Commitment (16 page)

To his credit, he did sound genuinely confused.

“I want to know what it is.”

“What
what
is, Riley?”

“The photo. What was going on there, Shawn? That’s what I’m asking.”

“Work,” he said as though speaking to a three-year-old. “Work was going on there.”

Riley said nothing. She hated jealous women. Hated them. And if she went on, that was what she would sound like. Clearly, it was already what she had become, but to
sound
that way as well would be intolerable.

“What’re you thinking?”
he
said finally. “That I’m
with
her?”

“The story said you were.” She was much less certain now, and sounded it.

“The story,” he repeated. “Fairy-tale is more like it. Why’re you reading that
crap
anyway?”

“I didn’t plan to. I just spotted it
at the newsstand
and . . .”

“We’re on the same label,” he continued patiently. “Sometimes they leak
st
uff
like that to generate buzz. She’s going for a more edgy, urban sound so it gives her some street cred when people see us together. And it helps mainstream my CD
.
It’s all made up, Riley
.”

Of course. That made perfect sense.

“Besides.
I don’t think she’s
even eighteen,” he added, a hint of mischief in his voice.
“That would make it illegal in most states.”

Riley smiled in spite of herself.

“You looked like you were having a good time,” she said lightly.

“I
was
having a good time. But not for the reasons
you
’re
think
ing
.”

Neither of them spoke for almost a minute.

“I’ve been away too long,” Shawn said finally, his voice barely audible. “I should’ve called you more.”

“No, it’s . . . I don’t know what made me think . . .”

“I’ve been away too long,” he said again, his voice firm this time.

This time Riley didn’t argue. He had been away, she now realized, longer than ever before. She cradled the phone in the crook of her neck and listened to him breathing on the other end.

“I’m sorry I
called so early
,” she said. “Maybe we can talk later
when you’re awake
?”

“
Oh, I’m
wide
awake now,” Shawn said.

Riley blushed, embarrassed now by the whole thing. What had she been thinking, anyway? Who was she turning into?

“
I’ll hit you up a little later
,
”
Shawn said. “I’m sure Brendan’s got something going on this morning anyway
.”

“Okay.
I’ll talk to you later,” she said, her voice small.

She hung up and rested her forehead on the desk, mortified.

The day dragged, with only an editorial meeting to break up the monotony. After Riley read the rest of the tabloid during lunch, she understood the appeal. It broke celebrities down to these pitifully messed up caricatures, making the rest of the world feel okay about being ordinary and unremarkable. If she was the least bit unhappy or dissatisfied with her life, this would probably be part of her regular reading material as well. She was finishing up her tuna on rye when a shadow at her door caused her to look up.

Dawn was a freelance photographer, and didn’t really work for
Power to the People
, but somehow managed to always be there. She was a tall, dark-skinned sister with enviable cheekbones, an untamed six-inch-high ‘fro and a melodious Trinidadian accent. All she ever seemed to wear was faded blue jeans, an assortment of black t-shirts and her Doc Maarten boots - a girl after Riley’s own heart.

“So you up for Happy Hour today or what?”

“Sure,” Riley said noncommittally.

“Asia de Cuba,” Dawn sang.

“What time?”

“Five-thirty,” she said, apologetic now.
“I know. Not exactly primetime.”

Riley shrugged.
“
Makes no difference to me. Bu
t
w
hy
such a fancy place? What’s the occasion?”

“My birthday,” Dawn said reluctantly. “And don’t ask me how old I am ‘cause I’m not telling.”

“Who else is coming?”

“Peter, Walsh, and Jill.”

Peter and Walsh were two of
Riley’s best friends
at the magazine, and Riley frequently went drinking with them. Jill, on the other hand, was not her favorite person. She wrote a regular column that reviewed new African-American owned businesses and liked to behave as though she was a reviewer for Zagat’s, often trashing perfectly good businesses just to exercise her verbal muscle.

“Okay. Sounds good. I’ll meet you all downstairs at five and we can head on over.”

“Perfect.” Dawn breezed out.

Peter showed up at the door of her office at around a quarter to five, just as Riley was beginning to consider whether she should head to the Women’s Room to make herself more presentable for such a trendy spot. With that hair, Dawn was a show-stopper no matter what and Peter, well, here he was looking like something out of a Ralph Lauren ad, as always.

He was a tall blonde, with striking Nordic features; ice-blue eyes a lopsided smile that made him seem perpetually sardonic if you didn’t know him. A former model, he’d come to New York five years ago twelve credits short of his degree in Accounting, thinking that he would attain fame and fortune if he could only get cast for a Bryant Park show. He eventually got to walk for Luca
Luca
and followed that up with several promising assignments and a contract with Ford. But unfortunately for Peter, he’d come to New York at the crest of the demand for ethnic models, and the work quickly ebbed.

So he finished his degree at Fordham and had been working at
Power to the People
ever since. He
had just about aged
out of the high fashion market, but still liked going to places frequented by the fabulous people, so it was no surprise that he would be game for a night at Asia de Cuba.

“Do you think Walsh will ever go out with me?” he asked without preamble. “Because I’ve been throwing myself at him for months.”

“No, I don’t think Walsh will ever go out with you,” Riley said. “Because he’s straight.”

Peter stuck out his tongue at her. “Technicalities.”

