Vanity Fare (27 page)

That’s because I don’t care about him.

Had I said that out loud? His expression hadn’t changed, I guessed I hadn’t.

“Uh, sorry,” I mumbled, not breaking eye contact.

“That’s better,” he said, reaching out and pulling me into his arms. I felt the solid warmth of him, even through the ancient polyester, and his smell—that very masculine scent that had sent me spinning even before I knew what kind of man he was.

“Thanks for coming,” I muttered into his chest, only it came out sounding like “Nkf ffr krfing.” He laughed, a deep rumble that echoed into my body.

After a while, his grip tightened, and I found my right leg moving in between his, his left leg between mine. A perfect fit.

We danced in silence. It felt so good, so comfortable to be there with him. Even though I was full of anxiety about how I felt. Glad to know I put the “moron” in
oxymoronic
.

I also couldn’t avoid what seemed to be happening to Nick. Or, more specifically, to what was happening below Nick’s belt. I’d just registered it when he pulled his body just far enough away so neither of us would be embarrassed. Hopefully.

It still felt comfortable, and now I knew he felt something, too.

When the song finally ended, he pulled away from me, giving my back a last, fleeting stroke. I wanted to lean into him, to pull his face down to mine, but I just stared at the ground. We stood there just a beat too long, and I felt as if there were an electric charge traveling between our bodies. My heart was beating just a little faster, and I almost looked up to say something, but then I felt somebody else bump into me, and the moment was gone.

“ ’Kay, Mol, you’re on!” Lissa poked me in the arm, forcing me to look up into her face. Cheery and cute, as usual. It was a shame she was so nice or I’d hate her.

“On?” I said stupidly, wishing my friend the floor would swallow me up. Nick smiled—was it an “I like you” smile, or just a friendly smile?—then turned and headed for the bar.

“Onstage? For karaoke?” Lissa said, as if explaining something to a very slow person. I acted the part, moving as slowly as I could toward the tiny stage.

All too soon, I was there. Keisha bounded up onto it, holding her hand out for me, grinning that grin I was beginning to despise.

I took her hand and clutched it, hard, allowing her to swing me up onto the stage. There was a wooden three-legged stool on one side, and a microphone on the other. I moved instinctively toward the stool, but Keisha positioned me directly in front of the microphone. The lights were in my face, but I could still see all too many faces peering up at me.

God, make this night stop.

“Don’t I have to choose a song or something?” I asked.

“Nope. Already taken care of. Mr. DJ?”

Mike had replaced Keisha in the booth and nodded at me. Maybe I didn’t like him so much after all.

The opening strains of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” came leaking out of the tinny speakers. Boy, did my friends know me. Despite my tension, I felt a smile creep over my face.

I took one step to the microphone, prepared to sing my version of the ultimate divorce song.

And froze.

My throat wouldn’t let anything out.

I tried. I squeaked a little, squawked some, then took the step back and felt my face flame. I felt my eyes start to well up. I couldn’t even sing in public, for goodness’ sake, what made me arrogant enough to think I could survive on my own, and take care of Aidan, too?

I tried again, and this time, I managed a tiny little quaver. Triumph! I could do it! I opened my mouth wider this time.

And belted out the first few lines, just a little late.

I was just hitting the part about making him leave the keys when he moved into the spotlight.

Hugh.

All scruffy brown-haired no-good cheating sonofabitch of him. Who’d brought my mother close to financial ruin. Who was about to do the same to Aidan and me.

My mouth snapped closed.

Keisha, who’d been below me on the floor, looked behind her. When she swung her head back in my direction, there was a fearsome light in her eye. She darted back into the crowd—was she going to sock him?—and pulled Lissa up to the stage, hopping up next to me, holding a hand out for Lissa.

The music was still going, but no one was singing.

Keisha poked me in the ribs, then gestured for me to start moving. She poked Lissa in the ribs, too, and they both began shuffling in that backup singer lope.

“Sing, woman, sing!” she hissed into my ear. I shuffled toward the microphone. It was time for the chorus.

“Go on now, go,” I sang, making a shooing motion with my hands. Hugh’s eyes widened, and he blinked a few times, fast. I guess I wasn’t too subtle. I knew I was loud.

Keisha and Lissa moved to either side of me, doing the bump, like the popular girls did in high school. I felt confident, exhilarated, pissed off.

What the fuck was Hugh doing at my Freedom Party?

When the song finally wound down, all three of us were giggling onstage, and most of the audience had thrown their arms in the air and were clapping.

I had actually done it! I was free! I
could
do it.

