Cosmopolitan Girls Page 8

  Michael started talking fast as he took me by the hand and pulled me close. “The woman is making my dream, our dream come true. I thought you wanted this for me, for us. You know I’ve always wanted to start my own construction business. If all goes well, I could be signing a lease right before the wedding.”

  Part of me really wanted to believe him, but my anger had me convinced he wasn’t capable of telling me the truth.

  “I’m telling you, baby, it’s not what you think. I love you and I’m going to marry you. Why in the world would I jeopardize that?” Michael pleaded.

  My mind was pounding with uncertainty. I pulled away, stormed into the bedroom, and slammed the door behind me.

  “Yeah, right, whatever!” was all I could say.

  Chapter 17

  Come Again?

  I walked out of Robert’s office invigorated. He had approved the pilot script for Alix’s show. Once I get the pilot shot, I’m going to spring it on Robert that I want to jump into the producer’s ring. Just then Robert called out.

  “Lindsay! The writer did a great job on the final draft.”

  I stopped, and he caught up.

  “Obviously you’re feeling better?”

  “Yeah, it was just a bug,” I answered, praying we wouldn’t have to relive my near breakdown.

  “Just make sure you stay healthy. This show’s going to be incredible. I need you feeling a hundred percent from here on out.” Robert gave me a reassuring look.

  Three o’clock rolled around and the words on my computer screen began to run together. I kept thinking about Troy and Randy. How could I have allowed “it” to happen with Randy? I was branded with my very own scarlet letter. I never wanted to speak about it, think about it, or bring it up again. Suddenly, my line lit up.

  “Lindsay Bradley,” I answered.

  There was a long pause.

  “Hello?”

  “Lindsay, I need to see you. I know it’s late, but have you had lunch yet?” It was Troy. I was elated, oblivious to his strained tone.

  “I’ve eaten already, but I can get off early to meet you.” I made myself instantly forget that Troy hadn’t called in weeks. For him to ask me to leave the office, it had to be important. I hung up, and quickly wrapped up for the day.

  We had been sitting at the Empire Diner for over twenty minutes. Troy barely hugged me when I arrived, and I watched him eat his entire meal practically in silence. I was stuck on weird, and the Empire’s cold metal-and-chrome décor, and the hard leather seats, made me even more uncomfortable.

  I was about to bite my nail when Troy reached over and pushed my hand away from my face. His familiar touch lightened the mood and I felt better.

  We exited Empire. Troy’s hand was on the small of my back. I inhaled deeply. It was good to have him back. He stopped midstride and turned to me, lifting my face in his hands. I braced myself. He was finally ready to say the long-awaited words. I pictured myself standing in his kitchen telling him I loved him. Now I was going to finally hear it from him.

  “I felt myself falling in love with you a long time ago, Lindsay.” My heart danced with delight. If only he would just hurry and tell me now. Troy’s words flowed with ease: “But I discovered you aren’t the one for me.”

  “What are you saying, Troy? Where is this coming from?”

  He cleared his throat and tilted his head. The sun hit his eyes and they sparkled something devilish. “Look, Lindsay, we can stop the games.”

  “What games? What are you talking about?” I was dazed.

  “I know you slept with Randy.”

  The earth dropped from beneath my feet. Troy had found out about it. The “it” I vowed to forget. He was trying to be calm, but his anger hung from the edge of his tongue like an icicle.

  “You know you really hurt me. I trusted you, but now I’m done. We’re done, Lindsay.”

  I felt as if my body had cracked into a million pieces.

  “Hold on . . . please, no, not like this. You don’t understand. Please, Troy.” I tried to explain, but couldn’t. My tongue swelled up. I was fighting back tears. Troy touched my hand. I was numb.

  “There’s someone else I should’ve pursued a long time ago, but I got sidetracked with you.” He let go of my hand. As angry as I was, pride wouldn’t let me cry. My heart pounded faster and faster. I looked up. A taxi was headed toward us. “By the way, Randy was right. Your intentions were always impure. He told me from the beginning it wasn’t going to work out,” Troy said, flagging the taxi.

  Troy opened the door and I grabbed his arm, making a last-minute, desperate plea.

