Authors: Tara McTiernan
Lucie had remained resolutely mum about whatever happened between them, only shaking her head and saying, "She's horrible. You just have to trust me. It's true." Chelsea, having never seen anything bad about Molly, remained unconvinced and chalked it up to incompatibility until Sharon started singing the same song.
"Well," Molly said, her eyebrows going up, "You know what we talked about?"
"Yes, I know," Chelsea said and sighed. How could she forget? She had to, according to Molly, "straighten up and fly right", whatever that meant. Molly had said it with such conviction and seriousness, Chelsea had been afraid to ask for a definition. She figured it probably just meant to stop making mistakes. As if she was trying to make them. As if it was that easy.
"Your friend Lucie is an example of failing to do that. She had so many problems with priorities and managing her time, but it was her attitude that was her worst issue. I really couldn't recommend her anywhere. So be sure not to start following her example, Chelsea. You've always had a fantastic attitude, really a team-player. Honestly, I'm surprised you two are friends?"
"I don't know. She's nice. I like her. I'm sorry that it didn't work out for you with her."
"Well," Molly said, chuckling a little. "It's not going to work out for anyone with her. I could never give her a reference, it would be unethical, and I understand she had a bad attitude at other jobs, too."
"Oh!" Chelsea said, brightening. "She's not an admin anymore. She started her own business! She's a caterer!"
Molly blinked and then huffed out a breath of disbelief. "Really? Her?"
"Yes, and she's doing really well. Maybe she was just burned out on the whole corporate thing."
Molly narrowed her eyes. "Maybe." She glanced again across the crowd toward their table.
"Well, it was good seeing you. Have fun!"
Molly looked back up at Chelsea, her usually bright eyes darkened. "You, too. See you tomorrow."
Chelsea started to laugh and crack a joke about not wanting to be reminded, but thought better of it. Molly was HR and as PC as they came. "See you then," she said instead, gave a little wave, and trotted inside to find the bathroom, the desire to pee having grown during her conversation until it was now starting to become painful.
After using the toilet and refreshing her makeup with the exception of the lipstick she had purposely left in her work bag in her car, she was started for the door of the bathroom, a pretty private room with its own lock rather than a more public toilet with stalls, when her phone rang with the default twitter. It was John, had to be. And it had to stop now. She couldn't take it anymore.
She ripped open her purse and pawed through it until she spied her phone's lit face and snatched it up. "John, stop it! Enough! I'm not interested! Save it for your wife!"
A cool female voice spoke, "Miz Hays?"
"Oh, uh...I'm sorry?"
"Miz Hays, this is Susan Lukins from BCA Bank. I’m calling about the overdue minimum payments on your Sapphire MasterCard. Your payments are now ninety days past due. We've left several messages, but hadn't heard back from you."
"Three months? Are you sure?" Chelsea said, stalling. She knew all about it. She just didn't have the money. Oh, why didn't she check before answering the phone? It was always a three-zero-two area code when it was the bank.
"Very sure. I need to know if you are able to take care of this past due bill at this time."
"Uh, can I get back to you? You caught me at a bad moment. I promise I'll call. Can I have the number?" she said, crossing her fingers and not bothering to search for a pen.
"The number to call and the case number are on the letters we've sent. It sounds as if you didn't get them. Would you please verify your address?"
Chelsea told the woman her address while imagining her kitchen in her apartment where the unopened letters and bills still sat in a little scary pile in the corner. After more promises that didn't seem to impress the woman on the phone at all, Chelsea hung up, tucked the phone back in her purse and tried to brush off the feeling of desperation that was flooding her and bring back her earlier enthusiasm. No. Tonight had to be great, incredibly fun. And Travis!
She trotted back outside in time to see that the sun had already started to set, casting the dining area into blue shadows. The four women at her table were already getting to their feet, the bill paid. In spite of the lowering light, Chelsea still couldn't miss the fact that Lucie and Molly had locked eyes across the pavement.
Mojito
Bianca strode ahead of the other women into Bembe, annoyed with their slow and clucking progress down the block. It was like being with a bunch of chickens. Crossing the threshold and coming to a stop, her nose was assaulted by the smell of stale beer, cheap cologne, and body odor.
A bulbous-nosed little woman was sitting on a stool by the door. "It's five dollars cover tonight," she said in a raspy voice that was thick with the sound of one of the city's boroughs. Imported cheap help.
Bianca only raised her eyebrows at the woman's insolence. She didn't pay cover charges, particularly not at dumps like this one. Luckily, a lug-headed body-building Italian who was clearly a manager stepped forward. "Oh, no cover for you, miss. You're very welcome here," he said and smiled at her with teeth so white and uniform they looked like Chiclets and contrasted dramatically with his deeply tanned skin that had a faint touch of orange from the tanning salon.
She didn't return his smile, instead making a gesture over her shoulder at the other four women who had finally reached the door and stood behind her. "And my friends?"
"Yeah, sure. All of yous can go in."
"Thank you," she said, purring a little now that she'd been properly petted. She shot the ugly runt on the stool a dagger look, enjoyed her squirming response, and then turned back to the other girls. "We're in," she said with a little shrug and led the way into the dark club.
