Hidden Gems (11 page)

“The body?”

With closed eyes, she reached for Jamie, hoping that she could still find comfort in his presence. Burying her face in his chest, she said, “One of the burglars is dead. They found him a block away, hidden behind a Dumpster. He was stabbed.”

Three of her girlfriends, Cassandra Richards, Sylvana Ruiz-Dominguez and Trish Spencer, lifted the mango margaritas in toast to Marissa. As they’d been chain-calling since her return from the Caymans, they already knew of the recent developments. The Friday lunch date was the first time they’d had a chance to get together to hear about the details in person. Whether they were more interested in the break and enter or the encounter with Jamie was a toss-up.

“Let’s get down to it,” Cass said, sipping her drink. “How was he?”

Short toss. Marissa plunked her glass on the table, stalling for time. Telling of other conquests, she’d been generous with details. These were her closest friends and she trusted them. Only Trish was a less frequent lunch participant. As the staff attorney for an old-money foundation that specialized in architectural historic preservation, she often handled out-of-town negotiations and contracts.

“Give us the dirty details,” Sylvie encouraged.

Trish’s eyes widened. “Do we get measurements, too?” She was a mousy brunette, more reserved than the rest of them about what she called her unexciting love life. She claimed that her big brother Alex had received all the looks, charm and sex appeal in the family.

“Measurements? Naturally.” There was no modesty about Sylvie, a Latina bombshell. She gestured with her hands, red nails flashing. “We want all the good stuff.” She was the only married woman among them. Seven years and counting, but her sex life was as spicy as they came. “I’m a circumference girl myself.”

And she’d quite openly assured them that her husband, Tonio, lived up to her standards. That had been a conversation to remember.

“Hmm. Let me think.” Marissa gave her friends a sly look. “You know how they say anything over six inches is just for show?”

“Who says that?” Cass demanded.

“Six-inchers,” Trish replied deadpan, surprising them.

The four women laughed gaily, drawing looks from the other patrons of the Upper West Side bistro that was their usual midpoint meeting place for workday lunches. The cast of Marissa’s friends was often in flux, but she’d connected with a group of up-and-coming professionals during her first months in Manhattan and had come to rely on them to supply the family closeness she missed.

Sylvie probed for details. “Did Jamie exceed expectations?”

Marissa smiled. “Let’s just say that on those particular terms, he would give a good show.”

Sylvie stirred her drink, eying Marissa behind a swoop of sleek dark hair. Her lips twitched. “And the width?”

“I’m not going there.”

“Aw, come on,” Cass chided. “Why so discreet?”

Marissa refused with a head shake. “What about you? Tell us how Sam, the cop from Queens, measures up.” Cassandra, who’d always claimed to prefer style over substance, had recently become enamored with a working-class man under the most unusual circumstances—out on a ledge, trying to rescue a Hermès scarf.

Cass pressed her palms to her cheeks, unusually bashful. “No comment.”

“No fair,” Marissa said, but she understood. Part of her wanted to keep the moments with Jamie private and special. But she was also slightly unhinged by the awkwardness between them since the big event. She wanted her friends’ advice. And maybe to boast about how good it was, just a little.

“I’m not bagging on you,” Cass explained. “Sam and I have a flirtation, that’s all.”

“But you’re taking him to the Hamptons this weekend,” Trish pointed out.

“That’s business.” Cass grinned. “At least for him.” Sam Mason was tracking a jewel thief who preyed on the glitterati. Cassandra planned to introduce him to the hip crowd that she’d courted and befriended in her position as a public relations assistant.

“Let’s get back to Marissa and Jamie.” Cass looked around the table. “Although we’re not surprised they finally got together, are we, girls?”

Sylvie nodded with agreement; she’d always been an advocate of letting chemistry overboil instead of keeping it on a back burner, simmering for a rainy day.

But Trish wasn’t so sure. “I expected you to stay the course,” she said to Marissa. “Your mind seemed so made up that Jamie was only a friend. You even set me up with him!”

