by Alison Kent
“Morning, girlfriend.” Natalie raised a paper bag from Balducci’s. “Fresh bagels, the full assortment. Plain, poppy, onion, pumpernickel, sun-dried tomato.”
“Bless you.” Yesterday, Isabel had laid in a supply of farm-fresh eggs and smoked fish, but the bagels had to be as fresh as possible.
Arianne toted a net bag of oranges for the traditional mimosas. “Happy New Year, Iz.”
“You, too.” Isabel inspected her friend, as well-put-together as ever, even though it was immediately clear she was frazzled to the point of distraction. Despite the resolution to be spontaneous, the evening with Rafe must not have gone so well. Or perhaps too well? There was a suspicious puffy, tender look about Arianne’s lips, even when she compressed them as if she was bursting with news.
Next, Isabel gave Natalie the once-over. Well. Although Nat’s usual sparkle was dimmed, it was easy enough to read her face—and glowing cheeks. She had the look of a sexually satisfied woman. But the sadness in her red-rimmed eyes also meant she’d fallen hard, regardless of her resolution to the contrary.
Argh! Resolutions never worked.
Isabel suppressed a sigh. So much for revenge against Joe, the Disappearing Man. She only hoped that when this latest frog inevitably lost his luster, Natalie’s optimistic little heart wouldn’t break into too many pieces. Ditto for Arianne.
The three of them stood looking at one another, the silence taut with expectations and untold adventures.
Never mind, Isabel decided. A few mimosas would loosen their tongues.
She closed the elevator gate and pulled the heavy door shut. After locking up against vagrants since the downstairs door had been broken for ages, she turned, regarding her friends with a saucy grin. “Well, ladies. Looks like all three of us got a little somethin’-somethin’ last night. But the question is, are we still single?”
“You bet!” Natalie said, trying to rouse some cheer.
Isabel wondered if the glint in Natalie’s eyes was overly bright. Uh-oh. Did that mean Joe had pulled another vanishing act?
Arianne drew off her practical leather gloves and warm hat. She shook frost out of her white-blond hair. “Yes, of course. Um, sort of.”
Sort of? Isabel unwound an Hermès scarf from Natalie’s neck and took her long wool coat, revealing a pair of skintight desert-colored camouflage jeans and a black Versace sweater. Typical of Nat, she’d dressed spiffily even for brunch with girlfriends, all the way down to vintage Fendi four-inch-heeled boots.
“You’re both looking too good,” Isabel said, stuffing their gear into the armoire that served as a closet in a loft devoid of interior walls. “Am I the only one with a hangover?”
That got a smile out of Arianne. “I didn’t have the chance to overindulge.” She quirked a brow. “Not in champagne, anyway.”
“Natalie? You’re so quiet.”
Natalie, who was rarely quiet, grimaced. “Never mind me. I was up all night, so I’m barely awake.”
Ah, Isabel liked the sound of that. This brunch could turn out to be rather illuminating.
She clapped her hands. “All right! Coffee first, then mimosas.” She took the supplies and charged off to the kitchen, which was no more than a sink, an oven and a couple cubic feet of cabinet space. Two chrome restaurant-grade shelving units defined the area, along with an island made from an old wooden library card catalog now sporting chunky wheels.
Arianne and Natalie followed, exchanging a significant look. “Iz, have you got something to tell us about last night?”
“Oh, you know, just the usual.” Isabel smoothed a palm over her breasts, hidden under a T-shirt, a fisherman’s sweater and the hooded jacket she’d thrown on when the heat had failed to kick in. “I’m pleasantly tingly under all these layers. Whisker burn.”
“I’ll say.” Arianne nodded. “I saw you sneaking up the ballroom steps with the man in the lion mask.”
Natalie’s eyes widened. “Do tell. Who was he? Did he bite?”
Isabel hesitated. She’d intended to stint on the details for a change, but what the hell, someone had to break the ice. Plus, her friends would think the sexcapade had actual meaning if she kept it to herself.
The way she wanted to.
Oh, damn!
