It Girl

by Nic Tatano

  Yeah, let's go with that.

  Anyway she was right that it should be me. Dexter saved the lying cock-teasing bitch, not Savannah.

  This was one of those penthouse apartments where the elevator opened right into the living room, so he was standing there waiting to greet me when the door opened. The swelling on his lip had gone down some, his right eye was definitely on its way to a shiner. A butterfly bandage highlighted his forehead near the hairline and I could see a few surgical stitches peeking out. "You look … a little better," I said, as I stepped off the elevator.

  "I don't feel any better. I have a massive headache."

  "Oh, I'm sorry if I disturbed you. Were you asleep?"

  "No, my head hurts too much for that."

  A quick look around surprised me. While the apartment had a spectacular view of lower Manhattan, it was sparsely furnished, with a simple beige couch and loveseat, coffee table, and a large flat screen atop an antique credenza. The dining room held a simple maple table for four. The walls were bare, as if he'd recently moved in. Homey it wasn't. The place was sorely in need of a woman's touch. Or at least a decorator.

  "You just move in?" I asked.

  "Been here three years," he said. "Why?"

  "Just curious." I pointed to the bandage. "I told you that you needed the emergency room."

  "I had a concierge doctor come by. Just five stitches."

  "Ouch. Well, you can afford a plastic surgeon when it heals up."

  He waved his hand. "No big deal."

  "You're going to keep a scar on that famous face?"

  "What's the old saying? Chicks dig scars. Besides, my hair pretty much covers it up."

  I held up a big brown shopping bag. "Anyway, I brought you some stuff to hopefully make you feel better."

  "Is there a gallon of bourbon in there?"

  "Funny. You haven't eaten dinner, have you?"

  "No, I was going to send out. Don't feel well enough to cook."

  I furrowed my brow. "You know how to cook?"

  "No, little elves come by every evening and whip up a seven course meal. Of course I know how to cook. I wasn't always rich, and I enjoy fooling around in the kitchen. Eating out every day would get old in a short time."

  I pointed toward his dining room table. "Well, take a seat and I'll get you all fixed up."

  "Veronica, this is very nice but you didn't have to go through all this trouble."

  "Hey, you were my white knight this morning, so shut up, sit down, and let me thank you."

  "Still trying to lead, eh?"

  I narrowed my eyes at shot him a glare.

  "Very well. I'm in no mood to argue with a Jedi Master in confrontation."

  "Ooooh, I like that."

  Dexter sat down at the table while I brought the bag into the massive kitchen and began to unpack it. While the rest of the place was barely furnished, the kitchen was just the opposite, the counter cluttered with all sorts of cooking utensils and appliances. He obviously wasn't kidding that he liked to cook. The appliances were all top of the line, while a rack of copper pots hung over the black granite island in the center. I found the dinnerware and utensils, fixed the main course, carried it into the dining room and slid it in front of him.

  His eyes widened a bit. "This looks and smells wonderful. What is it?"

  "Chicken soup from the best deli in town. Hunks of chicken, bits of pasta, homemade broth, carrots, celery, lots of spices."

  "I thought chicken soup was for colds."

  "What the hell, it makes you feel good."

  He dipped his spoon into the soup and took a sip. "Oh, this is lovely. Excellent choice. Won't you have some?"

  "No, I brought it for you. There's enough for four bowls so you can have some for tomorrow."

  "Veronica, you're not going to stand there and watch me eat."

  "Well, if you twist my arm. I love the stuff." I headed to the kitchen, fixed a bowl for myself and returned, taking a seat next to him. "So, heard from Bradley's attorney yet?"

  "No. Why would I?"

  "I figured he'd sue you for wrongful termination or something. And then maybe assault since you threw the first punch."

  "He violated the morals clause in his contract. As for our fisticuffs, those bruises on your arms would be my defense, so snap a photo when you get home just in case. But trust me, he doesn't want it out in public that he was getting physical with a woman."

  "Good point. I hadn't thought of it that way." I sipped some of the soup, watching Dexter as he seemed unsteady. "So, now that I'm without a partner am I supposed to do some interpretive dance like a beauty pageant contestant?"

