by Kaylea Cross
David’s father was a shopkeeper, but he had wanted more for his son. He made David a deal: David did not have to work in the shop after school as long as his grades were good enough for him to make it into top colleges; if he failed, he would have to work off his allowances retroactively, with interest. David did not need a greater encouragement and was accepted into Cambridge. With a Cambridge degree in hand, David had been able to secure a position in London working for a U.S. investment bank. A few years later, he had convinced his supervisor to send him on an assignment to New York.
From the moment that he had arrived in New York, he knew that he wanted to make this splendid country his home, and not just in any of its cities but the city: New York. There were none of the stuffy class distinctions of his homeland; the air felt freer, lighter, with opportunities lurking behind every corner. There was, however, just one problem: unless David found a means of obtaining legal documentation to stay in the U.S., his presence in New York would be at the mercy of his employer. He had been in his mid-twenties at the time, which was far too young for marriage, but David knew what had to be done. Girls fell all over him, but he was careful in his choice. He was not marrying for love but for a purpose.
He picked the most easygoing of the contenders for his affections: Linda Johnson was an accountant at a major accounting firm and was as bland as her name. The two of them led a fairly happy marital existence, which was helped by the fact that both worked long hours. Of course, David’s late “work” hours included activities other than work, but Linda either remained blissfully oblivious to the fact or simply did not feel the need to object. Five years later, David became a citizen of the United States. A month later he moved out of his and Linda’s apartment and filed for divorce.
He had come a long way from a hopeful wannabe to his current station in life, and he was certain that a man as enterprising as himself would not be currying Cornelius Finnegan’s favors forever. Yes, most likely he would have to marry Aileen, but that did not mean that he would have to stay married to her forever. Despite Tom Wyman’s cautionary words, David knew for a fact that no human being remained powerful indefinitely—politicians especially so.
* * *
In her ground-floor, Lower East Side studio apartment, Mila Brabec was busy finishing her makeup. After applying the last coat of mascara, Mila examined her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing David’s latest gift to her, a black lace teddy with black lace stockings, both from La Perla. The man sure loved giving her lingerie, but as far as Mila was concerned these gifts were for David: she could just as easily bang him in a T-shirt. They had been seeing each other for a while now. It was high time for more generous gifts; jewelry would be a good start. But what she really wanted was a better place to live. She was sick and tired of this dump. The windows of her sunless apartment—if a two-hundred-fifty-square-foot hole could be called an apartment—were facing the pavement, and the bathroom was out in the hallway and had to be shared with three other tenants on her floor. At least she did not have to walk up the rickety stairs, which made the ground-level location of her apartment a major plus. It was not the Upper East Side, but it was far better than the apartment Mila shared with her parents and grandfather in Prague.
She had dreamed of becoming a model, thinking of the women from her country who had made it big: Petra Nemcova, Daniela Pestova. These glamazons too had been hopeful girls once, vying for their place in the limelight. There was no reason why Mila Brabec should not find her own spot under the sun. Boys and men had been lavishing her with their attention ever since Mila turned twelve. In Prague, men threw wistful glances at her every time she walked down the street, but in New York beautiful women were an everyday occurrence. It had taken a little over three months to rid her of her illusions. After canvassing every modeling agency in town, Mila learned that at twenty-two she was considered too old as she was competing against nymphets of fifteen, and her perfectly normal weight of one hundred twenty pounds on a five-nine frame was deemed to be borderline elephantine. So, no modeling contract for her but she kept her spirits up. The way she saw it, she had a year in New York: that’s how long her visa was for, and she might as well use it. Who knew? She might meet an American prince tomorrow and have her fairy-tale ending. After all, her cousin Ania had managed to find her prince charming, and Ania was not nearly as good-looking as Mila.
It was because of Ania that Mila found herself in New York. Cousins through their fathers, Ania and Mila had never been close back in Prague. The five-year age difference between them was partly to blame, but more so was the difference in their temperaments: Ania had always thought Mila to be too wild, and in exchange Mila was irked by Ania’s timidity. But when Ania had snagged her American documentary producer husband and established herself in their Upper East Side penthouse residence, she was compelled to boast her new lavish lifestyle to her relations, which led to her extending an invitation to Mila. Mila did not have to be asked twice. There was nothing holding her back in Prague. She had just received her degree in finance and was slated to start work as a teller in the local bank. The day after she received Ania’s invitation, Mila informed her future employer that she would not be commencing her employment. The way she saw it, there would always be time enough to go back to Prague and get a job as a bank teller or a secretary, which was all one could hope for even with an A average from the best university in Prague, at least not without influential connections paving one’s way. And with her mother working as a secretary and her father employed as a factory worker, Mila did not have anyone to help her but herself.