“No biting,” she blurted. “And I didn’t get a name. But he sure knew how to give an oral.”
They broke out into hoots and hand slaps, acting as bad as guys in a locker room. Isabel fell into habit and played the brash femme fatale for their amusement, boasting of her conquest. She got Natalie giggling and chiming in with bawdy comments, while Arianne alternated between disapproval and a certain envious longing.
She slid onto a bar stool, folding her hands beneath her chin. “Oh, Isabel. I worry about you. One of these days you’re going to go off with the wrong man.”
“Yeah,” Natalie said. “One who doesn’t know how to use his tongue.” Her laughter died when she saw Isabel’s somber expression. “Right, Iz?”
“Coffee,” Isabel announced to forestall the questions that would come about her anonymous liaison. There weren’t words to explain what had happened to her, and she wasn’t looking forward to telling her friends that it was never going to happen again. They already thought she was too closed off to romantic possibilities.
She handed over their mugs and immediately dove for the minifridge under the counter. “You two go sit in the living room. Give me ten minutes to get the food together.” She refused their offers to help and shooed them away.
Natalie and Arianne strolled to the living area that was separated from the studio only by lengths of gauzy, lustrous Indian fabrics hung from the conduits and pipes left over from the building’s era of industry. Two Barcelona chairs Isabel had recently bid on at auction on Tom’s recommendation were set up around a marble slab coffee table with rough edges. There was a flokati rug and an awful rump-sprung couch that barely passed as shabby chic. She loved the contrast of flea-market goods mixed with spare contemporary furnishings and was working on Tom to sell her one of his floor model sofas as a replacement. He’d said any time, if she was willing to come by in person.
“Why is it so cold in here?” Natalie called.
“Radiator’s conked out again. I’ll get the wrench and give it a whack.”
“We’ll use the blankets,” Arianne said with Nordic cheer as she pulled a chenille throw off the back of the couch. They were used to roughing it at the loft, even though Natalie was not-so-secretly appalled at Isabel’s thrift-shop wardrobe, and Arianne couldn’t understand spending savings on Chinese silk while subsisting on cold leftovers of Chinese takeout.
Isabel banged on the radiator, loaded orange after orange into the electric juicer, quickly sliced and toasted some of the bagels as the spinach frittata sizzled nearby. Her intention was to make enough noise to prevent further questions about her masked encounter. But that also meant she couldn’t eavesdrop on her friends’ quiet conversation.
“So,” she said, going over with a tray laden with food. “That party! Was it amazing, or what? The mansion looked fabulous and the crowd was so chichi I almost wished I was the fashion reporter instead of Nat.” She peered down at the cluttered coffee table. “Want to shove the shoes and that other stuff off there, hon?”
Natalie picked up the sandals, took one look at their state of disgrace and cradled them to her chest like a mother with a sick baby. “You got these from Rafe?”
“Weird, huh?” Isabel set the tray on a stack of newspapers and art magazines. She shot a quick glance at Arianne, who was turning a pale shade of pink at the mention of Rafe’s name. Definitely a little somethin’-somethin’ going on there.
“Gimme.” Isabel retrieved the Monticellos and dropped into a chair. “Look at these ridiculous heels. I’ll break my ankle. And the ribbons. I must have tied them wrong because I couldn’t figure out how to get them off again.” She fiddled with the tangled satin streamers. “At first I thought I’d have to sleep in them. I almost resorted to
cutting the knots—”
“No!” Natalie snatched one of the shoes. “You can’t do that. Let me try.”
“Hey, leggo my Monticellos.” Laughing to hide her strange affection for Rafe’s latest gift, Isabel wrestled the shoe away. She stuck the confounded things under the table, then knelt on a stack of floor pillows to distribute plates and napkin-wrapped utensils. “Let’s dig in while the eggs are hot. I made an Italian frittata in honor of Lucia and Rafe.”
Once they’d filled their plates, she looked at Natalie. Fashion was always a reliable distraction. “I didn’t get to see either of you before you left the party. What was in your shoe box, Nat?”
