So, the flowers hadn’t been sent by Charlie or Neil, but I took them home anyway and kept them on my kitchen table. They were beautiful, and I didn’t need to listen to Maria crack any more jokes about my female admirer.
Vivian’s persistence, and impeccable taste in florists, paid off. I spoke with Robin’s agent that same day, and Vivian had a copy of the contract messengered over within the hour. As far as everyone was concerned, the book was a done deal.
But now that Paige had agreed to go out with Hugh, I wanted to talk with Vivian about incorporating my cake theory. They’d decided to fast-track the project to get the book out in October, and I didn’t have time to lose, so I stopped by her office on my way to meet Charlie for lunch.
Although Vivian wasn’t expecting me, I was immediately showed into her office.
After she spent the first fifteen minutes telling me how excited everyone at Pegasus Publishing was about the book, I finally had a chance to tell her why I stopped by.
“I think I can give you that feel good story you’re looking for,” I explained.
“Really?” Vivian tapped her pencil on her desk as she thought about my news. “I tell you what, wait here a second. I’ll be right back.”
Vivian left me alone for a few minutes with the stacks of manuscripts piled high on her desk. When she returned she was followed by a silver haired man in a three piece suite and a face furrowed from summers sailing on Martha’s Vineyard.
“Lauren Gallagher, this is Bradley Potter, our publisher.”
“Hello, Lauren.” Bradley Potter reached for my hand and took it firmly in his own leathery palm. “Vivian told me your idea and we think it’s something that should be capitalized on immediately.”
“Now look.” Vivian sat down on the corner of her desk and crossed her legs. “What we’d like to do is hold a press conference at the boutique and allude to the fact that Lauren Gallagher is going to reveal her closely guarded secrets in the book – really build the excitement and get everyone talking.”
“The idea is to whet their appetite, so to speak.” Bradley rested his hands in his pant pocket and jingled a handful of change. “We want to get our publicity department on this right away, hold a press conference next Friday. So what do you say, are you up for it?”
It was a little premature, considering Paige and Hugh hadn’t even met yet, but I just knew it was going to work out.
“Absolutely.”
“Great.” Vivian hopped down from the desk and walked around to the other side, where she ran a finger along the weeks on her desk calendar. “We’re thinking next Friday.”
The day after Paige and Hugh’s date. No appointments. It was perfect.
“So this is what a divorce attorney’s office looks like?”
“Surprised there’s no guillotine?”
“Actually, I was expecting something along the lines of lethal injection. Less screaming.” I stood beside Charlie’s floor to ceiling window, taking in the views from his office on the thirtieth floor of Exchange Place. Below me on the narrow downtown street, little ant-like people scurried into cabs or waited on sidewalks for the streetlights to change. “Nice view.”
“We’re lucky the windows don’t open, otherwise I’d be talking some of our more unstable clients down from the ledge. I’m not exactly a fan of heights but it’s nice to look at the water.”
Charlie’s office faced east, and as one of the tallest buildings in the financial district, he soared above the other skyscrapers to an unobstructed view of Boston Harbor. I could easily see the planes taking off and landing at Logan Airport, the noise of their engines muted by the thick panes of glass preventing Charlie’s clients from inflicting bodily harm.
We’d decided to have lunch in Fanueil Hall, an outdoor marketplace that was part historical meeting hall, part modern retail bonanza. Although Quincy Market is derided as the most visited tourist trap in Boston, I never tired of the place. Where else could you follow the Freedom Trail right to the front door of Crate & Barrel?
Even though it seemed as if winter had finally given up and admitted it was spring, there weren’t any of the usual jugglers or musicians as we walked along the cobblestone promenade. The rows of pushcarts selling stuffed animals and beaded jewelry were still shielded by the thick plastic curtains that protected them from the elements until the weather warmed up for good.
We passed by the carts and entered Quincy Market’s first floor food court, a circus for the senses where old New England favorites like clam chowder and lobster rolls battled for your taste buds against the staples of a modern meal – burgers, pizza and frozen yogurt. Once inside it was every man for himself, and while Charlie waited in line for a steak sandwich, I found my way to Pizzeria Regina for a fat wedge of cheese pizza. We met up again in the center atrium where the tables were filling up quickly with the lunchtime crowd.
“We could sit outside,” Charlie suggested, and led the way.
All the benches were empty, but Charlie stopped in front of one with a bronze statue of a cigar smoking Red Auerbach, the legendary Celtics coach, reclining comfortably. “We could sit with Red, but the Celts sucked this year and I don’t want to ruin my appetite.” He moved one bench down and we took a seat.
Even though we were precariously balancing our lunches on our laps, Charlie wasn’t distracted, and as we talked about our mornings and the parallels of our jobs he carefully watched me when I spoke as if he didn’t want to miss a word.
“Ever see When Harry Met Sally?” I asked between bites of my pizza.
“Ages ago.”
“What’d you think of it?”
