“I’m sorry, Jackie,” she says in a crisp and grating voice—that nasally tone of hers. “I don’t have you down.” She takes a look at her iMac, scrolls the mouse, and with a slow headshake and painted smile, says, “No, he doesn’t have you down for lunch today. He actually has a very important meeting this afternoon. A lot of prep before Singapore.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I pop a piece of Bubblicious in my mouth. “Always an important meeting.”
“If you like I could schedule you in…” She consults the computer, then the datebook. “Would next Wednesday work? Looks like he’s got a twenty-minute slot open for lunch then. I could pencil you in.” She blinks slowly again, that fake smile still there.
“Look, Nikki,” I say, feeling an acrid taste form in my mouth at the mention of her name, despite the sweetness of the bubblegum. “I’m Andrew’s wife. I’m not penciled in for lunches with my husband. It’s friggin’ lunch. I’d like to see him.”
Nikki’s face grows long as I head towards the closed fog-glass door with my husband’s name stenciled on.
“Excuse me!” Nikki calls out in fearful urgency.
“Oh.” I spin on my heels. “And seriously, when I leave you a message for Andrew to call me back, I mean it. Okay? This game of cat and mouse is getting real old, real fast.”
She looks perplexed—obviously her five brain cells are churning at the fastest pace they have in weeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she gasps.
“Yeah, yeah.” I blow a bubble. “Save it. I know Andrew’s busy, but he can surely take a one-minute call from his wife now and then, kay?” I adjust my tight dress a tad, then place my hand on the cold, golden doorknob.
“He doesn’t have time!” Nikki nearly shouts, standing from her desk. Her soft, practically perfect complexion is beginning to turn a violet-ruby color.
“I’ll make it a quickie then,” I say to her over my shoulder and with a wink. But before I can turn the knob the door swings wide open, pulling me forward and into the chest of my husband.
“Jackie,” Andrew says in sheer shock. “What are you doing here?”
Nikki stomps over on her ridiculously long and Nylon-clad legs. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kittredge,” she spits out, removing her headset. “I told her you were busy and—”
Andrew looks me up and down, a grin forming on his lips, and he holds a hand up to Nikki. “No,” he says in that low voice of his. “I’ve actually got a minute, Nikki. This is all right.”
I’m brewing with pride, filling up with “take that, bitch!” sense of self-satisfaction. I can’t help but flash Nikki a quick look, one corner of my bottom lip between my teeth.
“All right,” Nikki manages to say, her violet-ruby color abating slightly.
“Really,” I say, slipping my hands under Andrew’s double-breasted, pinstriped suit jacket and around his waist. “All I need is a minute.” I pull Andrew closer, staking my claim, making it crystal clear to Nikki that Andrew’s mine and I’m here, whether it’s “scheduled” or not.
“I’m sorry,” Nikki rushes out, looking to Andrew with apologetic eyes. She lightly pats down a soft wave of curls. “She wasn’t scheduled, and I know how busy you are.” She puts on her headset, amazingly not breaking one curl or setting a single hair out of place.
“That’s not a problem, Nikki,” Andrew says, giving her one of his charming smiles. “Thank you for trying so hard to keep my day free. I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure,” she says, and I swear she puffs her chest up a bit, as if to smite me.
I tighten my grip around Andrew’s waist in jealous response and nudge him into his office. “Come on, honey,” I drawl out in a sex-kitten kind of way. “We haven’t got much time, you’re so busy.”
As Andrew and I inch our way into his office I catch Nikki’s cold stare and give her a vacant look in return. Then, just as Andrew closes the door, putting up the wall between wife and possible-mistress, I raise one warning eyebrow—that expression that says to Nikki, “He’s mine; back off, bitch.”
“So, what brings your sexy self down here, baby doll?” Andrew asks as I strut in my best naughty girl walk to his desk. I prop myself up onto it, crossing my legs.
“Oh, you know,” I sigh. I fling my handbag onto his large, leather desk chair behind me. “Running my errands, got my tan and sauna on, and now I’m looking for lunch with my husband.” I kick off one espadrille. “But if you only have a few minutes I can think of an alternative to lunch.” I kick off the other shoe.
