“Tiger, are you there?”
Silence. Shit. Maybe she’d passed out. I imagined her collapsed over my desk.
“Tiger?”
“Blake.” Her voice was just a tiny whisper. “That was amazing.”
“Yeah, fucking amazing. You okay?”
“Yes. How did I do?”
“Baby, you can be on my team any day.” I glanced down at my glistening semi-erection. Mission accomplished.
“I miss you, baby.”
“The same.” I crawled out of the bed, leaving my khakis behind though taking my phone with me. “I’ve got to wash up (oh boy, did I) and go out for dinner with my New York manager. I’ll call you later. Where are you going to be?”
“I have my rape support group after work.”
“Be careful. You know I don’t like that neighborhood at night.” I’d become as protective of her as I was possessive.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. And then I’ll be home dealing with wedding stuff.”
At the word wedding, a chill skittered down my spine.
“Baby, if Kat harasses you, let me know. And don’t believe a word she says. There’s only you. Only you.”
Chapter 15
Jennifer
I missed Blake terribly. He’d been away for over a week. Yes, he sexted and Skyped me, and we’d even had outrageous phone sex, but this didn’t make up for not having him around. I missed falling asleep in his arms, and waking up on his chest, his heartbeat singing in my ears. And I missed seeing him at the office, sneaking kisses whenever we could. The touch and taste of his lips. Those kissable lips that had kissed me everywhere.
I was lonely. And a little on edge. Having Blake around made me feel safe and protected. The Springer incident had messed with my head. While we lived in a secure doorman building, an unexpected sound outside our apartment caused my heartbeat to accelerate, thinking someone might be trying to break in. And sometimes, I thought I was being followed, though when I glanced over my shoulder, no one was ever there. Other girls in my rape support group shared these insecurities. Dr. Williams, our group leader who had been a rape victim herself, said they were common.
Both Libby and Chaz were on the road—Chaz for trunk shows in major cities across the country and Libby for focus groups. Libby’s findings along with ratings and quantitative survey research would determine which Conquest Media Broadcasting shows of the new Fall season would stay on the schedule and which would be cancelled. I was thrilled my innovative block of women’s erotic romance programming—MY SIN-TV—had tested through the roof. To my utter delight, Blake had told me there was talk of expanding the block and even creating a spin-off 24/7 women’s erotica channel.
The only good thing about having Blake away was that I could focus on the wedding, especially at night. Every day after work, I came home to a boatload of gifts—so many that one of the building attendants had to pile them up on a dolly and cart them up to our apartment. Thank goodness, Blake had a spare bedroom. There was no place else to store all the boxes. It was almost filled to the hilt. The gifts came from all over the world, including a complete set of the eggcups from a Duchess in England who unfortunately couldn’t attend the wedding. I’d become a master of writing thank you notes to people I didn’t know.
E-mails from Enid besieged my inbox, and quite truthfully, I didn’t have the time to open and respond to all of them during my busy work day. Everyday, she updated me on the RSVP list. The pearl encrusted invitations had finally gone out—yes, packed inside giant iridescent seashells, twelve hundred in all. The betrothal of Blake Adam Burns to Jennifer Leigh McCoy was now official.
We were already at six hundred twenty guests. The list was growing exponentially and that meant yet more gifts. More thank you notes. I seriously couldn’t believe how many people the Bernsteins knew. Well-known television producers, directors, and stars were coming to the black tie affair from all over the world. And many politicians too. I perused the latest list. Oh my God. Even George Clooney and his new wife were coming. And so were Brangelina and the Clintons. I only hoped my mother could take a photo with Hilary.
Surveying the “C’s” on the latest RSVP list, I spotted Libby Clearfield’s name and wrinkled my brows. I’d invited both her and a guest—her longtime boyfriend Everett—but the response was not for “plus-one.” Libby, my maid of honor, was intending to attend my wedding solo. I immediately speed-dialed her cell phone, having no idea where or what time zone she was in. She picked up on the second ring.
“Hi, Jen. I just got home. A quick break until I do my Midwest groups. What’s up?” Her voice, so unlike her, sounded weary.
