by Laura Carter
‘He’s like a guide dog for the drunk.’
Tommy laughed. ‘Hey now, I’m not a drunk. And, on that note, do you want another?’
She looked at her glass, surprised it was empty. ‘Sure, but I’m not ready to move now that my toes are warm.’
‘How about dinner on the sofa?’
No Hunter. No work. Laughing. Lounging on the sofa with Tommy’s dog on her feet. Oddly, she was in.
Tommy insisted she stay where she was whilst he brought another round of drinks and – sans more skin burns – laid out the Indian meal: poppadums, naan breads, dips, curries and all on a coffee table he manoeuvred to the rug in front of them.
‘Oh my God, this biryani is to die for,’ Andrea said, lost in a world of slow-cooked-lamb-bliss.
‘I told you, it’s the best Indian food in the city,’ Tommy said, not bothering to pause between bites.
They worked their way down seventy per cent of the meal before they called it quits and gave the dog the scraps he was allowed to eat.
They lay back on their sofas, groaning about their gluttony and consequent bloating, and bickering about which song they should listen to next.
Andrea couldn’t remember the last time she had spent a night like this. Fully relaxed, in company she truly enjoyed. It was a shame it would be six-to-twelve months – based on historic experience – before she saw Tommy again. She liked the new him, who was very much like the old him except a little more mature and worldly.
They were playing a game of one person naming an artist or band and the other choosing their best song. Currently, Bon Jovi’s ‘Bed of Roses’ was playing, which Andrea considered to be the band’s best track. Tommy wholly disagreed.
‘It’s hands down “Always”,’ he said.
‘No way. “Bed of Roses” is incredible. The melody, Jon’s voice. That build right before the chorus. Would you just listen to that, please?’
‘I’m listening, baby, and I’m saying you called it wrong.’
There was something about the way he called her ‘baby’ that made her think about Hunter for the first time in hours. In hindsight, she couldn’t stand the way he had called her ‘kiddo’ all the time, especially in a post-coital moment. What was that? Some kind of reference to her being his daughter’s friend? Some kind of power play?
The way Tommy called her ‘baby’ right then was nothing like the same. It was affectionate, familiar, not intended to be demeaning at all, despite the fact they were bickering.
‘Hey, you still here?’ Tommy asked.
She realised she had been lost in her own thoughts. ‘Sorry, yeah, I’m here. Ah, who next…? Chris Stapleton.’
‘That’s easy. “Millionaire”.’
‘I disagree. His best is “Broken Halo” but I’ll let you have it since I happen to have a soft spot for most Chris Stapleton music.’ She drained her drink as the song began to play into the apartment.
‘“Broken Halo”, huh? And I thought I had problems.’ He gave her a mocking look. ‘So, in the theme of being honest, are you going to tell me why you changed your mind to come here tonight?’
She pulled up her legs, needing the comfort of wrapping her arms around her knees in the absence of the dog on her feet. She shouldn’t say anything about Hunter. No one could find out. Wasn’t that the main reason she ended it? But if anyone would listen to her promiscuous indiscretions without judgement, it was the man sitting opposite her.
‘Honestly? Please don’t take this the wrong way because I’m having a nice time tonight.’
‘But?’
‘I got out of a relationship of sorts this week and I thought maybe spending time with someone else would take my mind off it.’
He seemed to nod as he looked at her, not giving much away. Had she offended him? From memory, Tommy didn’t offend easily.
‘I get that,’ he said, eventually. ‘I didn’t realise you were with anyone.’
She took a breath for courage. ‘That was sort of the point. No one could know.’
‘Ah. Got ya. Who ended it?’
‘Me.’
‘How long?’
‘Six months-ish.’
‘Messy?’
‘Very. Like, work-colleague-meets-father-of-a-friend-bad.’
He whistled. ‘That’s covering a lot of bases.’
‘Yup.’ She held up her empty glass. ‘My turn.’
She helped herself around his kitchen making them drinks as Tommy talked to her from the sofa. ‘Would I know him?’