Natalie smiled dreamily. “Black linen mules with fuchsia and lime-green rhinestones. The heel’s way too low, but otherwise they are so me.” She wrinkled her nose. “A two-inch heel? What was Rafe thinking?”
“Maybe that you’d need sensible shoes to run away from a certain man chasing you?” Isabel suggested with a wink.
Natalie shrugged, apparently not ready to reveal the details of her evening. Or not planning to run, most likely.
Isabel glanced toward the couch. Arianne was staring under the table at the shoes, her thoughts miles away. “Don’t tell me.” Isabel pointed a fork, wondering how any woman as beautiful as Arianne could also be so practical. “You got another pair of boring black pumps.”
Arianne blinked. “Not quite.”
Natalie stopped midbite. “Mmph?” She quickly chewed and swallowed. “My, my. So what kind of shoes did you get?”
“Red.”
“Red?” Natalie and Isabel said in unison.
“Very red. With high heels and crystal-beaded ankle straps.” Arianne waved a hand. “I don’t know what Rafe was thinking. They’re not at all my taste!”
“Sounds like CFM shoes.” Isabel flicked her tongue out to catch a dollop of cream cheese. “One guess what Rafe was thinking.”
“I know how he thinks. The man’s a womanizer. A playboy. A…” Arianne plunked her plate on the table. She’d only picked at her food. “Oh, God, what am I going to do?”
Isabel raised her brows. Was Arianne saying what it sounded like? Had she actually let loose long enough to sleep with Rafe?
Natalie had gone to sit on the couch. She gave Arianne a squeeze. “Tell us about it. You look kind of thunderstruck.”
“I guess I am stunned. The night was great. Magic.” Arianne started to blush again, and Isabel knew that was all they were going to get on the details of Rafe’s performance in bed. Damn.
“But with the shoes was an invitation to dinner tonight. What do you think?” Arianne looked at them with her wide blue eyes. “Do I go?”
“Yes,” Isabel said immediately. Not because she was a romantic or anything. For Arianne.
Natalie had no such compunction. “Of course you go!”
Arianne was still hesitating. “But I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Pfft.” Isabel waved a hand. “You have tons of beautiful clothes.”
“They’re all so dull and practical.”
Natalie narrowed her eyes. “Aha. And you want to wow him.”
Arianne nodded.
“If we were at my place, I could loan you a real knockout Dolce & Gabbana number I just bought. Bright blue, slashed down to here, crisscrossed with these peekaboo slits—”
“Don’t frighten the girl,” Isabel said. “Arianne has to tease before she can taunt.” She got to her feet. “I might have something that will work. I found a Fortuny dress at—”
Natalie jumped up. “We’re not putting her in your rummage-sale chic.”
“Oh, all right. There is a dress I’ve never worn. I had it made from a piece of gorgeous red silk, but there wasn’t enough fabric so it’s practically backless and gyno-exam short…”
In minutes, Natalie and Isabel came back from the bedroom area with a flirty cherry-red dress that looked no bigger than a handkerchief on a hanger. Arianne’s eyes went round as she rubbed the slippery silk between her fingers. “I can’t wear this.”
“Sure you can.”
“Rafe will die when he sees you in it,” Natalie said, “but at least he’ll go happy.”
It took some fast talk and several changes; but they finally persuaded Arianne to take the red dress with her and consider wearing it to dinner tonight.
“I don’t understand,” Isabel said, getting frustrated. “You hinted that the sex was fantastic, so what’s to hesitate over?”
“I told you. It’s Rafe’s reputation. Love them and leave them…with a Tiffany box…” Arianne’s voice faded. She shook her head, apparently overcome by the enormity of the situation.
Natalie jumped in. “This isn’t just about sex, Iz, you dolt. It’s Arianne’s entire future. Some women expect intimacy to develop into a real relationship.”
“Like you did with Joe, the Disappearing Man?” Isabel shot back. “No one would catch me mooning after a guy for an entire year.”
“Or even a day,” Arianne said dryly.
