Instead, I stared out of the window, watched the cars whipping by and wondered how in the hell I’d navigate the bourgee-lady shops in town. See, I never even bothered to go into those places, much as I loved peering in the storefronts, admiring the displays. There wouldn’t be any point, as I’d just have to walk around, pretending to look at racks of Vogue-magazine-worthy garments with prices to match, and making the poor saleswomen try their darnedest to ‘not see’ me. Geez, I didn’t even know what size I was any more. My clothes ran the gamut from five to ten, depending on brand and whether it was a fat or skinny day. Seemed to me that wealthy women were happy to pay more for a smaller size on the label, for psychological reasons. That’s why they invented size zero.
My obnoxious ringtone broke my reverie as we crossed over the Harvard Bridge. I had to remember to change it before seeing Dorian again. Picturing him hearing Gary Numan over and over yesterday while he carted around my abandoned phone made me feel ashamed. No wonder he found me unrefined. ‘Hello, Mr Holder.’
‘Change of plans,’ he said, in lieu of a greeting. His voice was laced with annoyance. ‘Your friend Gwen Schneider just showed up to work half in the bag, so I told her supervisor to call it a sick day and send her out.’
‘Oh, Gwen.’
‘Yeah, I’m none too happy about it, especially since I brought in a few people to retrain her team. Doesn’t look good to have one of our own smelling like a brewery.’
‘Right.’ I cringed, wondering how badly I stank yesterday.
‘Benton will drop you off at the spa to meet her. Ms Collins scheduled your appointments for some place on the Back Bay. She claims it’s the best in the city.’
‘Best in the city?’ I was sceptical.
‘The Asian Citrus, or something frivolous like that.’
‘Never heard of it.’
I could picture him shrugging. ‘I’ll take her word, she’s good at these things. Do let me know how the massage is, because I’m in dire need. The hotel bed here was nothing but torture.’
‘Aw. Poor baby.’
‘Indeed.’
He sounded amused, and I was pleased to have cheered him up. Dark Dorian is downright spooky.
‘Wait. Asian Citrus. Do you mean the Spa at Mandarin Oriental?’
‘That sounds right.’
‘Out of my price range.’
Dorian let out an impatient breath. ‘You won’t be paying, Lily.’
‘Gwen can’t afford it either.’
‘Yes, she actually can, seeing as her father’s the third most high-powered attorney in New York. But that is neither here nor there.’
‘Are you creeping on all the employees in the building, or just me and my friends?’ I was truly aghast.
‘I’ve got plenty of employees “creeping” for me, as you put it. Though, yes, I am focusing on your circle.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s my affair.’
‘Icky, Dorian. And Gwen hasn’t spoken to her dad in over three years, so you shouldn’t be connecting with him. But you probably already know that from whoever your source is. She won’t take money from Attorney Schneider, or anything for that matter, and it was presumptuous of you to assume she’d want to spend what little she makes at your company on some insanely expensive spa.’
‘Slow down. Yes, I am aware. I – the company, rather, will be covering her “therapy” as well,’ he said, his tone light. ‘Tell Ms Schneider this is her one Get Out Of Jail Free card. Next time she shows up to the office drunk, she’ll have to seek employment elsewhere.’
I digested this for a minute. ‘It’s that kid Joey, right? Your mole?’
‘Irrelevant.’
He barely hid his laugh, and I was so glad he wasn’t there beside me, or I’d have punched him in the nose.
‘You can tell her that yourself. And I don’t even want to go to the stupid spa any more.’
‘So you’re saying that you’d rather Gwen went on her own? I thought it would be a nice way for you ladies to spend a Tuesday off.’ He was either bewildered or doing a fine job pretending to be. ‘I’ll have Ms Collins cancel the reservations.’
‘Hold on, let me run this all by Gwen.’
As soon as I said this, call waiting beeped. My drunk besty, of course. ‘That’s her on hold. Call you back, Dorian.’
He was saying something stupid like ‘goodbye’ or ‘OK’ when I switched lines.
Gwen slurred at me for a few minutes, and once I gathered that she did indeed want our day passes but was terribly upset about something she’d talk to me about later, I called Dorian back and ate some humble pie. We would love to go, and perhaps I had spoken in haste. I closed my eyes, expecting him to say something smartassy. But Dorian Holder was full of surprises.