Marissa had once persuaded her old law school pal Trish to accept a blind date with Jamie, certain they’d be a perfect match. The two had gone out, but the sparks weren’t there. Too much alike, they’d decided, both being brainy, all-around nice people. Trish had reported that Jamie had spent most of their lunch date telling outrageous Marissa stories. She’d avoided examining why, but she’d been secretly pleased.

“I admit it. I was wrong,” Marissa said solemnly.

Sylvie’s head snapped up. “Regrets already?”

“No, I was wrong to insist that he was only my friend.” She sighed. “But I don’t know if making him my lover was wise either.”

“Aw,” Cass said with concern. “Why not?”

Marissa shrugged. “Look at my track record.”

“Mine was no better until I met Tonio,” said Sylvie.

“Not the same. You weren’t friends with him first. With me and Jamie, there are already so many layers to our relationship.”

Trish raised her brows. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not what I’m used to. My affairs are simple and clean. Sex has never been about…” Marissa wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t use the L word. “About feelings.” She put on a shudder. “Feelings. Yuck.”

“Yes, that sounds like pure torture.” Cass was smiling and shaking her head at the same time. “I can’t believe you’re complaining about having a man who truly cares for you. To use your own words—deal with it.”

“You know how that will go.” Marissa made a chopping gesture. Previously, she’d had no problem making decisions about what fit where in the grand scheme of her life. She didn’t like the waffling and hesitation of the past several days.

Trish was shocked. “You wouldn’t dump him!”

A pang bit into Marissa’s midsection at the very thought. “Oh, no. But it’d be nice if Jamie would…”

“Stop inserting colors into your black-and-white world?” Sylvie looked almost smug. She’d said all along that Marissa was too controlled.

“Where does Jamie stand on all of this?” Cass asked.

Marissa thought the question over. “He was leery at first, but now that we did it, he seems happy.”

Sylvie tossed her hands. “Of course! What man wouldn’t be happy? He’s having sex with a hot girl.”

Marissa paused. Sylvie’s comment had given her an opening to turn the conversation back in a bawdy direction. Instead, she plunged on. “It’s me who can’t figure out how to negotiate through the changes.”

“You’ll find a way,” Trish assured her.

Cass, more familiar with Marissa’s tendencies, was less certain. “You know,” she said, treading carefully, “I have a feeling that you’ve been given a shot at the real thing.”

Marissa had the same feeling. That was a large part of what worried her. She had a plan for her life and falling into the L word wasn’t on the agenda.

Cass frowned when she saw the doubt in her friend’s face. “Don’t bollix it up, Mari.”

“Easier said than done.”

Sylvie gave a saucy wink. “Come what may, at least the sex was good.”

“Very,” Marissa said with emphasis. Enough with the angst. She was a woman of action. Even when her actions got her into hot water.

Cass straightened the cuff of her peacock-blue Isaac Vincent shirt. A fabulous wardrobe was the most enviable perk of her job with the couture house. “You never did answer the circumference question.”

Sylvie smirked. “Does he measure up to Tonio?” Her pet name for her husband was El Toro. The bull.

“Hush,” Trish warned. “Here comes our waiter.”

Marissa waved a hand. “Oh, don’t worry. Aleksei’s heard it all before.”

“Indeed. And most of it from you.” Their longtime waiter distributed salads. Only Sylvie, who was trying to get pregnant, had ordered red meat. London Broil, to build up her blood, she said, although she’d always been an inveterate carnivore.

“How did the actual first move happen?” Trish picked up a fork. “It must have been strange. Like kissing your cousin.”

“What’s strange is that it wasn’t strange at all.” Marissa squeezed lemon over her seafood salad. “Jamie came to pick me up at the airport after the disaster with Paul. The moment I saw him, I knew something was different. We clicked in a way we hadn’t before. Not for my part, anyway.”

“Maybe the disastrous vacation with Paul was the impetus?” Cass suggested.