Except Hugh was headed toward me, a determined look on his face. Keisha stepped in front of me, blocking his view. He peered over her shoulder. “Molly, I need to talk to you.”

“Not now, dickface,” Keisha said. I winced at her bluntness. “Can’t you see this is Molly’s night? This isn’t about you, or Ms. California, or how lame you are for getting fired. So go away and leave her alone.” She planted herself in front of me.

Hugh blanched.

“And who the hell told you about it anyway?” she snarled.

We both turned and looked in my mom’s direction. She looked guilty as she saw Hugh and the expression on our faces.

I pushed Keisha away and stepped forward to look into Hugh’s eyes. “No, Keish, I can handle it. I can,” I repeated, making sure she heard my confidence. She moved to the side, leaving me alone with Hugh.

“Is Aidan okay?” He nodded. “So. What’s up?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips. At that moment, if Hugh had said anything I didn’t like, I knew I was going to deck him. It felt good. Damn good.

“Um, well,” he stammered, trying to take my arm, “I . . . I want you back.”

An unbidden wave of relief washed over me. For a moment, I basked in being wanted.

Then I remembered it was Hugh, a man whom I’d realized was weak, shallow, selfish, and not so bright.

“Why?” I demanded. I shook his arm off like he was a pesky puppy begging for a treat.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. His pants, I noticed, were new since we’d broken up. They made his legs look short.

He pulled his hand out of his pocket holding a black velvet box. “Because I made a mistake.” He flipped the box open, exposing his grandmother’s ring and all its beautiful, shiny facets. The ring he’d given me already. But taken back.

I wanted to fall down on the ground and howl, but I knew what I had to do. “No kidding. Just one? I’d count at least each one of the dollars you siphoned from our savings account, the times you made Aidan feel bad for not being just like you, the way you got fired because you just couldn’t cut it, maybe how you didn’t even have the guts to tell me you were unhappy with our marriage. Not to mention how you never took your used water glasses to the kitchen sink.”

He drew his fingers across his brow and rubbed it in that lame “I’m thinking so intently” way he’d innovated in college for especially hard oral exams.

He sighed. Heavily. “You’re right, Molly.” He shrugged his shoulders and spread his arms wide in a helpless gesture. “What can I say? You’re right. But I miss you. I want you back.”

“Why?” I asked again. “What about Sylvia?”

“We broke up,” he said shortly.

“Oh, so you think you can come back and crook your little finger and I’ll make it all better? She dumped you, didn’t she?”

The expression on his face answered as clearly as his words could have.

“I knew it. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t desperate. Geez, Hugh, how do you think that makes me feel?”

He stepped forward, as if to clasp me in his arms. The caress-instead-of-talk ploy had always worked on me before; I guess he thought he’d go for the sure thing.

“I love you, Molly.”

Both of us stared at each other for a moment. In all our years together, he’d never said it. Never. Not when he’d proposed, not when I spent my paycheck on his law degree, not even when I’d given birth to Aidan.

I used to blame it on his upbringing and his heritage—his family just wasn’t that demonstrative—but now I knew better. Bastard.

I stomped on his foot. He yelped, then gave me an accusing glare. “You
hurt
me, Molly.”

“Yeah, well, join the club, Hugh. When you left, I was devastated. I didn’t know what I had done. What was wrong with me. Well, I’ve since found out nothing is wrong with me. I’m a good mother, a good friend, and yes, Hugh, I was a good wife.”

I poked him in the chest, hard. “But I’m not going to be a good wife anymore. I’m not letting you crawl back into my life and push me back into being that insecure person again. Go on now, go.” I finished, pointing my finger toward the door. Gloria herself couldn’t have done it better. I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction, then looked to see his reaction.

Apparently Hugh was as impressed with my dramatics as I was. His mouth dropped open, then he recovered, snapping it closed and taking a menacing step toward me.

“Let me tell you a few things, Molly, since we’re being so open.” He shoved his finger in my face, and I had to resist the temptation to bite it off. “You think you’ve been the long-suffering wife? Well, I suffered, too. Every time I stayed out just a minute later than I said, I heard about it. Not in words, no, you wouldn’t ever go so far as to actually talk to me, but you said plenty in sighs and sad faces and silence. It got so I wished you’d just haul yourself up on the cross and be done with it.”

He had me there. I
had
done those things. I wasn’t proud of myself, but I knew I wasn’t that martyr any longer. “Just go, Hugh,” I said in a resigned tone. “I don’t think there’s anything more to say.”

