Spin Control (8 page)

"So, have you been to this restaurant before?" he
asked with no emotion.

And I thought Devin was a puzzle.

We shared idle chatter for about 10 minutes more before the food arrived. I picked at my salad, much like I
picked at my food yesterday at the meal with Anna.
What I needed was a hot pizza followed by a hot bath.

After the meal, I reached for my purse and pulled out
a credit card. Michael reached across the table and gently pushed my hand away before searching through his
own wallet.

"What are you doing?" I asked, the fatigue and poor
nutrition from the last day finally catching up with me.
"This was my bet, and I will make good on it."

"You didn't really think I was going to let you pay
for this, did you?" The crease in Michael's head lessened. "Given what you've been through in the last
twenty-four hours, I'd say that you're entitled to a free
lunch, regardless of our silly little bet"

"Let me make you dinner some day"

Michael gave me an interested look and I suddenly
panicked. Even though I was fatigued and famished beyond belief, I did not want to send the wrong signals.
But what was right or wrong at this point? I couldn't
determine how Michael interpreted my proposition.
"Make you dinner" implied more than just a meal in a
city where single men and women could barely tell the
difference between the stove and the refrigerator. "I meant take you out for dinner," I backpedaled. "All in
the name of business, you know. Because I am a cliche
and can't cook" I squinted, trying to read Michael's
expression.

Michael nodded halfheartedly. "Yeah, maybe sometime after work." He summoned the waiter so he could
pay the bill.

I looked down and traced the condensation on the
water glass, which sat next to my nearly full champagne glass and barely touched salad. My main concern now was getting into bed and sleeping. I glanced
at my watch and noticed it was barely 3 P.M. What a
lightweight.

Michael signed the receipt, walked to my side of the
table, and offered me his arm. "Shall we?"

I accepted it graciously, taken aback by the gesture.
The two of us exited the restaurant and waited on the
curb for a taxi.

"How about we share the cab ride?" Michael suggested.

"Do you live by me?"

"No, but I want to be sure you make it home okay."

"It's daylight for at least another three hours. I'll be
fine."

"I don't mind. You seem to have a hard time letting
people do things for you, don't you?"

I had no energy to disagree, though I was sure the
guilt would settle soon.

A cab pulled up, and Michael opened the door. I was
silent for most of the ride; so was Michael. Lunch was
a roller coaster of conversation: We went from jovial, borderline-flirtatious banter to awkward silence, and
back and forth again.

The driver pulled to the sidewalk in front of my
apartment. I dug in my purse, and again Michael offered to pay for the whole thing when he got home.
"Thank you," I said benignly. "I'll see you tomorrow
at work."

I hustled out of the cab, but not before Michael asked
the driver to wait and make sure I safely entered the
building.

I started to walk up the stairs when something commanded me to stop. Uncontrollably, I turned to look
back at the cab. That's when I saw that Michael was
only two feet behind me. Blood rushed to my face.

He feverishly rubbed his sideburn. "I, uh, just take it
easy, and I'll see you tomorrow, all right?" He then
awkwardly patted my shoulder and bounded down the
stairs back to the cab.

Once in my apartment, the first order of business was
to splash some cool water on my face, then to call Anna
for help in dissecting the day's events. And of course,
there was that pizza calling my name ...

I walked toward the phone and noticed that the answering machine light was flashing. No need for voicemail in this household-nothing was as gratifying as a
flashing light indicating someone wanted to talk to you,
even if it was just someone trying to sell you new roofing
or siding. I hit the button and heard that familiar voice.

"Kate, it's Devin. I saw you living it up with that
Michael guy this afternoon. You were glowing." He
chuckled slightly. "Well, I just wanted to say how great it was seeing you again today, and even though it's not
a situation necessarily in my favor, I look forward to
seeing more of you. Take care, babe"

"Ugh!" I screamed. I threw myself on the purple
couch, and that's the last thing I remembered from this
crazy day.

It was definitely getting too old for this, I thought as I
punched the number twelve button on the elevator control panel. How could my beloved fellow New Yorkers
stay up past 11 P.M. during the workweek? I had one
stressful day, passed out before 6:00 P.M., and still
could barely open my eyes enough to find my way to
the bathroom, let alone to work. The elevator jolted
when it stopped at Burton Relations, as did my stomach. I couldn't wait to tear into the bagel, muffin, and
scone I had picked up on the way to work.

Oh, how easy it would have been to stay home. It
made sense to not come in to work; I needed at least a
day away from work to process the events of the previous twenty-four hours. And the fact that there's always
some awkwardness the day after you go out for a workbut-not-really-work lunch with a single male coworker.
You tend to open up about things that wouldn't have been said in an office setting, and then you obsess over
whether you said too much or forgot that you might
have said something incriminating. See, this is why I
needed to go to work, despite whatever reaction I might
get from Michael; I knew myself well enough that I
would gradually become senile if I had that much time
alone with my mind.

So I pulled myself out of bed, took a shower, brushed
my teeth three times, threw on a pair of faded black
trousers and a pale green sweater, and stumbled out the
door without doing my hair or makeup. Or without my
contacts, for that matter. My black-framed glasses with
the scratched lenses and outdated prescription would
have to suffice on a day in which I couldn't open my
eyes more than a millimeter.

It was quite the contrast from yesterday's
appearance-knowing my luck, this would be the day
that a photographer from Glamour would snap my
photo, only for it to appear in an issue with a black bar
over my eyes under the "Fashion Don'ts" column.