He rubs at his clean-shaven jaw, unable to conceal a smile, as he says, “Now if there was ever a way to distract a man from work…”
I lean back on my palms, shoving aside whatever lie in my way—pens, papers, important contracts and million-dollar agreements, whatever.
“Come over here and I’ll show you,” I say in a seductive tone, beckoning him with a drawing finger.
Still rubbing at the side of his face, he looks at me with a sexy, sideways stare. I pull myself further back onto the desk, slightly parting my legs.
Andrew’s eyes turn to slits, then grow wide, and wider. “Jackie!” he says, nearly shouting.
I toss my head back and give a guttural growl. “Andrew! Oh, Andrew!” I shout.
“Jackie,” he says, voice much lower now. He charges over as I part my legs some more and sink further onto the desk.
“What the hell are you doing?” He pulls me upright by the waist, then he makes a motion for me to put my legs together.
“What?” I ask innocently, shaking off a Post-It that’s stuck to my wrist.
“Where’s your underwear?” He bristles.
I cast my eyes to my lap and giggle. “Well with only a few minutes to spare we can’t be bothered with barriers, now can we?” I yank on his tie and bring him nearer me.
“Jackie.” He briskly pulls back, adjusting his tie. I twirl a string of gum around my finger. “That’s disgusting, running around town without underwear.” He finishes adjusting his tie, his face pulled back in anger.
“Disgusting?” I gasp, totally taken aback. “Your wife is disgusting?” I can’t believe my ears! I stick my gum onto a random piece of paper.
“You know what I mean,” he says hurriedly. “You bend over in a little dress like that or something and you show the whole world your business!”
“Oh, Andrew! Don’t be such a prude,” I groan, tossing up my hands. “I don’t get you.” I point a finger sharply at him. “You know, when we were dating you loved when I did this.” I motion down at my pantie-less self. “You never thought it disgusting. And what’s with the sudden aversion to doing it on your desk? Do you know how many times we used to do it here?”
“I’m not here to drone on about the past and your problems, Jackie,” he says curtly. “Or about how we used to have an amazing connection and now we’re a boring married couple, yada-yada. I’m sick of hearing about it. I’ve got work to do, and I’d appreciate it if you let me get back to it.”
I cross my arms over my chest and make a pouting but angry face. “Sorry that you seemed to be interested in what I had to offer. I came here trying to get sparks flying, trying to show that I love you, that I’m working at our marriage!” And to see for myself that there isn’t anything fishy going on with Nikki, I think, which I’m still as unsure as ever about. But I don’t need to tell Andrew this little piece of info.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he says, “I like it when you dress sexy like this. I like the unexpected visit.” He touches my knee. “But come on, I’m swamped and…well…that’s a little gross. Grow up. This isn’t sorority row anymore where acting slutty might be the cool thing to do.”
“You jerk,” I say, tightening my arms over my chest.
“Look,” he rubs at his temples, “I appreciate you coming down here. Really, I do. But I’m busy.” He touches my knee again, but this time I shake it off. “And I’m just looking out for you,” he says, “wanting what’s best. I don’t like the idea of my w
ife running around town wearing a minidress and no panties. You’re asking for trouble, baby doll.”
“Yes,” I say, angrily yanking my handbag from his chair. “I am asking for trouble.” I crawl down from the desk, pulling free yet another Post-It, this one stuck to the back of my thigh. “Coming here was asking for trouble, and I’m sorry!” I shriek. I put on my espadrilles and sunglasses and look up at him, wearing the most proud and strong face I can conjure up.
“Baby doll.” His voice is buttery smooth. “Don’t let this upset your day.”
He cautiously approaches me, one hand reaching out until it comes into contact with my small chin. He leans down and places a gentle and moist kiss on my lips. Then I feel a wandering hand ride up the back of my dress and cup my rear. “You just go on home and wait for me.” He gives my rear a little smack. “Just like this.”
I pull down my sunglasses and look him square in the eye. “You won’t be home for hours,” I state, point-blank.
He shrugs uncomfortably. “Yes, unfortunately.”
“I can’t stay cooped up in the house all day waiting for you, Andrew. I just can’t!”