  “Randy’s full of shit, Troy! He told me the same thing about you! Don’t you see, Randy wants what we have. Please just let me explain,” I stammered.

  “You’re the one who’s full of it. When you told me you loved me, I admit I didn’t know how to handle it. I went to my boy for advice. He said that you did the same thing with him. I wanted to prove him wrong, so I told him to test you. Test what we had. You failed.” Troy started to laugh. “All this time I was so worried about you and your boss. I never thought it would be Randy. Damn, some bitches don’t have any self-control.” Troy served me one too many low blows. I was fed up.

  “To hell with you, Troy! Randy told me you’ve been screwing Robin and everything else with two legs! Yeah, your boy Randy told me all about it. So don’t give me a holier-than-thou speech!”

  Troy couldn’t believe his boy had ratted him out. His face puffed up with anger. “Hear me loud and clear, I’m never going to let a bitch come between me and my boy,” and with that he got into the cab and disappeared.

  I felt my chest cave in. He had called me a bitch twice in several minutes. The world circled around my head. My legs felt like Jell-O. I don’t know how I did it, but I raised my hand and hailed another cab. I slid in and miraculously got out one word, “Uptown.”

  The smell of curry and Middle Eastern spices filled the backseat. Then Eartha Kitt’s famous growl reminding New Yorkers to “Grrrr! Buckle up!” pierced through the rear speaker. New York cabbies had jumped into the twenty-first century with state-of-the-art celebrity safety messages. However, they were annoying. Listening to one on a good day could drive a sane person insane. So you know what it could do on a day like today!

  I felt confined in the cramped backseat, and I was going to lose it for sure if I didn’t get out fast. “Stop the cab!” I screamed, banging on the Plexiglas partition with my fist. The taxi had only gotten a block away from the diner. I opened the door as the wheels came to a halt.

  “What you doing, crazy lady! You pay!” The driver was going ballistic.

  “Pay for what? You didn’t take me anywhere!” I screamed. I gave him the very unladylike middle finger, yanked my purse up, and jumped out, but not before scuffing my shoe and ripping my panty hose. The cab driver burned rubber, and flipped me off too.

  I started feeling sick to my stomach. Then suddenly, just as I was thinking my guardian angel had failed me, a gypsy cab barreled around the corner of Twenty-third. Thank you Lord, I silently mouthed.

  I dove into the backseat. No prerecorded corny messages about buckling up from Bernadette Peters, Alan Alda, Joan Rivers, or any other TV, Broadway, or movie star. The cab zoomed up Tenth Avenue.

  I couldn’t believe all this was coming down on me. It was unfair and Troy wasn’t being held accountable for anything. Randy was devious and calculating but I had to give it to him: he played his game well. I never saw it coming. I clasped my hands to keep them from shaking.

  Chapter 18

  Watch Where You’re Walking

  It’s time for Miranda to show me the money! And stop giving me the runaround with these bogus appointments.

  I marched right up to her. “Miranda could I please have a minute of your time? It’s important.”

  Miranda looked down at her diamondstudded Rolex. “I’m sorry, Charlie, today isn’t good. I’m leaving early, but why don’t you set something up with K
aren for later in the week.”

  “Miranda, every time I set a meeting it’s canceled. I can’t help but feel you’re avoiding me,” I said, looking her straight in the eyes. Before Miranda could respond Bob, another executive, walked over.

  “Miranda, they’ve changed the location of the meeting. It’s now in SoHo. If we’re going to be on time we’ve gotta leave now.” Miranda turned to me. “Charlie, trust me, I’m not avoiding you. You and I will sit down soon, promise.”

  After she hurried off, I looked down at my humble Nine West wristwatch that I’d gotten on sale. I decided I deserved an early day off too. It was high time to spend some quality time with the most important person of all: me.

  The revolving doors of the towering office building in which I worked swept me out into the clusters of tourists that Rockefeller Center attracted all year ’round. I quickly high-stepped it past the cacophony of international dialects and chatter. Emerging from the sea of bodies, I finally reached the southern border of Central Park.

