A Girl Like You

by Maria Geraci

Kimberly and I enter the hotel lobby and make our way to the banquet room, where a guy wearing a tux asks to see our invitations. We show him our invites and he asks us if we have cameras. Both of us say no. He tells us that if we are “caught” taking pictures of the celebrities with our cell phones, we will immediately be escorted off the premises. I’ve never been to a thousand-dollar-a-ticket cocktail party, so I’m not sure if this is usual or not.

  The banquet room is elegant with chandeliers and wooden floors and lots of beautiful people milling about. Over 50 percent of the women are wearing some variation of black. The rest have on a rainbow of summer colors but only Kimberly is wearing solid white and she stands out in the very best way, and this is awesome for me. Simply because I am with Kimberly I already have a drink in my hand, thanks to the lovely waiter who practically tripped over himself to serve us first (although no one around us had a drink). Wherever we go people step aside to let us through and most stop to make small talk. Even though I’m used to this from the many times I’ve been out with Kimberly, it still amazes me how much a pretty face and a fabulous figure can do for a woman.

  I glance around the room, hoping to see some sign of Trip. I don’t see any of the celebrities and I imagine that’s because they will probably make some kind of grand entrance. Kimberly introduces me to the other two members of the Yeager Agency who are present this evening. They are both male, in their midthirties, and work in advertising. They also seem to know all about the Trip Monroe angle. Apparently, everyone at the agency is salivating at the prospect of nabbing him as a client.

  I finish my drink and a waiter immediately appears to ask if I’d like a refill, which I’d love, but I politely decline. I need to stay sharp tonight. Plus, there is that tiny percent chance that I could be pregnant and I don’t want to have to get angsty over all the stuff I’ll probably find on the Internet if I Google “what kind of harm can I do to my fetus if I drink in the first trimester.”

  I head to the hors d’oeuvre table when a sudden increase in the noise level makes me turn to stare at a young woman who has just made an appearance. She looks like she’s fifteen and in no way old enough for this cocktail party.

  “That’s Bonita Harris,” Kimberly whispers. “She’s the number-three-seeded woman’s tennis player in the world.”

  I’d heard of Bonita Harris and I’ve seen pictures of her but she looks different in a cocktail dress and heels. It’s been fourteen years since I’ve laid eyes on Trip. I wonder if I’ll have trouble recognizing him.

  Within the next hour a few more celebrities join the party and a man goes up to a mike to welcome us all to the Don Cesar. On behalf of the resort, he sincerely hopes that we are all having a great time and if we desire “anything” we are to flag down one of the many waitstaff who are eager to serve us. He then introduces a woman named Esther Finnegan, who is the chairwoman for the group hosting the party. She singles out each of the celebs by name, giving a brief bio and heartfelt thanks for their charitable contributions. Everyone claps and cheers loudly.

  I wait for her to introduce Trip but she doesn’t. She goes into a spiel about children’s cancer research, and while it’s all very noble and heartwarming, I have trouble concentrating. Where is Trip? What if he canceled on the party? All my planning and scheming will have been for naught.

  Just when I think Esther is done with her speech, she says, “And last but not least, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank one of our most generous supporters, NASCAR superstar Trip Monroe!”

  The cheers are louder for Trip than for any of the other celebrities. I crane my neck to try to get a glimpse of him. Everyone else in the crowd does too.

  “Unfortunately, Trip could not be here tonight. It seems he’s come down with a little stomach bug—” Esther gives the Don Cesar guy a wide-eyed apologetic look before saying, “Of course, not from anything he’s eaten here at this wonderful resort!” The crowd laughs politely. “I know you’ll join me in a round of applause for his generous contributions.”

  The crowd claps again and everyone returns to their previous conversations. I don’t know if I’m more stunned, disappointed, or worried. It never occurred to me that Trip would be a no-show.

