by Jo Leigh
The phone. A text. Again. Only this one…
Hey, Bree. Member me? UR SISTER???? Pick UP. PICKUPPICKUPPICKUPPICKUP. Call me. Beth. Who misses you. Brat.
Bree squeezed her eyes shut so tight she saw stars, little flashes of white that should have been beautiful, should have been fireworks. The pressure in her chest had turned to homesickness so deep it was the Grand Canyon of ache, the Mariana Trench of despair. She wanted to be sitting at the little kitchen table, the one that was for breakfast if all the kids and grandkids weren’t there.
She wanted her mother’s biscuits with honey from the Iverson’s bees, and she wanted thick cut pepper bacon and scrambled eggs, and to hear her father humming tunelessly as he prepared his plate.
She wanted the music that was playing so loud from Beth’s room it would shake the rafters, and Willow to be barking like a fiend outside because the chickens weren’t behaving, and she wanted to be little again. Safe. Filled with dreams that didn’t have thorns.
When Charlie texted, she dropped the papers in her hands.
Missed you this am. Re: tonight. 7 ok? Dinner 1st. Tea? CW
She went to text back, got a blank screen, her thumbs at the ready. But she couldn’t do it. All she had to say was okay. Nothing else. Because, of course, she was going to go. She’d signed an agreement. She had a responsibility. It was her goddamned dream come true.
She turned off her phone. Just for a while. Until she finished the filing.
CHARLIE TOOK A DRINK FROM the glass of scotch he’d taken from the party and wondered why he hadn’t asked for a bottle instead. He looked over at Bree and gave her a smile even though she’d decided, as she’d done on the way to the party, to sit as far away from him as was possible.
In turn, she gave him a pathetic excuse for a smile.
What was going on? She’d texted him once all day, only to tell him she wouldn’t be able to make it to dinner. He’d barely seen her as she was getting ready in the media room. He’d wanted to keep things focused, not mention the note or the night before. Her aloof attitude should have played right into his hand, but he hated it. He was still pissed about the stupid note. She could have said something even if they had made a mistake. He didn’t like being caught off guard.
Once they’d entered the club, Bree had perked up, charmed everyone she’d spoken to. Had her picture taken, danced with men, women, groups of men. Not him, though. He didn’t dance. Everyone knew that.
Of course, people had asked about missing the premiere, and he hadn’t answered. Neither had she. The two of them had touched and even kissed, although on the cheek. They’d made sure the crowd believed what he wanted them to. The only fly in that ointment was that the touching and even that nothing kiss had made him hard in his suit, and he’d had to wait outside with the smokers until he’d calmed down.
Whatever the consequences, this bullshit couldn’t go on. She wasn’t tired; tired was different. Even through the smiles and the gossip and the pictures and the pounding noise she’d seemed dulled, muted. The spark that made her light up a room had been muffled, and that had happened sometime between the best sex of his whole life, and a note on the back of a take-out receipt. Each time he looked at her, he both wanted her, and wanted to know what had happened.
“You’re quiet,” he said finally, heading into the breach.
She did that thing with her mouth that was supposed to reassure him, but accomplished the opposite. “I worked so much longer than I’d planned, I barely got a nap, and then I woke up in a panic…”
He nodded, but he didn’t believe her. “I’m sorry I’ve been keeping you out so late. We don’t have anything going on tomorrow. That’s a plus.”
“It is,” she said, staring at her hands.
“Bree. Did I do something I shouldn’t have? I can be an insensitive bastard, I know.”
She met his gaze squarely. “No. You did nothing wrong. Not at all. Not one thing. You’ve been exactly who you said you’d be, and that’s great. That’s…great.”
“Great,” he echoed quietly, because that little speech made his gut clench.
“Sorry. You know what? I got a call from home today. Family and stuff. With so little sleep, I suppose I’m not very good company.”
For the first time since 8:00 a.m. Charlie relaxed. Not completely, but family crap he understood. God knows, every time he interacted with his family he snapped at everything for hours if not longer. “Anything I can do?”
