by Gina Ardito
On the tenth of February, the weather punished resident New Yorkers for enjoying the previous week’s warmth with a major snowstorm. Anyone who didn’t have to leave home was encouraged to remain where they were. Thus, Bass was stuck inside his apartment with that damn package.
After several hours of pacing, staring out the window at the swirling snow, and channel surfing, he couldn’t take the lure any longer. What did he have to lose at this point? Vivi had pretty much said goodbye to him when she hung up the day he saw Julian Bruno at her office. Since then, she’d refused to take his calls, letting them go straight to voicemail or blocking him with the brick wall that was Sarah.
He headed for the étagère and pulled the package and stocking off the shelf. Although a month had passed, he could still hear her recorded voice. Don’t argue, Bass. Package, card, stocking. In that order. So what if he’d screwed up everything else? This, he’d do right. Package first. The foil-wrapped tube went on the couch. He placed the stocking on the glass cocktail table and smoothed the edge of white fur with his fingertips. Okay, he was ready. No. Wait. He had a great idea.
Grabbing his laptop, he powered on and accessed his video program. He slid the stocking out of the way and set up the computer so the camera eye focused on the couch where he planned to sit. Satisfied, he sat and pulled the tubular package onto his lap before aiming a shaky smile at the camera.
“Hey, Vivi. It’s me. Today’s February tenth, the day of the big blizzard, and I’m home, along with the rest of Manhattan.” He swallowed hard—his pride. “First, I want to say that I’m sorry. I screwed up. See, when I first met Ava, she made me aware of something I hadn’t realized before.” Another swallow. Jeez, his throat was dryer than day-old coffee grounds, and the temperature in his apartment rivaled the surface of the sun. “I’m in love with you. Rather than tell you straight out, which, let’s face it, would’ve scared the crap out of you, I let Ava talk me into playing some kind of jealousy game. She claimed that if you saw me as someone else’s romantic interest, you’d begin to realize how much you loved me…”
He confessed everything, pouring his heart out to his image on the laptop screen, in fast-forward chronological order. Finally, he lifted her Christmas gift up into view on the screen. “When you had Mrs. Melendez bring this to me, I couldn’t understand your rush. Unless this was your way of telling me you didn’t want to see me anymore. ‘Give him his gift and we’re done.’” He inhaled a sharp breath. “I still don’t know if that’s what you were thinking. But today, I reconsidered. I can’t fight the unknown. And Vivi, here’s the thing: you’re worth fighting for. So get ready. No matter what you meant by sending this to me, I’ll be coming for you.” Looking past the laptop, he glanced at the billows of white outside his window. “As soon as the weather allows.”
He settled the package on his knees. “Okay, here we go. And yes, I remember the rules. Package, card, stocking.”
With trembling hands, he removed the bright red envelope and placed it on the cocktail table between the laptop and the stocking. He tore the wrapping off the tubular gift. The plain white cardboard shell beneath the shiny paper gave him no additional clues. “Hmm…” he said to the screen. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
He wedged the box on its side between his knees and pried open the top. Gold glinted inside. “What the…?” He shoved one hand into the case and grabbed the cool metal, pulling carefully.
The telescope slid out, and the box fell from his knees with a thunk. “This is just like the one…” His voice trailed off as he studied the barrel. There, on the end closer to the eyepiece, was the crescent-shaped chip. The chip that his grandfather had created when, as a boy, he’d dropped the telescope on the cement slab outside his home.
“Vivi.” Her name wafted from his lips, a prayer. “Is it any wonder I love you?”
Aside from that one chip, the telescope was in pristine condition. Polished, even.
Joy infused him as he lifted the scope to his eye and looked out at the swirling snow. The lens enhanced the flakes into delicate crystal flowers for his benefit alone. His chest tightened. She loved him. Or she had when she’d planned this gift.
“Card next,” he said through a roughened throat. He reached for the envelope and tore open the flap. When he pulled out the card, he saw two drunken dogs caroling on the front. He didn’t bother with the printed verse. His eyes zoomed straight to Vivi’s scripted message inside.
