Skygods (Hydraulic #2)

by Sarah Latchaw

  “Nah. What are you gonna wear?”

  “A suit.”

  “To the Boom Boom Room? For the first time Samuel and Indigo are seen together in public since their split? Oh no. You need to wear a dress, beautiful.”

  “It’s a stylish suit,” I said defensively. “In any case, it’s work, not a date.”

  “If you don’t wear a dress, you’ll stick out like a chubby in Chelsea. I’d take you shopping, but I have incredibly bad taste for a gay man—I’d have you wrapped in some hideous tribal T-shirt. I’m an enigma like that.”

  It was official. I hated the fashion aspect of my career.

  That evening, I rifled through my garment bags hanging in Samuel’s closet, pulling out anything that might be acceptable for the Boom Boom Room. Cotton, cotton, more cotton. It was all too casual. A frantic call to Molly, then Danita, produced nothing.

  “There’s a shop in Queens I’ve always wanted to visit after I watched a special on the Travel Channel,” said Molly. “They make lovely sarongs, beaded skirts, incense; you should check there!”

  “A pant suit, are you kidding?” shrieked Danita. “You’re in New York! Go to Fifth Avenue!”

  But I’d never shopped designer before (other than the occasional mall trip in Denver), and had terrifying visions of some sales clerk going Pretty Woman on my tush. That was how Samuel found me—cross-legged in his closet, dresses and shoes strewn across my lap, a pout the size of Pike’s Peak on my lips.

  “What are you doing?” He chuckled, pulling a soft leather belt from around my neck.

  “Justin says I need to celebutante it up for Boom Boom so guests don’t call me ‘Senator’ all night. I’m afraid I’ll have to buy something.”

  “And you’re worried because you don’t know your way around New York?”

  I nodded.

  Samuel sank onto the ground next to me. “Would the Gentlewoman from Colorado like me to accompany her on a shopping excursion?”

  Wow, this man could be sweet. A flash of me twirling in front of a dressing room mirror in a floppy hat a la Julia Roberts while Samuel nodded his approval flittered through my mind, but I shot it down. Best to lay off the hooker fantasies. “Thanks, but you hate shopping as much as I do. If you can tell me how to get to Fifth Avenue, I can go myself.”

  “You’re talking about twenty-five city blocks round trip, Firecracker.” I stared at him blankly. “That’s more than two miles of shops.”

  I groaned and dropped my head on his shoulder. He laughed, his lips brushing my ear.

  “Why don’t I call a friend? Indigo’s manager lives here in New York.”

  Did Samuel have any friends who weren’t women? No wonder his exes thought he was gay. But at the moment, I didn’t care. Pushing the pile of clothing onto the floor, I crawled into his lap and softly kissed him. “Thank you. That would be perfect.”

  The following evening, I bounced down the stairs in my eco sneaks, purse slung over my arm and hair in a messy bun—my shopping uniform. The pavement was slick and grimy from the afternoon thunderstorm, and I skidded. But the rain had beaten away the muggy remnants of summer, leaving the air fresh and cool.

  A gray SUV with a driver waited for me. Its occupants opened the rear door.

  “Are you Kaye?” asked a willowy blonde. She had an Aussie accent and the biggest gray eyes I’d ever seen, and I felt flutterings of recognition.

  Oh flippin’ sea turtles. My gut clenched when I realized who she was.

  “Yes. Hello, Ms. Kingsley.” I took the hand she offered and warily slid into the car.

  “Call me Indigo. I’m also hitting Boom Boom and need to do a spot of shopping. Do you mind if I crash your trip?”

  “Not at all.” She was not as soft-looking as I’d expected—sharp collarbone, laugh lines around the eyes—but then, I was used to seeing her in airbrushed photos. Still, she was beautiful and I was really, really glad Samuel never slept with her, or I’d have curled into an insecure bundle right there on the car mat.

  To my utter, stiff-backed shock, Indigo pulled me into a tight hug. “Between Neelie Nixie and Samuel’s nonstop reminiscing, I feel as though I know you already. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  “Ah—you too,” I stuttered.

  “This is my agent and your blind date, Nat O’Malley.” I leaned across Indigo and shook hands with the curvy woman.