  "You're not without a partner. I've already arranged for a replacement. He'll be practicing with you tomorrow."

  "Aw, darn it. I was already working out a ballet routine to Wipeout."

  He laughed a bit. "I couldn't very well have our It Girl lose the contest because some bloke left your sister up the spout."

  "Whaaaat?"

  "Pregnant."

  "Oh. I'm not sure I wanna know where that term came from. Anyway, thank you for getting me a new partner. I'd kind of resigned myself to being out of the running with Bradley gone and starting from scratch with someone else."

  "You'll be fine. Have you spoken to your sibling?"

  "We don't really get along, Dexter. Never have. She's been a thorn in my side since I was a kid."

  "That's unfortunate."

  "It's okay. I have great friends."

  We continued to enjoy the soup. Dexter finished his and wanted a second bowl. After that I served dessert, a decadent slice of raspberry cheesecake. He took a bite and smiled as he savored it. "Oh, this is wonderful. Aren't you going to have some?"

  "I only brought the one slice. Didn't know I was staying for dinner."

  "Well, get another fork and we'll share." He slid the plate toward me a bit.

  I patted my belly. "Hey, if I'm still on the show I need to fit in those costumes."

  "Nonsense. You don't have an ounce of fat anywhere. Go and fetch a fork."

  I couldn't help but smile at the compliment, as I headed back to the kitchen. We split the remaining cheesecake and he leaned back in his chair.

  "Feeling better?" I asked.

  "Yes, much. I was feeling so badly I just realized I forgot to eat lunch."

  "Might be part of the reason for your headache. By the way, if you get hungry later there's a whole bunch of goodies in the bag. Chocolates, cookies, dipped strawberries, a few specialty items you might not get across the pond."

  "Thank you, Veronica, you've been very kind."

  I leaned back as well. I couldn't believe that I was actually enjoying his company. "You know, I can't believe I'm saying this considering how we started, but Savannah is a lucky girl."

  "You're lucky to have her as a friend. She may be the most unselfish person I've ever met."

  "You're right on that."

  We traded hilarious stories about television. Then he wanted to know more about my initial interest in journalism while I was curious about his life before television. For the first time "the game" we were playing had faded to the background. He sat at one end of the couch while I'd gotten comfortable at the other, shoes off and legs tucked under me as I leaned my head on a pillow. I saw his eyes getting a little droopy. "Looks like you need a nap."

  He covered a yawn. "Yes, perhaps. The doctor did give me some medication for the pain."

  "Well, I'll get going." I looked at my watch, and my eyes bugged out. I had been there four hours. "Listen, if you need any help with anything, or feel sick, I'm just a few blocks away."

  "I'll be fine. Thank you again." We both got up and he escorted me to the door. "It was very nice spending time with you, Veronica."

  "Yeah, it was. So, should I show up at the regular time tomorrow? Will Bradley's replacement be there?"

  He nodded. "Oh yes."

  "You gonna tell me anything about him?"

  "Just get ready to work."


  ***

  I arrived early at the studio the next day, wanting to get a head start with my new partner. I figured starting with a clean slate would leave me behind the pack, so any extra practice would help.

  But he hadn't arrived yet, so I stretched out on the floor and unfolded one of the city's daily tabloids.

  There I was again on the left side of page three, being carried into the building by Dexter. The right side featured a shot of me dancing with Bradley.

  BRIT SAVES DAMSEL ONCE AGAIN

  Last time he saved her from a sprained ankle. This time Dexter Bishop made sure Veronica Summer wouldn't be stepping out alone when Dance Off continues this week.

  Her partner Bradley Hart found himself high stepping to the unemployment office yesterday after the revelation that he was the defendant in a paternity suit and his confirmation that he'd had a sexual relationship with the plaintiff. His actions apparently violated a morals clause, and, had he remained on the show, would have been a huge distraction. Even worse was the fact that the woman filing the suit was Ms. Summer's sister, Selina Summer. Talk about sibling rivalry.

