Just a Number (Downtown #1) (2 page)

Keep this under wraps, but it appears the merger is eminent. We will talk tomorrow as I am going to be in meetings all day. We will get through this, I assure you. Not to worry.

Suze

CEO, Woodland & Associates

The rest of my emails paled in comparison. Upcoming
eminent merger
. The email sounded casual, but the word
merger
threw me for a loop. I couldn’t shake it from my thoughts as I proceeded to manage my clients’ accounts and requests throughout the day.

Late afternoon my intercom startled me with a buzz. “Ms. Dane. Line three. Thumbelina.”

I swear to God, our human resource manager hired the dumbest receptionists ever. This one took the cake, she never got names correct. “Tomasina, I think you mean.”

“Uh… that’s what I said,” she replied then clicked off abruptly.

Shaking my head, I lifted the receiver. “Hey, Thumbelina.”

“What the hell… Is that what that dipshit heard this time?” Laughing, she continued, “Let’s go grab a drink. My
tomkat
is in need of a good stiff one.” Not sure if she meant a cock or a cocktail.

Tomasina and I had been friends since we were ten years old. Though we both went off to college, we remained friends and saw each other often. She lived in a historical apartment off Hollywood Boulevard and took the train in a couple times a week. She worked in her family’s jewelry booth over on Hill Street when she wasn’t in their upper floor studio, creating her own line of jewelry. For a couple of years, she apprenticed under some hotshot designer until she decided to go out on her own with the blessing of her former mentor.

I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks, since she had been traveling with her brother in search of gems for her latest collection. I needed a Tomasina-fix. “I’m definitely in. Where shall I meet you? What will you be wearing, so I can recognize you?” I laughed.

“You’re an ass,” she remarked. I really wasn’t joking; that girl changed her look so often. There had been many times I had walked right past her on the street.

Once a month, we hit the garment district to add to our wardrobes. She had made few connections with various showrooms where she showed her creations. During market weeks—four times a year, when buyers came to see the latest season’s fashions—she graced them with her jewels and charm. Loving her immediately, they invited her to browse their backroom racks the day before sample sales. Being the best friend ever, she invited me and we religiously popped in to stake our claims.

The last time we went, I was running late and told her I would meet her at one of our favorite little bistros. As I sat at one table, she sat at another for almost twenty minutes until I went to inquire about her arrival with the hostess, and noticed her sitting across the room with a turquoise bob-hairstyle. Just the week before, waist-length lavender hair sat atop of her head. “So… long? Short? Color?”

“If you must know, it is still shoulder length, but messy and jet black. I’ll carry a red rose so you can spot me right away.” We both giggled wildly like a couple of high school girls instead of the thirty-something years
young
women we were. “Actually, I’ll just come by your office. Be there at four.”

“I’m off at five.” Not that I was focused.

“Happy hour. We need to take full advantage.” She was right. I could use some libations—
lots
of them.

“Okay.”

“Okay? That was too easy…” She was right, it was a bit unlike me.

“Don’t ask. Be here on time. I’ll be ready.”

Breezing through my door, like a whirlwind, a few minutes before four, Tomasina, in a fitted, red rose dress, began assessing me. “No. No. No… No.” She unbuttoned my blouse until a hint of my lace bra showed. Whipped out a chunky chain necklace from her oversized purse and held it out to me. Grasping it, without a fight, I clasped it around the back of my neck. “Much better. Now forget the jacket and let’s go.” I took the jacket, but only draped it over my arm. I was sure to need it later.

Making our way to a nearby lounge, we bellied up to the bar to order our, first of many, martinis. Grabbing our glasses, we found a table in a prime location. Meaning, we were surrounded by business men fresh off the job. Of course she got her flirt on, which got us complimentary beverages and appetizers the rest of the night. Men flocked to my gorgeous friend. She loved the attention; was always looking for romance. For
the
one
.

Tomasina was a hopeful romantic thanks to her passion for romance novels. As soon as she could read, she had her nose stuck in a book. The racier novels came when she hit puberty. She started out, like most of us, with Judy Blume’s
Forever.
Spending time with her grandmother, she stumbled on to her collection of Woodiwiss novels. Caught by an older cousin, she feared a reprimand. Instead, she snuck her more adult romance; she was hooked. She was my link to naughty reads.

Although, I was more of a late bloomer. I never started reading them until my freshman year in high school. I remember other girls in my class passing around books with earmarked pages and giggling. My friend took her reading a bit more serious. Wanting to experience the so-called
lovemaking
, Tomasina attached herself to an upper classman, gave away her virginity, and figured out that romance books were fictional for sure. I followed her a couple years later, but at least she had given me a few pointers, and it wasn’t so bad, but definitely not earth-shattering. Of course, that never stopped us. We were boy crazy, always searching for love.

I stopped my search in my third year in college, but that’s a story for another time. Let me just say, it was a full year after graduation before I decided I was ready to jump back in the sack. Equipped with a set of rules, number one being there would be no love involved for me. I didn’t need one man to make my life complete. How boring, right?!

Thanks to life lessons and Tomasina, I had unrealistic ideals about love. And I didn’t need a man leading me to a possible heartbreak. Thankfully, I also had realistic views that dictated how I approached my casual unions with men:

Only fun.

No feelings.

Forever—
not an option

Simple Flings.

There were a few essentials I needed to escape my everyday bustling lifestyle: Yoga, reading, and sex. Though, not always in that order. I was focused and structured in the corporate world; loose and carefree in my personal life. Although, that might not be totally true. I also had rules, restrictions, and limitations self-imposed on my social life.