I turned away from him and walked up to the bar. “Seltzer and lime, please,” I said to the bartender. He nodded, then passed the glass into my hand. “Cheers,” I said, raising my glass to myself. I took a long swallow, then put the glass back on the bar and chanced a look behind me.

Fuck. Hugh was still there, glaring at me. What part of “just go” didn’t he understand?

“Molly,” he said, reaching a hand toward me. His voice was meek, pleading. Did he actually still have hopes of reconciliation? And why would he want to in the first place, given everything we both thought of us when we were together?

“Molly, is this individual giving you trouble?” Simon sounded as snobby and British as he possibly could. I saw Hugh visibly stiffen.

Great. I bet even Gloria Gaynor never had nights like this.

The Ice Cream Man Cometh

Come on, you didn’t think we’d miss something so obvious, did you? Yeah, well, he’s done terrible things, he’s tortured—and he’s got pistachio, strawberry, and chocolate, and that’s just for starters. So pull up a seat at the bar, grab a cone, and enjoy, because for this guy in white, life’s failures are inevitable.

25

“SIMON, I’M FINE.” I PUSHED HIS ARM BACK TOWARD HIS
body. He’d lifted it, as if prepared to sock Hugh in the nose. Not a bad idea, but when it happened, I wanted it to be
my
arm that did the socking.

“Nobody talks to Molly like that.” He cocked his fist again.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I muttered, pushing his arm down again, more firmly this time. “I’m not yours to defend, Simon. Back off.”

“Yeah, that’s right, buddy, you heard her.” Now Hugh was starting to get that caveman tone in his voice. “And she can’t be yours, she’s
my wife
.”

What was next, chest-beating? Maybe one of them would decide to drag me by my hair to their cave. “Look guys, I’m flattered by this whole ‘Me Tarzan’ thing, but I’d like Hugh here to leave, and Simon to understand I can take care of myself. Is that too much to ask?”

They both looked at me dumbfounded. Apparently it was.

I glanced around at the others. They were looking at us all like we were the main attraction at a wrestling event.

Hugh’s face got tight and twisted, like the night before he took the LSATs and realized he hadn’t paid attention in his Kaplan prep course. Simon just shot me a condescending smirk.

“Don’t pay attention to her, Hugh, good fellow, Molly needs taking care of from creeps like you.”

And that’s when Hugh hit him. Right in the arm. Hugh never could aim straight. Simon retaliated by punching Hugh square in the upper chest, making Hugh give this funny little squeak as he bent over. While there, however, he nailed Simon right in the belt. Simon’s eyes got all wide before he kicked Hugh in the shins.

“Stop it,” I yelped. “Stop it!” I tried to separate them and got an elbow in the mouth for my trouble. A strong arm reached in and grabbed me around the waist.

“Just leave them to it,” Nick said in my ear. He pulled me away from the flailing limbs and tucked me snugly against his side. His warm, strong side.

Keep control of yourself, Molly, I said as I felt myself start to lean into him. He kept his arm around my waist and turned me toward the door. “Let’s get out of here for a while,” he said in a low voice. I nodded, hoping neither one of the guys in the Thunderdome would notice.

The air outside smelled great after being inside the karaoke bar. New York City had outlawed smoking in bars, thank goodness, but it hadn’t figured out a way to ban the odor of old beer, ancient Naugahyde, and sweaty bodies rocking out to “Born to Run.”

“You okay?” Nick still had his arm around me.

“Mm-hmm,” I replied.

“I take it that was your husband?”

“Soon to be ex-husband. Yeah. A real winner, huh?”

“Well,” he said, laughter in his voice as he walked me over to a nearby bench, “at least he can take a punch.”

I giggled as I sat down and leaned back against the bench. He sat next to me, his leg right against mine. He draped his arm behind my head. If I leaned my head back, I’d rest it right on his arm.

I pulled my spine straighter.

“Thanks for getting me out of there. I hope they don’t do any permanent damage to each other.”

Nick chuckled. “Judging by what I saw, there’s no chance. Unless bruised egos count as permanent damage.”

“With those two, it probably does.” I sighed. “Man, I have bad taste in men. Wimps, braggarts, and—” I stopped myself just in time.

“Men who say no,” Nick finished. He pulled me tighter toward him with the arm that was around my shoulders. I held my breath, wondering what he was going to say.

“Molly, I—” I looked up into his face. The look in his eyes made me all quivery inside, and I didn’t think that was just because I hadn’t had enough oxygen lately.

He leaned down and kissed me.

At first, it was one of those romance-novel kisses, the kind that’s just sweet in a getting-to-know-you kind of way. His lips were firm and soft and hard and wonderful and every other seemingly banal adjective I’d ever read. It was anything but banal.