‘You’ve pleased me, Lily,’ he said. ‘Make a habit of it, if you would.’
‘I’ll try.’ The quaver in my voice was embarrassing. ‘I’ll always try to please you, Mr Holder.’
‘You have no idea, Lily.’ He chuckled. ‘None whatsoever.’
Chapter Six
Metamorphosis
Spa Day was weird. There was an initial thrill as Benton Worthy dropped me at the ostentatious golden doors and I checked in at the front desk and was eyed by handsome businessmen. Some lounged about the lobby sipping Bloody Marys, which matched the crimson upholstery perfectly. Some sat around the small tables, talking big money in hushed voices. Other than the concierge, I was the only woman.
She directed me to the spa entrance, which was all turquoise lighting, soft music and ornate sofas. A delicate hostess at the front desk handed over a pair of plush slippers and encouraged me to take off my cowgirl boots to ‘symbolically leave the cares of the world behind’. Why did everyone want me to take off my shoes lately?
One night Gwen and I rented a discount room at the Holder Inn off Exit 20, and she treated me to a manicure at their rinky-dink ‘spa’. That had been the extent of purchasable beauty treatment I’d had, other than haircuts … and even those ran on the cheap. I’d never had a facial, massage, aromatherapy, candling or any of the other things rich ladies regularly do. So I was psyched to feel gorgeous, and since it wouldn’t be me wasting money, I might only have a smidgen of guilt. Perhaps I inherited my attitude of ‘scarcity versus abundance’ from Ma? This was my official first luxury day of beauty, ever, and I was so excited to enjoy it with my girlfriend.
But when Gwen Schneider stumbled in, I knew from her unsteady gait she was still loopy, and the look on her face said she wasn’t ready to ‘leave the cares of the world behind’. Perhaps a day of rest and pampering would bring her around?
‘Hey,’ I called.
Gwen caught up, gave me a one-armed hug and mumbled something. There was an energy coming off her that was just not right, and she smelled like a pirate. We followed our hostess down a narrow hallway, inhaling the scents of spice and sea. Soft music and chirping birds greeted us from unseen speakers.
Screw Gwen if she was going to be a hater today. Dorian Holder, or more likely Beatrice Collins, had reserved the couples suite for us, a lovely escape decorated in shades of beige, gold and tangerine. Two bowls of purified water with rose petals awaited us by a simple couch, and just looking at our therapy bed/tables made me want to go back to sleep. Perchance to dream.
Mandarin Oriental call their treatments ‘journeys’, which are personally tailored for the needs of the client. For the record, they are nothing short of fabulous. Dorian Holder treated Gwen to the ‘Commonwealth Comforter’. For me? The ‘Inner Strength’ journey, and I started weeping during my massage, because that’s how I roll. But even with our own private ‘vitality pool’, side-by-side massage tables, free food, free everything and spa packages specially designed for both of us, Gwen and I didn’t talk all day. I tried to believe it was like we were supposed to be all serene and spiritual while they played Odesza, Kitaro, and Enya … but it wasn’t like that. Gwen’s never been a sucker for spirituality. She just wasn’t spea
king to me – at least, not more than a word or two here and there.
I tried.
Seriously, even when all kinds of over-the-top stuff was happening, when we were in the fake waterfall, while we swam in the mineral pool, while we got our pedicures, while we got our skin regenerated or whatever, while … well, all the stuff they do, which this place did better than anywhere in the city. Gwen wouldn’t get into the spirit, wouldn’t laugh, smile, splash me back, nothing. My hope was that she was upset about the whole thing with new Joey, but my gut told me her standoffishness was aimed entirely in my direction. I asked her a few times if I was ‘in trouble’, which is something I ask people too often, and she said no.
Liar.
Gwen and I have always had this rule that, rather than turning into bitchy, catty girlfriends when something is off, we tell each other. We talk it over. Or we even argue, but no one goes all deep-freeze. Something was so off, and she wouldn’t throw down.
‘I just feel like being quiet today,’ she said, again and again. I should have accepted this, but knew it wasn’t true.
‘What’s wrong, Gwen?’
‘I’m going through some shit.’
