Читать книгу A Perfect Life? - Dawn Atkins - Страница 12

ON SATURDAY MORNING, Claire was in the kitchen eating granola and staring morosely at Jared’s false-promise roses, while Kitty and Rex did Tae-Bo in the living room, when Mitch the doorman called up to say she had a delivery downstairs.

She figured it must be an apartment-warming gift from her mother, but when she stepped out of the elevator, she stopped dead in pure shock.

There in the middle of the lobby sat Jared on a cream-canvas futon. “Ta-da!” he said, gesturing at its puffy expanse. “Perfect, huh?” He beamed at her with that sweet, boyish look he had—sometimes charming, sometimes annoying. Right now it was both. “Come try it out.” He held out his arms to her.

For just a second, she was tempted to comply, but this was one gift horse—rather, rat—she had to look straight in the mouth. She wasn’t about to hug him. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Moving in, of course. Here’s the futon and here are my clothes,” he said, indicating two big roller suitcases, as if that proved his intentions were good.

“What about your wife? Did you talk to her about us?”

Jared’s eyes flicked away from her face for a second, telling her all she needed to know. “I told her I had concerns.”

“Concerns? Jared, I want a divorce is way more than concerns.”

“Important things take time, Claire. Everything’s not black-and-white like you always want. At least I’m here and I can move in.”

“No, you can’t. I already have a roommate.” A roommate who was probably doing the deed right now in what would have been Jared’s office.

“How did you get a roommate in three days?”

“Kitty’s got moving down to a science.”

“But what about me?” He seemed completely confused.

“You snooze, you lose. I can’t afford this place by myself. You were out, so Kitty was in.”

“I told you I wanted to work this out. How could you?” He let his head fall back against the futon, looking crushed. The weak part of her wanted to run upstairs and say, “Everybody out. Back to plan A.” But no way could she fold. Jared had a lot of promises to make and keep before she would take him back.

After a few seconds of sad sighs, Jared sat up. “You’re right. I deserve this. I have to prove myself to you. I’ll get another couple months at the company digs.” He smiled sadly, his eyes saying, Kiss me. I’ve earned it.

For a second, he morphed from cheating bastard to repentant boyfriend, but she fought the urge to fall into his arms and forgive him. “Just tell your wife, Jared. We can’t be together until you do.”

“Why do you have to be so extreme?” he said.

“Insisting my boyfriend is single is extreme?”

“You know what I mean,” he muttered. “What am I supposed to do about the futon?”

“I’ll help you load it into your truck.”

“We could put it in the apartment…kind of a down payment on our future,” he said hopefully. “What about that?”

She liked the futon so much better than Kitty’s seduction sofa…. “No good,” she said firmly, bending to heft one end. If she gave Jared an inch—or a futon—he’d take a mile. And her heart already wore his cross-trainer treads.

THREE DAYS LATER, Claire walked home from Game Night—they’d held it on Tuesday because Barry and Emily had a Valentine’s Day date on Wednesday. It was a perfect February night—not quite chilly. Central Avenue was subdued and the air was filled with the scent of early citrus blossoms—like lilac and gardenia combined—but Claire’s thoughts were far away….

…In Reno, where, at this moment, Jared was telling Lindi-with-an-i that he wanted a divorce. Supposedly. Then tomorrow, he would fly here and transform Valentine’s Day from her suckiest holiday to the most romantic one. In theory. Jared was turning around his entire life just to be with her.

Except he’d sounded kinda faint the last time they’d talked. The Chickateers hadn’t been hopeful, either. He’ll weasel out, Emily had said, but you stick to your guns. Kitty kept talking about Rex’s friend Dave—he’ll make you forget Jared…and your own name.

And Zoe advised her to listen to her heart, of course. Zoe’s boyfriend Brad was insisting she learn to rock climb, which she was scared to do. Kitty had decided to go with her to the class to make sure “Indiana Brad”—Kitty’s new nickname for the guy—didn’t push Zoe too far.

Now, as Claire approached her corner, her attention was drawn by the sound of bluesy chords on the breeze. She squinted and made out someone sitting on the wide stone banister on her building’s stairs. She got closer and saw that it was Guitar Guy. Her heart thudded in her chest. The streetlight spilled over him, dramatic and bold, sending a romantic shadow from his long body.

