A Girl Like You

by Maria Geraci

The meeting breaks up and Ben asks to speak to me. “I’m driving over to Dunhill headquarters this morning to see T.K. Want to come along?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. Unless there’s another Emma Frazier who works for Florida! magazine.”

  I’ve told you before that Dunhill Publications owns Florida! but this hasn’t always been the case. The first issues of Florida! were printed by a small independent publisher based out of Ybor City. It wasn’t until fifteen years ago that Dunhill Publications swooped in and bought the magazine because it was financially successful. Slowly, over the years all production has moved to the Orlando office, but we’ve kept our editorial presence close to the heart of the magazine’s birthplace. I’ve only been to Dunhill Publications headquarters a few times in the six years I’ve worked for the company. I wish I’d worn something a little dressier to work this morning.

  “Don’t worry, you look fine,” says Ben.

  This is so irritating.

  “Am I really that easy to read?”

  “Yes…and no.”

  I’m not sure what he means by this but I have no time to figure it out. Jackie and Richard are green with envy when they discover I’m going to Orlando with Ben.

  “Why didn’t he ask me?” Richard says, stuffing a donut into his mouth. Immediately after the meeting broke up, Richard dashed out the door and returned thirty minutes later with a dozen Krispy Kremes. I guess this is his way of telling me that I can easily be replaced as the office donut pusher.

  Jackie eyes the donuts with a fierceness that borders on the scary. “Well la-di-da,” she says to me. “Make sure you order the most expensive thing on the menu.” At the look on my face, she clarifies: “I’m sure T.K. will take you to lunch at the Citrus Club.”

  How Jackie knows this, I’m not sure. I’ve never set foot in the Citrus Club, but I’ve always wanted to eat there.

  I have to admit, at first the idea of visiting Dunhill headquarters with Ben seemed like a great way to spend a Monday (especially this Monday, when all I can think about is the Otis Lake Incident), but now I’m a little nervous. T.K. is nice enough but he can also be intimidating.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Ben says. He pulls out of the office parking lot and merges his Prius onto northbound 275 traffic without looking in his rearview mirror.

  I tighten my seat belt. “Just get us there in one piece, okay?”

  He’s wearing his aviator sunglasses and I can see myself reflected in them when he turns to look at me. “What happened this morning? With the Krispy Kremes?”

  “I was running late,” I lie. “So how was Vegas?”

  “Vegas was good.”

  “I thought Richard was going to bust a vessel trying to figure out your blackjack system.”

  Ben grins.

  “I saw Amy at Captain Pete’s Friday night.” Why I say this I have no idea.

  Ben loses his grin. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. She’s a nice girl and all, but that’s not going to work out.”

  I still. “What do you mean?”

  “I know she’s your friend and you probably thought we had a lot in common…” Ben shrugs. “Sorry.”

  I’m momentarily speechless.

  “Did…did you think I was trying to set you up with Amy?”

  “Weren’t you?”

  He’s looking straight at me now. And still driving way too fast for comfort.

  “Eyes on the road, please! Does everyone drive this crazy in Massachusetts?”

  “Yes,” Ben says, like he’s talking to a little old lady he’s trying to placate, but I notice he slows down. “So you weren’t trying to fix me up with her?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, no harm no foul.”

  I know Ben is my boss and there is a professional boundary I shouldn’t cross. I know the question is indelicate. Tacky even. But I have to know. Did you sleep with her?

  But I can’t ask it, so instead I say, “What about that kiss?”

  “What kiss?”

  “I’m pretty sure I saw you kiss Amy at Captain Pete’s. Not that I was spying on you or anything.”

  Ben seems initially confused and then a light of recognition crosses his face. “Oh, that.”

  Yeah, that.

  “We were playing darts and she was so drunk she couldn’t even hit the dartboard, let alone stand up. You looked like you were a having a good time, so I offered to drive her home but she refused to walk out the door until I kissed her. So I did. Then I took her home, where she promptly passed out, but not before chucking up a few times in the toilet.”