  I almost forgot how Central Park West stretched for what felt like an eternity. But it was all good. My eyes played from building to building along the skyline that formed a backdrop to the park. Lost in my very own Manhattan rhapsody. Appreciating architectural details along the way was a habit I picked up from Michael.

  I figured out two avenues down that I was just around the corner from Michael’s site. Spending time with myself is one thing, but the tempting thought of seeing Michael is another. Fact is, I missed him. Maybe I could snag him and treat him to a snack, as a peace-offering, since he was working another double today.

  I hate fighting with Michael. He’s stubborn and so am I. Since the fight we’ve barely said two words to each other. One of us has to back down, and since I’m the one planning our wedding it might as well be me. We have entirely too much at stake. Not to mention I’m horny!

  In no time I’d made it to Michael’s site. I saw his boys, who had been over to the house for dinner many times. I’m getting all hot and bothered just thinking about seeing my man all sweaty in his construction gear.

  “Hey guys,” I said, waving to the group of workers and looking around for Michael.

  “Charlie, long time no see. How are you?” Phillip, one of Michael’s oldest buddies, was short with a potbelly. He stood out next to the other workers’ buff bodies.

  “I’m fine, how’s Kathy and the kids?” I asked, as my eyes searched the area.

  “She’s fine. I’ll tell her that you asked about her. You’re not looking for Michael, are you?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Is he on break?”

  “Charlie, he’s not here. I think he took the rest of the day off.” Phillip looked uncomfortable; he wasn’t a good liar.

  Michael was busted.

  “Oh yeah, that’s right. How could I forget. Okay sweetie, listen, you and Kathy have to come by for dinner soon,” I said, covering up my anger.

  “You got it!” Philip couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

  I couldn’t wait to get to the nearest pay phone. I had a cell, but unlike her, I’m not dumb enough to actually call from my own phone. I pulled out the piece of paper that I’d been keeping in my wallet. As I punched in the numbers, I could hear my heart beat. After two rings she picked up, laughing. It was one of those stop-playing-you-know-I’m-ticklish laughs.

  “Hello?” It was her all right! I would recognize that damn French accent anywhere. “Hello?” she repeated. I hung up and was ready to vomit.

  My gut was telling me that Michael hadn’t been working double shifts like he claimed. Instead, he was off tickling some French hoochie. I bet she knew it was me calling and wanted to make sure I heard what a grand old time she was having with my man. That bitch!

  After several blocks of me cursing Michael for all he was worth, I needed to stop and take a break. The cute pair of shoes I had on were definitely not made for walking. Thank God there was a restaurant across the street from where I was standing. I peeked in to see what the crowd was like, and one glimpse of the hard-body bartender was enough to convince me. The Shark Bar was definitely a good rest stop.

  How do I look? I thought, giving myself the once-over. I was wearing a slim skirt that complimented my odd body type—top heavy, slim waist and small buttocks. I always hated that as a sista I didn’t have that infamous “onion.” Ya know, a booty so robust that it could make men cry. I gave myself a little pep talk and traipsed my butt right into the Shark Bar.

  Taking a seat at the bar, I got the best view of the bartender. It was going to be nice having this handsome male specimen all to myself. I felt like getting into a little trouble.

  “Hello sexy, my name is Charlie. Can I have a Midori sour,” I said, giving up my best come-hither look.

  “Well, hello Charlie, I’m Stevie, I’ll be right with you,” Stevie returned, with an infectious smile. His smile had me wishing he’d jump right over the counter and take me. I was enjoying being bad today.

  Stevie’s serious concentration while preparing my drink reminded me of a pharmacist: the way he carefully measured and added each ingredient into the tall glass. His clothes weren’t tight fitting, but the curves and cuts of his body were still apparent. I wondered if he was devoted to a woman just as much as he was to the gym?

  “Thank you, handsome.” I was really feeling myself today, as Kyle would say.

  “That smile of yours is irresistible, Miss Charlie. And you’ve got those big eyes. They kind of remind me of Diana Ross’s smoldering sophistication in Mahogany.”

  Stevie was giving me a taste of my own medicine. I was blushing all over and didn’t even have a comeback.