“Then go buy yourself some panties and, I don’t know, go shopping.” His phone begins to ring, and, without skipping a beat he pads immediately to his desk, brushing right on past me as if I’m not even here. “Let me answer this,” he says, holding up a finger. “One second.” He retrieves the phone.
“I don’t know why I tried,” I whisper to myself, thinking Lara’s heart was in the right place, but this whole idea to come over to Andrew’s office unexpectedly is only stoking the fire that’s become our marriage—one fight after another.
“Thank you, Nikki,” Andrew says into the phone, his voice low and serious. He then gives a simple, two-beat chuckle, followed by, “All right, sure. Yes. Yes, I know. Okay.” He glances up at me. “Yes. Please hold the call. I’ll be with him in one second.” He returns the phone to its cradle and looks at me imploringly.
“Look, baby,” he begins, approaching me with open arms. “I wish I could spend time with you right now, but I can’t. Maybe you can go make a spa day of it.”
“I’ll take care of my day, thank you,” I say, pushing my sunglasses back up the bridge of my nose.
“You understand, don’t you, baby?” he says as I’m about to pull open the door. “I’m so swamped what with Singapore and all—”
“No,” I breathe out after a lengthy amount of dead air. “No, and I don’t think I ever will understand, but what’s it matter? It’s Singapore today, something else tomorrow.” I take a cigarette from my almost empty pack of Parliaments and blow him a quick kiss goodbye. “I love you, Andrew, but sometimes I really don’t like you.”
“Oh, Jackie.”
“I’ll see you at home tonight.” I grip the doorknob tightly. “Whenever that will be.”
“Sounds good, dear.” He gives me a peck on the cheek. “Try and have a good day.”
I can hear Nikki say to the person on the phone line that she’ll “be happy to deliver the message to Mr. Kittredge” as I swing open the door and charge out. I guffaw loud enough for her and Andrew, who’s now standing in his doorway, to hear.
“I’ll try to be home at a decent hour,” Andrew calls out, “but no promises, baby doll.”
I wave a loose hand behind me, then light a cigarette. No promises…broken promises…they’re all the same, I think bitterly as Nikki’s voice instantaneously sounds. I can hear Andrew’s door click shut as her nasally tone grates, “Jackie, you can’t smoke in here.”
I take a drag and strut on out of the office, giving Nikki the finger as I cross the threshold.
Chapter Nineteen
“Jack!” Sophie exclaims as I enter The Cup and the Cake. “You are a lifesaver! Thank you, thank you!”
“Couldn’t coax Chad to come out and ride to your rescue?” I joke, not liking to miss a fun opportunity to tease Sophie about her one-time-fling a few summers back, in college, with Chad.
Sometimes I think Chad’s got it bad for Sophie, what with him coming over to the café to help her out and all—it just seems odd that he’d want to spend his spare time helping a friend with whom he’s always in spar-mode. When asked why, he just laughs and says he does it for the free baked goods.
“Ha-ha, you are hilarious, Jack.” Sophie takes the brown paper bag of bananas and pears from me. “I so did not have time to get to the market this morning.”
“All I’ve got is time, sister. Glad to help.”
“I slept through my alarm…the stress with wedding season is here…I have got to make Robin’s wedding cake absolute perfection!”
“Oh, chill,” I say breezily. I follow her to the kitchen in the back. “You’ve got like two weeks.”
“Eleven days, minus the hours ticking by as we speak.” She sets the bag on a countertop and begins to scan over a pad of paper. “Busy time, that’s all. I love stress, I love the pressure, I love being busy,” she says more to herself than me. “I can so do this.”
“Hey, Gatz,” I say with a wave, greeting the curly-haired, lanky guy who’s got his hands in a bowl of mush, squeezing some kind of fruit—probably the few bananas Sophie still had on hand for the day’s demanding menu.
“Hi, Jackie,” he says with a sharp nod of the head.
“How’s th—”
“Okay,” Sophie cuts in, diverting my attention from Gatz. She hastily slips the pad of paper in her front apron pocket and gestures for me to follow back up front. “I’ve got orders to fill. Going up front.” She charges forward.