  My jaw drops.

  “I made sure she was okay before I left and the next day she called to thank me and insisted on repaying me with dinner. Her treat. So I think, ‘Hey, why not?’ She’s a cute girl. Maybe she was just having an off night, and if Frazier thinks we’ll hit it off, maybe we will. But the truth is, she’s more obnoxious sober than she is drunk. So end of story.”

  Ben and Amy did not sleep together.

  Ben thinks Amy is obnoxious.

  It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to scream “yes!”

  I wasted a perfectly good bottle of Absolut, not to mention an entire week of my life wallowing in abject misery.

  Then I come back down to earth.

  If Ben thought I was trying to fix him up with Amy, then he must never have thought my friends were trying to fix him up with me.

  The whole time at Captain Pete’s when I thought we were hitting it off, Ben was just being his normal, friendly self. He sees me as someone who works for him and a potential friend.

  I suppose I should be happy with that.

  Correction. I am happy with that.

  I’m with Nick now. And Nick is terrific. I have every expectation that our relationship will continue to blossom and that I’ll fall in love with him. Deeply, madly, passionately in love. Heck, even now I could be pregnant with Nick’s baby.

  Oh God. I didn’t just think that.

  I send up a prayer like Mama J taught me. Please, God, don’t let me be pregnant with Nick’s baby. Not that I might not want that eventually, sometime down the road. Way way way down the road. Just not now.

  “What’s wrong?” Ben asks. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

  “No, I’m great,” I say, smiling big to convince him.

  We arrive at Dunhill Publications and Ben starts to act weird on me. Not weird in a bad way, but weird in a goofy way, and this makes me both suspicious and nervous. It’s like the moment before you enter a room and you realize on the other side of the door are fifty of your best friends ready to scream “Surprise!” Only it’s not my birthday.

  T.K. rushes to greet us and this is when the weird feeling turns into a feeling that I can’t describe except to say that at this moment I wish the only complication in my life was that I was pregnant with Nick’s baby.

  “Here’s the girl of the hour!” T.K. gushes.

  Before I can ask what this is about, he leads me into a conference room. The entire sales team is present, and when they see me walk through the door, they all stand and give me a round of applause. I smile at the reception, but I’m sure it’s the same kind of smile the duck gives right before the hunters commence firing. Only the bullets are questions and the sales team starts shooting them off mercilessly.

  “How’s the article going?”

  “Is Monroe as tall as he seems on TV?”

  “Did he spill all his dirty secrets to you?”

  T.K. laughs and tells them all to calm down. Everyone will have a chance to read the article in due time. I am then shown a “pre-mock-up” of what is now being called “Zero to Hero, the Trip Monroe” issue. Ad space will go for double and some slots triple what they normally sell for.

  A woman stands in the doorway and motions to T.K. He rises from his chair and goes over to speak to her in private. She glances at Ben and smiles.

  Ben leans over to whispe
r, “That’s Abby, T.K.’s assistant. Very competent. T.K. can’t do anything without her.” Ben has mentioned Abby a few times before. For some reason I pictured her as an attractive but older Moneypenny kind of character. Abby is attractive all right, but she’s probably only about twenty-five.

  I continue to stare at the “pre-mock-up” issue. After a few minutes alone with T.K., Abby enters the room, picks up a remote control, and turns on a flat-screen TV. T.K.’s eyes bulge with excitement. Two talk-show hosts from ESPN appear on the screen. They are doing that sort of loud guy sports chitchat in which one guy constantly interrupts the other one (think of it as the male version of The View). Apparently, something big has occurred in the world of sports and these two guys are excited about it and they want to get the audience excited about it too. A still photo of Trip flashes across the screen. My breath catches.

  This is when we learn that a spokesperson for Trip Monroe has just announced that Trip will be pulling out of all his races this season due to “personal circumstances.”

  The entire conference room at Dunhill Publications goes silent.