My lover-of-romance friend had no barriers keeping her from charging ahead into mergers of the heart. Ugh!
Mergers.
I was out to forget about eminent business issues out of my hand. I was out to focus on a hard
acquisition
of sorts. It appeared I could no longer concentrate on anything anymore.

How many martinis had slid down my throat?
I leaned my head on Tomasina’s shoulder and smiled up at her. “I know that look; Lolo has hit the wall.” She pet my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear. “Sorry, boys, time to get the girl home before she turns into a pumpkin.”

“Thumbelina, we have to get a horse to ride home if the pumpkin bursts.” I giggled.

“I forgot to tell you. We’re not princesses. You’re not a princess. You are a strong, corporate woman that writes her own ticket. No fucking fairytales.” With those last words, I remembered her pulling me to my unsteady feet and moving us forward toward the door.

Dash

B
ack in town on business, I dropped my overnight bag just inside the door. Then, I attempted to take a quick, much needed, shower to wash off hours of stale airplane air, when there was a loud thudding on my door. “Hold on. I’m coming.”

“Open up already,” a male voice commanded while continuing to pound.

Throwing open the door, my longtime friend, Trey breezed past to the guest bath. Waiting for him to reappear, I walked into the kitchen and pulled out a couple beers. A few minutes later, he joined me. I held out an opened bottle. Taking it, we clinked them and took a swig. “Oh, that tastes so good.” Setting down my bottle, I looked at my friend who would be needing another beer within seconds. “What’s going on? How did you know I would be here?”

“Have anything stronger?” Trey was not the biggest drinker. I knew something was definitely troubling him.

“I haven’t gotten around to stocking my liquor cabinet just yet. We’re supposed to meet the guys for a drink. Let me grab a shower and change…”

“I can’t wait that long. Let’s go.” He was already heading for the door. Phone to ear, car service on speed dial, he asked for an immediate pick-up. I downed the rest of my beer, put my jacket back on and moved after him, quickly.

Damn!
I swear those cars came out of nowhere.
Stepping outside of my building, a sedan sat, waiting for us. Once inside, I pushed for him to spill his woes. “You want to tell me what is going on?”

“Fuck! Man!” He was running his fingers through his hair, tugging occasionally. He was the most well put-together, polished guy you’d ever see. GQ scientist is what we labeled him, among other things. This was hard to observe. “I only want to say it once.”

“Okay, dude.” I gripped his shoulder firmly. “Let’s get you a shot or two. Then you can spill your shit to all of us.” He just nodded. I swear we drove ten miles instead of seven blocks. I’d never wanted to get to a bar as fast as I did at that moment. I needed reinforcements. I didn’t do the emotional consoling thing. I was the guy that taught you to meditate and push all negative thoughts from your head. If I had suggested that, I’m pretty sure a fist might have flown my way.

Thank God!
Walking through entrance to the lounge, Leo and Rex were easy to spot right away. The demand for them was crucial. One, to talk Trey through his situation logically and calmly. The other, to deter his mind from whatever brought him such misery with games, bets, and debauchery. We all had our strengths and, when we put them together, we made one hell of a team—a force to be reckoned with.

I met my three buddies in an advanced marketing/advertising class. We were assigned to work on a semester project together. We were to come up with a product; develop it, patent it, market it, and sell it.

Putting each of our specialties together, we each took on the task. Leo, a political science major, headed up our legal department, focusing on the copyright and patent part. Rex, an advance graphic design student, designed our packaging and advertisements. Trey, a biochemical engineering nerd, handled the product testing, development, and manufacturing. I rounded out the group with my public relations skills.

After doing all of this, we thought; why not make a real product? And that is what we did. With the help of research students and professional chemists, we put out an all natural, edible erection product. Though we, as young men, didn’t need it at the time, we thought one day we might.

Fortunately, I still do not need the cream, but it can be found in vitamin stores, natural foods, and health shops—mint and cinamint flavors. We have all made a very nice profit over the years, along with the A+ grade we received while shocking our professor and fellow students with our graphic presentation on storyboards. No demonstrations. No animals tested. Trey, along with a laboratory staff, ran test studies.

Trey. That was our focus of the night. It turned out his longtime fiancée had had enough. She wanted the dress and a date to go with the ring he gave her five years ago. He said he loved her; he just wasn’t ready to take the long walk down the aisle of matrimonial bliss. Another man was. Arriving home to his empty house earlier, he found a wedding announcement.

Stephanie Ann Kramer and Daniel Paul Jackson

were married on Saturday before their families and

friends in a civil ceremony in Las Vegas, Nevada

Talk about a fucking sucker punch. Along with the newspaper clipping and her engagement ring, sat a short note. It said that the groom was her high school sweetheart. He had recently contacted her on social media. One of those cheating apps. No. Not the one hacked and blabbed all over the wire. Let’s face it; they’re all potential cheating sites. Anyhow, he told her he never stopped loving her and, if he could, he would marry her on the spot. She obviously liked that idea as she had become Mrs. Daniel Jackson, according to the newspaper clipping. Her last words were:
I’m sorry. I love you. I wish you happiness.
Ironic words for a Dear John note.

Dirt all laid out on the table, it was time for the usual guy pep talk bullshit. Let me just say, we’re all assholes. Even the good ones. It’s our way to cope. To avoid. To sweep our feelings under the rug. Enough said; let the assholisms and drinks fly free.

What a bitch!

Fuck her!

You’re better off without!

There’s pussy everywhere!

She wasn’t right for you!

Good riddance!

I can’t tell you who said which expression. It was pretty much a bunch of rants and repeats of the same words. But you get it; we raked her over the coals. We had his back. He was right. She was wrong. God!—I was glad I didn’t do that relationship shit.