Dear Bass,
I’ve been looking for this telescope for about five years now. I finally got hold of it this past May, and it’s been hidden at Sarah’s parents’ house for the last three months. Yes, that’s right—I didn’t even trust Sarah with it.
He chuckled.
I hope from now on, when Christmas brings dark memories, you’ll look at this telescope and remember that, while we can’t change the past, we can control how that past shapes us. You’ve been so much a part of who I’ve become, and I’m grateful. I wish you happiness in life, Bass, because that’s what you’ve given me these last eight years. Merry Christmas.
Fondly,
Vivi
Suspicion zipped up his spine, but he was determined to see this through. He picked up the stocking and showed it to the camera. “Last item.”
Inside, surrounded by fistfuls of silver star confetti, was a sterling picture frame complete with a photo of the two of them at last year’s Fourth of July barbecue, all smiles, with the Macy’s fireworks lighting up the night sky behind them.
A crushing weight imploded his chest. This was never meant to be a goodbye gift. This was an “I’m setting you free” gift. But why?
She must have believed he’d fallen in love with Ava!
Pausing the video recording, he accessed the Internet and did something he’d never done in his life: he Googled himself. The usual sites popped up first: his fan site, the television database, and a website dedicated to his old series. After that came page after page of photos of him with Ava. He recalled every excruciating minute spent in her company, but not how or when the pictures were taken. There were shots outside the hunger charity event at that art gallery on Thanksgiving, including a close-up of him nuzzling Ava’s neck. Even to his eyes, he and Ava looked like lovers. And he knew the truth!
Each of the pics included a caption, a blurb, or an article about the blossoming romance between the former television star and the former model. The press had even given them a nickname: SebAva. Who the hell thought of this stuff?
On page four, he found the most damning photo. Ice for Ava? the caption read. Sebastian Lawrence, above, was spotted leaving a famous jeweler’s with a package and a smile. Although no one inside the store would reveal exactly what he purchased, another customer did mention his interest in ring sizing. Could wedding bells be in SebAva’s future? After, of course, Ava Featherstone finalizes her divorce from Cecil Bannerman. Sources close to the former couple have confirmed the paperwork was, indeed, filed this week.
No wonder Vivi had turned against him and gave him a free pass out of their friendship. She thought he wanted to ditch her for Ava, and here he suspected her of wanting to be rid of him. Jeez, he’d really screwed up. They both had.
Closing the web and returning to the video program, he hit record and leaned closer to the laptop so she could see the sincerity on his face. “I’m going to win you back, Vivi. Whatever it takes.”
Chapter 9
Bass was driving her batty. For days after their argument about Julian, he called her office, her cell, and when he couldn’t reach her by phone, he emailed her. This last message, sent a few minutes ago, came with the subject line, “Urgent! Please Open!” and an attachment.
Puh-leez. Didn’t hackers use similar subject lines with their attached virus downloads? She treated Bass’s email the same way she’d treat a message about gold bars in Nigeria or her winning entry in the Irish Sweepstakes. Right into the electronic trash bin. She only wished she had a kathunk sound effect to add to her satisf
action.
What could be so urgent anyway? His wedding invitation? Pass.
Her conscience chastised her all night and all the following day. What if he wanted to apologize? What if he’d suddenly realized Ava wasn’t the right woman for him? She should have at least read the email he sent.
Later, she told herself on Friday evening. Right now, she had to get ready for the partners’ dinner with Julian.
Once again, the irony of the situation struck her, and she smirked. From Julian to Bass to Julian again. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. At least, the dress was new.
She’d opted for a midnight blue strapless number that hugged her chest and nipped her waist, while the strappy black sandals with three-inch stiletto heels made her legs look long and lean. She’d styled her hair with a curling iron so the thick, dark mass tumbled to her bare shoulders in waves. Her eyes sparkled beneath gold shadow that shimmered, and she’d thickened her lashes with lots of mascara.
