door opened and a grim-looking Jack waved us over. “Get in.”
Nonplussed, I just stood there for a moment. “I’m not sure cars are supposed to drive here,” I mumbled.
“Get in.”
Anna didn’t second-guess the directive. She bounded to the car, let the driver take her packages and climbed inside.
I followed her, and the first thing Jack said to me once we were settled and the car pulled away was, “Irina came back to the house.” I must have looked confused about that because he added, “She and Luc are fuck-buddies…doesn’t matter. The point is that I know what happened at the dress thing, the tea, whatever you call it.”
Anna looked out the window.
I looked at Jack. Full-on suit and tie, hard dress shoes in lieu of his leather sneakers, a Louis Vuitton briefcase at his feet. Businessman Jack again. But there was anger here that I hadn’t seen in years, not since that business in high school with Anna being forced to do a keg stand in a miniskirt at the mercy of an inappropriately enthusiastic football player.
“I made it clear to her that you and Anna are not to be treated like this. That you are my friends.” He looked at me and repeated with a growl, “I made it very clear.”
Anna’s reaction surprised me, though. It was as if she’d been holding back in front of me, but Jack’s rescue gave her permission to admit how upset she really was.
“Just one of those dresses was more than I make in a year,” Anna said, her voice all cloggy, still not making eye contact. “I mean, I bet Cassie could buy one…if she didn’t plan to eat or pay rent for a while. It’s one thing if we’re all just going to look for fun, like at a shop window. But I think Beatrix told Irina to invite us to be cruel, Jack. Why would they bother? I mean, it’s obvious I can’t afford any of that stuff. Do they have to throw it in my face?”
“I think they mean to throw it in my face,” Jack said, taking my sister’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m very sorry, Anna. It’s not about you, really. It’s about my brothers and me. The Marchand brothers don’t always play inside the lines, and they don’t like it.”
“He means slumming it with girls like us,” I said flatly. “They probably like it even less now than they did when we were in high school.”
Jack didn’t disagree with my own insult. For heaven’s sake, go ahead and appreciate his honesty, Cass. It’s the one thing you always wanted from him.
“It’s a very strange world,” he said. “A club that the members want to keep very exclusive. They don’t care about what we might miss out on.” His gaze flicked to my face and back to Anna, who was now crying. “There is pressure all around to keep it very exclusive, to keep the money in the family, if you will. I am sorry, but that is how it is. But you are my friends.” He looked up at me. “I won’t sit by knowing you are unhappy, have been made unhappy because of me. I came as soon as I heard. I really meant it when I said I want to fix the past.” The car turned onto Boulevard St. Germain, and I could see the apartment building looming.
Anna sniffled, and Jack gave her the silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, which she used with great gusto. He held back a lock of her hair so it wouldn’t get caught in the muck, and it was touching to see him take care of my little sister.
“I do think you’re a good egg, Jack,” Anna said, shooting me a pointed and painfully unsubtle look. The driver pulled to the curb and opened the door for Anna, who went with him to mastermind the packages.
Jack and I sat across from each other in his limousine. He stared at me, our knees a hair’s breadth away from touching. The tension in his body was palpable. His jaw set as he said, “It was bullshit, what they did. I called as soon as I knew.”
I desperately wanted him to kiss me, and I also knew that I hadn’t given him a single reason to think I’d still be receptive to that. This is on you, Cass. You have to do something or he’s going to drive off and just be the best friend you ever had.
The driver got back into the car; through the wrought-iron whorls over the glass doors I could see Anna standing inside the foyer, the desk clerk loading packages into the elevator.
Jack looked desperately at his watch. “I wish I didn’t have to go, but it was a detour. My father is waiting, you see…Cassandra—”
“I’ll go with you,” I blurted. “I mean, if it’s still on the table, I’ll go to the gala with you. Christian is coming to pick up Anna at eight and we could…”
The end of my sentence disappeared in a kiss. The constraints of time and Jack’s frustration delivered rough passion that made me gasp as soon as I caught a breath. He pressed me back against the leather seat, light from the open door hazy in my peripheral vision. I grabbed a fistful of his shirt as he held my face in his hands, his tongue seriously plundering my mouth like he couldn’t get enough. I gasped, caressing his neck with the palm of my hand. The pounding of his blood matched the rhythmic pulse between my legs. He groaned against my mouth as desire coiled within him. I knew that feeling well, and I knew he needed release, since I’d only taken from him and teased him from day one. I also knew that when the chauffeur coughed, and I stumbled out of the limousine and watched Jack’s grin disappear behind his tinted window, if I had just one more chance, I’d give him that release.