  I think about all the advertising space T.K. hopes to sell in the “Trip Monroe” issue and try not to panic. Is this unexpected illness of Trip’s related to his dropping out of the racing circuit? What if Trip is really sick? Maybe he’s contracted some horrible disease and doesn’t want the public to know. Maybe that’s the reason Frank Monroe was so abrupt with me in his phone message.

  The rest of the cocktail party goes by in a blur. The other two members of the Yeager Agency ignore Kimberly and me and I find this strange, so I ask Kimberly what’s up. She shrugs and says “nothing,” only I can see something is bothering her.

  After the party Kimberly grabs my hand and leads me straight to the hotel lounge, where she orders us shots from the tequila bar. “Here’s to our jobs,” she says, and downs her tequila.

  “You might want to slow down. You’re driving, remember?”

  “How much do you think it would cost to take a cab back to Tampa?”

  “Cheaper than getting a room here for the night, that’s for sure.” We both cringe because neither of us wants to think about how much a room at the Don Cesar might cost.

  “Then you drive,” she says, handing me her keys. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been drinking.” Kimberly flags down a waitress and orders another tequila. I slide my untouched drink her way. I think she needs it more than I do. I’ve never seen Kimberly so morose.

  “I’m not giving up on Trip Monroe,” I say. “This is just a setback.”

  “What if you can’t reach him? What if you do, but he shoots you down?”

  “That’s not going to happen.” At least I hope that’s not going to happen.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Be so sure of yourself. I wish I had one-tenth of your confidence.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Because I’m pretty sure you were there that night at Captain Pete’s when Amy outed me as the ugly friend.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still harping on that. You have everything. A great job, friends, a fantastic boyfriend who’s crazy about you.”

  This is how Kimberly sees me? As someone who has everything?

  “You have those things too,” I say. “Maybe not the fantastic boyfriend, but you could have one. All you have to do is snap your fingers and a dozen guys run to your side.”

  Kimberly makes a face. “There are two kinds of guys who are interested in me. The ones who want to take me out because they think it makes them look good and the ones who want to say they’ve dated Jake Lemoyne’s ex. How do you think I got my job at the Yeager Agency? It wasn’t because my PR skills are so damn fucktastic, it’s because of who I know because I was married to Jake.”

  “That’s called networking. Lots of people get jobs that way.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? Emma, I’m an office joke. Nothing I do is good enough. Half the place thinks I’m sleeping with Murray and the other half thinks I’m still sleeping with Jake.”

  This takes me aback. Kimberly is smart, hardworking. The fact that she’s beautiful should be a boon. But according to her, it isn’t?

  “Please tell me you’re not sleeping with Murray,” I say, trying to make her laugh. Not that Murray is horribly unattractive or anything but he’s losing his hair, and instead of just going with it or shaving his head like most guys do now, he’s taken to doing a comb-over à la Donald Trump, which is just plain unacceptable.

  Kimberly’s face breaks into a sloppy grin. “Hell no; not that he hasn’t tried.”

  I play around with the edge of my napkin. Remember I told you before that Kimberly is a really private person? After graduating first in her class at Catfish Cove High, she went to Florida State, where she majored in communications. Her first job was as an events planner at one of those ri
tzy golf and tennis resorts. This is where she met Jake. Their marriage lasted less than two years and Kimberly got a decent settlement, but she’s not rich (she had to sign a prenup). Shortly after her divorce, she went to work for the Yeager Agency, a move that brought her to Tampa, and this is when we reconnected. She’s never told either Torie or me much about her marriage, and I’ve gotten the feeling it’s because it’s still too painful for her to talk about. Kimberly rarely dates and it’s just occurred to me that maybe this is because she’s still holding on to feelings for Jake.

  “You aren’t still sleeping with Jake…are you?”

  Kimberly shudders. “I barely slept with him when we were married.”

  “What?”

  “The truth is we spent more time in counseling than we did in bed.” Kimberly takes another shot of tequila and continues: “Jake didn’t want a wife. Well, he did, but he didn’t want the kind of wife I wanted to be. He didn’t want kids or to make a real home. He was embarrassed by the way I talked and the way I used to dress. Did you know right after we got married Jake sent me to a stylist? I was dazed by his looks and his money and everything that came with it. We both jumped into marriage way too soon.”

