New Amsterdam: Tess (8 page)

Hyper but still needing a quick fix, she settles for a can of whipped cream stashed in the refrigerator. Careful not to smear her lipstick, she sprays the cold cream in her mouth and swallows. Replacing the cap to the can, she tosses it back in the refrigerator just as there’s a knock on the door.

Shit!

She takes a deep breath and then unlocks the door. Leaning against the door frame with a cocky smile is Mason, dressed in a white dress shirt and loosened tie. He runs his hand through his chestnut hair, and then guides Thessaly back into the apartment with his body.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” she replies.

Dropping a small white bakery box tied with floss to the floor, Mason presses her against the living room wall and breathes into her hair. “Dessert.”

“My first acting audition as an adult was for an off-Broadway play in the role of Hooker #2. I didn’t get the part.”

Chapter Five

 “But it was good, right?”

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Debating whether or not it was good is a waste of time – it was sex.”

“So it was good,” Seth stresses with a grin.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Seth. We can’t do this – I barely like you.” Meg jumps from her bed, yanking the sheet from Seth to drape around her naked body like a giant cape.

Grabbing his boxers from the floor, Seth slowly stands up and stretches. “Oh, you like me. You like my tongue all over your breasts, and you really like my dick jammed . . .”

“Ohmigod, no.” Meg shakes her head as she darts to the bathroom. Slamming the door and locking it behind her, she shouts, “You should leave.”

Meg lowers the sheet and stares at her figure in the full-body mirror behind the door. She hasn’t worked out in years, and it’s slowly beginning to show. Places that used to be firm and tan are now freckled and flabby. Meg cups her breasts and sighs, watching in horror as her boobs lose their perkiness and her stomach puckers.

“Meghan?” Seth says outside the door.

“Go home, Seth!” Meg snaps.

Starting the shower, Meg waits several minutes before getting in. After feeling the vibration of the front door slamming, she jumps in the scalding hot water to wash away her confusing thoughts.

It was just sex. After a night of mojitos. But Seth is pretty cool. And he likes me. But we work together. And he annoys me. Immature fuck gave me a hickey! We’ll have to forget last night. Can we? The sex was pretty good. And he didn’t seem to mind the cellulite. I need more shampoo. I’ll avoid him for a few days. Maybe he doesn’t like me. What if he ignores me? Fuck, I’m late for work.

Shutting off the shower and drying off, Meg quickly brushes her teeth and runs some gel through her black hair. Even with the recent weight gain, Meg still has incredible cheekbones that are perfect for her pixie haircut.

Rummaging through her tiny IKEA wardrobe, Meg removes a blue and black striped sundress and a pair of white Keds. She lathers lotion on her bare legs, scowling at the ridiculous tattoo that sits on her ankle. She’s been known to tell people that the cherries and skull represent the misconceptions of rebellion, but that tattoo is a direct result of her Rockabilly phase during her sophomore year of college.

Meg applies very little makeup – liquid black eyeliner for her hazel eyes, peach blush for her freckled cheeks, and hot-pink lip gloss for her pouty lips. Fully dressed, Meg grabs the orange juice carton from the refrigerator and takes a big gulp, gagging as the citrus mixes with her minty-fresh breath.

“Bleh!” She spits into the sink. Patting her mouth with a napkin, she then reapplies her lip gloss and bolts out the door to head to her favorite place.

Like Seth, Meg needed a job out of monetary desperation. Raised as a privileged snot in an apartment on the Upper East Side, she’d played the role of darling socialite for eighteen years. But instead of boarding a plane after high school graduation to spend the summer abroad, Meghan Victoria Fitzpatrick chopped off her russet hair, dyed it black, sold her Louis Vuitton luggage, enrolled in theater classes at NYU, moved into a Village apartment with two roommates, and began her adventure as Meg.

Following college graduation, very few auditions called for a sarcastic pixie with a raspy voice, so Meg worked as a ticket agent during the day, and a cocktail waitress at night. It was such a clichéd story, and like every twenty-something single girl in New York City, Meg wanted an original story – a complex narrative fueled by romance and self-discovery.

