Lost

by Jennifer Davis

  “No. I’m fine,” he snaps back. What has gotten into him? I wince a little at his snappiness, enough that he must notice. “Jess, I’m sorry,” he says, placing his hand around my waist and attempting to pull me in close. I plant my feet firmly into the ground, not wanting to get any closer to him.

  “It’s fine,” I murmur back at him, looking away.

  “No, it’s not fine,” he says with frustration, running his fingers through his growing golden locks. Even in my frustration I can’t help but notice how attractive he looks. Always so polished and well put together, and the longer hair makes him look more like a classy gent than the shorter, more military-esque style he wore previously. My subtle suggestion to grow out his hair was taken seriously, and my hypothesis that he would wear it well was correct. He frowns as I stand reluctant to forgive him.

  “Babe, come on. I’m sorry,” he pleads into my ear, not wanting the line of people behind us to witness our tiff. “It’s been a stressful day, and you know how I hate being late to things.” He gives me a soft kiss on my neck. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look?” Actually, no, you haven’t. You were too busy huffing around the hotel room on a conference call to notice.

  Part of me feels guilty, knowing that I put so much effort into looking good tonight when it wasn’t just for Jack. My blonde hair is flat-ironed super straight, placing the ends of it just below my breasts. I chose a black cotton dress with vertical sections of fabric, helping to elongate my very average height. The material falls just above my mid-thigh; short for me, but nothing compared to the standard New York City girl. The sides of the dress have open slits, showing a few more inches of skin from the right angle. I finished it off with my diamond heart earrings, a shimmery gold clutch, and gold peep toe shoes. The heels give me an extra four inches or so, necessary for lengthening and thinning my legs in this dress.

  A young bellman whistles a cab over to us, and I notice him giving me an extra glance as I climb inside the taxi. Jack notices too, but says nothing. Not even an ounce of jealousy seems to pass through him when it comes to me. I’m secretly flattered at the stranger’s glance; it gives me a boost of confidence that I can pull this dress off, and maybe even garner a seductive glance from Max. Stop it, Jess.

  ***

  We head across town to a restaurant called Quality Meats. The name leaves much to be desired, after all it sounds like a local butcher shop, but knowing Mr. Lust and his expensive tastes, the restaurant will be far from it.

  Jack checks in with the host and we’re immediately escorted through the bustling restaurant. The decor is a mix of modern and rustic, half of the walls revealing exposed brick, and the other half covered in rich, deep woods that extend across the ceiling. Small clusters of diners occupy every table and chair, an indication that the food must be fantastic. The host weaves us through the main dining area and up a set of modern stairs to another section of tables. The lighting upstairs is dimmer, but strategically placed candles light the perimeter of the room just enough to enable us to view the diners. We finally stop at a booth in the back corner, where the handsome Italian sits chatting casually and sipping a cocktail with a pretty, petite woman.

  “Ciao!” Mr. Lust practically shouts at us as we approach the table. He jumps to his feet to shake Jack’s hand, and then leans in to give me the standard double cheek kiss, undoubtedly my favorite part of his greeting. But his usual slight lingering on my cheeks is absent tonight, and I can’t help but feel disappointed.

  “Ciao,” I respond back with a forced smile, curious to know who this brunette tart is with him tonight.

  “Jack, Jess, please meet Lia,” he says, extending his arm out toward her. Her petite frame stands and she greets us with a flat smile back, saying “Ciao.” The one word is enough to give away her perfect Italian tongue. She shakes Jack’s hand, and then mine, and I’m immediately unimpressed by her flimsy, floppy attempt at a handshake.

  “Please, sit.” Max gestures for us to sit at the table, already broken-in with a basket of bread, olive oil, a near-empty old fashioned glass, and a drained glass of bubbles. Jack and I each slide into opposite ends of the round booth, him next to Mr. Lust and me next to Lia. The horseshoe shape prevents me and Jack from sitting next to each other. Not the start we need to a rekindling weekend, especially after our bickering. Plus, judging by first impressions, Lia will be far from the world’s best conversationalist.