How wrong you are, Isabel thought as she downed a good third of her mimosa. But she would not apologize for herself.
Natalie glowered. “You don’t know the first thing about Joe.”
“Number One.” Isabel raised a finger. “He has a penchant for running out on you.”
“Yeah? Takes one to know one.”
Isabel sputtered. Though she frowned at Natalie and Arianne, she knew she wasn’t mad at either of her friends. They could only know as much about her as she gave them. And that was more than most, but still less than the truth.
Her stomach churned. The urge to check her e-mail for a calming, rational note from Tom was nearly overwhelming. He was the only person she’d let all the way past the walls she’d erected in defense of her miserable introduction to the male species.
“Please, let’s not snipe at one another,” Arianne said. “We all had eventful nights and our emotions are still running high. Remember, we became friends because we support each other in spite of our differences.”
Isabel sank back onto her pile of pillows. “You’re right.”
Natalie offered a tentative smile. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” After a moment of hesitation, Isabel crawled over and climbed up onto the couch, worming herself into the space between Natalie and Arianne. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chin, her Indian sari skirt folded over tattered leggings and thick wool socks. “I’m really not as heartless as I seem. It’s all an act.”
Arianne’s expression was filled with affection and concern. “I know that, Iz. But maybe you need to pick out a guy and spend enough time with him so that he can learn that.”
“You’re always telling me that I give my heart too freely,” Natalie said, “but you’re the opposite. And that’s so sad. We want you to find a true love.”
Isabel’s frown returned. Their words touched too close to the lonely, frightened girl hidden inside her.
She deliberately changed the subject by nudging Natalie with her elbow. “Speaking of true love, you haven’t told us what happened with Joe. Did you go through with the plan to pretend not to recognize him?” Isabel laughed, even though it was highly unlikely that Natalie had pulled off the deed without surrendering her heart all over again. “I’d have loved to see the look on his face when you gave him tit for tat and sashayed out of his life.”
Natalie searched for words. “Well…”
Arianne rolled her eyes. “Boy, do we ever need to stop asking Isabel for advice. She told me to do a striptease on Rafe’s bar.”
Natalie groaned. “After what happened with Joe, I might have preferred the striptease.”
“Oh, no, Nat. What did you do?” But Isabel knew the answer based on the redhead’s kicked-puppy look.
“It’s what I didn’t do that’s the problem.” Natalie leaned back, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. “He tried to apologize, but I wouldn’t let him. You know how I am. I never could h
old a grudge. I left without saying anything, so I guess that’s that, huh?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Arianne said sympathetically. “You could talk to him. See where it leads.”
“And say what? Hi, it’s me. The woman in the gold mask. Remember? We danced the horizontal mambo until four a.m. and I think I’m in love with you? Oh, and by the way, can I have my mask back, please?”
There seemed to be no answer for that.
Isabel took a breath. “Okay, so the payback didn’t work out the way you’d hoped. But you still got laid.” She grinned, trying to take the misery off Nat’s face. “I’d call that a successful night.”
Natalie tucked a strand of shiny hair behind her ear. “You’d call that a successful first date.”
They all laughed, though the merriment soon degenerated into sighs. Then silence.
“So here we sit,” Arianne announced after a while. “A blonde, a brunette and a redhead.”
Natalie resumed her brave smile. “Still single on New Year’s Day.”
Isabel threw her arms around them. “But very well screwed.”
7
ISABEL RAN OVER to her desk as soon as Arianne and Natalie had departed, resupplied with hugs and kisses and encouragement to embrace their inner wild women in whatever manner suited them. Stripteases and one-night stands might not be the right choices, but Isabel was sure they’d find their own way. To love, if that was what they wanted.
Arianne had bravely vowed to attend Rafe’s dinner in the red silk dress, though she’d drawn the line at promising more.
Natalie was also on her way to Rafe’s mansion for an exclusive interview. She was a trouper, carrying on even though she was smarting. If her Joe was a mensch, he’d wake up to what a great gal Nat was and start chasing her for a change.