‘Would it matter if you did?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘I’m just curious to know if the scowl Hunter gave me as I walked past him in your office today is anything to do with this.’
She froze, mid putting the top back on the bottle of Macallan. ‘Was it that obvious?’
‘He’s pissed. He’s missed out on a great woman.’
She scoffed. ‘Yeah, for his wife. I should never, ever have gone there. It just sort of happened.’
She handed Tommy a fresh drink and he patted the sofa next to him. She sat with her back pressed to his shoulder, their legs stretched along different sides of the L-shaped sofa.
‘Do you think I’m a terrible person?’
He pressed his cheek to her head and she made no move away. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had comforted her. Not that she deserved to be comforted, she knew.
‘I think you made a mistake,’ he said. ‘That isn’t an automatic pathway to Hell. God knows I’ve made plenty. We all do.’
‘Some are worse than others, Tommy.’
‘Yes.’ He draped his arm across her shoulder and she leaned deeper into him. ‘You’re no saint, Andi. You’re a human being. That means we fuck up, we recognise the errors of our ways, we make amends as best we can.’
‘That sounds like it came directly from your therapist.’
She felt his humour as his chest chugged against her. ‘Food, whisky and therapy. Baby, you can’t afford me tonight.’
She closed her eyes and hummed as Chris Stapleton’s ‘Tennessee Whiskey’ started to play.
She felt Tommy suck in a breath before he started to sing, ‘You’re as smooth as a Tennessee whiskey.’
Chris Stapleton and Tommy Dawson, she couldn’t have screwed up that badly because she had been allowed into Heaven. Stapleton’s words and Tommy’s voice traversed her veins just like the Macallan had been doing for hours.
‘Dance with me?’ he asked.
She shouldn’t. She had turned up at the new Tommy Dawson’s house. They had drunk liquor, too much liquor. Now, he was singing to her, and if they danced…
He stood and took her drink from her, setting both glasses down on the coffee table. Then he offered her his hand.
She looked up to him. An incredibly handsome man. ‘Will you keep singing if I do?’
One side of his lips curved up and she already knew how they would end the night before she slipped her hand into his and before he pulled her in close to him. Before he wrapped his arms around her and sang, as she laid her head against his chest.
She nudged into his neck, smelling his musk that was all man. When she pressed her lips to his skin, he lifted his head. As he sang, she kissed his throat, his jaw.
He swayed them in time to the music. ‘You should know, if I kiss you, tonight is only ending one way.’
She looked into his eyes and let him know she heard his intentions. She wanted him, too.
He pressed his mouth to hers and stretched his fingers into her hair. He parted her lips and she tasted the way he wore his whisky.
He swayed them again, singing to her as her hands roamed his back, his chest, beneath his T-shirt. She slid the fabric up, kissing his skin as she went. He raised his arms and took the T-shirt over his head, kissing her as soon as it was off, pressing his warm torso against her. God, she wanted to feel his skin on hers.
He took off her blouse and expertly released her bra. When her naked breasts pressed against him, she
moaned, the touch teasing her already hard nipples.
She felt his pleasure coursing through her own alcohol-rich blood. This felt like more of a sin than anything she had done with Hunter. It was the ultimate guilty pleasure and she couldn’t get enough.
Her times with Tommy had always been good but this was… different. Slower, deeper, a smooth ride to heaven.
Afterwards, Tommy collapsed against her chest until their breathing calmed. ‘Stay?’
She nodded in response, knowing he couldn’t hear her answer but that he somehow knew it was yes.
Sometime later, they took the bottle of Macallan to the satin sheets of his bedroom and made love again, and again.
* * *
She had fallen into a sated sleep and woken under the weight of Tommy’s arm, with a head that felt like it was made of concrete and a throat so dry it felt like someone had taken a razor blade to it.
What had she been thinking? Nothing beyond needing to be taken out of her head, out of her thoughts of Hunter, for one night. Tommy had been a gentleman last night but the saying went ‘a leopard can’t change its spots’, didn’t it?
Tommy had been the perfect hook-up. Now, what she needed was a cab, an aspirin and a long black coffee.
