Changing Scenes (Changing Teams #2) (12 page)

Chapter

Twenty-Three

Astrid

My Thursday session was, shall we say, interesting.

The photographer, who I’m told is quite sought after in Europe, was a bit eccentric. My first costume consisted of yards of gray, stiff linen wound around my shoulders and torso, and held in place with a gold belt; I looked like a mummy in a cut rate horror movie. And since we were shooting on a green screen I didn’t even know why I was supposed to be a mummy. Luckily, I take direction well.

The next costume was a white linen dress, as soft as the previous getup was rough. The fabric was such a fine weave that an abundance of pleating was all that shielded my modesty. After I’d donned the dress I was given a dozen or so gold bangles for my wrists, and gold chains were woven into my hair.

“Exactly what am I dressed up as?” I asked Lars, who was one of the makeup technicians.

“Jakob has this Nubian princess fantasy,” Lars replied. “He thinks you might be the one.”

“The one what?” I demanded.

Lars smiled. “His muse.”

I blinked. “What?”

“He’s been searching for a model that can fully realize the images he carries in his mind,” Lars explained. When I frowned, Lars said, “He’s a good guy. Don’t worry, he just wants you to help him bring forth his vision, nothing beyond that.”

Since I was poor, I gave Lars my best impression of Britt’s thousand watt smile. “All right,” I declared, “let’s make these muse pictures happen.”

***

After the session wrapped, I went home, showered, and took a nice, long nap. When I woke I ate a bowl of cereal, then I got dressed in my warmest socks, leggings, and sweater while I waited for Donnie to pick me up. My man was right on time and came bearing hot coffee, and we did our usual circuit of the market.

“These fish get heavier every week,” I said when we were loading up. “And I think Trevor put rocks in those sacks instead of clams.”

“I hope they’re not clams,” Donnie said. “I paid for mussels.”

I shook my head, unsuccessfully stifling my latest round of laughter; my chef thought he was a comedian. “I’m ready to head out if you are.”

“You know it, babe.”

We hopped into the fish mobile and left the market. I watched the market get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, wondering how big of a catastrophe would be needed for Donnie to cancel Christmas and hang out with me instead. The restaurant burning down? No, since he’s not an owner he’d probably go back to his family and wait for word from his boss. Massive snowstorm? No again, since he’s a New Englander; they laugh at snow. Me breaking a leg? Hmm, now that could work. Donnie would have to stay in my apartment with me, taking care of me, keeping me company…of course, I would have that broken leg to deal with…

“Babe?”

“What?” I asked, blinking myself back to reality.

“You’re a dreamer, you know that?”

I looked down. “I was just thinking.”

“Hey.” I glanced up, saw his smile. “Dreams are good.”

I returned his smile, then I realized we were headed toward my apartment instead of the diner. “We’re not going to breakfast?”

“I thought we’d do something special.”

“What special thing?” I pressed.

“I’ll make breakfast at your place.”

I flopped back in my seat, totally speechless. Just when I thought Donnie couldn’t be any more perfect, he goes and one-ups himself. Then I remembered that all this cooking would be taking place in my kitchen, and my happiness turned to horror.

“I don’t have a lot of food at home,” I babbled. “I haven’t had time to shop, and I don’t own things like spatulas and cooking spray.”

“I brought everything we’ll need.”

“You did?”

“’Course I did. When I was in your place before I checked out your kitchen.” He gave me a look, and added, “The stove didn’t look like it’d been used this year.”

“I’m not a cooker like you.”

“Babe, there was dust on the burners.”

I crossed my arms and fidgeted in my seat. “What can I say, housekeeping hadn’t come by.”

“It sure hadn’t.”

We reached my building, and I directed Donnie toward my parking space. Once that was complete he handed me a cooler, then he grabbed a second bag and we headed toward the elevator.

“Will the fish be all right?” I asked.

“They’ll be fine for a few hours,” he said. “It’s cold, even in here, and they’re packed in tons of ice.”

When we entered my apartment Donnie went straight to the kitchen. “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“What do you usually do after I drop you off?”

“Change and go to bed.”

“Go change, then.”

I blinked. “I thought if I didn’t help, I didn’t get to eat.”

He kissed the corner of my mouth. “Grandma’s rules, not mine. Don’t worry, I got this.”

I did as ordered, and shed my fish market gear. Since I wasn’t going to see Donnie for a while, I decided to dress sexy and put on a blue satin spaghetti strapped nightie and matching robe. The smell of coffee lured me back to the kitchen, and I saw little pastries set up on the counter.

“What’s all this?” I asked. “No bacon and eggs?”

“Sweets for a sweet lady,” he replied. The coffeemaker beeped, so Donnie poured a cupful and handed it to me. “Gonna try one?”

“Sure.” I selected a tiny chocolate confection, then I took it and my coffee to the couch. Donnie sat beside me a moment later. “What brought this on?”

“I’m going to miss you, that’s what,” he said. “Not gonna lie, I was single for a long time before we met. Been a long time since I found anyone I wanted to spend time with…” Donnie shook his head. “And now, I won’t even be with you over the holidays.”