  O’Malley…why was that name familiar? I chalked it up to celebrity circles. “Thanks for doing this. I’m not a big shopper.”

  “Samuel mentioned as much,” said Nat. “No worries, that’s what I’m here for.” She appraised me, eyes skittering up and down my person. “You’re a Thakoon woman. You like color and comfort,” she finally pronounced. “What do you think, Indigo?”

  “Definitely. Or Proenza Schouler. She could carry this season’s surfer look well.”

  Surfer? Heck no! “There’s no way you’re getting me into anything tie-dyed.”

  Nat and Indigo laughed. “Fair enough. How do you feel about bypassing Fifth Avenue?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Nat suggested shopping in SoHo which was…an experience. I’d been to Barney’s in Denver with Danita and, after five hours’ shopping with her, nearly threw myself onto the ground in a temper tantrum worthy of the posh toddlers plowing through clothing racks. But Indigo knew her stuff. To my joy, the boutique’s selections were small—the fewer options I had, the better. The price tags, however, made me shudder.

  Indigo anxiously cracked her knuckles. “Do you see anything you like?”

  I gazed over several flouncy dresses displayed on headless mannequins along the back wall. “Those are nice.”

  “I knew it! Proenza Schouler!” she shouted, startling the sales associate and rattled the dozens of silver chains dangling from the counter. Nat rolled her eyes as she browsed a wall of colorful purses. “Jill, can we try their smocked floral in a six, and that pretty cocoon dress if you still have it in stock? Let’s also bring out Thakoon’s hook-and-eye silk in black. No, blue—yes?” I nodded, utterly clueless, but I liked blue. “And their tie-dyed mini. That should start us off!”

  “No tie-dye.”

  “It’s not what you think. Just give it a shot.”

  “No. Tie. Dye.” I stood firm. “My father wears tie-dye. A lot of it.”

  “Oh.” Sympathy filled Indigo’s face. “I get it. No tie-dye. Thanks, Jill,” she said as the sales associate tackled the dresses. “I assume this is on Samuel’s tab.”

  “In a roundabout way.” If I counted my alimony stockpile. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.”

  Indigo bit her lip. “Please don’t take offense, but I should warn you. This might get pricey.”

  “Ex-wife, remember?” I tapped my nose.

  “I forgot.” Indigo flashed a row of white teeth. “Yeah, I have one of those, too—a divorce settlement. My ex is a designer. Everyone thinks he’s from Italy, but he grew up with Sicilian parents in the Bronx. I met him at New York’s Fashion Week. We got married, I started dressing in his designs, and his career took off. Then he took off with a Danish twig he was bonkin’ on the sly. She had a man jaw, the slag. Fortunately, I got to keep our place in Gramercy and the best part of him—our twin boys. I thought about moving back to Oz, but I couldn’t bear to leave New York.”

  While I tried on dresses and paraded them out for my tiny audience, Indigo talked away, her drawling vowels pleasant to listen to. She thrust a wallet of pictures over the door as I zipped into a dress that was so short, I’d moon the guests if I tilted my chin.

  “Those are the twins. They’re four, and the nuttiest kids you’ll ever meet—just ask Samuel. Whenever he’s in town, he swings by to do guy stuff with them like baseball in Central Park, even after we broke up—not that there was much to break between us. Earlier this summer, he took the ankle biters to see the Yankees play, but they kept dragging him to the concession stand and toilet, so they missed most of the game. They left after the…what do yo
u call it? When everyone stands up and sings horridly?”

  “The Seventh-Inning Stretch.”

  I slipped out of the dressing room and leaned against the wall lest a faint draft lift my skirt a half-inch. Lips twitching, I flipped through the pictures of her curly-haired children. They were cute, but probably a handful. And if they were chatty like their mother, I could guess why Samuel kept them mouth-high in junk food. But I was glad he knew a couple of kids to dote on. At the same time, I felt sad. He deserved children of his own.

  Indigo returned the pictures to her wallet. “Anyway, my point is this. Samuel’s a really, really nice bloke. You’ve known him a lot longer than I have and you have a history together, but I still want to make sure, you’re…you know. Good to him. Please don’t be offended,” she said in a rush.