I had three objectives when I got off the elevator: devour my carbohydrate breakfast of champions, wash it
down with a pot of coffee, and stare blankly at my computer screen. I wanted to weep when I poured the first
cup. Heading back toward my desk, I almost stumbled
when I heard a distinctive female giggle coming from
Michael's office.

Immediate curiosity struck, and I stuck my head out
the door and sneakily peaked into his neighboring office through the crack where the door hinges meet the
wall. There across from Michael sat an impossibly beautiful blond. She wore a simple white button-up
shirt and red pants, yet she looked stunning. Michael
presumably said something funny, because the woman
giggled again with a toss of her silky, golden hair.

Who was she? She seemed so familiar. She certainly
could not have been Michael's girlfriend-he'd never
mentioned one before, and besides, she seemed too fun
to be dating Michael. I hadn't heard about any new interns coming to work for us. I squinted through my
glasses, trying to get a better look while keeping a low
profile, but that didn't last for long.

"What, are you in cahoots with the paparazzi, Brown?"
Gwen's shrill voice caused everyone within earshot to
turn and look at me. "Why don't you just go in and talk to
them, rather than longingly look at them from a distance?
Hey, everyone, look! We have a Peeping Tammy right
here in our office!" She laughed and walked off.

My face burning, I tried to pretend that I was looking
for a file or a colleague or anything somewhat purposeful, but from the looks on their faces, I was pretty sure
that Michael and the mystery woman knew that I was,
in fact, a Peeping Tammy.

Michael stood up from his chair. "Kate, come on in,
I want you to meet someone"

I was face to face with the blond, who was even more
beautiful close up. She wore but a trace of makeup, yet
she was flawlessly elegant. Despite the unflattering fluorescent lights overhead, her blue eyes still twinkled.
How did I know this woman? Was she a former client?
It hit me just as Michael was making his introductions.

"Kate Brown, Miranda Hamilton." He turned to Mi randa. "Kate is one of our top execs" He then turned to
me. "And Miranda is-"

"A real, live movie star, right here in our humble offices," I interrupted as I extended my hand for a shake.
"It's great to meet you" That was one of my weakest
salutations, I'll admit. I didn't know much about the
"celebrity-types," as Gwen so affectionately called
them, but Miranda was everywhere, and even I couldn't
claim ignorance on this one.

"Well, thank you for the kind words." Miranda
sounded genuine, but then again, she was an actress, I
reminded myself.

"So, what brings you here?" Please don't say you're
a client of Michael's, because Gwen will be so excited
that she will quit today and hand the reins over to him,
and poof, there goes my promotion.

"Actually, I'm in town about to start a shoot. Michael
is an old friend from his days in L.A., so I decided to
pop in for a little visit." She turned to Michael, who
beamed with pride.

What was with all the "old friends" that kept appearing in our office? First Fox Underhill, now Miranda
Hamilton?

The three of us stood in silence for a moment. "Well,
I should get back to work, or at least start work. Late
morning, I guess." I stumbled through my words.

"Oh, yes, Michael filled me in on the shenanigans of
yesterday afternoon"

My head snapped toward Michael, who was tracing a
sheet of paper on his desk. I could not believe it he's
telling someone who's a complete stranger to me about who knows what. I continued to stare at him, and he
continued to awkwardly trace. "All good things, don't
worry," Miranda smiled brightly at me, as if reading my
thoughts. "Listen, Kate, would you like to join Michael
and me for lunch?"

"I'd love to, but I have a Hot Pocket in the freezer
that's been loyally waiting for me the past few days"

"Well, then, I insist that both of you join me for dinner tomorrow night."

"We can't," Michael spoke. "We have another event
to cover."

We did, indeed-our first outing with Devin, a fundraiser for a children's cancer hospital.

"Then we definitely have to work something else
out," Miranda said cheerfully.

"Definitely," I mimicked. If nothing else about my
job, I have learned to read all the niceties that go along
with the business.

Excusing myself, I went back to my office and immediately dialed Anna's cell. "Hey, it's me. You busy?"

"No, but in a little while I'm actually heading to
Bloomie's for a launch of a new makeup line. What's
up?"

"Tell me what you know about Miranda Hamilton."

"Miranda Hamilton? I hear she's great!" Anna practically cooed. "I guess she used to do Broadway here
occasionally, and this city just loves her. Hollywood
loves her, the public loves her. She just seems really
down to earth, from what I hear and read"

"Well, then, you'll be happy to hear that I met her
today"

"No way!" Anna sounded like a thirteen-year-old
girl who just saw the New Kids on the Block centerfold
in Tiger Beat. "How? How did you meet her? I am doing my best to disguise my envy, you know."

"She actually is in the office right now. She's meeting with Michael-an `old friend' from Los Angeles."

"Uh-huh," Anna said knowingly. "Old friend. We
know what that means."

"Exactly what I was thinking. I want to know how
Michael dated someone like her. Okay, so he isn't that
bad-looking, but come on"

Anna chuckled. "Ooh, somebody's jealous!"

"You've got to be kidding!" I fired back.

"Then why do you even care what their relationship
is?"

"I don't. It's just that..

"It's just that, what?" Anna challenged me.

"It's just that I don't get it, and I don't like it when I
don't get it."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself," Anna mumbled.

"I heard that!"

"So, would it be in poor taste for me to ask you to introduce me to her?"

This is where Anna and I greatly varied. She was
star-struck-she got her sticky little paws on every
tabloid and magazine that mentioned any sort of
celebrity. I, on the other hand, never enjoyed that scene,
despite the fact that my career sometimes put me in
those situations. "She invited me out to dinner with her
and Michael tomorrow night."

"Ohmigod! You're going, right?"