Cosmopolitan Girls (6 page)

Chapter 11

Hanging by a Thread

The sound of my clattering heels running up Troy's front steps could be heard a mile away. By the time I reached the door, I was breathless but happy and excited. Troy thought we were going out to dinner, but I had a better plan. Chinese takeout and a romantic evening at home.

His house had been the last fixer-upper to be sold in the quaint tree-lined Brooklyn Heights neighborhood. I called it his work-in-progress. Troy was still slowly pulling it all together, but I didn't care how it looked, as long as I was with
him.
And lately, that's all I'd been wanting.

Troy was expecting me and left the door unlocked. I collected myself and walked through the unfurnished house, carefully stepping over the workmen's gear scattered about. I could still hear the shower running. I quickly moved around in the kitchen grabbing plates and silverware, then rushed up the narrow staircase that connected the kitchen to the rooftop patio.

From Troy's Brooklyn Heights view, Manhattan's twinkling Lower East Side glistened off the not-so-distant East River. Troy stepped onto the patio with a big grin on his face.

“All this for me?”

“Yep.”

“Any special reason?”

“Just because . . . ”

Troy grabbed my hand and led me away from the table. I was facing the full moon as he slipped behind me, taking my forearms and stretching them out to the sides. The warm summer evening breeze ran over me.

Troy's large fingers fumbled with each delicate crystal button on my silk blouse. He turned me around and kissed my lips with his full mouth and lingered on the dimple in my chin, eventually making his way down to my breasts. He smiled. My Chantilly lace bra revealed just enough for a good imagination. “Firm, yet supple, like small ripe grape-fruits, ready for the picking,” Troy teased sexily, making me giggle.

He unhooked my bra and it floated to the ground. Then he unbuttoned my slacks, kissing the natural curve of my belly as they slid over my hips. He pulled me close. While touching my thighs and buttocks, Troy lifted his sweatshirt over his head, exposing his soft torso. My eyes met his tanned skin that still glowed from St.-Martin. He was all mine. Life couldn't get any better.

“You make me so happy, Troy,” I whispered softly.

“Baby, so do you.”

“No.” I looked at him seriously. “I mean happier than I've ever been in my life.”

“You're a good woman, Lindsay. I'm lucky to have you in my life.”

I was overwhelmed with emotion. Could I have finally found my dream guy?

“I could stay with you like this forever,” I hinted. Suddenly, my pager went off and I knew it could only be one person, Robert.

“Let me guess,” Troy said with disgust.

“No, it couldn't be, it's too late,” I said, looking at my watch.

“What's new? Why would tonight be any different than any other damn night.” My pager buzzed again. “Just answer the damn thing!” Troy demanded as he stood up and walked into the house.

After I finished my call, I made sure I turned both the two-way and cell phone off. I couldn't afford any more interruptions.

Troy was seething as he downed his glass of Merlot. He felt, as always, that Robert intentionally interrupted us just to test his manhood. He tried his best to cover up his insecurity. But for months now, he's been referring to us as a threesome: me, Robert, and him.

At times like this, I feel conflicted. I want Troy to understand. Women don't normally have someone with stroke in the business looking out for their best interest.

“So, did you handle your business?” Troy said sarcastically. His voice echoed in the large empty room.

“Robert just needed some quick info.”

“
He
needed? I'm sick of what he needs. You're mine after work hours, on weekends and holidays! He's pushing my buttons and disrespecting me by intruding on my territory!”

I poured on the charm, and another glass of wine to calm him. “I promise to talk to Robert first thing in the morning. I'm gonna tell him he better stop, before I have my man beat him up!” I teased, kissing Troy's neck, his weak spot, making him give in.

Troy gripped my thighs. His fingers snatching hold of my panties, pulling them down. I clawed his back as he carried me up the small winding staircase. Troy laid me across the futon. I felt for Troy. The silky wetness between my legs excited him. He grew harder and larger. With each thrust, I became more and more overcome with emotion. I loved this man and wanted the world to know. I couldn't stop shaking as I started to come down. Troy quietly grunted with satisfaction. He wrapped his arms around me, as if he would never let go. My whole life I'd dreamed of being held like this.

“Troy?” I said, burying my face in his chest.

“Yeah, L?”

“I just wanted to tell you how much I . . .” I paused. My heart was moving faster than my brain and I couldn't believe I was about to tell Troy those three magic words. A sudden fear of rejection made me rethink. “I love being with you.”

“Me too,” Troy mumbled, half asleep.

The next morning while Troy finished dressing, I paced the kitchen floor, rehearsing my memorized lines. I wasn't going to let another day go by without telling him.

Troy was concentrating on shots and angles for his first national commercial in L.A. He stuffed his camera lens and other last-minute items into a leather duffle. If I didn't say it now I might not have the courage again. A horn blew. The car service was outside waiting. I poured a cup of coffee.