“It’s not like you’ll be gone forever,” I said, ignoring the pang in my heart. “If it’s any consolation, I’ll be miserable with my family.”

Donnie made a face. “I’d be miserable too, if they dragged me to some restaurant on Christmas.”

“Yeah, restaurants are terrible,” I said. “And the chefs, especially the head chefs, now they are the worst.”

“Hey, take that back.”

“Nope.”

Donnie grabbed my coffee and pastry from my hands and set them on the table, then he grabbed my waist. “Take it back,” he insisted, his hand sliding up my spine toward my neck.

“Make me.”

***

The loudest, most offensive noise in the history of noises woke me. Donnie sat straight up in bed, then fumbled for his phone on the side table. At least he’d thought to set an alarm.

“Do you have to go?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’ve got to get the fish to the restaurant, and set up for lunch.”

“You mean after all this fish buying and multi-state driving and what not, you’re just going to go straight to work?”

Donnie shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

I pulled him down to me, stroking my hands across the back of his neck and his bunched shoulder muscles. “You are one tough chef.”

“I’m a chef that’s gonna miss his girl.” Donnie set an elbow on either side of my head and kissed me, one of those long, sweet kisses that melted me. “I’m not even gone, and already I can’t wait to get back to you.”

My heart squeezed, which was just foolish. I hardly knew Donnie, and except for tonight and that weekend at his place, we spent almost no time together. All we had was a text message relationship, if that. Then he nudged my thighs apart with his knee, and said, “Let me make love to you one more time.”

“You act like you might not be coming back,” I whispered.

“I’ll always come back to you.”

If I’d been with anyone else I would have called them out on two cheesy lines in a row, but this was Donnie. He only said what he meant, and I couldn’t imagine him ever uttering a lie or half-truth. “My knight in a green Jeep,” I said, tears pricking my eyes.

“You know it, babe,” he said as he entered me.

“I’ll miss you too,” I said, as he began moving inside me. What we had was so much more than texts.

***

After Donnie left, I lounged around in bed for a while, wondering where all this was going. I loved being with him, there was no question about that, but there were a few obstacles standing in the way of our relationship. Okay, there were a lot of obstacles.

The main problem was how far apart we lived from each other. I guess that the hour and a half drive wasn’t that bad, but since I didn’t have a car Donnie got stuck with all the driving, and if we wanted to do something near his place—like spend another weekend together—that doubled his time. Spending three or six hours on the road just to see me would get real old, real fast.

The second and just as large of an issue was our schedules, which were like oil and water. Even though Donnie only worked every other weekend, nearly all of my free time was being taken up with shifts at the bar. Al had said that things would calm down after the holidays, but I trusted that moron as far as I could throw him. Add that to the fact that my sole purpose for taking that crappy job—to make extra money and pay down my bills—wasn’t happening. The tips were great, but whenever I had money on me I ended up grabbing lunch with Britt and Melody, and spending whatever was left at stores on my way home. A few days ago I’d grocery shopped like a real human, splurging on things like cotton swabs and orange juice. I couldn’t remember the last time I used a beauty product I hadn’t taken home from a shoot, and now my bathroom was stocked.

Of course, the Visas and the American Express people were still calling me night and day. Unfortunately for them, I’d stopped pretending to listen to their messages. Unfortunately for me, those late charges kept on piling up.

I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow Donnie had used. It smelled just like him, musky and masculine and just him. I wanted to hide in my bed until he got back from New Bedford, breathing in his scent and imagining our life together, far from bill collectors or cranky modeling agency executives.

My own alarm went off, and I reluctantly got up and stretched. As I brushed my hair and picked out my clothes, I decided to save up whatever tips I made from now on. I just needed to pay everything down low enough to stop these calls, then I’d quit the bar, concentrate on modeling, and spend more time with Donnie. Maybe I could even get a train pass, something like an interstate MetroCard, and head up to see him for a weekend. I bet he’d like that.

I applied some mascara and gloss, then gave my reflection a once over. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, which meant there’d be drunks aplenty overspending, and hopefully over-tipping. I’d pocket my cash, buy my train tickets, and find a way to spend more time with Donnie. Maybe Connecticut was where I was supposed to be.

Chapter

Twenty-Four

Astrid

Because Donnie was the most wonderful man alive, he’d left me all the uneaten pastries. I packed them up and hauled them to the dress fitting at Jorge’s, thus proving that I was pretty cool too.

“Where did Donnie get these?” Britt demanded. Jorge wrestled the pastry from her hands and ordered her to the changing alcove. “I’m putting in a standing order at this bakery.”

“I have no idea where they came from,” I said. “Knowing Donnie, he made them.”

Matilda looked from the flaky, chocolate-y pastry in her hand to me. “Made them? You mean his restaurant made them, right?”

“He’s always baking,” I said, enjoying that I got to brag about my man. “When I was at his place he made bread from scratch, and some little Portuguese pastries for dessert.”