Charlie thought for a minute. “Are you testing me to see if I think men and women can be friends? Because I’m not exactly having lunch with you because I want to be your friend.”
“So you don’t think men and women can be friends?”
“I don’t think you can be friends with someone you find attractive.”
“That’s not true,” I disagreed. “I’ve been friends with guys.” Although come to think of it, none of them were exactly candidates for a Calvin Klein underwear campaign.
Charlie finished his potato chips and continued. “Really? Okay, then let me put it this way. Say I met a woman who made me laugh. And then I found out that we had some things in common, we even shared some acquaintances. Then we hung out together and had a good time. Sounds like a great friend, right?”
“Sure,” I agreed, wondering if he’d just described me.
“Then what if I told you that I found her attractive?” Charlie paused and I sure as hell hoped he was describing me.
“All of sudden we can’t be friends anymore,” he continued. “Because let me tell you, I like my guy friends. They make me laugh, too. But I don’t find them attractive, and that’s why I’m not dating a guy named Chuck. Because I don’t want to sleep with my friends.”
I wasn’t sure Charlie answered my question about the movie, but I didn’t really care at that point. Charlie wanted to sleep with me. And I had to admit, the idea sounded very appealing.
“So you’re telling me that I don’t have to be wary of your friends? Because I’ve never had to compete with a guy named Chuck before.”
Charlie laughed. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Then why was I worrying. Why was it becoming even more important that Charlie hold out the possibility of something beyond a string of enjoyable dates? Hadn’t Paige, Robin and I always prided ourselves on the fact that we didn’t need a wedding band on our finger in order to be happy? Why did I feel like I was letting down generations of feminists as I ate my pizza and let the little twinges of uneasiness overshadow the fact that I was seated between Red Auerbach and a man who was happy just to spend time with me?
“Do you have time to take a walk down by the water?” Charlie asked, after I’d noisily sucked down the last drips of my Sprite with my straw.
I’d told Maria I wouldn’t be back until one and it was barely twelv
e thirty. I crumpled up my paper plate and stood up. “I have plenty of time.”
I refused to let five tier wedding cakes and sugar paste flower toppers get the best of me. I’d be damned if I’d let happily ever after spoil right now.
Chapter 18
“Can you meet me for a drink? I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“I think I can swing that.” I turned my back to Maria and walked out of the kitchen, making sure the door was shut before I continued talking into the phone. “What were you thinking?”
Neil paused. “I don’t know too many places anymore. I haven’t been here for a while. Any suggestions?”
I could have gone two ways – neutral ground where two oldacquaintances would meet or the hallowed grounds shared by one time lovers. I figured I’d give him the choice.
“I could meet you at this cute tapas bar around the corner from the boutique, or we always just go to the Bell In Hand,” I suggested, naming one of our favorite downtown pubs.
He didn’t even have to consider the options. “I’ll meet you at the Bell In Hand at five.”
I didn’t have to find a way to be alone with Neil. He’d made the first move and saved me the trouble. It wasn’t just idle speculation any longer. It wasn’t just me listening to Julie remind me of what I’d given up. It was a date.
“So what’ll it be, Lauren,” Neil asked when we sat down at a table. “What are you drinking nowadays, assuming you’ve progressed past Lite beer and Sex on the Beach.” I was sure he meant the drink, not the act itself.
We used to order pints of beer, but I figured an Absolute and tonic would make me look a little more sophisticated. Neil ordered a scotch on the rocks. My how we’ve grown up.
So, what made you call?” I asked, after the waitress walked away. “I have to admit, I was surprised.”
“I wanted to ask you a favor. This wedding is putting a lot of pressure on Julie, especially since she’s here by herself until I move back.”
I nodded.
“She told me she ran into you at Gamble Mansion and were a big help. I was wondering if you knew someone who could assist with all the details, like a wedding planner or something.”
“Sure, of course. I have a few I could recommend.” A recommendation for a wedding planner? He wanted me to meet him so I could make life easier for his fiancé?
“That’d be a huge help. I’ve about had it with the daily phone calls about monogrammed cocktail napkins.” Neil shook his head at the absurdity. “Who the hell looks at cocktail napkins? What’s next? Monogrammed toilet paper?”
“Ever wish you could elope and do away with the big event?”
“What guy doesn’t?” Neil laughed. “No, seriously, I know it will be great. It’s just that it’s taken over our lives. Every free minute we have appointments and decisions to make. Do you really think my friends care if they get candied almonds at their plates as keepsakes?”
“It’s tradition. Weddings are a weird thing, aren’t they?”
“Weird is one word I’d use. Pain in the ass is another.”
The waiter brought our drinks and we both took long sips before I continued. “So that’s why you called? Strictly business?”
Neil grinned. “Maybe not all business,” he admitted. “Maybe I was a little curious.”
I couldn’t help smiling back. “Me, too.”
“And what were you curious about?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
There were so many things I was curious about. What was he like? What was his life like? Did he ever think of me? How did he remember our time together? Did he regret that he left Boston without me?