A month after Mila’s arrival, Ania started asking questions about Mila’s plans. Determined to milk her stay at Ania’s luxurious digs for as long as possible, Mila avoided concrete answers until Ania started dropping forceful hints about Mila moving out. Sure, she was happy about Mila extending her visa, but newlyweds Ania and Daniel needed their privacy. As if a six-bedroom penthouse lacked privacy. But Mila had no choice but to start looking for a place to live. When the ground-floor apartment in the crappy Lower East Side building became available, Mila moved right in. At least, no matter how small the place was, she did not have to share it with clothes-and-food-stealing roommates. Ania had been kind enough to co-sign the lease for her, and Mila had just enough savings from her college summer jobs to pay the first month’s rent and one month’s deposit. Then, she got a job as a waitress.
Six months ago Mila’s luck finally changed. She met David Muller at one of those late-night fashionable lounge bashes the girls at her job were always fluttering to, and things started to look up. When she first heard David’s British accent, Mila had been wary. What use would dating another foreigner be to her? But once she learned that David had lived in New York for almost twenty years and had his citizenship, she relaxed: as far as she was concerned, David was as American as Washington. Still, she had to play her cards right. Her U.S. visa was only good for another five months. If she did not get David to commit, off she would go, back to the motherland.
Not that Mila’s attention was committed exclusively to David. With his busy work schedule, David saw her no more than three times a week, which left her plenty of time to fish, but so far David had been the most attractive catch Mila had secured.
The sound of the ringing doorbell brought Mila back to reality. It was time to go and rock David Muller’s world.
Chapter Eight
“I will see you later, honey pie,” David Muller whispered into Mila’s ear.
“Do you really have to leave now?” Mila pouted.
As David’s eyes traveled along Mila’s long, shapely legs, graceful arms, the valley of her abdomen, and her lovely breasts, he was tempted to stay. But he knew that he was in no position to cancel his dinner with Aileen. At least for now, Cornelius Finnegan held way too much clout over him.
“Yes, baby, I do,” David whispered, tracing the outline of Mila’s long neck with his lips.
“If you’re not in too much of a rus
h …” Mila’s hand slid down his stomach.
David glanced at the clock on the nightstand: it was a quarter after seven, and he had to make it to Long Island by eight p.m. to pick up Aileen. “No can do, baby. Sorry, I’ve got to run. But I will take a rain check.” David nibbled Mila’s breast.
“Ouch!” Mila squealed with mocked hurt. David knew that she loved him using his teeth on her when they made love. “I’ll hold you to it.”
“You won’t have to. I’ll be here to collect.”
David rose from the bed and wondered if he should shower before leaving, but decided against it: there simply was not enough time. Besides, it was not as though he planned to take Aileen back to his place tonight. After making love to Mila it would be simply impossible.
“Honey bear?” Mila pouted.
“Yes, baby?” David felt himself melt with tenderness toward her. He loved it when she called him honey bear. It was a nickname Mila had invented especially for him.
“Oh, nothing,” she murmured, lowering her eyes. “I know you’re in a hurry. We’ll talk later.”
He rushed toward her. “What is it, Mila? You know you can tell me anything.”
She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “It’s just that I was thinking of renting a different apartment, and I was wondering if you could help me find one. Would you know of a good real estate agent?”
David understood the hint at once. How could he have been so pigheaded? He had been seeing Mila for months, and aside from a rich assortment of lingerie, she was none the better for it. Sure, he wanted her to love him for himself, which was why he had been cautious. But now that she had stuck by him, he could become more generous. Besides, it would be nice to be able to see Mila in surroundings that matched her looks.
“Say no more, baby. I’ll have my agent find a nice place for you.” David kissed Mila’s hand. “I’ve got big plans for us, baby. You just wait and see.”
With that, David put on his jacket and headed for the door. With any luck he would make it to Aileen’s on time.
* * *
Aileen Finnegan sat down at her vanity table and took out her makeup kit. There had been many times in the past when she would feel discouraged to go on with the process, confronted with her pasty white, freckle-splotched skin, thin lips and small eyes ringed by short, pale eyelashes, and stringy red hair. Even as a girl she had always known that she would never be beautiful. Why was it that some women were beautiful and some not at all? Shouldn’t there be some fairness when it came to divvying up good looks? Aileen often wondered. But when it came to good looks, genes and luck determined the outcome.
Even in her middle age, Aileen’s mother was a graceful blonde with long, lanky legs and alabaster-smooth skin, and as a young woman she had been a knockout. One would think that Aileen would have inherited at least some of her mother’s beauty, but no such luck. From her face to her stocky body, she was the spitting image of her father. Aileen loved her father to death, but she thought that being the replica of Cornelius Finnegan’s features in a female form had to be the cruelest joke of all times. The only thing Aileen had in common with her mother was the color of her eyes, but even there she had been gypped: the deep blue color was wasted on the small, narrow shape of Aileen’s eyes. At family gatherings Aileen had always felt like an ugly duckling as she tried to fit in with her pretty cousins from her mother’s side. Often after looking at family photo albums she would be on the verge of tears. Why her? Often when applying mascara to her short lashes, Aileen felt like flinging the mascara brush at the mirror—what was the use? But not today.