‘Are you mad at me?’
‘No.’
Around four o’clock, Gwen and I had completed our treatments, were clean, dry and rested. We silently enjoyed oysters, fresh fruit, brie, mini-baguettes, green juice and rather fabulous white wine in the spa cafe.
‘Excuse me, are you Lily Dewitt?’ asked a helpful attendant. ‘A gentleman by the name of Mr Worthy dropped this message off at your suite, but I thought you ladies had already left for the afternoon. My apologies.’
She handed me a note and bustled away when she saw me reaching for my purse to tip.
‘Thank you,’ I called after her.
‘Gee, wonder who that’s from?’ Gwen snorted. ‘Why’s he going by “Mr Worthy”, anyway?’
‘That’s his driver.’ Since her snide comment was the first honest inkling she’d given me all day about what was up, I leaped upon it. ‘What exactly are you getting at, Gwen?’
‘Go ahead and open it. Or turn on your cell and see how many friggin’ messages are there, waiting for you to eat ’em right up. I’ve gotta go pop in the bathroom and see if my face is less purple than it was half an hour ago after my mini-peel.’ She stood up, shoved her chair roughly back into place and huffed off to the bathroom.
More interested in what Dorian had to say than about Gwen’s little tantrum, I opened the note. Which, for the record, was written on cream-coloured paper. A plastic card with the hotel’s fan logo dropped onto the tabletop with a click.
Lily,
I’ve paid for Back Bay Room 121. Don’t lose this keycard, please. You’ll find your new clothes have taken up both closets. We have reservations at Bar Boulud, come down around six wearing the ensemble you’ll find on the bed. Eat something more than fruit at the café, you must be starving, and I hate skinny bitches.
D
P.S. You know I was kidding about the skinny bitches thing, right? I almost want to rewrite this note.
OK, I got it.
Even his penmanship was commanding and sexy.
When Gwen returned, I passed her the paper flirt and smiled. ‘Look, I know you think I’m losing my head over this guy, and I’m so not. Like, I’m going to be falling all over myself and stay with him just because he had his assistant hang my new clothes? Don’t you think it’s kind of presumptuous?’
‘I wouldn’t know, Lily. We haven’t really talked about what’s happened between you guys other than he kissed you, is buying you an entirely new wardrobe and, I’m betting, keeping you out of Apollyon until he blows out of town. Oh, and meanwhile, your precious Mr Holder threatened to fire me if I ever came to work drunk again, so there’s that. Which I wasn’t, for the record. I’m hung over. Like you were, yesterday, which for some reason was no big deal.’
‘OK.’ I could hear the uncertainty in my own voice.
There was a crackle as she unfolded Dorian’s note. ‘Ooh. Shocker.’
‘Right?’ I attempted to keep my voice light, but it sounded garbled since my throat was tightening.
She sneered.
‘I mean, the nerve.’ I swallowed, and added, ‘I’ll call him, but …’
Gwen snorted. ‘Yeah. You’ll call him. Then you’ll go to room 121. Then you’ll have your sex. Then he’ll promise you a promotion based on your bedroom performance, rather than office performance. Look, Lily. This is your deal, your story, but don’t expect me to be your cheering section. I’ve got my own stuff happening, but you’re too busy setting yourself up for disappointment to be engaged enough for me to share with you. Have I seemed cold today? Only because there’s no room in your mind for anyone outside this fairytale you seem to believe is happening.’
‘What?’
‘You fucking know what’s what. When you wake up from Fifty Shades of Lame, give me a call. I got the tab. Don’t – I mean don’t – let Mr Holder pick it up.’ She finished her glass of wine. ‘That is, if you want to talk to me again.’
‘Can you keep your voice down?’ I whispered. The café was peaceful and soothing. Not the kind of place for arguing women.
‘Not a problem, Lily. I’m heading out. And yes, I know there’s a Town Car waiting for me. I’ll take the fuckin’ T. Go find your playroom. Go have your fantasy. Meanwhile, I’m looking for another job.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Tell Mr Fancy thanks for the heads up, thanks for the spa day, and if he calls my father to encourage some sort of “intervention” I will find someone to sue the shit out of him. And no, it won’t be my daddy.’