  Kimberly might look sophisticated, but on the inside she’s still a Catfish Cove girl. Once, Torie and I discussed Kimberly’s marriage and we concluded that her divorce was probably the result of her and Jake being from such different backgrounds. Now that I know our theory was right, I can’t help but feel sad for her.

  Kimberly burps, then lets out a tiny giggle. This is the first sign that she’s getting drunk. Maybe I should let her keep drinking. She’s always so calm and in control. It might be good for her to tide one over and let everything out. I already have the keys to her car and I’ve only had the one drink during the cocktail party, which was so watered down I could barely taste the liquor, so I can easily drive us home.

  I reach out and squeeze her hand. “Kimmy, I’m so sorry.”

  She smiles at the old nickname. “I was really hoping to score Trip Monroe as a client. He was someone I could bring to the agency without being connected to Jake. Now I’m going to have to explain how I basically wasted two thousand dollars on nothing.” I try not to show any reaction to this, but as usual, I obviously can’t hide my feelings because Kimberly immediately says, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s not your fault Trip didn’t show. I took a gamble and lost. Totally my screwup.”

  I feel horrible for involving Kimberly in this Trip Monroe deal. I used our friendship to score a ticket for this event and it never once occurred to me that she could end up with egg on her face. I have to make this up to her.

  The waitress comes by and asks if we want a refill. Kimberly is in the process of ordering when out of the corner of my eye, I spy a man who looks familiar. The lobby is crowded and I have to stand and crane my neck to get a better view, but I’m right. He is familiar. It’s Frank Monroe.

  chapter seventeen

  “That’s Trip’s uncle!” I say, pointing to Frank.

  Kimberly snaps to attention. “Where?”

  “The tall guy with the glasses.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Something Esther Finnegan said in her speech comes back to me. She said Trip did not get sick eating the food at the Don Cesar. I know it was a joke, but it’s also telling. Could Trip be staying here at the resort? It would make sense that if he was coming for the cocktail party, he would book a room. More than likely all the celebrities have a complimentary room for the night. My heart begins to race. Trip Monroe is right here under my nose, puking into an expensive toilet, and I’m not leaving the Don Cesar until I talk to him. I toss some money down and pull Kimberly from the table.

  “What are you doing?” she protests as I lead her toward the lobby. “I’m not finished with my tequila.”

  “I think Trip is staying here at the hotel. And if he is, Frank Monroe is going to lead us right to him.”

  “Oh. Good idea.” Kimberly flattens an imaginary wrinkle out of her dress. “Okay, so what do we do now?”

  “We’re going to follow him.”

  Kimberly frowns. “Why don’t we just go up and ask him where Trip is?”

  “Because Frank Monroe has a thing against reporters. If he wouldn’t help me connect with Trip before, he sure as hell isn’t going to do it now with Trip lying up there sick. I don’t think he knows me by sight, but we can’t take any chances, so you’ll have to do it.”

  “Me?”

  “You have as much to gain from this as I do.”

  Kimberly ponders this for a quick second and nods. “Okay. Wait right here.”

  “Stay close by, but don’t let him see you,” I whisper, but I’m not sure if she hears me because she’s already taken off.

  I watch Kimberly weave her way through the throng of people toward the check-in desk, where Frank Monroe is having a conversation with a hotel clerk. Kimberly is usually a pro in her four-inch heels, but even across the lobby I can see she is wobbling. Two shots of tequila in a row are catching up to the drinks she downed during the cocktail party. She stands very close behind Frank Monroe, then turns around and searches the crowd until she spots me. She places her hands in the air and makes a great big crisscross waving motion as if to say, Here I am!

  I guess she thinks I need a signal or something.

