Know Her, Love Her: Daisy & Belmont, Book ONE (12 page)

I tap the rim of my glass. I feel the same way. It’s as if he and I are kindred spirits. “You have coffee?” I figure why not throw caution to the wind? Belmont certainly has.

“Plenty, and a fancy machine to make it,” he says.

I hop off my stool and stumble into his chest. He steadies me.
 

“Then let’s go.” I say.

“Goddamn, woman, no more wine for you.”

We laugh. Dexter holds me steady as he pays the tab, then we walk out into the night. He hails a cab, and I rest my head on the seat and close my eyes. A familiar song is playing, and Dexter is singing along. For some reason, I know the chorus. I sing along with him. When I open my eyes, he’s watching me with a smile.

“Who sings this song?” I ask.

“It’s ‘Baby Come Back’ by Player.”

“Jacques used to play this, and a million other songs I know the lyrics to. But I don’t know who sings them or the title.”

“Then you should’ve been better at karaoke.”

I groan. “Don’t remind me of that stupid pastime.”

“You hate it that much?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, guys like to see beautiful women like you murder a song. It makes you seem mortal.”

“So is that what karaoke’s all about? Taking the edge off?”

He chuckles as the car turns down a most enchanting street. “It can be an aid to getting laid.”

We laugh as the car stops, and we slide out. The iron streetlamps are old-fashioned. The leaves of trees sway over the streets and sidewalks. I’m still woozy. Dexter takes my arm and leads me to the steps.

“One second.” I stop before we reach the top. “Let me…”
 

I want to savor the details. The building is made of white stone. The tall oblong windows, which are upstairs and downstairs, protrude, and the large wooden doors are like the kind in old movies. I notice the lantern-styled light fixtures, the lines etched into the walls, the crown molding, and the cute balconies that are only wide enough to set flower pots and herb gardens on.
 

“Gorgeous,” I remark.

I grab on to the sound of his breathy, “Yeah.”

One by one, I climb the steps. My feet are heavy. Dexter retrieves his keys from his jacket that I’m still wearing. We giggle when he fondles my hip. What a silly night we’re having. It’s fun. Once we’re inside, I plop down on the white leather sofa. Dexter kindles the electric fireplace. My gaze rolls around the room. The floors are hardwood, and all the furniture is contemporary.
 

“Are these the original floors?” I ask.

“That would be a yes.”

“Nice.”

“Should I put in an offer for you?” he jokes.

“Not yet…” I grin and sink deeper into the rigid cushion. “I have to see the bathroom and kitchen first. Maybe you can take me on that tour.”

He rises out of his squat. “You’d move to Chicago and live in this place?”

“No. Yes. Probably not. But I still want to see all of it.”

“I’ll show it to you, but first I’ll make coffee so you don’t stumble down the stairs and crack your head open.” He chuckles and trots off into the kitchen.
 

I hear him banging around. He’s such a nice man. Not only that, but he’s good-looking and hardworking. Why would any woman divorce him?
 

“Belmont is nice too…” I whisper.
 

I think about how he used to massage me from head to toe every night while I was pregnant. He swore it relieved my swelling. When New York City started to cave in on me, he picked up our lives and relocated us to California without a quarrel. He tolerated my pushy mother while I was in the hospital, even while she drove me to the brink of insanity. He never seemed to notice all those unappealing consequences of pregnancy—even the gas. And he made love to me each time as if it were the first.

“Here you go,” Dexter says.
 

I take the cup of coffee from him. “Thanks.”

He sits across from me and gets just as comfortable as I am. “So two days ago you were with your husband, and now you’re not. I’ve been wondering why.”

I figure after he’s saved me from the lonely walk home, gotten me tipsy, and made coffee to sober me up, I owe him the truth. “He cheated on me with an ex-girlfriend. She emailed me pictures just so I could be tormented by visuals.”

“Holy fuck. Ouch.”

“You said that right.”

“I slept with an old girlfriend when my wife and I separated.”

I open one eye. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he says remorsefully.
 

I wonder if he could provide the answer to a question that has been vexing me. “Why did you go back to a previous lover?”