Trying to find her groove, Meg spent two years living on tips, going on auditions, and sleeping with any man that could offer something in return. Her life was disappointing, and she’d had enough. So last summer, armed with her laptop and the determination to find an adventure, Meg set up an outdoor office in a public space in the Seaport. While padding her thin resume outside a coffee shop, Meg overheard Thessaly and Seth discussing media strategies for The Hive. She’d thought it was some trendy nightclub which piqued her interest, but when she quickly Googled the store, she was presently surprised. She wanted to be a part of this small business, but what she really needed was to be a part of something. Using an aggressive yet creative approach, Meg blasted every social media platform with catchy hashtags about The Hive. She then emailed her resume and a short cover letter directly to Thessaly that read: #hireme.

So it was on that cool summer day when Meg approached their table and said, “Hi, did you receive my email?”

Caught off-guard by Meg’s simplistic beauty, Seth muttered, “What?”

“Meghan Fitzpatrick?” Thessaly asked, looking up from her phone and the dozens of social media notifications.

Meg nodded, pulled out a chair, and joined her new co-workers.

Seth, still unaware of what was going on asked, “What’s going on?”

Smiling, Thessaly announced, “Meghan, welcome to your first business meeting!”

Working for The Hive has afforded Meg with great friends, a new studio apartment, and a potential romance with a stable and doting graphic designer. It’s everything the sarcastic rich girl from the Upper East Side ever wanted – plus all the honey and jam she can physically eat. And just like Seth, in three months, she will own one and a half percent of The Hive as a token of her loyal service.

Leaving her building, Meg places earbuds in her ears and begins a brisk walk. It normally takes her fifteen minutes, but today, eager to be the first to arrive at The Hive, she books it down John Street like a woman being chased. She passes the Beanery, the storefront with the mermaid mannequins, the fresh vegetable stand at the market, and then darts the last block to Fulton.

Outside The Hive, Meg unlocks the door while glancing at Seth’s bike leaning against the window.

Could he be the right guy?

Once inside the shop, Meg switches on the chandelier and props open the screen door.

“Meg?” Thessaly squeals.

Losing her footing and catching her fall on the screen door, Meg replies, “Oh, shit, Tess. You scared the crap out of me. Why are you sitting in the dark?”

Thessaly, sitting at the island with her phone and a pile of Starburst wrappers, pats the stool next to her. “I needed to think, and the sunrise is really amazing from this spot. Here, come sit with me.”

Removing her earbuds and shoving them in her small bag, she sits down across from Thessaly. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk about what happened last night before Seth gets here.”

Flinching slightly at the mention of his name, Meg rambles, “Oh, Seth’s okay, Tess. I mean he’s acceptable. He’s somewhat funny and adequately smart. Last night we just had way too much to drink.”

Confused by Meg’s sudden admission, Thessaly scrunches her nose and asks, “Huh?”

“What?” Meg blushes.

But before Meg can divert the conversation, Seth bursts through the door of The Hive with a Starbucks tray. “Ladies, what’s the topic of chit-chat?” he announces with a cocky smile.

“I’m not sure,” Thessaly replies, analyzing Meg’s body language.

“Nothing!” Meg lowers her head and pretends to scroll through her phone.

Seth places the drink tray on the counter and removes Meg’s iced coffee. Setting it in front of her and gently brushing her bare shoulder, he whispers, “Creamy – just the way you like it.”

Meg squirms under his touch and laughs nervously. “Ha, um, yeah.”

Taking her iced latte from the tray and wiping the condensation with a napkin, Thessaly shakes her head. “Can you two just do it already?”

Seth glances at Meg’s tense shoulders and red cheeks. “I wish, Tess. Meg’s way too good for a guy like me. And I’m completely content knowing I get to see her pretty face at work every day. And on the rare occasion, I get to make her laugh.”

Meg, head lowered, smiles from ear-to-ear. “What did you want to talk about, Tess?” Meg’s voice cracks as she raises her head.