  “Are you giving me the ‘if you hurt him I’ll kill you’ speech?”

  “Yeah, in so many words.”

  I studied Indigo earnestly—her bright eyes, guileless air—and decided I liked her. It would’ve been easy to burn with jealousy if I didn’t know where his heart was. “I understand where you’re coming from,” I admitted. “The industry you move in must be filled with greedy people looking to latch onto someone like Samuel. People who would use him for his money and influence. But I’m not one of them.”

  Indigo released a whoosh of air. “Exactly. I didn’t mean to corner you, sorry. The two of us—Nat and me—we’re a bit clucky over him. We’ve talked about how great it is that you and Samuel are so loyal to each other, even though you’re divorced. You really could have profited off the Water Sirens books, but you never did.”

  Well, aside from the alimony.

  “Kaye, how’s the dress?” Nat kindly interrupted.

  “Short.”

  She smiled. “Try the black one with the little ivory blossoms.”

  I shot her a thankful smile and ducked back into the dressing room.

  “And Samuel,” Indigo persisted through the vents, “well, I’d be blind not to see how crazy he is about you. Poor me. For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why he went out of his way to avoid some good ol’ fashioned pashing. I thought he might…um…‘value his privacy,’ if you know what I mean.”

  I smacked my head against the wall. Not another one.

  Indigo must have heard the thumping. “Oh, but I don’t think that anymore. He was helping me find the emotional inspiration behind one of my Neelie scenes on set one day, and the truth finally clicked—he was still pining after you! We all agree it’s the most swoon-worthy thing we’ve ever heard, kind of like an Austen gentleman. Now I have Marco Caldo and we’re on fire…Oh, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

  After a while, Indigo informed us she was popping next door to look at shoes. Her absence left a roaring void of sound in the boutique.

  “Are you still over there?” Nat laughed quietly from the room next to mine.

  “Yes. It got quiet, didn’t it?”

  “Indigo’s a chatterbox, but I love her for it. Any luck with the dresses?”

  “I’m just finishing up this black one with the lopsided shoulder. I think I like it the best.”

  “With the little flowers? Let’s see.” We stepped out of our dressing rooms and I tugged my smocked waist into place. “Oh, Kaye, it’s perfect on you.”

  “So’s yours.” We exchanged shy smiles and did a few mirror turns.

  “My husband said you were a nice person. Do you remember meeting him?” I shook my head. “You sat next to him on a flight from Denver to LA. He’s Indigo’s image consultant.”

  I gasped. “You’re Patrick O’Malley’s wife? I knew I’d heard your name before! I didn’t know he worked for Indigo.” I scanned my fuzzy memories of our conversation, praying I didn’t say anything embarrassing about his client.

  “That’s why we’re in town.”

  “W-Wow,” I stammered. “Congratulations.”

  Nat laughed. “I’ve been fortunate. The biggest bonus was meeting Patrick because of it. When Indigo’s career began to take off, she hired both of us. We occasionally crossed paths in Hollywood, but I’d never gotten to know him until we joined the Kingsley family. The rest is history.”

  “Let me get this straight. Indigo doesn’t use a full-service agency like Samuel does with Buitre. You’re her manager and Patrick is her image consultant? And she has a separate publicist, stylist, agent, all that?”

  “Correct.”

  Crazy and thrilling ideas took shape in my brain. If Indigo Kingsley—one of the most successful actors in the world—didn’t need a Buitre-type agency to manage her career, surely Samuel didn’t, either. “Your clients don’t mind that you’re not with a high-profile agency?”

  “Not at all,” she said proudly. “We’re very selective in our clientele because we can afford to be. The few celebs we take on prefer the personal attention. If there’s something we can’t handle, we outsource. So you see, you and I have a lot in common.”

  I bit my thumbnail, growing excited. This might be the solution to our Buitre problem, if I could pull it off. “What about mixing business with family? How does that work?”

  “Oh, we disagree, usually when something is made public that affects our private lives. But Indigo’s priority is her kids, and she’ll always make decisions with them in mind. And Patrick’s and my relationship comes first, and our careers, second. I will always choose Patrick, and he’ll do the same for me. If it hurts my career, so be it. But so far, I’ve had no regrets.”