As she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door, a thrill rippled through her. “Eat your heart out, penis-bearers. You can all look, but not touch.” She was done with men—the entire species.
“Except you, Beowulf.” She bent to her bed where the Maltese lay supine, like a best friend assessing her outfit before a big date. She scratched his head between his ears, and his tail thumped.
The buzzer sounded in the kitchen, sending the pup into a barking fit as he raced to the apartment door.
She followed and pressed the intercom. “Julian?”
“Hey, Vivi.” His voice squawked through the speaker. “You ready?”
“Almost. Come on up.” She buzzed him into the lobby and sped back to the bedroom for one last hair fluff and a lipstick application.
When he rapped knuckles on her door a few minutes later, she was ready. She pulled open the door, and he stepped back, eyes wide.
“Wow. Vivi, you look great!” His gaze scanned from head to toe, and a lazy grin stretched his lips.
“Thanks. So do you.” And he did. But then, she considered as she pulled her black wool dress coat out of the closet, his looks had never been in contention between them.
Beowulf, not happy to be ignored, yipped and bounced in the doorway, tail wagging at hyper speed.
“Hey, boy.” He bent and petted the pup’s head.
Meanwhile, Vivi grabbed her black beaded clutch and checked the contents. Satisfied, she nodded at Julian. “Let’s do it.”
The phone rang as they headed out the door, and Julian paused in the hall. “You wanna get that?”
“Nope.” She smiled. “That’s what voicemail is for.” She twisted the key in the deadbolt, heard the beep, followed by Bass’s voice.
“Vivi? I know you’re mad and I want to explain. Please. Don’t go anywhere. I’m on my way over.”
Too late, Bass. Dropping her keys in her clutch, she took Julian’s arm. “All set.”
She’d talk to Bass tomorrow. Maybe. Tonight might be Friday the thirteenth, but she’d push her luck and roll the dice.
****
This year’s affair was at a restaurant inside Central Park with some of the most romantic views in Manhattan. Since tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, the dining room was decked in red velvet bows, gold Cupids, and lots of sparkle.
After checking their coats, Julian took her hand and led her into the bar area where a circle of formally-dressed people loitered over drinks. Vivi recognized several former coworkers and wondered how they’d react to seeing her in their midst again. She swallowed her fluttering heart, then forced herself to stand tall.
“Bruno!” one of the group shouted and stepped aside to make room so the newly arrived couple could stand among them. “What are we drinking tonight?”
Julian cocked his head at Vivi. “Champagne?”
Not her favorite, and he knew it. He probably wanted to impress the crowd with his air of sophistication. So, okay. She could play along. Flashing an indulgent smile, she feigned pleasure. “Perfect.”
“Vivi Maxwell, is that you?” A blond woman in a slinky black tube dress grabbed Vivi’s wrist. “Oh, my God, it is you. How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Her mind scrambled for the woman’s identity, but came up blank.
Julian bent toward her ear, a filled champagne flute dangling from his hand. “Viv, you remember Juliet Waldman, don’t you?”
Smooth.
Craning her neck as she took the drink from him, she offered a grateful smile. “Of course I do.”
Juliet was the third wife of senior partner, Benjamin Waldman. Or was she number four? Who cared? What mattered was the Waldman in Waldman, White and Lewis, LLC had the power to make or break Julian’s career. By extension, Juliet Waldman exerted the same power.
With the glass at her lips, she asked the woman, “How are you, Juliet?”
“I’m wonderful.” She used her wineglass to point at first Vivi, then Julian. “Does this mean that you two are…?”
“No,” Vivi said, but Julian cut her off by snaking an arm around her waist.
“Nothing official,” he added in a silken salesman tone. “We’re taking it slowly this time. Right, sweetheart?” To communicate his plea that she go along with him, he tucked her up against his chest, his arm settled below her ribcage.
Under normal circumstances, she’d crush his toes with her spiky heel. But Julian had paid an exorbitant sum for her appearance here tonight. Short of pole-dancing, she’d play along with whatever game he needed to save face at this event. She beamed, first at Julian, then at Juliet. “Absolutely.”