I got straight to the point. “Why aren’t you coming to my wedding with Everett?”
Silence. A long, tense silence. Finally, my bestie broke it. Her voice was small and shaky.
“Jen, I think I need to break up with him.”
I reflected on her word choice…need.
“What do you mean?” Jen and Ev had been together forever, and despite the more than five thousand miles that separated them—she in LA and he in London on a Fulbright—neither had strayed from the other to the best of my knowledge. A moment of doubt hit me like a lightning bolt.
“Oh my God. Did Everett cheat on you?”
“Hardly,” she said, her voice now tearful. In a heartbeat, she began to cry, sobs beating into my ear. Something so, so out of character for my sassy best friend. My heart was melting.
“Lib, do you want to come over and talk?”
“I don’t want to intrude on you and Blake.” As close as we were, she was uncomfortable spending time in our condo. And because of the Springer shit that’d happened back in our little rented cottage, I was unable to go back there. Too many bad memories that ended in nightmares.
“Listen, Lib. Blake is out of town. Get your red curls over here, NOW.”
She was on her way.
*
Libby looked tired. Her eyes were bloodshot—either from crying or the lack of sleep or both. The glut of focus groups, incessant travel, and whatever she was going through emotionally had taken a toll on her. Dressed casually in jeans and a USC sweatshirt, my curvy full-figured friend plopped down on one of Blake’s oversized Italian leather armchairs while I went to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of white wine and a pair of goblets.
I curled up on the matching leather couch catty-corner to her and filled the glasses.
She took a couple of slugs and her freckled face brightened. “Wow, this is good stuff.”
“Blake belongs to a wine club.” I took a sip. “But to be honest, I kind of miss our Two Buck Chuck.”
Libby smiled. “I’m still drinking it, but it’s not the same without you.”
I smiled back and then turned serious, ready for some answers. “Lib, what’s going on with you and Everett? Why isn’t he coming to the wedding?”
She exhaled. “It’s complicated. I still love him, but it’s not going to work out.”
I knitted my brows. “What do you mean?”
“He wants to stay in Europe. He’s been offered some associate professor position at a university in France. He’s been pressuring me to quit my job and join him.” She paused and took another sip of the wine. “Jen, I can’t. My life is here.”
“How long has this been going on?”
She ran her free hand through her flaming red mane. “A while.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“With all that’s going on with your job and the wedding, I just didn’t want to bog you down with my mess of a life. We’ve been fighting a lot. In fact, we just had one tonight.”
That explained the tears. Suddenly, I felt bad. Libby had always been there for me, but somehow I hadn’t reciprocated. At least, recently. I mentally kicked myself.
“You should have told me. But I’m glad you’re telling me now.”
Setting her depleted glass on the coffee table, she reached for the bottle and took a glog straight from it. So L
ibby. So us. I grabbed the bottle from her and did the same.
“Maybe it would be good if Everett came to the wedding and you could talk things through.” Poor Libby hadn’t seen him for almost a year. Her joke that her vagina was going to shrivel if she didn’t get laid was no joking matter.
Snatching the bottle from me, she shook her head. “I don’t think so. The wedding will give him the wrong idea. And it would be very hard on me. I’m going to break up with him. I just don’t know when, where, or how. I need to do it face to face. I owe him that.”
Her hazel eyes grew watery. An unsettling thought entered my mind. “Lib, are you okay with me getting married?” I wondered if maybe she was jealous or threatened. Or just plain sad.
She set the bottle down. “Oh, Jen, of course I am. I’m so thrilled for you and Blake.”
A bright smile lit my face. Despite initially not caring for my fiancé boss because she thought he was an arrogant, self-centered, egotistical jerk, which he sometimes still could be, my best friend had warmed up to him. Especially after he’d saved me from the monstrous Don Springer. A man who would slay for his woman scored big points in Libby’s book.
“I’m so happy you’re going to be my maid of honor,” I said, the warmth of her words spreading through me.
Libby’s lips flexed with a genuine smile. “Me too. I just wish I could be there for you more. This time of year is so busy for me. The focus groups won’t let up until right before your wedding.” She twirled a long, springy curl. “How’s it going with Enid and the bitch?”