And then he gripped my shoulder tighter, pulled me even closer, and went to work.

Man, could he kiss.

He did this swoopy thing with his tongue, gently easing it into my mouth and tasting me, then pulling it back so I was left wanting more. Which, no dummy, I did.

He pulled away completely, then moved back in and licked my lips with his tongue, outlining them in the gentlest, sexiest way imaginable.

Then he moved back in and dove into my mouth, taking possession of it until I felt as if I were going to melt into a little puddle at his feet.

At the same time, his hand was rubbing slowly up and down my arm. The feel of his strong fingers on me made my whole body react until all I wanted to do was to crawl inside of him and feel safe and at home.

It was the most sensual experience I’d ever had, with clothes or without. No one had ever kissed me like that, as if they were making love to me with their lips and tongue alone. It was delicious, it was heavenly, it was—

“Molly, I’m sorry.”

Finished.

I pulled away, moving my fingers up to touch my mouth. My lips were warm from his, my body still tingling in reaction.

“Oh, no need to apologize.” I kept my voice matter-of-fact, even though the effort made my jaw hurt. “Damsel in distress and everything, I know how it is.”

I started to inch away from him on the bench, keeping my eyes locked on the ground. If I looked at him I’d probably burst into tears, and that was the last thing either one of us wanted.

“Molly, look at me.” Did he want to
see
my final humiliation?

I raised my chin and stared him in the eyes. What I saw there made me lose my breath all over again.

His deep blue eyes had softened, somehow, the dark depths showing a level of emotion I’d never seen there before. He was smiling, a rueful smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners in the most adorable way I’d ever seen. He looked sad, and happy, and bittersweet all at the same time.

I was guessing there wouldn’t be a speedy resumption of the whole making-out-on-a-bench thing anytime soon. Rats.

“Nick, it’s fine, really.”

He placed his fingers—his long, knowing, sexy fingers—on my chin and held my face still. “No, it’s not.”

Just as suddenly as he had held me, he released me, and he dropped his head into his hands on his knees. I moved back over to him, putting my hand on his back and giving him a tentative rub.

“What is it?” It didn’t seem to matter anymore that I had a mad crush on him and he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—reciprocate. What mattered was that he was my friend, and he was obviously in pain.

He lifted his head slightly and turned it to look at me. “It’s you. It’s me. It’s us.”

I increased the pressure on his back. “Now you sound like the hero in one of those trashy novels I read. Come on, Nick, it can’t be
that
bad.”

He rubbed his hands on his thighs, as if bracing himself for something.

I waited.

“I’m married, Molly.”

“Oh. I guess it could be that bad.” I pulled my hand off his back, as if it were poison. I even rubbed my hand against my pants as if to scrub him, scrub the proof of him, off of me.

Married. Oh, God, I hope he doesn’t have kids. Why the hell wasn’t he wearing a ring?

He got up and stepped away a few paces. I eyed his back nervously. “Um, so want to tell me about it?” Like who is she, where is she, and what were you doing kissing me if you’re freaking
married
?

He turned back toward me. His face was set in resigned despair.

“She’s Simon’s cousin. Distant cousin.”

“Oh.” Was she as beautiful as Simon? As successful? Smarter?

He came and sat back on the bench. I noticed he kept his body carefully away from mine.

“We got involved when I was in England working for Simon’s family’s company. Her name’s Emma, she’s back in England. We separated a few months before I got here.” He leaned his forearms on his knees and stared at the ground. “She was . . . she was cheating on me for years, almost as soon as we got married. I didn’t know it, of course, I was too busy working. When I found out, it was too late to do anything.”

“What would you have done?”

“Tried to work it out. I’m not a quitter, Molly, I married her believing it was till death do us part. I’m also not a cheater. We’re still married, I still owe her the honor of treating her respectfully.” He cleared his throat. “But since I’ve been here, I’ve been . . . dealing with a few things.”

Ah, the therapist. No wonder. He went on, “And kissing you, getting involved with you, is not honorable, no matter what my personal feelings are.”

Of all the men in the world, I had to fall for the one who most resembled a Japanese warrior. Great. Why couldn’t he have been just a little more caddish?

Oh, but then he’d be just like Hugh.

“Okay. Thanks, I guess. But why didn’t you tell me before? Why aren’t you wearing a wedding ring, the universal ‘stay away’ signal?”

“Mol?” Keisha poked her head out the bar door. I heard the unmistakable sounds of “Like a Virgin” escaping from behind her. Was that
Lissa
singing?