“Just about what you were up to now, how your life has changed, that sort of thing,” I answered.
“Well, I’m moving back to Boston, so I guess not much has changed.”
“I guess not, if you don’t count getting engaged,” I pointed out, and Neil seemed genuinely embarrassed that he left out that small life altering event.
“Well, there’s that, too,” he acknowledged.
Neil lifted his glass and held it out towards me, "How about a toast. To old friends and old times." He clinked my glass and took a long sip. I took an even longer one.
“So, now you’re a super successful pastry chef and business woman. I have to admit, I’m really impressed.”
I liked Neil’s take on my life. I was like a Virginia Slims ad.
“I haven’t done so bad for myself,” I agreed.
Neil sat back and looked at me as if he was taking me in. After taking a breath, I met his eyes and felt up to the challenge.
“If owning the hottest cake boutique in Boston is not bad, then you’re right.”
“What’d you expect me to do? Sit around miserable because you left me?”
Neil pretended to choke on his scotch. “I think that’s called revisionist history,” he coughed.
“How’s that?”
“I left you?”
“Um, you’re the one who moved,” I pointed out.
“Um, you’re the one who didn’t come with me,” he imitated. “I asked.”
“No, asking is when we discuss moving before you decide to do it.”
“What do you mean?” He seemed really confused.
“At dinner you told me you got the job and were moving,” I explained. “It didn’t seem up for discussion.”
“What do you call talking about moving to DC, if not us planning to do it together?” I guess I looked confused because he added, “I mean, you never even said you wanted to stay together after I left. Ever hear of long distance relationships?”
I don’t know why I was playing this game with Neil. He was right. I didn’t want to go to DC. And I didn’t want to have a long distance relationship. It wasn’t his fault, although I was doing a good job of making him think I thought that.
“It wouldn’t have worked. Long distance relationships never do,” I explained away my actions.
“Especially when one of the people doesn’t want it to,” he replied, seriously. “Regardless, we had fun, didn’t we?” Neil smiled at me and cocked his head.
“Yeah, we had fun.”
Neil twirled the ice in his glass with his index finger as he spoke. When he finished he slid the finger between his lips and licked it dry. For some reason it made me uncomfortable, his actions were so blatantly sexual, or maybe I was making more of this than he intended. Looking up from his glass, Neil caught me staring, and I’m sure he could tell that my mind was in the gutter. I looked across the bar, where a table of newcomers were just sitting down.
“I knew the minute I pulled away from the curb that you’d already moved on.” Neil waited for me to look at him. “Do you know how I knew?”
I shook my head.
“When I looked in the rear view mirror you were smiling.”
“That’s not true,” I objected. “I was waving.”
“Yeah, that too. There you were waving frantically and smiling, like those passengers you see on the deck of a cruise ship. It was like you were leaving, going on an adventure instead of me.”
“At least I wasn’t tossing confetti,” I joked before getting serious again. “I don’t believe that.”
“Believe it. I guess that’s why I’m not that surprised that you went on to open Lauren’s Luscious Licks and everything.”
He was being so honest, I thought it was time to come clean. “That’s not exactly true. I was laid off from the ad agency after you left.”
Neil shrugged. “But you got the last laugh, didn’t you. You’re still so sure of yourself, and what you want and how to get it, aren’t you?”
Were we still talking about me? Talk about revisionist history. It was as if he was retouching a photo.
“I hate to admit it, but I kind of wish you’d gone downhill since we broke up.”
“Downhill?”
“Yeah, maybe lose a few teeth, get a limp, grow a few moles.”
“Would you like some errant hairs g
rowing out of those moles?”
“That’d be good. And an eye patch, too. Just so I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on anything. Is that ridiculous?”
“Not so ridiculous.”
“So are you seeing anyone?”
That I even hesitated made me feel slightly disloyal toward Charlie. “Sort of.”
“He’s a lucky guy.”
We talked some more about Neil’s job and moving back to Boston. Our conversation felt eerily similar to old times but without the issues of a relationship and all the eagerness of a courtship. As he spoke I studied his face, one I’d known so well many years ago, and that now seemed to belong to a stranger. Although he was still easy on the eyes, Neil’s hairline was retreating and the jaw line that used to make his profile distinguishable to me in any room had become rounder and softer.
“I better get going. We have a meeting with a caterer.” Neil finally announced and rolled his eyes. “Before I forget, can I get those planner’s names.”
When the waitress brought the check Neil reached for his wallet. I reached over and took the bill. What was the point of having your ex-boyfriend think you’re super successful if you couldn’t buy him a drink? And what was the point of having Neil show up after eight years if not to give me another chance, if I wanted it?
Neil caught a cab and I walked toward the T station. Outside the downtown streets were deserted except for the occasional straggler hurrying to catch a bus or make the train home. The interiors of the office buildings were still lit, their empty lobbies under the watchful eyes of security guards who paced across the marble floors killing time before their shifts ended.
Dress Rehearsal Page 18