  "Dance Off is a family show," said Executive Producer and judge Dexter Bishop. "I have no tolerance for such behavior, and I know the viewers would not have looked kindly on us had we kept him on the program."

  The firing temporarily left celebrity partner Veronica Summer alone at the ball. But Bishop apparently has a deep bench, and said a replacement had already been found.

  Meanwhile, Hart was seen carrying two large suitcases and checking into a midtown hotel. His wife has apparently thrown him out of their New Jersey home.

  My eyes widened as my jaw dropped. "His wife?" I said aloud, just as Dexter entered the studio. I looked up at him. "Bradley's married?"

  "You didn't know?"

  "No, he conveniently left out that little detail. He told me you provided him a hotel room during the week so he wouldn't have to commute from Jersey."

  Dexter shook his head. "Not true. I would assume his use of hotel rooms would have been for after-hours activities with your sister."

  "That sorry sack of shit."

  "I don't quite get the metaphor, but it sounds appropriate."

  I rolled my eyes as I tossed the paper aside. Not only had I come this close to picking up whatever Selina was carrying around as a walking petri dish, but I came even closer to being the other woman and breaking up a marriage. Beating my sister would have been a career killer. Along with leaving me feeling guilty for, you know, forever.

  Thank goodness Senator Dixon was having an affair and interrupted me. Ironic, huh?

  Anyway, back to the present. Dexter's swollen lip had amazingly returned to normal, his hair had been combed to hide the bandage, and he apparently was wearing enough makeup to cover up his black eye. "Well, you're looking much better."

  "Thank you. I feel much better, but I'm still a little light headed. The soup and goodies you brought certainly helped."

  "Glad to hear it." I got up and moved toward him. "So, what time's my new partner getting here?"

  "He's already arrived."

  "Good, can't wait to meet him."

  "You already have."

  I nodded, realizing he was pairing me with one of the dancers who'd already been eliminated in the previous rounds. "So, is it Kyle?"

  "No, Veronica. I'm you're new partner."

  Jaw drop number two.

  "I … uh … don't understand. How can you be my partner when you're a judge?"

  "I've delegated my judging duties to someone else."

  "You can do that?"

  He raised one eyebrow and smiled. "I'm the Executive Producer, remember? I can do anything. Look, I was a dance instructor and I felt a certain chemistry with you at that high school dance. Viewers have been clamoring to see me dance for years, wanting to see if my criticism of other dancers is backed up by talent. I saw it as the perfect opportunity. Sort of a put up or shut up thing. Like I did to you when I got you on the show."

  "You already knew this when I came by last night?"

  He smiled. "Yes. Actually it was not my idea, but I must admit it was brilliant."

  "So whose idea was it?" He started to answer but I put up my hand. "Wait. Let me guess." I narrowed my eyes. "Gavin?"

  "No. Savannah."

  ***

  The question had been driving me crazy all day, especially since Savannah had been tied up in meetings and hadn't been able to answer her phone. So I simply texted her to meet us for dinner at the Italian place. As always, Layla and I had already arrived and had gotten a head start with the wine when we saw her approach our table.

  "Sorry ahm late, meeting ran a bit long." She turned to me and smiled. "The deal is done."

  I put my burning question aside for the moment. "So, everything's a go for this weekend?"

  "It will be dropped on the Sunday morning producers late Saturday night. Newspapers will get it in time for their Sunday editions which, as you know, are the most read of the week. And an anonymous donation in the amount of one million dollars for the Wounded Warrior Foundation is in the mail."

  "A million bucks? Damn!" I said.

  "My little French maid outfit paid a nice benefit, huh?"

  "They actually mailed a check that large?" asked Layla.

  Savannah shook her head. "Figure of speech. They sent a courier this afternoon to their headquarters in Florida. The cashier's check is untraceable from a bank in the Cayman Islands."

  Layla rolled her eyes. "One of our national political parties stashes money offshore? What a bunch of patriots."

  Savannah smiled and shrugged, then turned to me. "So, how'd your day go with your new partner?"

  "Funny you should ask," I said.

  "Oh yeah," said Layla. "Did you get somebody good?"

