Читать книгу Bad Boy - Olivia Goldsmith - Страница 14

Tracie walked into her apartment and nearly fainted from the scent of rosemary and thyme in the air. She began salivating immediately. She never had any food in the place, because she’d eat it if she did. This was … overwhelming.

“Hi, honey. You’re home,” Laura sang out. The table was set with Tracie’s nice china, salads were already put out, and Laura opened the door enough for Tracie to see something really good seemed to be roasting in the oven. “I didn’t know how you felt about duck, so I made chicken à l’orange,” said Laura. Tracie frowned. She thought that took hours—though she’d never even read a recipe. And she was starved, but she was also getting concerned. As far as she knew, Laura hadn’t been out of the apartment in the last three days. Plus, neither of them needed this many calories.

“Honey, you can’t go on like this,” Tracie said as she sat down at the table. Laura pulled a small dish from the oven. On it was a tiny bit of bread smeared with something and decorated artfully with a few leaves.

“Have a cheese savory,” said Laura cheerfully, ignoring Tracie completely. She was already drinking a glass of red wine and poured some out for Tracie. Tracie couldn’t resist, but she knew she’d hate herself in the morning. It was funny—after only a few days, the two of them were acting like a long-married couple.

“Laura, this is impossible,” she said as she popped the savory into her mouth. Then she couldn’t do anything except make animal noises because it was so delicious. All thoughts of dieting left her head. “Can’t we have these for dinner?” she asked. Laura laughed. “Don’t worry. Everything is that good.”

Laura was telling the truth. Tracie only came back to her senses after the flan that her guest had made for dessert. Only then—replete with food and guilt—did she begin to shake her head. “We’re getting fat. I can’t take this rich food every night.”

“Don’t be silly,” Laura said in her best Julia Child imitation. “What’s rich about a little sour cream and truffles and foie gras and cheese?” She winked. “It’s not like I’m baking farm cakes.” But she might as well be. Laura’s cooking was rich.

With some difficulty, Tracie got up from the table and dragged herself over to the sofa. She was stuffed. “Okay,” she said. “That was it. I’m locking up the pans and from now on we’re spending our lunchtimes at the gym.”

“I am not friendly enough with gymnasiums to call them by their first names,” Laura sniffed. “I don’t do gymnasiums.”

“You didn’t do them in Sacramento. You do do them here,” Tracie told her. “And you are way too talented not to be cooking. You’ve got to go out and find some catering jobs. Better yet, get a job as a chef. You always wanted to do that.”

“Hey, babe, you’re not doing your transformation on me,” Laura said. “You’re doing one on Jon, and even that’s not a good idea. It’ll end in tears, as my mother used to say.”

“Your mother used to tell you sex felt bad,” Tracie said as she attempted to find the place where her waistline had been only a few days before. Now it wasn’t just the top button but the entire zipper of her slacks that had to be loosened. “Jon asked me to do this.”

“Yeah? Well don’t you see that every single thing you’re going to do will be a criticism of him? At some point, he’s really going to resent it. Maybe my mother lied, but there’s an old Chinese saying: Why does he hate me so? I never did anything for him. That’s based on truth.”

“Don’t be silly,” Tracie said. “Jon will be grateful for anything I do to help him.”

“Mmm? Remember when you used to try to do diet consulting for me?”

“You didn’t ask me to! And I stopped!”

“Look,” Laura explained, “if Jon doesn’t resent it, Phil is going to start to. Too much attention paid to someone else.”

“Are you kidding me?” Tracie asked, then wondered if Phil would drop by that night, as he said he might. “Phil doesn’t notice anything I do. I’d like it if he was jealous.”

“We shall see,” Laura told her, and blinked like an owl. Tracie hated it when she acted wise.

“We shall see. And maybe we won’t. But we will be at the gym,” Tracie told her. “Beth and some of the girls from work go there three days a week. So are we.” She got up and put her arm on Laura’s much higher shoulder. “You’re gonna look great on the StairMaster,” Tracie predicted.

Seventies music blared in the background of Simon’s Gym. A roomful of women were working the circuit. “Susan went out with a guy, and when they started making out, she found out he was wearing a toupee,” Sara, one of the junior reporters at the Times, said.

“That’s a pucker,” Beth answered.

“What’s a pucker?” Tracie asked, sitting at the rowing machine, her head bent between her knees. She was so tired, she thought she might puke.

“It’s the female equivalent of a wilt,” Sara explained. She held her finger up and indicated the loss of an erection. “So accountants are a pucker.”

“What else?” Tracie asked, still breathing heavily.

“Shoe salesmen,” Laura offered from the StairMaster, raising her left knee to her waist. The seventies album continued, “Let’s all celebrate and have a good time.”

“Brokers—stock or real estate. And security guards,” Sara chimed in while doing a warm-up side stretch to the left.

“Did you ever date a security guard?” Laura asked Sara.

“As if,” Sara said as she side-stretched to the right.

“Oh, computer guys,” Beth added as she changed the weights on the new device she was about to mount. It looked frightening and maybe sexual. “Seattle is full of them. They’re a bore. For some reason, they think you really care about their serial ports.” The music stopped for a minute and so did all the women. Then Kool & the Gang started in.

Sara grabbed a sweat towel and wiped off her brow. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Mothers always try to set you up with guys in the computer industry. But they’re like lepers. I think they all ought to be forced to wear bells around their necks and yell ‘Unclean, unclean’ when they come at you.”

“Mothers?” Tracie asked, remembering her article and wincing.

“No. Geeks,” Sara explained. “Unless, of course, they’re vested.” Sara never quite got another person’s joke, but she was sweet. Laura, who only liked sweet pastries, rolled her eyes. “I’m not into marrying for money, but I heard Allison talking, and she knows exactly how much every stock is worth. She said she’s looking for some guy who’s floated his own IPO, whatever that is.”

“Allison,” Tracie said dismissively. “As if a rich man would look at her.”

“You don’t think Allison’s beautiful?” Sara asked.

“Nah,” Tracie said. “She looks too much like Sharon Stone, but with a better ass.”

“Hey, girls, speaking of asses,” called Beth. “It’s bicycle time.”

“No, let’s do the treadmill first.”

“Let’s eat lunch first,” Sara suggested. “I’m starved.”

“How about naptime first?” Laura asked, wiping the sweat off her upper lip.

They moved past the line of stationary bikes. The four of them each stepped onto a treadmill, punched in numbers, and started to walk. “So we know what we don’t like, but what is it about challenging boys we do like? Why are we addicted to difficult men?” Tracie asked.

“They’re such a big challenge,” Sara said. “There’re loads of them at the Times.”

They were stepping in sync and their arms swung. “Yeah. It isn’t easy to get a bad boy to love you, but you feel like if they did, it would really be an accomplishment,” Beth added.

“I think they appeal to our maternal instinct,” Laura responded.

“Get outta town!” Sara and Beth answered at the same time.

Tracie wished she had her Post-its.

“No. Listen,” Laura continued. “It’s like we get to practice on them. You know, they need attention like an infant.”