“She was available. Her name was Nadine. She heard I was getting a divorce, one thing led to another, and it happened.”

“Did you think you were cheating?”

He hesitates. “I knew I was cheating.”

“Did you care?”

He rubs his eyes as if he’s tormented by the memories. “Daisy, you can’t compare my circumstances to yours. My ex-wife and I were over. Our differences were irreconcilable. We didn’t take car rides together while we were separated.”

“I guess you can imagine what went on in that car.”

“Oh, I already have.”

He and I laugh. We change the subject and talk about Javar’s latest girlfriend. He was dating a burlesque dancer when I last spoke to him, but now he’s graduated to a ballerina.
 

“He goes through these spurts,” I say. “It’s like, ‘This month I’ll collect dancers and next month fashion models,’ and on and on… I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a creepy collection of stuffed women in his basement.” When Dexter laughs, I realize I like making him laugh.
 

“He wants you though,” he says. “Warning you in advance.”

“I can handle Javar.”

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

“Sure. What?”

“Why does he think he still has a chance with you?”

“Because he’s arrogant! The minute I sleep with Javar, he’ll be over it. I’ve considered doing it just so he’ll move on.” I sigh. “Maybe I will the next I see him.”

Dexter pipes up. “Oh, that’ll make his year!”

After another cup of coffee, I’m sober enough to check out the four bedrooms and bathrooms and the kitchen. The only bathtub is in Dexter’s bathroom, and it’s tiny. But at the end of the showing, Dexter makes me an offer I can’t refuse.

“Why don’t you move in with me while you’re in Chicago? There’s plenty of room, and I could use the company,” he says.

 
“Is tomorrow soon enough?” I reply without hesitation.

A New Place

I move into the brownstone on Thursday. Dexter and I don’t mention our living arrangement to anyone at work. They’ll never believe we’re just friends, and I don’t want to create more tension between the other women and me. My bedroom is big enough. I have a view of the tiny courtyard and a stone cherub that spits water out of his mouth. I don’t have a bathtub, but the shower is large enough and has ceramic tiled walls. I like it.

Kristin already has prospects for our new host. I notice that every time Javar’s name is brought up, she rolls her eyes slightly, so I ask Dexter if she and Javar ever had a thing. He confesses that they were together for a year, but Javar cheated on her with all her attractive friends. They broke up before he could get his hands on Emma and Kate. Suddenly the behavior from the women on our team makes more sense. Dexter and I finalize the first script while on a conference call with Javar, who invites himself to town next week when Dexter informs him I’m staying at the brownstone.

“Why?” I ask. “The advance team is going to in Paris next Thursday. Aren’t you the director?”

“Daisy, I’ll see you on Monday,” he says in his English accent before hanging up.

Dexter chuckles on his way out the office. He stops at the door. “By the way, I have a date tomorrow night. Do you have any plans?”

“Oh… do you want me to go somewhere so you can be alone? I can go back to my parents’ place.”

“No.” He appears bothered by what I just said. “But do you have plans?”

“No.”

“Do you need company? Because I can reschedule.”

I fling my wrist. “No way. I’ll be fine. I’ll veg out on TV and popcorn or something.”

“Is that what all the beautiful women do on a Saturday night? Why don’t you come hang out with us?”

I look at him askew. “Are you seriously inviting me to be a third wheel on your date?”

He opens his mouth but then closes it. “That would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

“If you’re trying to get laid, it would.”

He sniffs a chuckle. “Never mind.” He walks away.

On Friday, we receive word that our four episodes have been cut to two. So we meet as a team and choose Malta as our second destination. Kristin and I work late into the afternoon, completing the shooting script. She doesn’t digress from the task at hand, which I prefer. Before calling it a day, I watch the new host’s test shoot that Kristin emailed me. His name is Scott Whistler, and he’s an archeologist and world traveler. Kristin did a solid job casting him. He’s obscure enough. He’ll win the audience over with all the things women like about men and men like in their irreverent, unflappable adventurer.
 

Unlike yesterday, I leave work by myself. It’s a half an hour walk to my new home. The evening is warm, and bulbous clouds usher in the humidity. The sidewalks bustle with people returning home from a day at work or wasting away some hours.
 