  “That’s…that’s wonderful,” I sighed, feeling some relief.

  Indigo returned and by the time we paid for our things (more than two thousand dollars for a dress, shoes, and clutch; I felt sick), it was close to eight.

  “I’ve got to relieve my sitter by ten,” Indigo said, “but we have time for a quick drink. Any takers?”

  I declined. All I wanted to do was go home to Samuel and put my arms around his neck. Hugging my purchases, I exchanged numbers with the women and waved good night, promising to see them at the Boom Boom Room.

  When I tripped up the stairs to the Fort Tryon apartment, Samuel wasn’t there. I fumbled with the spare key he’d given me and collapsed through the door, dropping my garment bag, purse, and boxes on the floor. I flipped on the living room lamp, wondering if he’d fallen asleep.

  “Samuel?”

  I peered into the bedroom. Also empty.

  I told myself I wouldn’t worry. Even after I called him, then heard his phone ring on the kitchen counter, I decided there was no reason to stress. Still, when I heard a key jiggle in the lock two hours later, followed by Samuel’s quiet footsteps, my body sank into the bed with relief. His long shadow fell across the bedroom slats.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Out writing.” His voice was gritty.

  “You forgot your phone. I tried to call you.”

  “I’m sorry I worried you. I’m not used to having someone at home.”

  I turned in the bed, my eyes taking in his shabby form after a long day of writing. “You didn’t have your laptop with you, either.”

  He simply held up his Moleskine notebook in answer.

  I tugged a hand through my own unkempt hair. I hoped—really hoped—it wasn’t an eggshells night. Folding back the quilt, I smoothed my palm over the bed in unvoiced invitation. I honestly didn’t know whether he’d accept and come to bed with me, or fade into the hallway again. He chose to join me.

  Troubled eyes remained on mine as he shucked his jeans, then pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. He shivered when his skin hit the cold sheets, and he pressed his long body against my back for warmth. One arm wrapped around my waist, but it was stiff and formal, as if he felt it his duty to hold me.

  My hand flexed and relaxed on the pillow, a steady rhythm as I waited for him to speak, or fall asleep, or even leave for the sofa.

  He spoke.

  “Tell me what to do about our book, Kaye. I don’t kn
ow.”

  I lightly dragged my nails over his forearm. “That’s your decision. If you want to keep your illness a secret, then I’ll stand behind you.”

  “Yes, and you’ll be burdened by it, like my family, like Caroline. But if I go public with the story, there will be no more secrets.”

  “There are always secrets, Samuel.”

  He rose from the bed again and opened the window, letting in a rush of cool air and distant car horns, and I immediately felt the loss of him. He leaned against the frame, watching the quiet street below.

  “All I’ve ever wanted to do was write. Before, I wanted people to read my words. The more I shared them, the more real those words became. But now?” He ran a hand through his tangled hair. “I don’t want to share them. Maybe it’s selfish.”

  “It’s not selfish to want to keep some things private. It makes it sacred, somehow.”

  “Sacred. Just like friendship.” His voice grew stronger, angrier. “From the very beginning, Caro’s pushed me to publish this thing. Now she’s backed me into a corner where my only other choice is to build another web of lies. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

  “Her method sucks, but she has a point.”

  He squinted at me, head cocked curiously. “And what would that point be?”

  Tread lightly, Kaye. “Maybe publishing Hydraulic Level Five would be a good thing.”

  Samuel sat on the edge of the bed. “A few months ago, you had rather forceful opinions against publishing my memoir,” he said coolly. I tried to grasp his hands, but he planted them behind him on the mattress.

  “That was before I knew the whole truth. Our story could help people, Samuel. People like Molly’s sister. And maybe…maybe it could help you, too.”

  “Would it?” He gave a short, sardonic laugh. “I suppose it would help TrilbyJones. Imagine the clout your little firm will get, trotting out my personal life for your fund-raiser.”

  Ooh, he knew how to hit me where it hurt, didn’t he? “Hey, cliff-hucker, I didn’t ask for any favors. You offered.” I angrily whipped the quilt around my camisole-clad body. There was no way I was sharing a bed with him after a jerk statement like that. Yanking my pillow from the bed, I stalked out of the room, half-tripping over the blanket.