  “Lucky man, whoever he is,” Stevie said, tapping my furnished hand. Yep, he was definitely messing with me now. I looked at my ring, wishing I had the courage to throw it and Michael away.

  “My treat,” Stevie said, winking at me. It was good to know that if I decided to leave Michael and get back into the singles game . . . I could still play.

  Chapter 19

  The Meeting

  Once the gypsy cab hit the Fifties I jumped out. In the aftershock of Troy breaking up with me, I needed to walk. Twenty blocks later I was exhausted. I decided to stop at an herbal tea store to get some St. John’s Wort for my nerves. The sign simply read: Chinese Teas and Herbal Healing.

  I entered the store, and a tiny Asian man rushed to greet me.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked with a heavy accent.

  After he handed me my package of tea, I noticed a display advertising natural alternatives to medical treatments. “Do you have any teas or herbs for multiple sclerosis?” I wanted to send Faith a care package to let her know I was thinking about her.

  “I have just the right tea for you,” he said, disappearing behind the curtain that separated the store from the stock-room.

  When he returned, he handed me a small brown bag filled with a special tea. I also grabbed a pamphlet from the tea-maker, Hanna’s Herbals, in case Faith ever wanted to order directly from them. I handed him the money and thanked him as I exited and continued on my way.

  The Shark Bar was only one more block away, at Seventy-fourth and Amsterdam. It was a terrible contradiction, after my stop at the herbal store, but I need a drink, bad!

  The bartender, Stevie, was great, and he made a mean Cosmopolitan. My drink, the drink of all drinks. Stevie was Puerto Rican and fine. Sexy and bald with a wild tiger tat on his left shoulder, and cut. His six-foot stature had him looking like a model fresh out of a Dolce & Gabbana ad. The cool thing about Stevie was how down to earth he was. He had a great sense of humor, and he didn’t get in your business like most bartenders. He just focused on making a good drink that got you super drunk, but he would crack on you if you skimped on a tip.

  I hadn’t seen Stevie in a while. Seeing him would be a thrill and my mouth was watering. I could taste his Cosmo walking in the door. The dinner crowd hadn’t arrived yet. A soft stool at the bar provid
ed a welcoming remedy.

  Stevie had his back turned, mixing a drink and shaking his tight, perfect butt to the lively music that pumped through the speakers. I leaned into the bar.

  “Hey, cutie, do fries go with that shake?”

  Stevie recognized my voice immediately. “What’s up, luv! Long time, no see.”

  We hugged and my nostrils welcomed Stevie’s crisp Bulgari scent. I felt the weight of somebody’s eyes from a few stools down. I cocked my head back to scrutinize a Bohemian type I’d caught giving me the once-over when I walked in. I looked at her wild naturally curly red Afro. She was attractive, but in an eccentric, almost exotic kind of way, brown-skinned with freckles. Where in the world is she from?

  “Stevie, let me get a—” I said, swaying to the beat of the music but still distracted by the woman. Stevie cut me off.

  “Cosmo straight up! You know I know how you do.” Stevie hit the volume and Aretha’s “Look into Your Heart” kicked in louder.

  I took a long sip of my cocktail. That song epitomized my life and love life right about now. Although my experience outweighed my thirty years on earth, I was living testimony to Madame Ree Ree’s message, especially after today.

  “Whatever you wanna do, I wanna do it with you, baby, ooh, ooh!” The woman on the other barstool blurted out a verse.

  I was intrigued even more by her wacky outburst. Stevie and I looked at each other. I know we were thinking the same thing—only in New York. I shook my head. By the way, she was wiggling. She was definitely a free spirit.

  “You go girl!” I chuckled, along with Stevie.

  Now most people would be completely embarrassed, but not this woman.

  “That’s right, that’s the queen keepin’ it real.”

  She leaned in closer and extended her hand, speaking in a warm direct tone. “Hi, Charlie Thornton. I’m speaking ’cause I feel like it. I’m not hitting on you.”

  I laughed. Sista girl was a piece of work, and out of her mind for sure. I couldn’t stop laughing as I returned the gesture, shaking Charlie’s hand firmly.