  Back on-screen, the guy in the red tie turns to the other guy and says, “What does this mean for NASCAR?”

  “Well, Mike, I think this means there’s an open field right now.”

  “Do we know anything more about these personal circumstances?” Red Tie guy asks.

  “Nothing. His people are completely mum on the whole thing.”

  The two of them go on to talk some more, except I can’t hear what they are saying because the conference room has erupted in chaos. The sales team is ecstatic. Trip Monroe is now the story of the hour.

  T.K. says something about how it’s too late to make the August issue but maybe we should dump the manatee story and replace it with the Trip Monroe article.

  “But isn’t our September issue always focused on marine life?” someone asks.

  “Screw the marine life, we can sell ad space for four times its normal value!”

  Everyone starts to congratulate me all over again. After a little speech of encouragement from T.K. urging the sales team to “divide and conquer,” T.K. takes us to lunch at the Citrus Club. Abby joins us (which I think is kind of odd) but apparently T.K. really can’t do anything without her, including order his own food.

  I ignore Jackie’s advice and order the cheapest thing on the menu, because I have absolutely no appetite whatsoever. Despite my inability to focus on anything other than the Trip Monroe interview, I can’t help but pick up the not-so-discreet looks that Abby gives Ben, who seems not to notice.

  He does, however, notice how quiet I am on the drive back to Tampa. “Everything okay?”

  “They aren’t serious about pulling my manatee article? I worked really hard on that piece.”

  “Nah,” Ben says. “That was just the excitement of the moment.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Relax, Frazier, no one’s going to mess with the sacred ‘Life Beneath the Water’ issue. But I have to admit, I had no idea how popular this NASCAR guy was until I did some research on him. And now that he’s dropped out for the season? We couldn’t have timed this interview any better.”

  “Yeah…fantastic.”

  Ben gives me a hard stare. “You’re sure you’re going to connect with this guy?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” I say, trying to sound deeply offended that he would ever doubt me.

  Ben relaxes and starts to talk about which photographer we should use for the piece and all I can do is nod like some dazed marionette. It’s not that I haven’t worked under pressure before, but this Trip Monroe thing has clearly become the biggest story of my career. I cannot blow it. I also cannot wait for the next few weeks to be over with.

  chapter sixteen

  It’s been exactly two weeks since the Otis Lake Incident and I am now officially “late.” I should have had my period yesterday. Last night I dreamed I had Nick’s baby. Dark curls, chubby cheeks, and the brightest brown eyes you could imagine. In my dream, Nick was changing the baby’s diaper and I was in the kitchen (not the kitchen in Nick’s house but in some random kitchen I’ve never been in before). What that means, I’m not sure, but there is probably some Freudian theme there.

  The idea of Nick and me ending up together is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Last weekend Nick drove down to Tampa for the Fourth of July holiday. We spent three whole days fused at the hip. We went to the beach, grilled steaks on my tiny patio, had drinks with Torie and Kimberly and Jason and Kurt (talk about awkward), shopped for some artwork for Nick’s house, and spent the rest of the time in bed. There was one day when I was almost certain Nick was going to drop the L-word but he didn’t. I think he’s getting pretty close to it, though. A part of me thinks it’s too soon, but on the other hand, we’re not kids anymore.

  Would I be happy being a small-town cop’s wife? I never thought I might one day end up back in Catfish Cove, but there is always that possibility. I can see it now. Nick and me fixing up the house by the lake, painting the walls in the bedroom downstairs a bright and sunny yellow for our baby with the chubby cheeks. Me, working at Mama J’s bookstore and writing the great American novel while Nick helps to keep Catfish Cove safe from crime.

  The idea of it both excites and terrifies me.

  I crawl out of bed and try to put my inconveniently late period out of my head in order to face myself in the mirror. Today is the big day.

  I have to admit I’m a little nervous seeing Trip again after all these years. It’s like going to your high school reunion, but you’re only facing one person and that one person has become ultrafamous and desired by women everywhere.

  I have to look good today.