She shook her head. “Thanks, but no. Nothing anyone can do, but accept what is. I’ll be fine by Monday. We’ve got that perfume party, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I don’t even know how a celebrity begins to find a scent. I sure as hell don’t remind myself of exotic spices or citrus fruit, for God’s sake. And they make millions. Do people really think if they smell like someone supposedly smells, it makes them sexier? More likely to become a famous person themselves?”
Bree laughed—the best sound of the night. Even with the buzzing still in his ears. Finally, it felt right in the car, if a little cold. She was still very far away.
“You, on the other hand,” he said, slipping closer to her, “would make a wonderful perfume.”
She eyed him, and instead of touching her as he’d planned, he simply lowered his voice. “You smell like honey and the ocean. The nearer I get, the more pronounced it becomes. It’s there no matter what, so either it’s the best perfume ever, or as I suspect, it’s just you.”
“I don’t wear perfume,” she said. “And there’s no honey in any cosmetic I own. I’m not even sure what the ocean smells like.”
He shut his eyes as he inhaled. There it was. He was not making it up. “It’s gorgeous,” he said. “Like you.”
Bree whimpered softly, which made him open his eyes, smile. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring out the window. The feeling of everything being right again vanished.
“Bree—”
“I’m sorry. It’s not you. I promise.”
“Okay,” he said, uncomfortable that he didn’t know what to do here. “Would you like to come up?”
She stilled, barely even breathed and then shook her head. “Not tonight, but thank you for the offer.”
He shifted slightly, giving her space. Then he picked up his half-empty glass planning to polish it off before they reached his building.
BREE THREW CAUTION TO THE wind when she ordered eggs ’n’ apples Benedict on French toast with maple syrup. The others, Rebecca, Shannon and Lilly, gave her approving nods, and even a lift of a Mimosa, then ordered eggs or oatmeal. They were having Sunday brunch at Elephant & Castle, and Bree should have been starving after an hour’s wait to get seated. Her hand trembled as she lifted her coffee cup.
“He was nice,” Shannon said, and Bree smiled as Shannon flipped her red hair behind her shoulder. Shannon communicated with her body. Her eyes lit up with joy, her disappointment showed in her shoulders and the wry arch of her brow, and when she was angry she jutted her right hip and put her hand on her waist.
In Shannon-speak, the hair lift was more about inevitability than disappointment. A forgone conclusion. Bree didn’t have enough hair to copy the move, nor the acceptance. Not yet.
“We should have clicked,” Shannon continued, after polishing off her first cocktail. “God knows he was hot. I almost went home with him, but it seemed unfair. To his card, you know? He wants something long-term. Sadly, there were no sparks.” She looked around the restaurant, the buzz of the place not intrusive but definitely there. “Is it really only biology? A chemistry project? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Well,” Lilly said, pulling a trading card from her bag. “Here’s mine. No matter what, you’ll enjoy the evening. He’s a sweet guy, and extremely bright. Money, too.”
Shannon took the card, and gave hers to Lilly. “Here’s to you and John clicking like crazy.”
They both studied their new prospects. Bree sipped her coffee and when her gaze shifted to Rebecca,
the woman didn’t even pretend she wasn’t staring, had obviously been staring.
“What?” Bree said, petulantly enough that she hoped Rebecca would get it.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”
Rebecca picked up her Mimosa, but Bree heard her whisper, “liar,” before she took a sip.
“Rebecca, please.”
“If he’s done something horrible, you have to tell me.”
“He hasn’t.”
“Then—”
“It’s nothing. I’m telling you. We’re fine. We’re going to a perfume party tomorrow night. I haven’t slept in what feels like years, and I would be in bed now if you horrible people hadn’t dragged me out.”
“You’ve been AWOL for too long,” Shannon said, “and all we know is what we read on the internet. I have fifty big ones riding on what you and Charlie Winslow were doing instead of attending that premiere.”