Sylvie nodded. “Rebound action.”

Rebound? Marissa fought against reducing Jamie to that, but there might be an inkling of truth in the comment. Her mood became bleak. “Damn. Did you have to bring up Paul? Thinking of him makes me wonder if I’m fooling myself this time, too.” She searched her friends’ faces for reassurance. “What if Jamie’s just another mistake?”

Before anyone could answer, she went on. “I go around believing my life is under control, that I’m smart, organized, capable. But that’s a lie, isn’t it?” She frowned, giving herself a good hard look. “My bad choices with men aren’t the only clue. Consider the mess in my apartment—it’s like the window into my screwed-up psyche.”

“Your psyche’s not screwed up,” said Cass, always loyal.

Trish touched Marissa’s arm. “We all feel lost and helpless at times.”

“Speak for yourselves,” Sylvie said, but then she relented. “I suppose there are moments when I’m not as together as I like to think.”

“No.” Marissa was on the verge of a full-fledged funk. Perhaps even a wallow in misery. “You’re the coolest women I know. I’m the only mess here.”

“Give me a break,” Cass scoffed. “You know how ditzy I can be.” She looked at Trish and Sylvie. “Did I tell you all how freaked out I was about falling eight stories into a giant air bag? I was only lucky that my G-stringed butt didn’t wind up on the eleven o’clock news instead of cradled in Sam’s hands.”

Marissa swirled the dregs of her drink. “The way I hear it, Sam’s hands were a news flash all their own.” She signaled the waiter. “Aleksei. Another round for my friends.”

“Not me,” Sylvie said. She patted her flat midriff. “Just in case.”

“So we’re not the superwomen you believe,” Cass reiterated after they’d distributed the fresh drinks and munched on a few bites of their salads.

“Yes, we are. We’re fabulous.” Sylvie flashed a huge smile. “Including Marissa.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Trish nodded in her serious way. “Even fabulous women can make mistakes.”

“Preferably enjoyable ones,” Cass said. An obviously fond memory—or prospect—lit up her beautiful face. “Really enjoyable.”

Marissa nibbled a shred of lobster. “Okay. You’ve convinced me. I’ll consider Paul a lesson learned.”

“Ugh, no. That sounds so practical. He was an experience.”

“Then what’s Jamie?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“I think he’s the one,” Trish said sweetly.

Marissa studied her salad as she chopped at it with her knife and fork. Her breath had caught in her throat and was hung up there like an oversize leaf of escarole.

“Wait a minute.” Sylvie angled her head low, trying to see Marissa’s eyes. “It seems to me that if you’re already having doubts—”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are.”

Marissa shook her head. “If I am, they’re doubts about me, not Jamie. I’m the one with faulty judgment. He’s been—” She found her breath, a great gust of it. “He’s everything I should want. Everything.”

“There you go,” Cass said after a moment of respectful silence. They recognized sincerity when they saw it.

Marissa set aside her misgivings. And her mood. “I haven’t even told you about yesterday. I didn’t go into work after all. Jamie was with me for most of the day, setting my house to straights—well, sort of. He got new locks. The apartment’s barricaded like Fort Knox. And he went with me to the local precinct—”

Sylvie interrupted. “I thought you were going to the morgue.”

Trish’s mouth opened. “The morgue? You didn’t tell me that!”

Marissa explained. “They found my intruder. Dead.”

Trish shivered. Sylvie sliced a piece of steak. “You were able to identify him, then?”

“No. I went to the police station and they showed me a creepy Polaroid close-up of his face on a slab.” Marissa’s stomach revolted at the memory and she had to swallow hard. The only dead people she’d seen had been those at funerals, done up in makeup and their Sunday best. Death in the raw had shocked her, especially when she remembered that it might have been her being tagged and photographed. “Since the burglar wore a ski mask when he was in my apartment, I couldn’t help. Still, they’re pretty sure it’s him. The ski mask was left beside his body, and he had a number of cavities, the way I said he did.”