“You could always ask Jill. I think she would go out with you in a heartbeat.”

“I occasionally date women, but I never date bitches,” Peter said walking in and perching on the edge of her desk.

Riley pretended to be shocked. “Ouch. You are
mean
. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“So, I heard through the grapevine that you dumped Brian.”

She’d forgotten how incestuous her group of friends was. Tracy’s ex-boyfriend shared a loft with Peter in SoHo.

“I didn’t exactly dump him,” Riley mumbled.

“Really? I heard it was brutal. That you were two-timing him with someone famous.”

Riley looked up. She was going to kill Tracy.

“Now, I couldn’t care less about the two-timing part. I just want to know who the ‘someone famous’ is.”

“You’re such a star-fucker. I’m not telling you a thing.”

Peter laughed. “Ah. Confirmation. That’s fine. Keep secrets. I’m sure it will be revealed in the fullness of time.”

“Maybe. But not by me.”

Peter leaned forward and lifted the tabloid out of Riley’s trash can with two fingers, shaking the remains of her sandwich off.

“You read this rag?” he drawled.

Riley stiffened. If only he knew how close he was to the answer to his question.

“Killing time on the subway.”

“I know what you mean. I am
so
over my commute.”

“Peter, your commute is twenty minutes long, if that. I come in all the way from Flushing.”

“Where is Flushing anyway? I’ve heard of it . . .”

“Shut up!” Riley laughed. “I have the coolest landlords. This great old Korean couple that cooks for me. And if you were dead in your apartment being eaten by your cats, your neighbors probably wouldn’t even call the police to report the smell.”

Peter shrugged. “True enough.”

He flipped idly through the magazine, pausing briefly to consider the photo of a soap actor then re-depositing it in the trash.

“Meet you at the elevators in ten?”

“Sure.”

Riley thought once again about walking over to the Women’s Room to put on lipstick or something, but finally decided against it. What was the point? Despite saying this morning that he would call her, Shawn hadn’t.

She was annoyed about that, but even more annoyed at herself for
caring
. This was not the way it used to be. When she had no expectations, every call from him was a wonderful surprise. Now, since he’d proposed, it was different. Why was she expecting him to behave like a boyfriend? Or worse yet, a fiancée.

Asia de Cuba was, as usual, stuffed to the gills with Manhattan’s ridiculously attractive set at play
.
Actor
-models, model-actors and a smattering of regular folks, among whom Riley counted herself. Dawn, Peter and Jill were in their element; only she and Walsh seemed mildly bored by the whole superficial scene. The drinks were hideously expensive, and the seats at the bar were uncomfortable. Riley glanced at the time. She would leave at seven, when the others would be deciding whether to stay for dinner, or where to go dancing.

“I don’t know why I ordered merlot,” Walsh said into her ear. “I already feel a nasty headache coming on.”

Riley smiled at him sympathetically. 

Walsh was a cute, skinny, dark-haired kid from Long Island who would probably marry his high school girlfriend and live a sweet, uncomplicated life in Great Neck. When she had first come to
Power to the People
he’d asked her out to lunch a couple of times and she’d sensed that with the slightest bit of encouragement from her, he would have tried to make their relationship a romantic one. She’d been careful not to provide that encouragement and they’d instead developed a comfortable, easygoing friendship.

“No whispering,” Dawn demanded from a few seats down. “I know you’re both planning your escape and I won’t allow it.”

Riley and Walsh both laughed.

“I think we’re going to have to make a run for it,” Riley said.

Her phone was vibrating in her back pocket, so she reached for it.  Saved by the bell. Tracy would help her manufacture a reason to go home. Or more likely, knowing Tracy, she would want to come join them.

“Sounds loud. Where
are
you?”

It was ridiculous how light she suddenly felt, hearing his voice.

“A birthday thing. At Asia de Cuba.”

“How long will it take you to get home?”

“I guess I’ll leave in about an hour or so . . .” she checked her watch again.

“So why don’t I just come where you are?”

Her eyes popped open.
“What do you mean come where I am?”

“I’m at LaGuardia . . .”

“Are you serious?”

“. . . so I think it might take me less time to get to Flushing than to Manhattan but if you
can
get home in about a half hour, I’ll
meet you there.
Or if you want, I could
come get you.”

“No, I’m on my way,” Riley was already standing, grappling clumsily at her coat in her haste to get it on.

“Okay.”

“Shawn?”

“Yeah?” he sou
nded exhausted. And he must be.
He had to have left really early – within a couple hours of speaking to her – to have made it to New York already.

“Shawn, I love you.”

The words were out before she could stop them, then she hung up right away, preferring to get no response at all rather than face one that paled in comparison. She looked up into three pairs of curious eyes.

“Who the hell is Shawn?” Peter asked, a smile playing about his lips.

“None of your business, and I have to go.” Riley kissed Dawn quickly on the cheek. “Happy 40
th
birthday! See you tomorrow.”

Dawn laughed. “Oh fuck off. You owe me big for ditching my party, so tomorrow you’re telling me all about this
man
who has you jittery like a schoolgirl
.”

Riley ran out to the curb and had no trouble at all getting a cab.  That was one benefit of these tony nightspots, anyway. The drive to Flushing seemed to take forever and several times she had to stifle the urge to tell the driver which route to take.