Chapter Six
On the night of the gala, Jack and Christian arrived at the apartment on time, in deference to our uptight American feelings about punctuality. But since they didn’t actually want to be on time for the gala, Jack opened a bottle of white at the living room bar and mixed up four Kirs.
The men looked incredible in black tie, a master class, really, in how two men with different builds can both look hot in the same outfit. As a result of our retail therapy, Anna wore pink satin, a one-shoulder goddess number that clung to her curves. I’d picked a navy halter gown streaked with silver thread. The skirt was floor-length tulle. On the hanger the shape looked like it had the potential to be very quinceañera gone wrong, but on, it totally worked. Well, it clearly worked enough for Jack, who took his time dragging his gaze from my face to my cleavage to my hips as he sipped his apéritif.
“Is Luc going with someone?” Anna asked. “We should have gone as a group.”
“Stag,” Christian said.
“So his MO hasn’t changed. He plans to find the prettiest girl at the party and steal her away from her date,” Anna joked.
“That won’t be possible tonight,” Jack said, smiling at me. While Christian and Anna continued babbling in the background, Jack only had eyes for me. “You look…I have no words.” He smiled warmly. “A blue dress?” He took my hands and gazed boldly up and down. “Black hair, blue eyes, porcelain skin… I have never seen anything more beautiful.”
I had some serious competition when we got to the gala, though. Just when I thought there was nothing about Jack’s lifestyle that could really impress me anymore, we walked into a world that looked like one of those magazine spreads from the ‘80s, teeming with supermodels and designer gowns.
The gala was set up in the courtyard of one of those grand cream-colored limestone buildings Paris seemed to have in spades. The kind that has ornate plasterwork and either gargoyles or angels on the balustrades. Part of it was tented, and the canvas had been entirely covered and lined with trelliswork around which flowery vines and millions of lights had been woven. It looked like the sort of thing you might find in the illustrations from an antique book of French fairy tales. A dance floor designed to look like moss-framed garden stones filled the center of the space, and there were two gigantic gurgling fountains from which cherubs dumped champagne out of urns. The flower budget must have been enormous because there were bowls and bowls of arrangements, sending a heady perfume into the air.
One model wearing almost nothing but a translucent chiffon shift and a wide silver armband walked through the crowd offering to apply glitter makeup to the guests. I had her apply it to my bare arms, and décolletage. A second model dressed as an incredibly chic mystic walked the floor with a tray of Chinese fortune sticks whispering the result into the ear of whoever shook them out. As much as I’d traveled in Europe and as many times as I’d visited Paris, I wasn’t jaded enough to be immune to the charm of this event.
“We’ll see you on the dance floor,” Jack said to Christian and Anna, steering me toward the music, his arm possessively cradling my back. “Tout se passe bien?”
I nodded. “Everything’s great.” As the band played a slow French pop song, Jack held me in his arms. We danced until it got so crowded it was hard to move. The band picked up the pace and at one point, we bumped into Anna and Christian and chatted in the middle of the dance floor. Finally, Jack took my hand and drew me out to a balcony, stopping to lift a bottle of champagne and two flutes on the way out.
A slight breeze tickled my skin. I shivered, and before I had time to wrap my arms around myself, he swept his tuxedo jacket around me.
Two other couples shared the balcony. Jack got that look in his
eye. The one I remembered from long ago; the one he probably wore when he was rampaging like a bull at the five-year. It was his determined look, and it meant he intended to solve a problem by whatever means necessary.
Push them over the balcony? Pay them off? I giggled as he opened the bottle of champagne and poured.
He handed one stem to me and took the other. “What’s so funny?”
With my champagne glass hand, I pointed at a sign on a door behind him. I could see from the architecture of the building that it led to stairs curling around the side, up and around toward the roof.
He glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to me wearing a huge grin.
ENTRéE INTERDITE
“It reminds me of the old theater at school,” I said. “Specifically, the wrap party after Gigi—which, by the way, I’m sure they chose expressly because they suddenly had three hot French students who could sing.”
He rolled his eyes. “I wanted to work in set design with you.”
“You spent enough time behind the sets with me to get credit for both sides of the stage. I still love that we snuck into the costume attic during the party.”
Jack chuckled. “I always had the best time with you. We were so silly, and we didn’t care.”
I laughed, thinking about me picking out dresses and making Jack try them on. The Elizabethan gown and the Noel Coward flapper dresses with the wigs from Hair and Hairspray. “I thought you might kiss me that night. It took another three months, and I thought you never would.”
“I desperately wanted to, but we were such good friends, I didn’t want to mess it up.” His expression softened, his smile turning wistful. “Of course, I managed to mess it up later, but that night was magic.”
“The sign on the archives said do not enter. I was afraid we’d get caught, and you said we wouldn’t, but if we did, you’d tell them you convinced me. I was such a good girl.”