Cosmopolitan Girls (7 page)

Chapter 13

A Little Color in My Life

I'd done a decent job getting things back on track in the office after what happened last week. At least, a good enough job to fool Robert. After work, I needed to keep my mind occupied. I figured I'd catch a sale. There were bills to pay, but considering my mental state, one or two bills might have to wait. I had retail therapy to do.

Fifth Avenue's marvelous display of Tiffany, Gucci, Prada, and Cartier was a playground for the wealthy. Although I wasn't wealthy, it was cool to dream.

Henri Bendel's always felt like Christmas to me, even on blazing summer days, decorated with its glistening, shiny cosmetic counters.

I made my way to the scarf case. I wanted to feel pretty. And there they were! Yellows, reds, blues, oranges, purples—silk and Chanel! I quickly yanked my scrunchy off, tying the scarf pirate style with my hair hanging beneath. I stood at the mirror, pleased. I whipped out my wallet and gladly paid the petite, stylishly dressed saleslady behind the counter. She handed me the signature brown and white striped Bendel bag.

I strutted out regally through the oversized doors. Sometimes all you need is some color in your life . . . and some sisterly advice.

“Hello? Faith, it's me Lindsay. Hold on, I'm calling Angie.”

I clicked twice, connecting all three of us.

“Hey Angie, it's me and Faith.” I couldn't wait to let loose, but Angie beat me to it.

“Mama asked me if I'd spoken with you. I told her that I left you a message
three
days ago. I knew you'd call sooner or later,” Angie scolded.

“Tell her, Angie!” Faith said.

“Would the two of you shut up and listen. This is my dime and I really need your advice!” I shouted, forgetting I was on a public street. “I've got issues!” I was about to have a meltdown all over again.

“It's about that man you're seeing?” Angie smarted.

“Troy hasn't hurt my baby sis, has he?” Faith questioned.

“Y'all, I haven't heard from Troy since I told him I loved him the morning he left town to go on his big shoot.” My voice trailed off. I was embarrassed.

“What!” they screamed.

While Faith ranted, Angie just kept the “Umph, umph, umphs” going.

“Lindsay, it's cardinal rule number one not to tell a man you love him before he says it to you. I know how you like to be in control, but let the man be the man. Put a cap on your emotions and let him take charge. You need to let Troy start making more of an effort and if he doesn't, so what! A man will come. Just concentrate on your career.” Suddenly, I heard a loud crash in the background. “Hey! I said cut it out. You are too big to be jumping on his back like that!” Faith yelled, shattering our eardrums. “Don't have kids! Y'all, I've gotta go, my husband's home. Love you and remember what I said, Lindsay.” Faith hung up to rush to her son's rescue.

Angie kept right on talking. “Anyway . . . Lindsay, I can understand why you told him you loved him. Believe me, all the fancy gifts and sweet talk. Humph! That man just has you turned out on his game. Forget about him! But I gotta get to Boy Scouts. Call me later. Love you!”

“Love you too,” I said, disconnecting the call.

I heard both Angie's and Faith's messages loud and clear, but their advice was easier to hear than apply.

Just as I looked up, a taxi came to a screeching halt and out jumps Troy's friend Paris. Paris is sexy in an earthy kind of way, with short dreads and full beard. He greets me with a muscular hug and I decided to pass on the available cab to chat. Maybe I'd get a clue about what was going on with Troy.

“What's up, Lindsay? You look great, as usual,” he tells me.

“Thanks, you're looking pretty good too,” I say as I give him a coy grin.

“My boy T did his thing landing that Nike commercial. That's some major paper.” Paris was obviously in a talking mood and I intended to take full advantage of it.

“Yeah, I'm proud of him.”

“Me and a few of the boys took him out to celebrate last week when he got back from L.A. We got faded!”

Troy always complained about Paris's big mouth, but I was appreciating it this time. “Oh, that's nice.” I hope he couldn't tell I was getting a bit nervous.

“Great to see you, Lindsay, I'll tell T I ran into you,” Paris says and gives me a hug good-bye.

“Yeah, you do that,” I said, serving up a fake smile and wishing I had a magic wand to do an abracadabra and vanish.

Chapter 14

A Train: Next Stop Reality

I'd waited weeks for my 4:30 meeting with Miranda but it was worth it. I was prepared. Everyone else on the account had gotten a bonus except me. I was going to go in there and come out with everything I deserved, or I was headed straight for Johnnie Cochran's office.