  “A drink for my friends,” Lust says, raising his hand, and a waiter seems to appear from nowhere.

  “Of course sir, what can I get you?”

  “Ladies first,” he says with a wink, his dark eyes catching a sparkle from the dancing flames on the table. His eye almost catches mine, but I avert them to the drink menu resting on the table before me.

  “What are you having Lia?” I ask with feigned interest.

  “Prosecco. It was…this one,” she says pointing to a name on the menu.

  “Would you recommend it”?

  “Yes, it’s almost as good as something you would find in Italia.” Snobby bitch. Seeing as though it was imported from Italia I’m sure it’s exactly the same as what I would have there. God, why do I instantly hate her? Be nice, Jess.

  “I’ll have a glass of the Prosecco, please,” I announce to the waiter, holding my tongue and trying to play nice.

  “Another for me,” Lia snaps at the waiter, pushing her empty glass toward him.

  “Right away, ladies. And anything for the gentlemen?”

  “Another Negroni, please,” Max says, jiggling the last bit of drink in his glass before taking the final sip.

  “Grey Goose martini, please,” Jack says. The young waiter nods and disappears from the table as quickly as he came.

  “How was the trip from Atlanta?” Max asks us. I begin to open my mouth but Jack beats me. “Trip was good, no complaints,” he says, and I bite my tongue to allow his lie to continue. I guess it wouldn’t be appropriate to describe the true nature of our trip, filled with arguing, anger and frustration. It’s not exactly suitable dinner conversation.

  “How long are you in town for?” I ask Max.

  “Not long enough,” Lia says, pouting and grabbing his arm. Seeing her touch him sends rage through my veins. He’s not yours, Jess, I try to remind myself, but every time I see him my mind goes back to that place. Mr. Lust lets out a laugh, and places his hand gently over hers. Fuck me. I die a little inside watching their skin connect.

  “Unfortunately just until Monday, then back to Europe.”

  “Ahh, the life of a road warrior,” Jack exclaims.

  “So how do you and Lia know each other?” I ask, realizing Max never disclosed the nature of their relationship upon introductions.

  “Our mothers were close friends for many years in Italy,” he responds, smiling broadly at Lia. I watch her face light up as he looks at her, and it’s clear how desperate she is for his attention.

  “Yes, Max has been nice enough to help me get acquainted to New York City, I’ve only been here for a few months.”

  “Really, so did you just move from Italy recently?” Jack asks.

  “Yes, before that I have never been to America, but there are more opportunities here,” she says through imperfect English.

  “What opportunities are you exploring here?” I ask inquisitively.

  “I am a model,” she quips proudly. Fucking whore bitch, of course she is a model. I try to think of something nice to say back to her, or to pretend I’m interested in furthering the conversation, but I can only think of evil and envious thoughts while I glare at her perfectly tiny and toned legs popping out of her skin-tight maroon dress.

  “Do you find it hard to start modeling now? I know many models start when they are still teenagers.” My bitterness cuts through in the form of my question, and I can sense Jack staring at me as if to say “don’t be rude.”

  “Not too hard,” she says, taking the question in stride. “Most of the models are younger, maybe nineteen is the aver
age age of girls I work with. I feel like a mother to them sometimes,” she admits. Max snickers at her comment.

  “What do you know about being a mother?” He laughs. “You are barely twenty-one, you are just a baby still!” I swear I puke a little in my mouth. The perfectly tiny and beautiful date of my Lust is a twenty-one-year-old model. Fuck my life.

  “Maximus!” she shrieks, playfully pushing his arm. He laughs harder, then places his arm around his shoulder, pulling her into a hug. She glows with affection for this older, handsome man, and I can’t say that I blame her. The jealousy stings as I watch them playfully interact, briefly wishing that I were the one here with Max, or at least that Jack had the same feeling toward me tonight.

  The waiter reappears, and quickly begins distributing drinks to each of us. “Can I get you something to start with? May I recommend the meat and cheese plate for the table?”