“Later,” I say to Gatz with a quick wave.
Sophie brings the pad back out once again and consults it. She pulls open the display case door under the countertop and carefully sets a pear and clove cupcake on a plate. “How’s the marriage-fixing going?” she asks.
“Wouldn’t know,” I say languidly. “Andrew’s in Singapore now.”
She briskly closes the door then begins to flip some switches on the large, silver beast of an espresso machine.
“Oh, yeah!” She makes wide eyes for a second. “Forgot about that. Sorry, babe.”
“I’m coping. I’m fine.” I lean against the counter and play around with her tip jar. “Still seeing Dr. Pierce a few times a week. That counts for something, right?”
“That it does,” she says as she swiftly prepares a handful of beverages. “Glad to see you’re not too down about it.”
“Manis and pedis always perk a girl up,” I say, wiggling my freshly filled, neon-orange acrylics at her. “For a while.”
She laughs and says, “You’ve got to stay determined and upbeat. It’s a rough time, but you can get through it.”
She pours helpings of steamed milk into three floral-decorated teacups. “When I was going through a really rough time in life, I had to remind myself ad nauseam that sometimes life serves you lemons,” she says with candor, “and, as Claire says, you’ve got to try to make lemon cupcakes.” She gives me a smile and peers over my shoulder. “And speaking of the positive ball of sunshine!”
I turn towards the door, and there’s Claire.
“Hey, you!” Sophie exclaims cheerfully. “Day off? No hospital or house calls today?”
“Hey,” I say to Claire, giving her a quick side-hug.
“Girls,” Claire says, looking obviously dismayed. Her hair’s in a messy ponytail, her wild curls shooting out like multiple antennae; her vintage t-shirt is all wrinkled; and, if I’m seeing things correctly, she forgot to apply mascara to one set of lashes.
“What is it?” I ask, searching her worried face for an immediate response.
“It’s Conner,” she says through a whimper.
***
“I’m calmer now,” Claire mewls. “I think I’m over the initial shock.”
“I’m not!” I declare, still just as flabbergasted as I was when Claire broke the news not ten minutes ago that Conner didn’t get the promotion.
“Did he just f
ind out?” Sophie asks in a mild manner. She runs her thumb methodically against a to-go box’s edge.
“This morning,” Claire says. “They’ve decided to go with an outside hire apparently.” She pulls a napkin free from the dispenser near the register. “Said they weren’t confident Conner could manage such a big and critical team.” She blows her nose loudly. “Which is total BS, because he’s worked there forever! I mean, how much is there to know about accounting, right?” Claire looks at us, dumbfounded.
“Don’t ask me,” I say, holding up two hands. “I don’t even look at my credit card statements.”
“So what’s his game plan?” Sophie says, getting straight to business, getting those ducks lined up and a battle plan whipped up in traditional Sophie Style. “Is he going to stay on at his company? Is he going to look elsewhere? Was this a do-or-die deal, the promotion?”
Claire blows her nose again, then wipes at her moist eyes. She’s barely shed any tears since she arrived, most of them probably shed earlier when she’d initially gotten the unfortunate news, maybe in her car ride over.
“Well,” Claire squeaks out, balling up the used napkin, “it obviously would’ve been a nice thing. I mean, a promotion and a pay raise. God knows we could use it…and that he deserves it. Oh!” She beats her fist in as silent a way as possible on the countertop. “How could they do this to him? He’s such a hard worker and loyal and always turning his monthly reports in on time!” She shakes her head sharply. “I don’t understand. An outside hire!”
“Bullshit,” I add in for girl-support and morale.
“And you know what this means now, right?” Claire says, thumping her knuckles on the counter, her voice climbing an octave.
“Conner’s going to look for another job, isn’t he?” I gasp.
“Well, maybe.” Claire covers her face with her hands. “It also means the whole baby thing’s put on the back burner.” She abruptly pulls her hands down, revealing scared and sorrow-filled eyes. “I’m over the shock, okay. I am. And I only want what’s best for my husband. Conner’s happiness is what’s important here. The baby can wait.”
When Girlfriends Let Go Page 15