Her face cleared when she spotted me, then she seemed to recognize the look on my face, because she started to scowl.

“It’s fine, Keish, I’ll be back in a minute.” She nodded, threw a menacing glare at Nick, then withdrew her head back into the bar.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t find out who she was seeing until I got here.” He blew out a deep breath. “It was Simon. And when I found out, I flung the ring somewhere, I don’t know where it landed.”

“Ouch. I thought you said he was her cousin?”

“Distant cousin.”

“Not distant enough, I guess.” My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh, sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.”

He laughed, then took my other hand in his and laid both our hands on his thigh. “No, you should have. That’s what I lo—like about you, Molly, you say what you think. I don’t think you could lie if your life depended on it.”

“No. I stink at poker, did I ever tell you that?” And that my hand is on your thigh, did you know that, too?

“You didn’t need to.”

“So I’m still confused. Even if it was Simon—”

“Simon asked me not to say anything. It’s over, it was over between them within a few weeks, apparently.” I wondered how he could stand to continue to work with the guy. He must have heard my unspoken question. “I owe it to the company, if not to Simon, to keep working with him. A lot of the employees in Simon’s company have invested their own money in opening this shop. They believe in Simon’s talent.
I
believe in Simon’s talent, for that matter. And if word got out that two of the principals were involved in such a messy drama, our company’s future would be in jeopardy. I couldn’t do that to my employees or to Simon’s family.”

I felt my mouth drop as I looked at him. “Wow, you really are honorable. Just warn me if you’re going to do that falling-on-a-sword thing, okay, because I don’t like blood. It’s hard to get the stains out.”

He chuckled, then gripped my hand more tightly. “There’s more to it than that, too, or I would’ve told you. It’s—it’s complicated.”

“I should be going back.” Because if I stayed out here any longer with him, I would probably do something pathetic, like beg him to kiss me again. Or haul off and hit him. Or both.

“Molly, wait. I’d like to take you out to dinner before I head back to London. I leave in about a week. Is Tuesday night good with you?”

Tuesdays with Scary again. Only this time it’d be Tuesday with Soon-to-Be-Leaving-the-Country-and-Taking-My-Heart-with-Him.

“Tuesday night.” I rose, somewhat shakily, and walked through the door without looking back.

“What’ve you been doing out there,
girl?” Keisha asked with a leer as I staggered back inside.

“Nothing, unfortunately.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Really? Coulda fooled me. When I saw you guys before, he was looking at you like a starving Irishman eyeballing a pile of corned beef and cabbage.”

“Keisha, for goodness’ sake, can’t you just use similes and metaphors like a good liberal arts graduate? Jeez, Louise, it’s all that carpenter’s fault.”

She gave a satisfied smile. “
All
his fault, yes indeed.”

“I bet you guys think you invented sex, too,” I said in an undertone.

“What was that?” she said.

“Nothing,” I replied with a smile. “So anyway, what did I miss? Did Hugh and Simon finally settle their differences?”

“Yeah, Simon jumped on Hugh and kneed him in the back. Lissa pulled him off, and she and Hugh left out the back door. Apparently Hugh didn’t want to see you again.”

“Yeah, well, the feeling is mutual. So Lissa is still out there with him? Should we call her?”

Keisha waved a hand. “Girlfriend can take care of herself. Besides, Hugh’s no threat, right?”

I thought of Hugh’s penchant for Waspy blondes. I thought of how he wasn’t nearly as smart as he thought he was, and how Lissa wasn’t nearly as dumb as she thought she was.

“No. No threat at all,” I said with a smirk. Just to be safe, though—“Hey, John, you wanna go out and make sure Hugh and Lissa are okay?”

“You okay?”

Keisha pushed her head out from under Aidan’s ancient Thomas the Tank Engine quilt. She’d left Mike at an old college friend’s house after the Freedom Party so we could have some time to ourselves. We’d stayed up until 5:00
A.M.
, but a Lifetime on Aidan’s Schedule meant I was up bright and early at eight. I’d given Keisha the courtesy of sleeping until nine. That’s the kind of friend I am.

“Mmpshglk,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“I brought you coffee,” I chirped, handing her a cup.

“Thnkkkssshu,” she replied, grasping it with unsteady hands. She took a big sip. “So you gonna call Nick today?”

She would not let up. “We went over this last night. No, I won’t.”

She shrugged. “Whatever you want to do, hon. It’s your funeral.”

I gave her a smirk. “No, it’s my Freedom Party.”

“A Freedom Party where your soon-to-be-ex got his butt kicked. That was pretty sweet. Too bad it was Simon, though. You were totally right about him.”