‘Gwen, what the hell? Let’s just –’
‘Let’s not. Call me when you wake up from whatever this is.’ She reached into her wallet and threw two fifty-spots on the table. ‘Our waitress was awesome. Tell her to keep the change, unless you want to pocket some. You seem pretty hungry.’
She grabbed her Coach bag and stumbled as she got out of her chair. ‘So, see you at work in whenever, assuming I don’t get shit-canned between now and then. Looks like you’re going to have some time off, and after the interim will create some decent drama to report. Ciao.’
Then there was her big flounce, before I could even dredge up a witty comeback. For the record, I never have a comeback for anything until the next day, when I’m taking a long shower or whatever and it hits me like a ton of bricks. Know what I mean? ‘Oh, my God, that would have been the perfect thing to say.’ Right then, I had nothing, and didn’t want to utter something dreadful and mar our friendship for good.
Because this was just a blip on the screen, right? Yeah, Gwen was being an ass. But female friends are so hard to come by. So hard I’d had points in my life where I was tempted to pop onto Craigslist, and write my own Desperately Seeking Susan. Of course I had buddies, but not many. When I was growing up, our house was one of the ones where parents didn’t want to send their kids, so I developed a loner mindset, which is often mistaken for an independent streak. Oh, I had friendly acquaintances, and even had a few decent gal pals over the years. But not a bestie in a long, long time.
Girlfriends in my life come and go, and Gwen was one I didn’t want to lose. We’d had our disagreements before. There were follow-up texts, emails, coffee, hugs and one of us deciding to be the apologiser while secretly believing the other is wrong. Because, no matter how many ‘enlightened’ people tell you that nobody’s right, nobody’s wrong, and we all just tell our own story and have our own reality about what happened, that’s total boloney. If we would all just be honest, we’d admit that there is always one person being an asshole during a misunderstanding. Gwen and I were pretty much fifty-fifty on who screwed up. This time she was wrong, and I knew it. Fact is, Gwen Schneider stayed drunk all day, and smelled enough that I could see her massage therapist had to mouth-breathe …
Did Dorian call her father, or did he threaten to do so? Did Gwen think I put him up to it? I would take the fall
for this argument, since my not-boyfriend is the one who’s got her so worked up. We had to make this right. It’s so hard to connect and open up to another person, especially for an Aries. We’re the most antisocial sign. Maybe I’ve always been a remote person. Maybe I’ve been closed up, like a flower. But flowers bloom when the sun shines, and I was always on the brink of sunshine. I start to open, but then close, long before the dark.
* * *
The Back Bay Room was welcoming and reassuring, all warm tones and simple yet elegant wooden features. I was particularly taken with the inlaid wood headboard – I badly wanted a couch like this at my house. A pale purplish-grey silk embroidered with white birds. Sigh. I would make the best rich lady. Someone, I assumed Beatrice Collins, had laid out an ensemble on the bed. Though I’d initially been bummed to have missed my ‘Big mistake … huge’ moment, any disappointment fell away when I saw the treasures displayed before me.
Oh, my God, the most perfect little black dress! Yves St Laurent, thank you. Folded in a neat pile beside my new and only YSL were thigh-high dark stockings, lacy garter belt, super-tiny thong that made me itchy just looking at it, and the most gorgeous black bra I’d ever laid eyes upon. ‘Hello,’ I said to its silky, lacy, embroidered goodness. When you’re a 38 C-D, often you’ll be stuck wearing a rather grannyish brassiere; to get both support and beauty you’ve got to put down some serious cash.
I put my purse on the geometrical coffee table, sat on the couch, yanked off my cowgirl boots and stretched out my legs.
Getting ready would be fun tonight.
Chapter Seven
Raising the Bar
Sauntering into Bar Boulud, I was all mystery and magic. Sure, I was still Lily Dewitt, but also a Tall Cool Woman In A Black Dress. Heads were swivelling, and frankly I felt like a starlet. Must have been the heels, right? Really, I ought to paint the bottoms of all my shoes red, seeing how much attention these were getting me. No humble brag here, there were a lot of expensive-looking men, some of whom had dates, all rubbernecking. Maybe this happened more than I knew, when I walked down those cobbly brick streets in Cambridge. But, you see, I never noticed.
Reaching Lily Page 9