She realized she was walking faster.

Guitar Guy looked up, saw her and smiled. “You figure it out?” he asked, still playing.

“What? My wardrobe?” She wore a tailored white blouse with a black denim skirt. Until she could afford serious career clothes, she was at least sticking with conservative colors.

He shook his head, holding her gaze. “Whatever’s been bothering you.” His guitar work became a sound-track, making it feel natural to chitchat with a stranger in the night.

“More or less.” Of course not. She had no idea what to do about Jared. But she wasn’t about to let on to Guitar Guy…who was very cute, especially with his hair cut. Kind of a young George Clooney. Dark and brooding with the kind of secret half smile that made you want to be the only one who could coax it into a full one. The streetlight gave his skin a coppery glow and his teeth seemed very white.

She wondered if he talked to all the people who came out of the building or if it was just women…or just her. “I’m Claire,” she said finally.

“Nice to meet you.”

“And you are…?”Don’t make me work so hard.

“Trip.”

“Excuse me?” She’d had a little wine, but she wasn’t unsteady, for God’s sake.

“That’s my name. Trip.”

“Oh,” she laughed. “That’s unusual. Because you like to travel?” She hoped it wasn’t because of some drug thing.

“In a way.”

Evasive. Maybe it was a drug thing. “You play very well.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you live around here?”

“For now. In a guest house a couple miles away.”

He wasn’t homeless, at least. “Guest houses are nice—cozy and efficient, with everything you need in a small space and at a small price.” Stop babbling, you dolt. But she couldn’t. Conversational gaps were like a broken filling to her. She couldn’t leave them alone. “That is one great haircut,” she said to keep things moving.

His gaze locked on, silver and strong, looking right into her. “And you look nice without your uniform.”

“Thanks.” A blush washed over her. His words and the warmth in his expression had pulled a blanket of intimacy around them on this very public corner on this major city street.

“My pleasure.”

His pleasure. A blade of desire cut through her like a Ginsu knife. Wow. She was flirting with a street musician. And it was good.

Real good.

“Well, nice talking to you,” he said, gently telling her goodbye. But they’d barely started.

“Yeah. You, too,” she said, unable to move her feet for a few long seconds. But that was uncool, so she forced herself up the wide stairs.

“You already know the answer.”

She wasn’t quite sure the voice hadn’t been inside her head, so she turned and looked down at Trip. The light made him seem ghostly as a dream. “The answer?”

“To the question you’re asking yourself.”

It was just a throwaway line, but it shot through her like a flare, illuminating her fuzzy thinking, and she felt…better. Calm and almost confident about the Jared situation. Or maybe about something else entirely…. “I hope you’re right,” she said, and headed upstairs, his music wrapping around her like a caress.

From her apartment, Claire looked out her window for Trip, but he was gone. Completely. No tall shape strolling away or in the distance. Nothing. Not even a shadow. It was as if she’d just imagined him. Her confident feeling wisped away like smoke on a breeze.

THE NEXT DAY, Claire used her lunch hour to spend too much money on a black-lace teddy, a red silk sheath and a bottle of champagne. She was thinking positive about tonight with Jared, though doubts stabbed her.

Her shopping trip meant she hadn’t been able to join Mimi and Georgia for lunch with Kyle Carson, an accountant who worked on the books of a company on the same floor as B&V. He was also one of Mimi’s neighbors, and whenever he was in the office he would drive the three of them someplace for a nice lunch.

Kyle was good-looking and friendly and kind, and Mimi and Georgia liked to shock him with outrageous tales of their nightlife. Kyle had a live-in girlfriend, though he rarely talked about her. He’d seemed quite disappointed when Claire had said she was busy.

At the end of the day, she grabbed her shopping bag of sex appeal, removed the champagne from the B&V fridge and took the bus home.

Inside her apartment, she was startled to find Rex, Kitty’s bodybuilder beau, stretched out on the sofa in black bikini underwear, looking like a model for a Campus Hotties calendar, with one of Jared’s wilted roses between his teeth.

“Oh. It’s you,” he said around the rose stem, then took it out. Shriveled petals fell to the floor. “I thought you were Kitty.”

“Sorry. Just me,” she said.