Matilda turned toward Jorge. “Screw all this fabric. You’re taking cooking classes.”

“Not until after the wedding,” Britt called from the changing area. “No career changes until after me and Sam are married.”

Jorge snorted. “As if I would become a cook.”

“What’s wrong with cooking?” I snapped.

“Guys! No fighting,” Britt called, then she swept back the curtain and I lost my breath. She was wearing a strapless white satin gown, the A-line skirt flowing around her legs. A dark red fabric orchid was pinned to the right side of her bodice, and a second flower was embroidered below it.

“Britt, you are gorgeous,” I said. “Jorge, no cooking for you. Stick with fabric.”

“The dress is passable, for now,” Jorge said, striding forward and straightening the gown’s seams. “The embroidery will continue across the bodice, and I will add some floral elements to the skirt. I will add crystals, as well.”

“It’s so beautiful,” Melody breathed. “My gown cost a fortune, but it wasn’t half as gorgeous as this.”

“If you marry again, I shall make your gown at cost,” Jorge declared. “Now, Melody and Astrid, please try on your gowns.”

Melody and I put down our pastries and did as ordered. Our dresses were strapless floor-length chiffon and satin creations in a burgundy that matched Britt’s embroidery. The empire waists were bound with wide satin bands, and Matilda had told me that Jorge was toying with the idea of rhinestone embellishments. Good, since I loved me some sparkle.

“Think you will?” I asked Melody as we shimmied into the dresses. Jorge was nothing if not exact with his measurements. “Get married again, I mean.”

Melody pursed her lips, then she held her hair to the side and turned so I could zip her up. “I really don’t know,” she said at last. “Do I want love? Yes. But after everything with Darryl…” She shuddered, then she turned around. “Let me zip you.”

I gave her my back. “You really never did more than kiss him?”

“I hardly ever did that,” Melody replied.

“How old were you when all that nonsense was arranged?” I pressed.

“Eighteen,” Melody replied. “Well, I learned about it when I was eighteen. I held off Darryl, and the wedding, for as long as possible.”

Wow. Betrothed at eighteen to a man she’d never wanted, and then she spent four years off the market. Which led to my next question, “So, are you looking for anyone?”

“Are you offering?” Melody countered. I glanced over my shoulder, saw her winking at me.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” she continued. “But I do know that by leaving Darryl I’ve been given the gift of freedom. I have no idea what will become of me, but if I’d stayed with Darryl I would have been nothing. At least now I have a chance.”

And that was why we loved our Melly Moore—life had given her lemons, but she was whipping up the best batch of lemonade the world had ever seen. “You’re awesome, you know that?”

Melody shrugged. “I try.”

“Ladies,” Jorge boomed. “Please, today would be wonderful.”

“I guess we shouldn’t keep the man waiting,” I said.

“Guess not.”

Melody and I pulled back the curtain and exited the alcove. Britt took one look at us and squeezed so hard she jumped.

“You guys look great,” Britt gushed, then she threw her arms around Jorge’s neck and kissed his cheek. “Jorge, you’re magic!”

Jorge’s cheeks went darker than our dresses. “Thank you,” he said, then he gestured toward the pedestals. “Ladies, if you would.”

Melody and I stepped onto the pedestals, and Jorge went to work on our hems. “Britt tells me you spent the weekend with Donnie,” Melody said.

“You already knew that,” I said.

“I knew you were with him, I didn’t know you slept there,” Melody said.

“So?”

“So? Spill.”

“Yeah, spill,” Matilda said, Britt nodding beside her. “We want to live vicariously through you.”

“I thought we were supposed to live vicariously through the bride,” I said.

“You know everything about Sam by now,” Britt said. “At least, everything I’m willing to share,” she added with a wink.

“Jorge too,” Matilda said. Jorge dropped a handful of pins, then he rose and stared at his wife.

“You did not…they do not…” Jorge shook his head, then he retreated to his workroom and shut the door. We stared at it for a second, then we all burst out laughing.

“You’ve never told us anything about Jorge,” I said.

“I know,” Matilda said, wiping away tears. “He would be so embarrassed if I did.”

“He
is
embarrassed,” Britt shrieked. “You’re lucky you’re pregnant.”

“I’ll go talk to him.” Matilda rose and approached the door to Jorge’s workroom. After a few whispered words, she slipped inside.

“Aww, they’re so cute,” Britt said. “Are me and Sam that cute?”

“You and Sam are downright sickening,” I said.

“As if you and Donnie are any better,” Britt countered.

“You still haven’t told us about your big weekend,” Melody reminded me.

I glanced at the workroom door; since it seemed like Matilda and Jorge would be occupied for a while, I figured a little gossip was in order. “All right, then,” I began, sitting down on the pedestal as Britt and Melody sat across from me. “Donnie’s from Portugal, and his grandmother taught him his way around a kitchen.”

“That is not what we wanted to hear about,” Melody said.

“Calm down, I’m getting there,” I said. Melody and Britt sat on either side of me, all of us decked out in our evening wear, and I told them everything there was to tell.