“I'm sorry, Charlie. I totally forgot to e-mail you. Miranda needs to reschedule,” said Miranda's assistant, Karen, barely looking up from her computer.

“Karen, you pass by my office every time you go to the ladies' room, couldn't you have told me earlier?” I was getting the runaround, and
she
knew that
I
knew Miranda was purposely dodging me.

“I'm really sorry, but Miranda has already left for the airport. She has a meeting in L.A. tomorrow.” Karen was the gatekeeper and there was no sense in battling.

“Fine, then can you please put me in for her next available appointment?” I said, trying to collect myself.

“No problem, but I have to speak with Miranda first,” Karen said, expressionless.

I dragged myself back to my office and, when I opened the door, saw that Kyle was waiting inside.

“What are you still doing here?” I asked.

“How did the meeting go?” Kyle gave a concerned look.

“It was canceled, long story. What's up? You look like something's wrong.”

“Listen, Charlie, I know I was hard on you about Michael. Don't listen to me. I'm just bitter about my own shit,” Kyle said, hinting he had a problem and needed an ear.

“Why don't we walk to the subway station together and we can talk more,” I said, closing my office door. Since my big meeting had been canceled, why shouldn't I leave a little early?

As we made our way to the train, Kyle told me all about a man he'd met online. They had e-mailed back and forth for a few weeks and finally decided to meet.

“So I show up but there's no mystery man. I told him what I would be wearing and gave him a description so that he could find me. But I think he saw me and decided I wasn't fine enough so he left,” Kyle said disappointedly.

“You do know it's his loss,” I said, giving him an encouraging squeeze and a kiss.

“You think?”

“I
know.
”

“I knew you'd make me feel better! Ooh, I swear, Charlie, men are so shady out here. I think that's why I was so quick to jump on Michael's case and I was wrong. You've got a good hardworking brother, because honey, I've seen the way he treats you. Flowers and everything.” Kyle stopped and grabbed my hand. “I wish I had a man like Michael.”

“Kyle, I know Michael loves me, but that doesn't make him innocent.” I started thinking about the harassing phone calls again and all the double shifts Michael had been working lately.

“Trust your gut, but don't get sucked into my bitterness or anybody else's. If Michael is doing wrong, karma will catch him. Okay!” Kyle gave two finger snaps and a circle.

“You're right about that, and don't worry, Kyle, your Mr. Right is out there, and you'll find him,” I said as we reached the subway station.

“Yeah, well, in the meantime you go home and make love to that man of yours. Get a yell in for me too, honey!”

“You're a character!” I laughed as Kyle blew me a kiss.

I ran down the subway stairs, feeling and smelling the blowing wind, a sure sign that a train was coming. I skipped the last two steps and landed solidly on both feet. A jazz trio played a spicy “Girl from Ipanema.” The tired booth operator wearing a bright blue wig popped her fingers to the beat. I breezed past, tossing a handful of loose change into the musician's money hat, because he was doing the song proud. I quickly slid my Metro card through the machine, amazed it worked on the first try. I pushed through the dull chrome turnstile and jumped onto the platform, just as the doors of the A train opened.

“Yes!” I said, squeezing myself into the train. The patrons were packed in like sardines.

Hopefully, there wouldn't be any train delays, and I would beat Michael home, take a shower, and cook his favorite meal: pan-fried chicken breast, homemade mashed potatoes, and French-style green beans. Thank God I remembered to defrost the chicken.

“Next stop . . . Utica Station!”

The muffled mixture of the conductor's voice and heavy static blared from an old worn-down intercom. The newly renovated station, freshly painted in red, black, and white, was coming into view. I was pressed up against the doors. When the subway car stopped, I flew out, running up the steps.

“Renovation my ass! How about putting in a friggin' escalator!” I announced. My heart was beating so fast I had to rest for a minute when I got to street level, but I was rejuvenated by the thought of the much-needed lovemaking session I was planning for my baby and me. I decided to stop wasting time and energy thinking about a bunch of unvalidated suspicions. I smiled and headed home.

“Damn it!” I yelled, dropping my keys, rushing to get inside. The apartment was still. I turned the lights on. It was just like I had left it that morning, immaculate and intact. “No kids, no kids, no kids!” I chanted as I ran into the laundry room, peeling off every article of clothing except my bra and panties, and throwing them into the corner hamper.