I caught her up on the dress situation and the latest developments. Her freckles practically jumped off her face.
“Oh my God! It sounds hideous. There’s no way I’m letting her turn me into some sleazy sea siren. Chaz is going to design my dress too.”
“With your red hair, you’d make the perfect Ariel.”
“No fucking way.” She playfully threw a pillow at me.
“And listen to this, at each place setting, there’s going to be a snow globe with a live tropical fish inside. The take-home party favor.”
Libby made fish lips and held up the bottle. “To my best friend’s wedding!”
It was time to uncork another.
Maybe Enid could dictate almost everything about my wedding from the invitations to the décor. But there were two things she wasn’t going to have any control over: the dress I was going to wear and the person I was tossing my bouquet to.
In my heart, I wanted Libby to have her happily ever after just like me.
*
The next evening when I came home from work, I received the first wedding gift I wanted to keep. A splendid silver-plated, engraved wine cooler from Crate & Barrel and two cases of Two-Buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s. A big smile warmed my lips as I read the enclosed note.
To My Bestest Friend in the World~
I can’t wait to stand with you.
Cry with you.
Laugh with you.
And hold up Chaz’s dress while you pee.
I love you so much~ xo Libby
Chapter 16
Blake
I used to love these two weeks of visiting affiliates. It was a glorified road trip—I flew first class, stayed in five-star hotels, and ate in the finest restaurants. I visited my stations, wined and dined my managers, and usually found some babe to fuck and forget. Just last year at this time, I was having the time of my life.
But all that was before Jen. I couldn’t wait for this trip to be over. I got in and out of every city as fast as I could. Acting like an old fart. I visited each station, went out to dinner with the general manager, and then feigned fatigue so I could go back to my hotel room and catch up with my tiger. We sexted and Skyped, but nothing compared to having her in the flesh in my bed. Wanking off wasn’t cutting it.
After a quick visit with my Sacramento affiliate, I’d flown to the East Coast and then worked my way back to LA. My last stop was Las Vegas. I was actually looking forward to being there. Not only because I was one stop away from seeing my tiger, but because I got to spend time with my favorite affiliate manager, Vera Nichols.
Vegas was our top market, thanks to Vera. She ran her station with both an iron fist and a big heart. Her staff adored and revered her. And rightfully so. Her inspirational style of management was one for the books.
“You should have had Jennifer fly in,” she told me over lunch at an Italian restaurant close to the station. “And by the way, Blake, her erotic romance block is killing it here. So many viewers have told us they want more.”
I grinned. My tiger was brilliant. A star. And not just in bed. All across the country, I’d gotten the same reaction. A 24/7 erotica channel targeted at women was inevitable.
“I wish she could have, but she’s so tied up with production. She’s trying to get everything wrapped before our wedding.”
“How’s the wedding shaping up?”
I told her how my mother’s event planner was putting it together at lightning speed and that it was going to be very over the top. I also told her about Kat’s involvement.
“Geez, Blake. That must be awful for Jennifer to have to deal with her.”
“It sucks for both of us.” I wanted to tell Vera more. I knew I could trust her with my heart, but my father’s words of wisdom resounded in my ears: “When in doubt, leave it out.” I should have heeded them in the first place when it came to Kat.
Vera took a last sip of coffee. “I’m so honored Jennifer chose me to be one of her bridesmaids. I just need to figure out when I can fly into LA to be fitted for my dress.”
“She’s so honored you accepted. She thinks the world of you, Vera. Like I do.” Vera was like a sister to me. And even more so than the one I actually had. I fought the urge to confide in her.
“Steve wants to take you out for drinks tonight,” she said as I took care of the check. “He’s going to call you later.”
“Awesome.” I looked forward to spending my final night in Vegas with Vera’s husband. Tomorrow, I would be back in my office. First thing, I was going to have a closed door meeting with my Director of MY SIN-TV. I was going to fuck her over my desk.