  The cocktail party begins promptly at five. Kimberly is going to pick me up at the office at four so we can ride to the hotel together, which I think will help calm my nerves. I wear something easy to get out of and bring both cocktail dresses to change into later. I’ve pretty much decided to wear the sleeveless lime-green-and-white print dress with the gathered skirt. It’s the one I like best and I think I look pretty decent in it. But I bring the black-and-white polka-dot one along too, for backup. Nick liked it best and I can’t help wondering if I’m overlooking something here.

  I spend my lunch hour at the Estée Lauder counter at the Nordstrom in the International Mall, where I’d already arranged for one of the consultants to do my makeup. I tell her I’m going for casual chic (not to be confused with the decorating term shabby chic). I take off my glasses and pop in my contact lenses. The consultant spends what seems like forever applying at least a couple dozen products on my face. Surprisingly, the end result looks very natural, except that my eyes look huge, my skin looks flawless, and my lips look like I’ve just had collagen injections. I buy everything she’s used on me and force myself not to look at the total on the credit-card slip.

  At 3:45 p.m. I go the bathroom and change. Everyone at work is excited for me and for what this interview could mean for the magazine. I decide to go with the lime-green dress.

  “Love it!” says Jackie.

  “Wow!” says Lisa.

  “You look very nice,” says Ben, in the same tone he’d probably use to compliment a younger sister.

  “Yeah, you look…nice,” says Richard, in the same tone he’d probably use to compliment a streetwalker.

  Kimberly arrives fifteen minutes later. “Awesome!”

  Just in case, I bring out the black-and-white polka-dot dress to get a second opinion, but no one likes it. I guess Nick just has different taste.

  Now that everyone is done fussing over me, we all turn our attention to Kimberly, who is absolutely rocking it today with an ultrasleek white linen shift. Not many women can get away with wearing solid white, but Kimberly is one of them. She’s also wearing red stilettos and the combination is deadly.

  Jackie immediately wants to know where she can get the same dress, and Kimberly generously tells her. She slips
off her red stilettos so that Lisa can try them on, and offers to loan them to her anytime. Richard then makes a crack about also wanting to borrow the red stilettos and you’d think it was the funniest thing ever, Kimberly laughs so hard. Ben is all friendly smiles but Kimberly is coolly aloof with him.

  I’ve been so worried about the pregnancy thing that I forgot to tell Kimberly that we don’t hate Ben anymore. I also haven’t told Torie or Kimberly about the Otis Lake Incident. Right now the two of them are on a need-to-know basis (and they don’t need to know how stupid I was having sex without a condom).

  Once we get in the car, I fill her in on the Amy and Ben story.

  “So he didn’t sleep with her?” Kimberly asks as we cross the bridge over to St. Pete.

  “Nope. He drove her home, where she threw up.” (I can’t help but smile here). “They went out to dinner, there was no chemistry, end of story.”

  Kimberly mulls this over a bit. “So what are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean, what am I going to do?”

  “Emma,” Kimberly says, “how do you feel about the fact that Ben is still available?”

  “I feel absolutely nothing. I’m with Nick now and I’m really happy. I’m totally over Ben Gallagher.”

  This seems to convince Kimberly because we don’t talk about either Ben or Nick the rest of the drive and I’m glad. I need to focus on Trip and getting this interview.

  The cocktail party is being held at the Don Cesar, a hotel resort located on the beach. I’ve never been inside but I’ve always wanted to. It was built in the 1920s and resembles a pink castle. No kidding. Very cool. Kimberly opts for the valet parking, which is great because it’s grossly humid today and arriving all hot and sweaty to the cocktail party is not in my visual game plan.

  Today’s event is being hosted by a local woman’s civic group both to raise money for children’s cancer research and to honor the celebrities who have already donated lots of bucks to the cause. Besides Trip, this includes another NASCAR driver whom I’ve never heard of, a couple of big-time golf pros, a tennis star, and some Tampa Bay Rays baseball players.