  Kimberly is drunk. Or at the least, very tipsy. Thank God Frank Monroe can’t see what she’s doing because she’s attracting a whole lot of attention. Partially because she is doing this strange waving thing, and partially because, well, she’s Kimberly and she’s gorgeous and she’s always going to draw attention. I should have thought of that before I sent her out on this covert operation. She is totally going to blow it before it even gets started.

  Frank turns around and luckily Kimberly has enough presence of mind to drop her arms and act inconspicuous. He walks over to the elevators and Kimberly follows him into the car as if she knows exactly where she’s going, and the elevator doors close. There is nothing I can do now except wait and hope she doesn’t do something crazy.

  After what seems like forever, but in reality is less than five minutes, Kimberly emerges from the elevator. Her cheeks are flushed and her blue eyes are shining with either excitement or drunken glee, or both.

  “I feel like Harriet the Spy!”

  “Did Frank Monroe see you follow him?”

  “No way. Didn’t you see how crafty I was?”

  “Yeah. Good job. So what did you find out?”

  She tells me she got off at Frank Monroe’s floor and “discreetly” watched him go into a room. She gives me the room number, and I have to say, I’m really pleased at how well Kimberly has done considering how drunk she seems. “You’re sure you have the right room number?”

  She frowns at me. “I’m not a dummy, Emma.”

  “Of course you’re not,” I say, humoring her.

  We go back to the lobby bar and start to strategize. If I go up to the room now and Frank Monroe answers the door, chances are he’ll shut it in my face. I could always call the room number and ask to speak to Trip, but he’s probably in bed, and chances are again that Frank will answer the phone. I really don’t want to bother Trip while he’s sick. I just want to leave my card with him and ask him to get in touch with me when he feels better. Maybe I could slide my card under the door. Or better yet, leave it in an envelope marked Confidential for Trip Monroe only. Which sounds very amateurish even to Kimberly, whose mind is not working 100 percent right now, so I guess that option is out.

  I’m at the end of my ideas when I see Frank Monroe again. This time he’s walking away from the elevator to the hotel entrance. His hands are jammed inside his pants pockets and he looks angry. Maybe this is his normal, everyday expression. Maybe he’s going out to get Trip medicine, I don’t know. Everyone is always telling me what a nice guy he is, but I’ve yet to see any evidence of it. The only thing I know is that this
is my chance to get to Trip and I’m going to take it.

  “Wish me luck,” I say to Kimberly.

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “Thanks, but I’m going to make this quick.” Pause. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay down here all by yourself?”

  “Of course I am. Shoo!” she says, waving me off. “Good luck!”

  “Thanks. And Harriet? No more tequila, okay?”

  I’m standing outside Trip’s door trying my hardest to slow my heart down. Its beating so loudly I can’t hear myself think. I also have to use the bathroom and this is a fine time for my bladder to make itself known. I could go back downstairs and use the bathroom in the lobby, but I’m afraid if I leave now, Uncle Frank might come back and I don’t want that happening.

  I knock on the door and immediately come face-to-face with a middle-aged guy who is definitely not Trip. “Yeah?”

  My spirits take a nosedive. Kimberly must have gotten the room number wrong.

  The guy takes in my appearance and frowns, but then he opens the door all the way and ushers me inside. “You here to see Trip?”

  Well, that was easy. This guy must be part of Trip’s entourage. As difficult as it’s been to connect with Trip, I guess I expected more of a challenge. I raise my chin in confidence. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I’m an old friend of his.”

  I’ve been in some nice hotel rooms before but nothing like this. The suite looks bigger than my town house and has a killer view of the bay.

  “I’m Chuck,” says the guy. “Want a drink?” He goes over to what looks like a well-stocked bar and pours himself a glass of liquor.

  “Um, no, thanks.”

  He motions to the sofa in the living area. “Have a seat. I’ll get Trip.”

  I sit on the sofa and wait, and this is good because it helps to calm my nerves as I process the situation the way it stands. Trip is sick with some kind of stomach flu but he’s obviously not so sick that he can’t come out to see a friend who presents herself at his door, which is awful nice of him.