“Oh, God, it’s really silly and insignificant, but I saw Mason last night – at my apartment.”

“You let him come to your apartment?” Seth confirms, pulling up a stool next to Meg.

“Yep, for a booty call.”

“Wait, did you just say
booty call
?” asks Meg.

Smiling, Thessaly teases, “And what do the hip kids of the Village call it these days?”

“Personally, I find that
hooking up
is vague yet classy,” Seth interjects, secretly pinching Meg’s thigh under the counter.

Thessaly arches her eyebrow and complies. “Fine. Mason wanted to hook up.”

“End your sentence with
yo
for emphasis.”

“Mason wanted to hook up, yo!” Thessaly chirps.

Meg and Seth smile and demand in unison, “Continue.”

“So he came by and we messed around a little – but I wasn’t feeling it. Maybe I realized something was missing. Like, where’s the passion? The give and take?”

“Go on,” Seth instructs while chomping on ice.

“He had me pinned against the wall,” she reveals, suddenly ashamed. “Anyway, all I could think about was the need for honey sticks.”

Snickering, Seth asks, “Should I insert a joke now?”

“I’m talking about honey in sticks. They’re treats.”

“I bet they are,” he panders.

“You killed the mood, didn’t you, Tess?” asks Meg.

“Not even close. Mason is tenacious and always gets what he wants. Very few things will stop him.”

“Like?”

“Like, I told him I wanted to date other people.”

Meg laughs while Seth shakes his head. “Lemme guess . . .” he starts.

“Now he wants you, right?” Meg snorts.

“He didn’t want to believe me about the dating, he’s so arrogant, but this morning, he sent me five texts – the five stages of jealousy.” Thessaly reads from her phone in a deep voice. “I love you. We belong together and I was stupid for not seeing that sooner. We have a history and a future. No prick is good enough for you. I won’t wait for you to change your mind.”

Meg’s jaw drops as Seth whistles.

“Wow, that’s some lame shit,” Meg says flatly.

Seth grabs Thessaly’s phone and insists, “Don’t text him back! I want to see how far this goes.”

Standing from the island, Thessaly yanks her phone out of Seth’s hand. “He won’t give up.”

“Maybe you need a sexy farmer with a hankering for ice cream to kick his ass,” Meg suggests with a smile.

“Maybe so.”

Using the iPad to research Shelter Island weddings, Thessaly quickly checks Pinterest to gather a few ideas. She always tries to stay away from cheesy puns when it comes to using her products as gifts, and the best way to avoid clichéd phrases is to show an elegant bride how overused that crap really is.

Aware that her two o’clock appointment arrived early, Thessaly watches as they wander around the store. Overhearing their remarks about the gorgeous packaging of the confections and the exquisite modern design of her shop, Thessaly takes the opportunity to approach the ladies.

“Hello, welcome to The Hive. I’m Thessaly Sinclair.” Extending her arm and motioning toward the island, Thessaly adds, “We can chat over here.” As the women sit with their designer handbags and remove their iPads and folders, Thessaly signals to Meg standing near the register. Taking her cue, Meg heads to the kitchen to retrieve the glorified refreshments.

Smiling and arching her Botox-ridden eyebrows, the wedding planner exclaims, “Thessaly, it is so nice to meet you – I’m Mindy Hollis-Klein. We’re absolutely in love with your shop!” Tapping the island in front of the bride, she adds, “Heather and I were discussing how your honey and jams are like little pieces of art.”

“Thank you,” Thessaly replies, sitting down across from the two women. “I take great pride in my family’s farm – it was only right to share it with the Seaport.”

Meg arrives at the island carrying a wicker tray of warm cornbread, and a sampling of jams and honey. Thessaly places a small plate in front of each woman with a smile. “I hope y’all are hungry.”

Heather’s eyes expand with horror, terrified of ingesting unwanted calories before her wedding. “It smells delicious, Thessaly, but I’ll just have a water with lemon.”