Bree’s face went up in flames, at least that was what it felt like. She traded her coffee for ice water, and willed herself pale. “Nothing of consequence,” she said.
The three of them exchanged disbelieving glances and in one more second Bree was going to get her purse and walk out of the restaurant. Quit the lunch exchange group, never look at a trading card again and start checking out airfares to Ohio.
She flushed again, but not because of Shannon’s comment. She might have made a mistake allowing her feelings to get out of hand with Charlie, but she was not going to leave the table, or the state. She was not that person, and dammit, it didn’t matter how many tears she needed to shed until she got over her heartache, she would not give up. She hadn’t come this far only to slink home to Mommy.
“Seriously,” she said, sitting up straighter in her chair. “Nothing much happened. Our scheduling was off. Charlie parlayed it into gossip and it worked. We were a blind item in the Post today, Page Six. It’s all part of the master plan. NNY lives for unique hits. It’s a whole big mathematical formula that determines how much he can charge for ad space. All relative to individual times a certain person clicks on the blog on any individual computer.”
“That’s it?” Lilly asked skeptically. “But, you guys are so cute together.”
Bree turned from Lilly to Rebecca, meeting their gazes. “We’re supposed to look cute together. I’m sorry I’m spoiling it for you guys, but I swear, it’s business. In fact, as soon as the numbers dip and I’m no longer useful to the blog, I’ll be raiding the trading cards myself.”
“You gonna throw Charlie back into the ring?” Shannon asked.
“Believe me. He’s not your type. Oh, he’s nice and all, but he’s not looking to date.”
Rebecca tried to stare her down, as if she could make Bree take it back with telepathy. Bree touched her hand. “We’ll talk, but not now,” she said, low enough that the others couldn’t hear, and then there was the food, and that was the distraction she’d needed. She relaxed, confident she’d crossed an important milestone.
Then her phone rang. She almost ignored it. When she did take it out of her purse, she knew before she hit a single button that it was Charlie. Only it wasn’t about tomorrow night’s perfume extravaganza.
Dinner tonight? Chef’s table at Le Bernardin?
Bree saw the name of the top-rated restaurant in the city. The invitation was more than incredible. For her career, for her future, she shouldn’t hesitate. There would be pictures and even more gossip when they went out to dinner without an event chaser. But for her sanity, she typed:
Love to. Can’t though. Other plans. See you tomorrow!
15
CHARLIE PICKED UP THE PHONE, a smile on his face before he heard the words from the security downstairs. When his cousin’s name was announced he flicked an invitation to some bullshit party to the floor as he gave his assent.
Maybe Rebecca dropping by wasn’t so bad. It was weird, but not necessarily a terrible thing. She was friends with Bree. Since she rarely visited, she had to be here because of that friendship. Rebecca would know what the deal was, and that would help. Or maybe she’d heard he was going to cancel his reservation at Le Bernardin and she wanted him to take her? Well tough, because he wasn’t hungry anymore.
He got up from the dining room table, not bothering to pick up the invite or any of the other accumulated mess. His housekeeper would be back tomorrow. It wasn’t until he opened his door that he realized he hadn’t put on shoes. Just socks. Black socks. He was in his jeans, and his Yankees T-shirt. He’d laid out clothes for his seven o’clock date, but screw that.
Rebecca, as always, looked as polished as a cultured pearl. He took her coat and tossed it over the ottoman by the entrance. Heard her indignant huff and ignored it.
“You want coffee? Wine? Vodka?”
“It’s two-thirty in the afternoon,” she said, her heels clicking behind him as she followed.
“And?”
“Can you even make coffee?”
“You’re a riot, Becca.”
In the kitchen, she got out the milk while he poured beans into his coffee mill.
When the grinding finished, he put the grounds into the coffeemaker, and stood in front of the counter, with his arms crossed. “So?”
“What have you done, Charlie?”
“About?”
“Don’t be obtuse. To Bree.”
“I haven’t done anything. She’s the one who’s been…”
“Been what?”