“I saw your commercials, you know. Adorable. Totally adorable. That was so clever of you—to come up with such a unique business.”
“If I’d have known she’d turn our breakup into such a success,” Julian remarked, “I would have dumped her years earlier.”
What? Had she heard him correctly? She glared up at him, and he chuckled.
“Just kidding, sweetheart.”
Juliet’s eyes narrowed to sly. “That’s not what brought you two back together again, was it? You seeking a date for tonight…?”
Despite his bad behavior, the contract they’d both signed had a confidentiality clause, which meant even if she wanted to, she couldn’t disclose the truth about her appearance here.
“Not the way you mean,” she told Juliet with a lighthearted laugh. “You see, I make it my business to learn about pending divorces in the city. When Julian’s…” She paused, as if seeking the right word. “…change of marital status crossed my desk, I called to tell him how sorry I was and offer him my support—my personal support not the business’s.”
“You are one classy lady.” Juliet bounced her wineglass at Julian. “You never should have let her go.”
Julian took a sip from his own flute before replying, “Agreed. I’m lucky she was still unattached when I divorced Tiffany or she probably wouldn’t have called me.”
Was he implying that she’d purposely tracked him down out of some still-single-at-thirty desperation?
His hand skimmed her bare shoulder, and she stifled a shudder.
“Well, you look fabulous, Vivi,” Juliet enthused, touching her hand again.
But, apparently Julian wasn’t finished humiliating her. “Of course she does. She’s dropped a good fifteen pounds. Just another fifteen to go, eh, sweetheart?”
Caught in mid-sip, Vivi coughed.
“Take it easy, Vivi. I know the drinks are free tonight, but you don’t have to swig the stuff like we’re about to run out. We have plenty, I promise.”
Raucous laughter erupted from Julian’s circle of friends, and Vivi’s cheeks burned.
Did he plan to spend the night holding her up for ridicule to make himself look better? That was a vile plan. And not covered under her contract, either—an oversight she planned to rectify first thing Monday morning. Until then, she’d have to play along. But on her own terms. Since pole
dancing was out by her own admission, she’d have to devise a different lesson for him.
“Sorry. I guess I’m not used to domestic swill.” Reaching between two men who watched her with eyes brimming with humor, she set her champagne glass on the bar. “In fact, I should probably switch to tequila.” She arched a brow at the bartender, a handsome sandy-haired man with moss green eyes and a nametag that pegged him as Raul. “I don’t suppose you have Gran Patrón Platinum back there, do you, Raul?”
The bartender nodded, a secret smile playing about his lips. “We do, but it’s one hundred dollars per ounce.”
She waved off the ridiculous price. A full bottle of the stuff could be had from the liquor store down the block for about three hundred bucks total, but the more this place charged, the better her revenge. “That’s okay. I’m only doing a shot or two. Besides…” She jerked her head at Julian. “…he’s paying. Right, honey?”
He shifted on his feet, releasing her from his tight embrace. “Of course.”
Slapping a hand on the bar, she said, “Give me a shot,” then turned to the dozen or so people clustered around them. “Anyone else?”
Several men looked at each other, and finally, the one who’d originally waved them over, Stewart Campbell, picked up on the opportunity to screw Julian and stepped up to the bar. “Why not?”
“I’m in,” another man said with a grin.
“Sure. Let’s do it,” said a third.
The bartender wound up setting ten shot glasses on the bar and pouring a thousand dollars’ worth of golden tequila.
Once Raul placed the bottle back on its shelf, Vivi scooped up her shot and hoisted it in the air. “Ready, boys? Thanks, Julian!”
The men all grabbed their shots and echoed her toast.
“One, two, three.” After counting off, she tossed back the smooth buttery drink, swallowed, and smacked her lips at the aftertaste of citrus. “Aah.” She slammed the glass on the bar and ordered, “Hit me again, Raul. Anyone else?” She scanned the crowd, but they all stepped away, heads bowed.