She slipped out of his bed and found her clothes in the lounge. She hushed the dog with a finger across her lips as she tiptoed past it, carrying her shoes. Unhooking her coat, she snuck out of the door and back out of Tommy’s life. This time, it would be for good. He had talked about change, well, it was about time she made some changes too. No more promiscuous Andi. No more sex until she meant it. No more of the stuff that had her head in turmoil. Just no more.
At least not until she got her shit together.
13
Rosalie
Ordinarily, Rosalie would have grumbled about the trek to Williamsburg for brunch – which was admittedly more like a short drive – but it was a working day, which meant the other ladies were stationed there and, more importantly, she had made a brunch reservation at Meadow Sweet. She would take a cab any distance for their Venetian Spritz and ricotta toast. Plus, the girls hadn’t been together since the night of Presley John’s memorial concert, which was almost four weeks ago.
She arrived first, was greeted by the staff, who knew of her love of the Venetian Spritz and brought one to the table within minutes. Meadow Sweet was like the seventies meets modern NYC. The flooring had the sort of distorted geometric pattern her grandmother’s rug had in photos she’d seen of her mother as a teenager. The yellow and green hues were reminiscent of the period. The wood tables and bar, the tan leather upholstery and the exposed beams all vibed That ’70s Show. But the stools at the bar, where guests could sit to drink or dine, said modern Manhattan. The food was quirky and had the finest flavours – who didn’t love truffle? Modern art decorated the walls and there was a cute mezzanine level with live plants – a nod to the recent anti-chemicals, pro-vegan trend. Or perhaps it was a nod to flower power and the revolution.
Regardless, the restaurant played to her bent for interior design, love of delicious cocktails and scrumptious food. Plus, she would have to stop with such treats if she got pregnant – there were more foods on the list of things expectant mothers shouldn’t eat than those they should and all her favourites: shellfish, nuts, carpaccio, ceviche, soft cheese (occasionally). And if she had her way, her pregnancy would happen soon… just as soon as the Swans agency matched her to the right male counterpart, whose sperm would greet her egg with the respect it deserved and produce the idyllic offspring – long dark ringlets, brown eyes and a fine set of teeth (optional but preferred).
She sipped her drink as she waited for Hannah and Andrea to join her. In general, it was good to be fashionably late but these were her working friends, who couldn’t spare an extra fifteen minutes if she made them wait and, in any event, with these ladies, Rosalie didn’t need the pretence.
Rosalie stood when they arrived and pulled out the shopping bags she had tucked under the table. ‘You’re here. Hey! These are for you, Hannah,’ she said, handing over two bags that were bursting at the seams with faux fur, metallic pink, pink suede, very tightly curled shaggy wool and sequined cushions. ‘I thought they would look incredible on that old grey love seat in your lounge. They’ll totally brighten the space and the grey-pink combo is very in this season.
‘Andi, this is for you… you can open it later but it’s a little silk something for you to enjoy with your secret.’ She finished with a wink that made Andrea frown with confusion but, Rosalie heard many things, the latest of which was that her friend was currently enjoying a fling with an old flame.
Once all three of them were seated – Hannah on the black leather cushioned seat with Rosalie; Andrea in a chair opposite – Rosalie waved over the staff, who brought her pre-ordered bottle of champagne (from the Champagne region of France, naturellement).
‘Fizz?’ Hannah asked, with one raised eyebrow.
Rosalie slipped a hand onto Hannah’s leg and said, ‘My treat. It’s been four weeks since we were all together at Madison Square Gardens already and we have so much to celebrate.’
‘We do?’ Hannah and Andrea asked in unison.
Rosalie would tease out the reason for their misère soon enough but for now, she said, ‘Yes, we do! Seth Young is taking the world by storm, thanks to my little moment of ingenuity at the Presley John concert. I’ve heard that song he played at least three times on the radio. Calvin Richards really did me a good turn. All of this, in turn, means that when I turn up at Sanfia Records today, Sofia is bound to agree to continuing to teach me the ropes.’