He shrugged, turned to watch as the coffeemaker gurgled. “Quiet. Off. I don’t know.”
“Want to tell me why you guys missed the red carpet?”
“No.”
“Fine. Coffee to go, then. Oh, and congratulations for remaining fourteen no matter how old you actually get. Excellent job. You must be so proud.”
“What are you talking about?” He swung around again, in no mood.
“Okay, let’s deal with first things first. Do you honestly believe your family needs to advertise in your blogs in order for Andrew to win this election?”
“Yes.”
“Then your ego has officially gone off the charts. Their visit to you, Charles, was their version of an olive branch.”
“As if I’d endorse that idiot?”
“They weren’t asking for an endorsement. You take ad money from all sorts of lunatics. During the presidential campaign, you had both parties shouting each other down constantly. And I know you didn’t vote for both.”
“So you did set them up. Hell, I gave you more credit than was due.”
“What?” she said, taking two steps toward him.
“You actually told them to approach me, didn’t you?”
“No. I didn’t. I heard about it ex post facto. From Uncle Ford.”
“Christ. This family.”
“Is your family.” She touched his arm. “I don’t know what’s happened between you and Bree, honestly, but I know she’s different. And you—you don’t go to your blog correspondents. They come to you. You don’t pretend to have a lover for this long. And you sure as heck don’t worry if one of your gimmicks is quiet.”
He stepped back, dislodging her hand. He took out two mugs and poured for them both. “It’s not personal. The numbers are up. They have been since that first night. I suppose I should thank you for that.”
“I don’t give a damn about your numbers.”
He sipped his coffee and it was so hot he scalded the top of his mouth. “That’s all I care about.”
“Yeah. Right.” She got one of his now-famous to-go cups from the cupboard and transferred her coffee, adding some milk before she put on the top. “It’s not going to be easy to go back. After Bree, it’s going to hit you hard. At least, let’s hope so. I think there’s a decent man inside you, Charlie. I’ve known you too long to give up hope.”
“Who died and made you Yoda?”
She grinned. “I can dish it out. Probably because I’ve all but turned into a monk. But you know what?
If and when I find someone you think is worth fighting for, I give you my full permission to take no prisoners. You got that?” She stepped right up into his face and looked him in the eyes. “You fight for me, Charlie. Fight dirty. Fight hard. Don’t let me be right when I need to be happy.” She kissed him on the cheek, took her drink and left him standing in his socks.
By the time he remembered his own mug, it was cold. But he’d made a decision.
CHARLIE CALLED HER at one-ten on Monday. Bree picked up after the second ring.
“Charlie? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“You’re not texting.”
“Oh,” he said. “No, everything’s fine. How are you?”
“I’m great. Great.”
He winced at that. Two greats definitely made something wrong. “Good. Because, you know, there’s the perfume gig tonight.”
“Right. I was going to text. What time did you want me at your place?”
He swung his chair around and stared out his window. The whole city seemed gray. Despondent. “Seven? Six if you want to eat. We won’t be staying late. It’s perfume. I promised a friend, or I’d cancel.” Charlie waited for her to say something, and when the silence stretched, he had Plan B ready. “You, on the other hand, promised no one. Tonight isn’t really a big deal. If you want to pass, that’s fine.”
“Pass?”
“Yeah. You’ve had a busy week, and Monday-night parties are always second tier. I’ll make something of it in the blog, something that’ll keep them talking. If you want.”
The silence was broken by her breathing, and he tried to picture where she was. Indoors, as there was no sound of traffic. In her cubicle? A restaurant? He wondered if she had a ribbon in her hair today, and he wished he’d gone to talk to her in person. Her voice wasn’t enough.
“That would be great,” she said.
“Okay, then. No problem. Get some rest. Catch up on that sleep, because there are a some big doin’s going on starting Tuesday.” He grimaced, remembering that Tuesday afternoon he’d agreed to walk down the runway for charity, but that wasn’t Bree’s problem. She’d be at work.