“Troy?”

“Yeah, L?” He was patting his jacket pockets. “You seen my cell?”

Pointing to it on the counter, I grabbed his arm with my free hand.

“I'm really going to miss you, Troy. I'm so proud of you getting the Nike campaign.”

“Thank you, baby.”

The car horn sounded again. “Baby, I gotta go.” I clenched his arm. “Troy, I just wanted you to know,” I swallowed hard, “I love you.” Troy froze. He leaned down slowly and kissed me on the forehead like a puppy, and whispered, “Don't forget to lock up, Lindsay. I'll call you.” Troy walked out, leaving me standing in the kitchen, clad only in my underwear, holding a piping hot cup of coffee.

I struggled desperately to hide an oncoming anxiety attack. Frantic and unsure thoughts bounced around in my head, while butterflies danced a light salsa in my stomach. I checked my phone, no messages, and nervously ran my fingers through my limp hair.

My behavior all boiled down to Troy. I hadn't seen or heard from him since the morning I told him I loved him almost two weeks ago. I chalked the first few days up to the possibility that I'd simply scared him. How could he just kiss me and walk out the door like nothing happened, like I'd just said, “Looks like rain today, better carry an umbrella.” Not even a “Thank you very much, but no thanks” or a “Gee, what a nice surprise.”

I hadn't been able to get him or that day off my mind. I've even tried to bury myself in the Alix Alexander project. Robert keeps catching simple mistakes in the script that I should've noticed, but I'm distracted thinking about Troy. I haven't had much sleep, and I've got to pull it together.

Today's staff meeting had been a disaster. I excused myself and ran out of the conference room midsentence in front of my entire department.
How could that be?
Lindsay Bradley was always in control, a perfectionist. Thank God I was hidden behind the walls of my cubicle and no one could see me cry.

I peered out from my Times Square perch. New York was a living, breathing museum. Neon flashed even in broad daylight. Everything moving in various directions, the bird's-eye view seemed to be a splattered patchwork of Basquiat. But the sight was somehow soothing for my troubled mind. Today, I wanted to be an unknown piece of the human jigsaw puzzle below too.

I'd left messages for Troy at work, home, and on his cell. I even had a crystal bowl of floating white roses from the Daily Blossom waiting at his office the day he was scheduled to return from his shoot. Whatever was going on with Troy, I couldn't call again. Damn it! I could hear Robert's footsteps heavy and sure coming toward me. I tried to arrange myself in a more confident posture. The look in my eyes was far from the commanding certainty I normally felt.

I'd left Robert to clean up the mess from the meeting, and he was furious. He whipped around my cubicle wall.

“What the hell was that show all about, Lindsay?”

“I'm sorry Robert,” I stuttered.

“Sorry? Listen, if you weren't ready for this kind of responsibility you should've told me a long time ago.” He didn't care that the entire staff could hear him yelling.

I stiffened, hoping I wouldn't be completely humiliated. “I want to,” I said, clearing my throat. “I mean I
am
ready.”

“Well, act like it!”

Robert's words were trapped in my ears like standing water. I couldn't hold up any longer. My mouth felt like sticky gauze on an open wound. Robert turned his back to me, facing outside, and continued his rant.

“You've been off your game for over a week now. If I have to step in and do your job, then you don't need that nice big check I'm paying you each week,” Robert growled.

What I really needed was some water, but I was afraid to get up for fear both legs would give way.

“Is it something in your personal life? Do you need time off?” he drilled, though I felt a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“Robert, I'll get it together,” I said, trying my best to get my words out.

“Then you better dig in and do just that. It's about focus!”

After that I swear I didn't hear a word he was saying. I think he was preaching one of his favorites. Sermon #202 about the goals of the company and the responsibilities of its executives. My brain felt like it would implode at any minute. I really needed some air.

Robert stopped ranting, looked down, and suddenly noticed my state. “Lindsay are you all right?” His slightly weathered face zoomed toward mine. “Can you hear me?” Robert said, shaking me. “Somebody bring her some water,” he barked.

I snapped out of it. The last thing I wanted was for the paramedics to come. “I'm okay,” I said, squinting.

Robert placed the glass of water gently in my hands. I couldn't gulp fast enough. I cleared the lump lodged in my throat.

“I swear I'm fine. I think I'm just coming down with the flu, and need to go home.”

Robert softly patted my shoulders and helped me up.

“I don't want you driving. Take a car service and call me if you need anything.”

I made my way into the ladies' room and ran my fingers through my hair again, shaking the morning out. I rinsed water over my face, pursed my lips, and frowned. Two vertical lines cut between my thinly arched eyebrows. I tied my hair in a high bun, and collected myself for the last time.