“No prob.” He didn’t move, except to twirl the rose stem between his thumb and forefinger. More petals dropped. She slid her gaze away from the bulge in his undies and noticed her Waterford candy dish in pieces on the cocktail table.

“Had a little collision with that bowl,” Rex said. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said on a sigh. She’d known having Kitty as a roommate wouldn’t be a cakewalk, but she hadn’t expected to suffer glassware losses or be favored by male centerfold shots.

She headed to her room to shower and change into her teddy and red dress, and by the time she emerged, Kitty and Rex had taken off. Claire checked her watch. Jared would be landing at Sky Harbor right about now. She turned on some mood music, lit candles and sat down to wait.

And wait.

When he was an hour late, she called his cell number. Voice mail. “Just me, Jared. Was your flight delayed?”

She turned on an old I Love Lucy episode and heated up some of Kitty’s chicken almandine leftovers. After a second madcap episode, she cracked the champagne and called again. “Where the hell are you?”

Two glasses of champagne and one blotch of paté on the carpet later, she said, “You bastard. You’re not fit to…wash my windows.” That was lame, but she couldn’t think of the right insult—nothing too vulgar or emotionally revealing.

At ten o’clock, the phone rang. The person on the line struggled for breath. Perfect. An obscene phone call. She was about to hang up, when the voice whispered, “I couldn’t do it, Claire. I’m so sorry.” Jared.

“What happened?” she asked, knowing she’d hate the answer.

“Lindi’s pregnant.”

“She’s what?” That was the last thing she’d expected.

“And she’s so excited that I couldn’t wreck it.”

“Oh.” Claire squeezed her eyes shut. She felt angry and bereft and…skeptical. Was Lindi-with-an-i faking? If she was wily enough to pretend to be pregnant, Claire didn’t even want to mess with that. That was Days of Our Lives material for sure. And if Jared’s wife had gotten pregnant exactly when Jared had fallen in love with Claire, she didn’t need Zoe to point out the cosmic coincidence of it all.

“Well, congratulations,” she said. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t rush out to buy you a cigar.”

“But it’s you I love, Claire. Remember that.”

Yeah, right. A single tear went splat in the middle of her lap—a Rorschach blot that seemed to resemble her heart. But she wouldn’t waste one more tear stain on her silk dress over this.

“And I want you,” he said more urgently. “Can’t we work something out?”

Here it came. This doesn’t have to change anything. I’ll tell her. I promise. After the baby’s born. Or when he’s two. Make that five. Or in college.

Immediately, the Chickateers came into her mind. She imagined them sitting on the arm of the couch, legs dangling—Kitty fierce, Emily stern, Zoe worried—and they gave her the courage to say what she knew she had to.

“No way, Jared,” she said, the words ringing clear as a bell. “We are so over. Don’t call me again.” Picturing the Chickateers high-fiving her, she dropped the phone into its cradle.

Then her heart began to ache. And throb. And burn. She had to do something to feel better. Her first thought was ice cream. If ever Claire had earned the right to eat ChocoCherry Rumba Swirl after ten, this was it. She deserved something rich and luscious and comforting. Especially because the champagne seemed to have turned her into the Leaning Tower of Claire.

In the kitchen, she spotted the champagne bottle she’d nearly emptied resting beside Jared’s stupid-ass roses, droopy, dark and shriveled after a week of careful watering. She dumped the bubbly in the sink and, oblivious to the bite of thorns, tossed the roses into the trash. Valentine’s Day was so over.

She threw open the freezer. The pint of ChocoCherry she’d bought two days ago felt suspiciously light. Inside, a frosty spoon rested on just a scrape of pink and chocolate at the bottom. Damn it, Kitty. Tell me these things.

If she expected to get her fat-and-sugar fix tonight, she’d have to go to the all-night grocery, where a pack of gum cost as much as the GNP of a small nation. But this was an emergency. She grabbed her purse and managed a slightly wobbly march to the elevator and then outside. She thought about what she was wearing—the sexy “getup” she’d splurged on—and her spirits sagged.

Jared’s loss, she told herself, throwing back her shoulders and wavering fiercely onward in her spike heels. She deserved better than that putz, just like Georgia had said.

The evening, as lovely as the previous one, was a depressing contrast to her mood. Conversation and music leaked from the restaurants and bars she passed. At least somebody was enjoying Valentine’s Day.