I'd had one hellacious day. I walked into the kitchen, automatically opened the refrigerator to pull out the chicken. Hell no! I stopped myself and reached for a beer instead. Yeah, one of Michael's favorites, Heineken. To tell the truth, I didn't feel like cooking a damn thing. I popped the cap and took a hard swig. What the hell am I breaking my back to be Donna Reed for? It would be nice if Michael offered to take me out to dinner for a change, or run me a hot bath after a rough day at the office.

I plopped down on the sofa, still in my underwear, and polished off the entire beer. The more I thought about Miranda having the nerve to put me off for the fourth damn time like I'm unimportant, the more I wanted to go and get another beer. I decided against it. Beer got me drunk fast, and I was already feeling a little buzzed.

Michael would be home soon. At least I hoped he would. He'd been working
a lot
of overtime and needed a hot meal, me too for that matter. Cooking helps me release tension, anyway. Instead of having another drink I'd take my anger out on the pots. It was final. I would get in that kitchen and cook us up the best damn dinner we've ever had.

I threw the pots and pans onto the stove. I was good at multitasking, so while the food was cooking, I rushed back into the laundry room and finished undressing. As I turned to exit the room, I took a moment to notice the cute but tiny space. I smiled, thinking back to the day Michael walked me in here blindfolded, and when he removed the blindfold, surprise crept over my face, from ear to ear.

Michael had turned this nothing, cubbyhole of a room into a walk-in closet haven and laundry room. Before I left for a long weekend in Buffalo, I saw a floor display at Bed, Bath & Beyond and fell in love with it. It had a mesh wall and hanging racks, a canvas hamper, and lots of utility shelves. Michael copied it exactly. He could be so thoughtful when he wanted to.

I took a long hot shower so I could be fresh for my baby. I was looking forward to a little tootsie rollin'. The food was done and I set the table. I slipped into one of Michael's favorite Victoria's Secret teddies, and topped it off with their signature pear body spray. The house was lit with scented candles, and the bed was fitted with satin sheets instead of the usual cotton. I laid down across the bed in a sexy come-and-get-it pose, rehearsing how I was going to look when my man walked through the door.

I was interrupted by the ringing telephone.
Let the machine answer,
I thought. But what if it was Michael?

“Hello?” I said, putting my hand on my hip. I just knew it better not be Michael calling to say he was working another double.

“You must think you're really special? Well you're not, bitch!” my stalker threatened.

I hurried and dialed star sixty-nine, but was defeated when I heard the recorded operator politely say,
“The number you are trying to call cannot be reached by this method.”

What is going on? I clenched the phone tight. I adjusted the tension in my neck and shoulders. This is some bullshit. I hung up the phone and leaned against the wall in frustration. I didn't need anything else fucking up my day. Who kept calling? And did the calls have something to do with Michael? Before I let my mind go completely wild I realized that I was tired, hungry, and in desperate need of some loving from my man. The thought of the much-needed lovemaking session with Michael quickly rejuvenated me. I decided to pull a Scarlett O'Hara and worry about the phone calls tomorrow. For now, I'd focus on tonight's plan.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I rolled over Michael was in bed snoring! I sat up and looked over at the clock. It was 5:30 A.M. Had I dreamed the whole thing? The phone calls? The cooking? Everything? I got out of bed and went into the kitchen. The table was still set for two, only one plate was missing and the pots and pans were stored away in the refrigerator. I walked over to the sink and saw one dirty dish, a fork, and one glass. I couldn't believe my eyes. I couldn't believe the son-of-a-bitch had had the nerve to eat, and hadn't bothered to wake me up! Couldn't he see what I'd planned? Now that I thought about it, when I woke up I had been lying on top of the sheets, but Michael was underneath them.

I walked back into the bedroom, and stood in the doorway watching Michael sleep. Maybe if I stared at him long enough, I'd telepathically find out what was really going on.

So many questions ran through my mind. Why was this woman calling me?
Who
was the woman who called earlier this evening? What time had Michael gotten home? Why was all this happening right before our wedding? I was suddenly flooded with insecurity as I stared at Michael, who, unlike me, was at peace and asleep. I tried hard, but I couldn't hold back. Tears gushed from my eyes.