  “That sounds delicious,” Jack says, taking the lead on ordering. We all select some form of meat or fish, and order Brussels sprouts, spinach, gnocchi, and corn crème brûlée for the table to share. Jack and Max select an overpriced bottle of red wine for the table, and I attempt to indulge rather than festering in my jealousy.

  I spend the next hour watching Lia pick at her food, probably eating a grand total of two bites of Brussels sprouts, a teaspoon of spinach and an ounce of steak. The only part of the meal she doesn’t skimp on is the booze. The guys have turned this double date into a business dinner, talking over intricacies of European laws and how they will impact the negotiation to buy or sell whatever Pegasus is, so I’m stuck making small talk with the anorexic teenage model.

  “So you and Max knew each other from Italy?” I ask her the obvious question, tired of half listening to the guys’ work discussion.

  “Yes, our mothers were good friends. Since he was older I didn’t know him that well in Italy. I mainly knew of his reputation.” She raises her eyebrows and laughs.

  “Oh, really?” My buzzed, frustrated self can’t help but run with this one. “What was his reputation back home?”

  “How do you say…” she pauses, “he had lots of girlfriends. Or friends who are girls, anyway.” This idea shouldn’t surprise me, as a known playboy businessman never having been spotted with the same girl more than a few times.

  “I think I would have guessed that. So, did you know any of these girlfriends?”

  “I met a girl friend once, at a party when he was visiting a few years ago. But he barely knew her. She was probably just his evening entertainment.”

  I smile and nod, thinking she must now be filling those same shoes. “But you know what they say,” her eyes get bigger as she leans closer to me, speaking more softly. “He never says goodbye. Just goes cold chicken, and women never know when it will happen.” I giggle at her expression, her English idioms faulty given our Prosecco consumption.

  “So what does he do? Just sleep with a girl and then never call again?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she smiles, and I instantly want to punch her. Wait, what does she mean? They’ve slept together and he’s still calling? Or that they haven’t slept together? My wicked brain gets ahead of me. Be real, Jess, even if they haven’t slept together yet, you know he’s a manwhore. If he hasn’t, he’s thinking about it. About her. Not you. And you shouldn’t be either! Remember Jack?

  ***

  We finish the last drops of our third bottle of wine and I realize I’m sufficiently drunk, and exhausted from the forced small talk with Lia. I’ve spent three hours watching her drool over Mr. Lust, and three hours watching my boyfriend have a work discussion. Even when he and Max have taken a breather from the shop talk, he’s failed to give me more than a glance or he would realize that I’m bored to tears.

  “Want me to order us a car?” I ask Jack, hoping that we can finally end the evening of torture.

  “Please, you can ride with me,” Max quickly offers. “My driver, Enzo, can bring the larger car and we will drop you off at your hotel.” Oh, fuck. I can’t see Enzo around Jack. The sweet old man would probably remember me, and then how would I possibly explain the fact that I’ve met him before. My fuzzy head is too strained to think up a quick lie.

  “No need to do that, Max. We appreciate the offer though. I’ll just get us a car.” I pull up the Uber app on my phone and hit the request button as quickly as possible.

  “Jess, it’s no problem,” he persists.

  “Too late, I’ve already requested it. I can’t cancel and risk my perfect five-star rating. Thanks for the offer though. Enzo can just take Lia home, I’m sure models need their beauty sleep!”

  “Oh, it’s not problem, I live with Max.” What? Her words punch me straight in the gut. Oh, God. They must be sleeping together. That’s what she meant—she wouldn’t know if he just leaves girls because he’s screwed her and is already living with her! My expression must reveal my surprise, as Max looks directly at me while I digest this news.

  “I am just giving her a place to stay why she gets settled in the city,” he says, almost as though he is trying to explain away her comment.

  “Yes, Max and Enzo have been taking care of me for nearly three months! I don’t know what I would do without them.” Lia squeezes him gratefully. Three months? But I slept in his apartment less than three months ago. I quickly deduce that she must have been there that night. What an enormously slutty asshole. A flood of emotions wash over me. Disgust. Anger. Betrayal. Was he sleeping with her the night we were at Ware?