Chapter 12

The Village

I was twenty minutes late meeting Kyle on Sixth Avenue in front of Pizzeria Uno—what's come to be our regular meeting spot since Kyle started helping with my wedding errands. He thinks I don't know why he chose this location. A few blocks south are the basketball courts, and in the summertime on most days you'll find Gotham's best selection of men there. Kyle is always on time and since his subway exit is right across from the courts, he can sneak all the eye candy he desires. I'm sure that's why he always gets here extra early.

I was speed-walking up the block. Kyle gave me an exaggerated glare.

“I'm so sorry I'm late, Kyle,” I said apologetically.

“Save it, I'm PMSing, Miss Honey, and we've got way too much to do, so let's move it,” Kyle said, switching off up Eighth Street, dragging me along.

“Remind me again, Bridezilla, exactly what are we looking for today?” Kyle asked, checking out the male flavor walking about.

“Gifts for my bridesmaids. I want them to be one of a kind, something you can only find in New York.”

“Sounds like a job for the flea market on Fourth Street,” Kyle declared.

The flea market was an open lot full of vendors that sold just about everything from T-shirts, CDs, and antiques to jewelry and bongs. You name it, they've got it. The best part about the market is that most of the vendors make their own merchandise. And—one of the beauties of New York—the price is always negotiable!

“Charlie, you're going to love me. I think I've found what you're looking for,” Kyle said, holding up a handmade black beaded ring with a ruby-colored center.

“Look at how elaborate the detail is,” I said, putting it on.

“Look at the others.” Kyle pointed. “They're similar but no one ring's exactly like the other.”

“Kyle they're perfect!” I grabbed seven rings. I only needed six for my wedding party. I had a thing for one-of-a-kinds, the extra one was mine.

“How much?” I asked the vendor. When she said six dollars each I was tempted to haggle, but the craftsmanship was worth so much more. I was already getting a bargain.

“Great! I'll take all of them.” I gladly paid her. “Thank you, Kyle!” I grabbed Kyle by the arm and kissed him on the cheek.

“You're welcome. Lord knows I couldn't handle another diva episode.” Kyle rolled his eyes at me.

We headed to our favorite, Frutti D'Mare. It was a cute sidewalk café with a traditional Italian décor that made it both romantic and friendly. Their antipasti and lasagna made you say to hell with a low carbs diet! We were regulars, so the hostess seated us quickly.

After our main course and second glass of wine, I felt it was time for me to come clean with Kyle. Part of this meeting was to find gifts for my bridesmaids. The other part was to get some advice. Something had been bugging me all week, a problem I hadn't told anyone yet.

“Kyle, I want to talk to you about something. But promise not to get all dramatic,” I said, shooting him a serious look.

“I promise. Talk to me,” he said.

I took a deep breath and started. “Someone has been playing on my phone. At first they called and just held the line, or hung up when they heard my voice. But lately they've gotten really bold. Yesterday when I answered, the woman called me a bitch and hung up.”

“Humph!” Kyle said, giving a disgusted look. “Go on,” he said, insisting I spill it.

“Well, I think it has something to do with Michael.”

“You know damn well it has something to do with his sneaky ass!” Kyle rolled his head and neck.

“Kyle, you promised,” I pleaded.

“I'm sorry but I knew he would do this again. I told you, once a cheat always a cheat!” Kyle loudly whispered.

“I said I
think
it has something to do with him. I did not say I
know,
” I retorted, signaling him to lower his voice.

“Yeah, just like you didn't know two years ago,” Kyle huffed.

“Yeah and I kicked him out!”

“For one day!” Kyle reminded.

“I never had proof, and besides we weren't engaged then,” I said defensively.

“So what's that supposed to mean?” he questioned. I was silent. “That's what I thought. All I want to know is what are you going to do?” Kyle folded his arms.

“First, I'm not going to assume.”

“Does the number come up on your caller ID?” he drilled.

“Yes, and I think I wrote it down, too,” I said.

“Good! So, when are you going to call it? Or do you want me to call the skank?” Kyle said, challenging me.

“See, I knew I should have kept this to myself.”

“No, because deep down you know that Michael is not the one for you. I've told you this before. You're my girl so I've tried to be there for you. You know I never trusted the—” Kyle was in rare form.

“Kyle, chill!” I said, cutting him off. “I'm still marrying the man and you're going to be there. So don't say anything you might regret.”

“Fine, but you better call that damn number. And think about this: if you find out he is cheating, are you still going to marry him? That's all I want to know!” Kyle said, waiting for my answer.

“Like I said, it could be anybody,” I said, avoiding the question.

“That's not what I asked. I asked, if you're right are you going to marry him?” Kyle wouldn't let it go.

“Kyle, of course not!” I answered, not quite sure if I was being honest with Kyle or myself.