  "Oh, I got somebody good all right," I said, looking at Savannah. "So, this was your idea?"

  She smiled as Layla furrowed her brow. "Well, who the hell is it?"

  "Dexter Bishop," I said.

  "Huh?"

  "Yeah, and it was apparently Savannah's idea that he should find a new judge and be my partner for the rest of the season."

  "Wow," said Layla. "You lucky bastard."

  "Yeah, wow," I said, still staring at Savannah. "So, let me get this straight. You're dating a guy who is supposedly the most desirable bachelor on the planet and for some bizarre reason you keep throwing him in my direction. Mind explaining that one?"

  "While you're at it, mind explaining why you didn't throw him in my direction since Veronica doesn't like him?" asked Layla. "What am I, chopped liver?"

  Savannah got that kid-caught-in-the-cookie-jar look and shrugged. "I guess it's time you both knew."

  "This oughta be good," I said.

  "Well," said Savannah, "when I told you we enjoy spending time together, I was being literal."

  "I'm still confused," said Layla.

  "That's all we do," said Savannah. "Spend time. We're not in love or anything. We've become platonic friends."

  "Now we're getting into the realm of science fiction," said Layla. "You mean to tell me that after the two of you drooled over each other when you met, and, given your history of going through men like Kleenex, that you two go to dinner, then go home and play Monopoly?"

  "Actually, he likes chess," said Savannah. "He's quite good at it."

  "Come on," I said. "Do you expect us to believe that you two never—"

  She shook her head. "Look, on our first date we went back to my place and were playin' tonsil hockey and we both realized there was no chemistry. I know this sounds hard to believe considering how attractive he is, and his initial attraction to me, but it's the truth. He's just a nice guy who could have taken advantage of me and didn't. He's become a friend. I guess I've realized some attractive men are good for things other than sex. I'm growing up."

  Layla pointed out the window. "Oooh, look, a bunch of pigs just flew by. Veronica, call your weather department and s
ee what time hell froze over."

  "Hush," said Savannah, playfully slapping her shoulder.

  "That still doesn't explain why you're sending him in my direction," I said.

  “Because,” said Savannah, “and don’t you dare tell him I told you this … he’s crazy about you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I have one of those talking smart phones. You know, the ones that let you ask a simple question and give you a polite, politically correct answer from a somewhat sexy sounding female android.

  I think cell phone companies could make a fortune if they offered different "attitudes" for the voice, from sultry to sarcastic with everything in between. (They could pay off the national debt with the money men would spend on this.) Personally, I wish mine had a "New York" setting instead of the default one which bores the hell out of me. For instance, when I asked it how the New York Giants did after slaughtering the Packers, it responded in that robotic voice, "The Giants soundly defeated the Packers today, thirty-four to nothing." With a New York setting, it might, in a wicked nasal accent, say, "Fuhgeddaboudit! The Giants kicked the living shit out of the Packers, toity-foah to nuthin, an' sent dem cheeseheads back ta freeze their asses off in Wisconsin!"

  So if I asked the Big Apple version of my phone, "What the hell do I do about Dexter Bishop?" it would reply, "What's your praaaab-lem? Wake up an' smell the cawfee! He's a catch! Are ya friggin' blind?"

  No, I'm not. And sadly, there's no magic 8-ball to tell me what to do about this situation. Sure, I've got Savannah and Layla trying to help me sort it out, but it's still very confusing considering the recent revelation about his feelings for me. Besides, with all the other stuff going on in my life right now, the last thing I need is someone with a high school crush, especially someone who's going to be spending a lot of time up close and personal with me. I mean, I've got the French maid tape about to leak, which may or may not further my career. The local tabloids are having a field day with that paternity suit, as my sister has turned into a media magnet reaching DEFCON 2 on the Kardashian scale, with DEFCON 1 meaning she's cut a deal with Playboy. Rumor has it she's going to use her new fame to launch a line of lingerie called "Summerwear" which means my last name will be embroidered on thongs across the country. And I need to extend my stay off the vampire shift by kicking ass on Dance Off.