  “Really, you’ve been staying with Max for three months?” I question brazenly.

  “Yes, since February, just after Valentine’s Day weekend,” Lia confirms. I shoot daggers from my eyes into his, ensuring he knows that I’ve figured him out. That disgusting shit. What did he think was going to happen that night? I would just hop into bed with him and Lia? Or did he just have to hide me away to keep her from knowing I was in his apartment too? That’s probably why Enzo was so helpful and quick to get me out of his apartment. So his manwhore boss could keep his trysts separate. I want to scream at him and call him out but I can’t without revealing to my boyfriend why I was there, and why I would even care.

  “Looks like the car is almost here, Jack. We should probably go,” I say, heated and desperate to leave this man. For the first time ever, my attraction to him is replaced with disgust and I only want to flee from his presence.

  thirty

  My dry eyes open to the harsh brightness of the sun spilling through the tiny cracks between the floor-to-ceiling maroon drapes. The brilliantly bright line of light manages to land just across my left eyelid, disrupting my sound sleep. The faint sound of honking horns mixed with occasional sirens reminds me that I’m still in New York City, and of the fast-paced world ten floors below me.

  I glance up to see Jack sitting at the desk, his glasses on, and typing away at his screen. I toss the covers off of me, realizing the imminent need of a bathroom to relieve my full bladder. The rustling of sheets garners Jack’s attention and he turns to greet me. “Morning, sunshine,” he says to me. I glance at the clock to see it’s already 11:43 am, and that the day is half gone.

  “Morning,” I say without enthusiasm, still filled with irritation from yesterday’s events. The day of fighting and the evening of being ignored did little to help our situation. I shake away my negative thoughts. This weekend is about us. I have to give it a fair try. I fight my inner bitchiness and put on a smile. “Glad you’re getting some work done, we have a day of fun ahead of us!”

  “Remember, we’re supposed to meet Barrett and his wife for brunch at 12:30.”

  My fuddled mine begins to process this. “Where are we meeting them? That’s not even forty-five minutes from now.” I vaguely remember a conversation about meeting his business school bestie and wife for brunch.

  “We’re supposed to meet them at Sarabeth’s near the park at 12:30. So we should probably leave in about twenty minutes.”

  I immediately fume at the tho
ught.

  “Jack, I know we’ve only been living together for a few months, but you know it takes me more than twenty minutes to shower and get ready for the day. Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

  “I don’t know, Jess. I didn’t think you would sleep until noon. And I reminded you before bed. You said you were setting an alarm?” His claim invalidates my victim status. “I mean how much wine did you have last night?” His tone makes no secret of his judgment of me.

  “I don’t know, Jack,” I snip, returning his attitude. “My boyfriend was ignoring me at dinner so maybe I had a little more than I should have.”

  “Yeah, I think that was clear to everyone there. You seemed to have left your southern charm in Atlanta, you weren’t exactly playing nicely with Max’s date.” I let out a big, frustrated sigh. This is so not the start to the morning that I had expected. I assumed Jack and I would wake up and immediately make up, with some amazing sex and apologies all around to start off a day of gluttony and indulgence. Having only been awake for two minutes, I decide not to further provoke the argument, and instead walk silently into the bathroom.

  I brush my teeth and then hop into the shower, scrubbing myself as quickly as I know how. The usual luxuries of sitting down to shave are forgone to expedite the beautification and cleansing process. I pop out of the shower as quickly as I got in and towel myself dry.

  I wipe the steam from the mirror and open the bathroom door to let the humidity escape, the only chance I have of successfully blow drying my hair. As the door swings open I get a view of Jack getting dressed. He pulls on his favorite dark jeans and a white button-up, with his sleeves rolled at the elbows. He wears his tan belt and matching woven leather shoes. Jack glances up from his bent over position as he pulls on his shoes. “You about ready?” he asks me.