I’m stopped by a traffic light and take the opportunity to switch on my cell phone. I’ve had it off since Tuesday. It dings and buzzes with messages. I look over the list of callers: Dexter, Maggie, Dexter, Maggie, Maya, Angel, Maya, Angel, Mom, Jacques, Unknown, Unknown, Mom, Maya, Mom, and Belmont. I gasp and force myself to try to feel an emotion that’s fleeing. Could it be love? Perhaps it’s trust.
 

People bolt across the street before the light turns green, and one guy narrowly misses colliding with a car. I listen to Belmont’s message as soon as it’s time to cross legally. He says my name and that he’s sorry, then he hangs up. He sounds miserable, and that doesn’t make me happy. If only I could get over it.
 

I stop at the market to grab a few salads, a bag of popcorn, and some fruit. I greet some of the neighbors who are walking their dogs before I lock myself inside for the evening.
 

I go to my bedroom, strip out of my clothes, and slip on Belmont’s oversized Martha’s Vineyard sweatshirt and a pair of knee-high socks. The house is icy because the air conditioner has been on all day. I turn it off. I wrap my hair in a bun, climb in bed with my salad and popcorn, and flick through the TV.
 

I end up watching a show on Showtime that links into the world of Bram Stoker’s
Dracula
. As soon as the episode ends, I find the series on On-Demand and watch all the other episodes. The content is perfectly gory and suspenseful and keeps my mind off Belmont. I also try to catch up on this season of
Game of Thrones
. Belmont and I watched the last season together, never missing an episode. I fall asleep before I complete the season.
 

Much later, I hear a girl giggle and the front door slam. My eyes expand. Did Dexter bring his date home? Thank goodness there’s a bathroom attached to my room. I take a shower, brush my teeth, and crawl back into bed. I close my eyes but reopen them as soon as I hear the sensual sound of a woman moaning. Dexter is definitely pleasuring his date. The noise doesn’t bother me.
 

A memory makes me smile. Charlie, Angel, Maggie, and Vince once joined Belmont and me in Martha’s Vineyard for an intimate New Year’s gathering. At the end of the night, we retired to our rooms, which were too close for comfort. Angel was the first to cry out, then Maggie. Belmont and I were pretending we weren’t on the outs, but we made love that night too. When he made me come, I came hard, and I screamed. Charlie grunted. Vince grunted louder. Belmont just yelled. Then we all started laughing. We always have the best time together. It would be a shame if the six of us ever allow breakups to tear us apart. I fall asleep right after Dexter grunts.

My cell phone chimes and wakes me but only halfway. I fall back asleep as soon as the chiming ends. A while later, someone else calls. I flip over and continue dreaming about something that makes no sense. Then there’s knocking.

“Hey, sleepyhead?” Dexter says.

I have to force my eyes open. I turn to see him standing in the doorway, fully dressed.
 

“Hey?” My voice is scratchy.
 

“It’s after twelve.”

I clear my throat. My head hurts. I groan and hide under a pillow.

“Are you okay?” Dexter asks.

I reemerge. “I don’t know.” I press the back of my hand against my forehead.

“Let me do it.” Dexter puts his hand next to mine. He looks serious about the examination. “You’re fine.”

I roll my eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Doctor.”

“You’re not hot. So you’re not sick.”

Actually, I feel better already. “You brought your date home.” I flex my eyebrows.

“Were we too loud? Sorry about that.”

“Believe me, I’ve heard louder.” Then I groan because I remember something. “I have to go to Jacques’s performance tonight.”

His eyes expand. “Jacques Blanchard is playing in Chicago tonight?”
 

“Yes, and surprisingly, he asked me to come. He never does that.”

“Do you need a plus one?”

I balk. “Really?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Well, sure, but aren’t you taking the girl you brought home last night out on a second date?”

He drops his face and snickers. “Not tonight. Are you hungry?”
 

“Starving.”

He tilts his head. “You’re not going to ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

“Who I was with?”

I shrug. “It’s none of my business.”

“It was Melissa.”

I gasp. That wakes me right up. “Our Melissa? You like her?”

“She’s cute.”

“Well, you’ll definitely see her again.”