Changing Scenes (Changing Teams #2) (16 page)

Chapter

Thirty-Three

Donnie

I hadn’t talked to Astrid for two days, and it was killing me.

When she threw me out Friday morning, I’d been pissed. So pissed that I sat in my Jeep in the freezing cold for almost an hour, waiting for her to call or text me. Obviously, the girl had financial problems, and after Lucia had explained to me just how expensive those designers Astrid favored really were, I realized two things. One, models get paid about ten times more than cooks do. Two, Astrid owned enough shoes for a down payment on a house. Not a big house, but still.

Then I saw the state of her cabinets, and I nearly lost it. When I said she had nothing to eat, I meant
nothing
, not a box of macaroni or even a stale granola bar. Then I offered to help, get her back on her feet, and she threw me out. Astrid had made it perfectly clear that she’d rather starve in an apartment full of expensive clothes than live in one with bread and milk, one where I’d gladly cook her anything she wanted to eat, now and forever.

She didn’t want my help. She didn’t want me.

Since hanging out in her parking spot was lame and slightly stalkerish, I went home. Astrid didn’t call me on Friday, so I burned off some energy doing yardwork. It had snowed a few times but it hadn’t really accumulated yet, and I figured I’d get a jump on spring cleanup. By Saturday afternoon my yard could have been on one of those home improvement shows; by Sunday morning I was the unofficial poster yard for the homeowners association. After I tossed the sixth empty bag of mulch in the trash, I stomped inside and turned the shower up as hot as it would go. The same shower where I’d held Astrid against the tile and fucked her until she screamed my name.

I rubbed my eyes, my anger at Astrid now completely redirected at myself. I missed her, yeah, but I’d told her to call me when she was ready, and I’m nothing if not stubborn. Luckily for Astrid, I’m also resourceful.

I finished showering, dressed, and got in my Jeep. I pulled up to Thirty-Nine and Twelve fifteen minutes later, went in through the back door, and went straight to Christa’s office. My plan was to get in, get what I needed, and be gone before anyone saw me. Of course, I hadn’t planned on Christa sitting behind her desk.

“Donnie,” she said when I burst in her office. “Isn’t this your weekend off?”

“Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck, and continued, “So, Britt, the one with the rehearsal dinner in February? Is it okay if I get her contact information? I gotta ask her something about the menu.”

“I suppose it’s all right.” Christa went to her filing cabinet and grabbed a folder. “What’s the issue with the menu?”

“Nothing. No issue.” Christa raised an eyebrow, so I amended, “It’s just that she wants all that seafood, and I want to know what I should serve if something isn’t available. Planning ahead, you know.”

“Smart. Why don’t you sit for a moment?”

Since an order from Christa was about as common as a heat wave in January, I sat. She watched me for a moment, tapping the edge of the folder on her desk.

“I’m assuming that you don’t want this information for any reason other than the menu,” Christa said. “Otherwise, it’s a violation of Ms. Sullivan’s trust for me to share her phone number with you.”

“Hell, Britt won’t mind if I call her,” I said. “She’s a sweetheart. So’s her fiancé.” Christa’s eyebrow went further up her head, so I explained, “Britt’s friend, Astrid. She won’t talk to me.”

“You two looked pretty happy when you brought her here for brunch,” Christa said. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, something did. A big something.” I slumped back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. “Everything was going great with us, then she threw me out of her apartment Friday morning. I just want to talk to Britt about Astrid, see if there’s anything I can do.”

“I see. Why did she throw you out?”

“She has a problem, and I offered to help,” I replied. Christa laughed, and I glared at her. “That’s funny? I didn’t think me getting thrown out of my girlfriend’s place was funny.”

“Let me guess, instead of offering to help you went at things with guns blazing, ordering her around and telling her it was your way or the highway,” Christa replied. “Being that Astrid is a smart, capable, independent woman, she took issue with that, and you took issue with her taking issue. Am I right?”

“Times like this I wish my boss didn’t know me so well,” I muttered. “Yeah, well, she needs help. What was I supposed to do, just let her suffer?”

“Honestly, I have no idea what you should have done,” Christa said. “But not forcing your ideas on someone probably would have worked out better.” I nodded, and Christa’s face softened. “You really like her, huh?”

“I love her,” I admitted. “I want to spend my life with her.”

Christa’s eyes widened. “Okay, well, I’m just going to leave this here,” she said, dropping the folder on her desk. “If you want to go through it, copy down any information, it’s on your head, not mine.”

Christa got up and left, softly shutting the door behind her. I waited all of one second before I opened the folder and found Britt’s number. I put it in my phone, then I closed the folder and left. Man, I hoped Britt would help me help Astrid.

***

“Hello?”

“Is this Britt Sullivan?”

“The one and only. Who’s this?”

“Donnie, from the—”

“Donnie!” Britt squealed. “Are you with Astrid?”

“No,” I replied. “Listen, I think Astrid needs help.”

“Help? What kind of help?”

“Financial, maybe more. Can I meet you somewhere?” When she was silent, I added, “I really only want to help Astrid. Bring Sam along if you don’t believe me. Hell, maybe he can help too.”

“I believe you,” Britt said. “When and where are we meeting?”

***

Since Sam was out with their car, and taking the train on Sunday was a hassle, I drove into the city and met Britt at a restaurant. I got there before her and scored a booth in the back. No sooner had I sat down than Britt appeared, with her cousin Melody following along behind her.

“Thanks for coming,” I said as they slid into the booth opposite me.

“Thanks for calling,” Britt said. “What’s this about Astrid needing help?”