Aileen applied powder to her face, eye shadow to her lids, and a coat of mascara to her eyelashes. She puckered her lips and drew pink lipstick over them. She pulled up her hair and pinned it up in loose knot, letting wisps of hair hang loosely by her temples and neck. Then, she leaned back and examined the result. Yes, the dreadful freckles were still everywhere on her skin, including her forearms and neck, her nose still resembled a small potato, and her eyes had not gotten any wider, but there was a new spark of happiness in them that lent a glow to her entire demeanor.
David Muller’s presence in Aileen’s life brought her confidence that she had never possessed before. True, she was no beauty, but the fact that she had managed to commandeer the attention of a man as handsome and charming as David Muller meant that she did have some appeal. Otherwise, why would he be interested in her? Of course the naysayers would be quick to provide a different answer, and Aileen was not naïve enough not to realize it. During those nights that she was alone in her bed without the reassurance of David’s presence to soothe her worries, she tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep and wondering whether David’s interest in her was driven by her father’s stature and connections.
But tonight Aileen was too happy to dwell on these dark thoughts. For the first time in a very long time she actually felt pretty. The wrap dress she had on hugged her curves attractively, and the Spanx she had donned did a good job of keeping her midriff in place. She had lost a total of fifteen pounds over the last few months, which greatly contributed to the overall improvement in her appearance. There was no need for her to drown her sorrows in food now that she had David Muller to look forward to.
Lately, Aileen had been contemplating implementing other changes as well. Perhaps it was time for her to get her own apartment. At twenty-nine she was too old to be still living in her parents’ house in Great Neck, Long Island. With ten bedrooms there was plenty of room, and the wing where her bedroom was located had complete privacy from her parents’ wing, but it was still her parents’ house. And now that she finally had someone to bring home, she wanted a place of her own.
Aileen checked her watch. It was almost eight o’clock. In a few minutes David would be here. She felt her heart flutter with anticipation as she thought of David’s arms around her. She had never imagined that being with a man could feel that good.
Aileen thought back about the first time she had met David. It was at a thousand-dollar dinner fundraiser her father had organized. As Aileen later learned, her father had needed to fill table seats, and David, along with his friend Tom Wyman, had agreed to buy tickets. Lean and muscular, with his stylishly cropped blond hair and piercing blue eyes, David had looked so incredibly sharp in his tuxedo and bowtie that Aileen had literally felt her legs grow weak. Her heart was in her mouth when she saw that they would be sitting at the same table. Her breath caught as she tried to think of a pretext to talk to him. What would she say? She was almost ready to give up. With his James Bond looks, why would a man like David Muller be interested in her anyway?
“Aileen. Aileen Finnegan?” David had said, interrupting her ruminations.
Aileen had nodded, smiling pleasantly, as she dug her nails into the palms of her hands. Calm down, she had thought. It’s now or never. You can try to get this man, or you can die a spinster who lived her entire life in her parents’ house.
Chapter Nine
Mila Brabec was having lunch with her cousin Ania. As usual, Ania had insisted on dragging Mila all the way to the Upper East Side. They were seated in a pretentious but rather shabby café a few blocks away from the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
“Don’t you just love the museum mile area?” Ania shrugged her shoulders self-indulgently.
“Yes, it is lovely,” Mila replied, trying not to sound envious. Ania had light blond hair, deep blue eyes, upturned nose, and plump, rosy cheeks. With her broad hips, strong thighs, and double-D breasts, Ania looked like she belonged on a farm milking cows and baking bread. Instead, she had received a degree in art history and had worked as a tour guide, conducting daily tours of Prague’s rarities for tourists. By an unbelievable stroke of luck she just happened to be guiding a city tour when Daniel Bauer of Upper East Side was visiting Prague in search of the next subject for his documentary.
“It’s too bad that you have to rush for your shift at the restaurant. We could have stopped by the Metropolitan Museum. Th
ey are having the most fascinating exhibition on the origins of Egyptian art,” Ania continued.
“That would be nice, but I have a date with David tonight.”
“Oh, I just assumed that you’d be working. Aren’t Friday and Saturday nights best for good tips?”
“You are certainly correct there, but I took tonight off to spend it with David.”
“How is that going? Any signs of him getting serious?”
“I am working on it,” Mila replied evasively. For now, she did not want to tell Ania about David’s promise to relocate her into a new apartment. They were supposed to meet with the real estate agent tonight. David had told her that he had found the perfect love nest for them.
“I certainly hope that it will work out,” Ania remarked judiciously. “You’ve got about six months left on your U.S. visa, correct?”
“That’s right.” Mila knew that Ania would love to see her running back to Prague in defeat. As annoyed as Mila was at her cousin, Ania did have a point: the time on Mila’s visa was ticking, and if she planned to stay in New York she’d better find the means to do so.