*
I was staying at the Bellagio, one of the swankiest hotels in Vegas. While the Hard Rock was Conquest Broadcasting’s preferred hotel, I made a point of not staying there because of the special memories it held for me. One day, Jen and I would go back there and fuck our brains out.
At nine p.m., Steve called me to let me know he was here. When I got downstairs to the sprawling casino, not only was Steve waiting for me. Surprise. So was Jaime Zander. And an even bigger surprise—so was Jake, my roommate from college. The one who’d made me enter that crazy America’s top model contest. Now that he was living in Silicon Valley, I hadn’t seen him for over a year. He’d been through some bad shit but came out smelling like a rose. Something good had come out of the bad. Success agreed with him.
“You look fucking good, man,” I said, giving him a man-hug. Along with Steve and some guys from the office, he was going to be one of my groomsmen.
“Where are we going?” I asked as the three of us, all casually dressed in jeans, headed toward the entrance to the bustling hotel.
I quickly learned we were going to have a guys’ night out—a bachelor party so to speak.
“C’mon, man,” said Steve as we filed into the Lip Service limo, courtesy of Jake, so we didn’t have to think about drinking and driving. “You’re going to sow your wild oats tonight.”
“Don’t lose me, dudes.” Scenes from The Hangover flashed into my head. “I don’t want to be hanging with any tigers.” (Well, except the adorable one I was craving back home.)
The strip joint the guys took me to was off the beaten track. Despite being high-end, it was in a word—raunchy. All dark and smoky. Jaime had gotten us a reservation in the upstairs VIP room. The two of us nestled on the gaudy red velvet U-shaped couch while Steve and Jake plunked down on overstuffed club chai
rs. We shared two cylinder-shaped tables. A big tit cocktail waitress in a skimpy leather mini dress that barely covered her ass brought us a thousand dollar bottle of Cognac to go with our Cubans and filled our crystal snifters.
“To that man!” Jaime toasted, aiming his balloon glass at me. We clinked and chugged the shots.
As the velvety orange liquid warmed my blood, swirls of colorful disco lights bathed the scarlet walls and music piped through the speakers. Wouldn’t you know it? “Bang Bang”—the very song Jen had stripped to a few weeks ago.
“Here comes your girl,” sang Steve, refilling our glasses.
“Whoof!” mumbled Jake, blowing a ring of smoke.
Strutting my way was five feet ten inches of pure plastic. Bikini clad, tatted, and wearing tacky as shit platforms. I gulped my drink. Fuck. I recognized her. She was one of the blond bimbos who’d assaulted me at the Hard Rock pool and put a rift of misunderstanding between Jennifer and me. Jennifer’s stinging words whirled around in my head. “No girl means anything to you.” What a difference a year could make. And what a difference one special girl could make.
“Hiya, handsome,” she cooed, hurling me into the moment with a seductive come-on. “Nice seeing you again.”
“You know each other?” laughed Jaime, sucking on his cigar.
“Oh yeah,” said Kelly or Keely or whatever the fuck her name was. “But now we’re going to get to know each other better.”
Downing their cognacs, the boys roared as she straddled her long legs over my lap. She was in my face. Her musky scent nauseated me. She smelled nothing of cherries and vanilla.
She began to do her thing. Pouting. Licking her lips. Gyrating her hips. Grinding my thighs. Swinging her melon-sized tits. Brushing them against me. Flinging her brassy mane. Touching herself all over. Smashed, my buddies were getting off on her, howling, “Whoo hoo! Fuck! Go, baby!” If only Gloria and Vera could see them.
You’d think my cock would be in overdrive. Bang bang. Don’t let my genitals fool you. Forget it. Not even a testicular tingle. Not one urge to get my dick wet. Not wanting to be a killjoy, I plastered a fake smile on my face. I fucking wasn’t into it. In fact, I felt sick and wished I could take her by the haunches and shove her aside. Even pass her over to one of my stag mates. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw cameras on either side of the room. Damn. She could touch, but I couldn’t. Physical contact wasn’t allowed. I put my clammy palms under my ass so I wouldn’t be tempted.
THAT MAN 4 (The Wedding Story-Part 1) Page 9