‘He certainly has the right connections and backstory for a winning formula,’ Andrea said. ‘I mean, an ex-serviceman always tugs on the heartstrings – especially some of those YouTube videos I’ve seen of him in barracks with his troop. But the fact he’s also Randy Jonson’s brother. Sheesh, he’s just a goldmine waiting to be extracted.’
‘You’re not thinking of poaching him for XM now, Andi, are you?’ Rosalie teased.
Straight-faced, Andrea told her, ‘I know you think I have an iron heart but I wouldn’t do that to my sister. You and I both know that his success is great but the big labels will be swooping in if he continues to hit the billboard charts. They’re likely already looking into the guy who made his debut appearance on stage with Randy Jonson at Presley John’s remembrance concert. Sanfia Records doesn’t have the clout or money to keep someone like that.’
‘Okay, well, nice attempt to kill the merriment there. Back to celebrations. Andi, a little dickie-bird tells me Tommy Dawson is rocking your world, again? That gift I gave you might make a little more sense now.’ She finished with a mischievous giggle.
‘Hey! How did—?’
Rosalie waved off the objections – sometimes Andrea could be such a prude – they could talk about her bed being a-rockin’ once the champagne had limbered her up. ‘Hannah’s turn, now,’ she continued, cutting Andrea off. ‘Hasn’t Rod started a new job?’
‘Huh, well, yes, but—’
‘Uh-uh. I’m not finished just yet. And I have started my baby-daddy dates.’ She clapped her hands quickly three times. ‘So, raise your glasses, ladies. To three thirty-odd-year-old women winning at life.’
With less enthusiasm than her own, Hannah raised her glass first and said, ‘Meh, take your wins where you can get ’em, I suppose.’
Rosalie held her glass against Hannah’s, and they waited for Andrea to join them. Andrea bore holes in Hannah with her eyes but eventually raised her glass too.
They quickly ordered food, to make sure the others could eat and get back to work. Andrea also ordered a ginger-based mocktail.
‘Don’t you like the champagne, Andi?’ Rosalie asked. ‘I could choose another?’
Andrea shook her head. ‘It’s great, Ros, and a nice thought. I’ve just been struggling with terrible indigestion these last few days. It’s like fire in my chest. It wasn’t helped by Hannah buyin
g me chipotle for lunch, yesterday, though.’
‘Hey!’ Hannah said. ‘I got you lunch, didn’t I? Nothing like being grateful, huh?’
Rosalie was used to seeing Andrea and Hannah bicker. They were the oldest friends of them all – closer even than Andrea and Sofia’s sisterly bond – but there was a snappy tone about them both today.
‘It is part of your job to get me lunch. That is, when you’re in the office,’ Andrea jibed.
Ouch.
‘My kid has been sick.’
‘There’s always one of your kids sick.’
Wow, okay, that was vicious.
Hannah’s head snapped back as if Andrea had slapped her. ‘That’s a low blow, Andi. Don’t have a go at me when you’re actually just pissed that… Forget it.’
Thinking quickly of something to say to break the Arctic air, Rosalie said, ‘Andi, actually, I have a little favour to ask of you. You know how Sofia has been helping me to get some experience in the music industry, like, more production-y type stuff? Well, I was thinking I could come to XM and see how you do things some time, too. I mean, I know you won’t have the time to show me all the digiteridoes and what not but if I got that from the indie side, like you trained, then you showed me the more exec side, then I’d be…’
‘What? You come to XM?’ Andrea snapped. ‘Ros, I don’t have time to have you playing around in my office. I have a job to do.’
Rosalie gasped, unintentionally theatrically. ‘An-drea. I need all the experience I can get to prove to Daddy that I can run my new label. And he always talks about you, so I figured if I—’
‘What label?’
‘The recording label. That Daddy is giving to me at XM. We’re going to be music label sisters.’ She beamed as she clapped in her seat.
‘Is this a joke? Hunter is going to gift you a label? He can’t do that. There’s an exec. A board. And, besides the obvious governance issues… you don’t have the first clue about running a music label.’