I told Britt and Melody everything, from the lack of food in Astrid’s place, the stupidly expensive shoes, to the two phones she’s been carrying. Throughout it all Britt just listened, nodding occasionally, while Melody took notes.

“Well, I knew about the shoes,” Britt said when I was finished. “And Astrid does have a serious designer label addiction.”

“She paid for the dress at Jorge’s in cash,” Melody offered. “Jorge told Matilda that she had an envelope full of hundreds.”

“When we went to the liquor store she paid in cash too,” Britt said. “Crisp hundred dollar bills.”

“Do models get paid in cash?” I asked.

“No, never,” Britt replied. “The money gets sent to the agency, they take their cut, and then the agency pays us with a check, or direct deposit. Well, that’s how it works with legitimate shoots, anyway.”

“Legitimate?” I repeated. “There are illegitimate shoots?”

“Um, yeah,” Britt replied. “There are all sorts of photographers who pay cash for, um, things. Unconventional poses and such. Stuff you find on the internet.” Britt glanced from me to Melody, and added, “What? I’ve never done them.”

“But you know about them,” I said, “which means that Astrid does too.”

“If you think Astrid’s doing something like that, you don’t know her nearly as well as you think you do,” Britt said. “So, why’d she throw you out?”

“What makes you think I was thrown out?” I countered.

“Well, this,” Britt replied, gesturing at the three of us. “If you two were on speaking terms, we wouldn’t be talking right now.”

I frowned and looked at my hands. “I just wanted to help her.”

“And you pissed her off instead,” Britt deduced. “Word of advice, telling Astrid what to do is about as effective as baptizing a cat. If you want results, work with her, instead of against her.”

I picked at the edge of the table. “I just want to help her.”

Britt reached across the table and squeezed my forearm. “I know. And we’ll help you help her.”

The waitress came by, and I gestured for the girls to order. “Get whatever you want, it’s on me,” I said. “And I will have the biggest beer you can bring me.”

After they ordered and the waitress left, I looked Britt in the eye. “You’ve known Astrid way longer than me. Tell me, one Masshole to another, what do you think is going on?”

“You really love her,” Melody said. “Does Astrid know?”

“From the look on Donnie’s face, I’m guessing that’s a no,” Britt said. Before I could defend myself, the waitress delivered our drinks—a Chardonnay for Mel and normal-sized beer for Britt, and a gargantuan one for me. After the waitress left Britt whipped out her phone and set it on the table.

“To answer your question, I don’t need to speculate about what Astrid’s doing,” Britt said. “I’ll just ask Michael.”

“Her cousin?” I asked. “She tells him more than you?”

“You think she and I are close? Astrid and Michael are like peanut butter and jelly.” Britt pressed call and activated the speaker. Michael picked up on the first ring.

“My darling sugar, Sam is fine,” Michael said.

“I’m not calling about Sam,” Britt said. “What’s up with Astrid?”

“What do you mean what’s up?”

“I think you know.”

“Even if I did—and I’m not saying that I do—why should I spill? Blood’s thicker than water. And fiancées.”

Britt looked up at me and frowned. “Donnie’s worried about her.”

Michael was silent for a moment. “He there?”

“I am,” I said.

“Me too,” Melody trilled.

“Melly Moore, my bestest single girl,” Michael said. “When are me and you going out?”

“Michael,” Britt said. “About Astrid.”

“Fine, fine. You know about the shoot she walked out of in November?”

“Yeah,” Britt said, while I asked, “Why’d she walk out?”

“They wanted her to wear contacts,” Michael replied. “Claimed real black women don’t come with green eyes. Anyway, since then the owner of her agency’s been holding back all the good work, and Astrid could barely make rent.”

“John’s still carrying a torch, then?” Britt asked.

“Who the fuck is John?” I demanded.

“The owner of her agency,” Britt replied, and I remembered that article Julia found with pictures of Astrid and John Archer out together. “They went on one pseudo-date, and Astrid made it clear that she thinks of him as an employer, nothing more. He’s been a jerk to her ever since.”

“Can’t she get a new agency?” I asked.

Britt shook her head. “Sure, but first she has to find one to go to, and then they have to offer her a contract. It’s like sending out your resumé.”

“I assume that since you’re talking amongst yourselves you’re done interrogating me?” Michael asked.

“Sorry,” Britt said. “What happened after the big walk off?”

“She asked me if I knew anyone looking for work, so I got her a job,” Michael replied.

“A job doing what?” I demanded.

“Calm yourself, my man,” Michael said, “it’s on the up and up. She’s a cocktail waitress at Al’s Place.”

“That dive?” Britt asked. “Come on, Michael. That place is low, even for you.”

“I take offense at you taking offense to my…ah, fuck it,” Michael said. “Listen, sugar, it came down to this—she wanted a cash job, which meant it had to be either cocktail waitress or escort, and I make a lousy pimp.”

“What’s the bar’s address?” I asked, and Michael rattled it off.

“One more thing,” Britt said. “Do you have any idea how broke ass Astrid came into possession of a crap ton of hundreds?”

“While Astrid did not advise me as to the provenance of her hundreds,” Michael replied, “my mother told me that Auntie Soledad and Uncle Richard were giving out cash instead of the usual vacations this year. My guess is that Astrid’s parents tried to buy her love again.”

“Huh.” I sat back, my mind whirling with everything Michael had said. This whole situation had started when Astrid walked off a shoot because they were being jerks to her, then she ran into financial trouble and got a second job to make ends meet. The idea of her serving drinks rather than asking her rich relatives for a handout made me love her even more. Then she came into some cash, and what did she do? Threw an after New Year’s party so we could celebrate together.

And what did I do? I made her feel like dirt.

“You know when she’s working?” I asked.