Bembe was a restaurant, too, but the food was so inedible everyone knew not to eat there. There were rumors of local dogs and cats going missing, but the fact was that the restaurant's owners were victims of their own nepotism when it came to hiring: the owner's nieces, nephews, and assorted cousins just didn't know how to cook. Luckily for them, one of the nephews had an amazing Latin dance band, Tropico, and they were all excellent ballroom dancers, so they made their money through the bar and cover charges and increased business at the family-owned dance studio down the street.
Bianca stopped near the bar and enjoyed the surging male attention directed at her, watching the first one break out of the pack and leap forward to offer to buy her a drink, which she graciously accepted. The other girls joined her and Chelsea was also swiftly attended to by another panting Lothario. The other three girls, ignored, went to the bar to order.
She smiled at the red-haired muscle-head who brought her Mojito and let him lean over her. It felt good getting the attention and she needed it more since her most recent interaction with Grant. Basking under the man's admiring eyes, she let herself review what had happened, looking clues and playing with the pieces of the Grant puzzle.
After the lunch-and-learn at his office that she'd hosted earlier that week, Grant, Kate and that horrible nurse of theirs in attendance, Bianca had insisted on seeing Grant in his office. She said she needed to talk to him about something, keeping it purposefully vague. He'd looked perplexed but agreed.
It was his face, his presence, during the presentation that made her decide she couldn't wait. Just looking at him brought back all of her adolescent yearning for him, the big football hero in junior high, the handsome quarterback with the broad shoulders and chiseled superhero features. And she grew certain during their lunch-and-learn that he felt the same way, yearned for her, too, that the good-husband act was just that. His gaze had seemed so lingering and keen.
"So, what's up?" he said, following her into his office but failing to shut the door.
Bianca shook her head wonderingly that such a smart doctor could be so stupid. She reached over from her chair and pushed the door shut.
"I think you know," she said, turning back and smirking a little at him. In a moment he would be on her. Would they do it in the chair? Or on the floor? Oh, yes, on the floor, that brand-new carpet underneath them and soaking up the droplets of sweat that would fall from their bodies.
He shook his head. "I don't. Is it Kate?"
"Please. Let's stop this. I want you."
He blinked and then looked at her sideways, his face hardening. "I'm....really confused now. What did you just say?"
And that was when she knew she'd made a disastrous mistake. He wasn't ready yet. He needed more priming before she could pump.
Air was swiftly being sucked from the room. She opened her mouth in the vacuum and forced herself to take a deep breath. As calmly as possible she said, "I
said
I want your help."
He visibly relaxed. "Oh, thank God. I thought you said something else. What can I help with?"
She pressed her lips together. Quick: think. The smell of the new carpeting hit her again. God, she hated that smell. It reminded her of all the rotten jobs she had to put up with until she married John. The thought of those jobs made her remember Lucie, her once-bright dreams of success on the corporate ladder were now replaced with a whole new batch of fantasies. Lucie's card, snug in Bianca's wallet, was waiting for its purpose.
"Well, it's actually not me that needs help. It's my friend Lucie. She desperately needs business for her new catering company, and so I promised I'd hire her. I'm planning on hosting a small dinner party and I wanted to invite you and Kate, but Kate told me you're not interested in going out anymore. Please tell me it's not true," Bianca said with a girlish pout. She hadn't planned on hiring Lucie once she knew she had the girl back under her thumb, but maybe she would turn out to be useful after all.
His smile was sheepish as he shook his head. "No, it is true. I'm a homebody. It just seemed like we were going out every night."
Making her voice very sad, she said, "So you won't come to my dinner party?"
"Of course we will. And it's nice that you're helping out your friend. It's hard getting a business off the ground. When will this party be happening?"
Bianca thought fast. It couldn't be too soon as she needed to marshal her forces, find ways to make this a worthwhile venture. Although she was happy to take credit for helping Lucie, her only interest was helping herself. This event would have to serve as more than a diversionary tactic in a seduction-gone-wrong, much more. The question was: how would it serve her? She said, "Oh, I hadn't picked a date yet. I'm thinking maybe late May? Early June? I'll check with Kate first before I settle on a date now that I know you two will join us. I'm so glad."
"I'm glad, too. So, that was it, right?" he said, already getting to his feet behind his desk and checking his watch.
"Oh, yes," Bianca said, leaping to her feet as well. "Thanks for taking a minute. It's just...I really value Kate's friendship. I wanted you to know that. I feel like we've been friends forever."
He stopped and looked at her. "She feels the same way," he said, and then reluctantly continued in a lower voice, "I'm glad you two met. Kate was lonely here. I think you've made her feel more at home. Thanks."
Standing near the bar at Bembe and looking up at the muscular man standing over her, Bianca felt a dropping sensation in her stomach from the memory of Grant's coldness toward her. What
was
he made of? Every man was her plaything: her puppet dangled on strings and made to dance for her entertainment. No man had ever shown such lack of interest. And now there could be a baby, ruining any chance she had. His bizarre extreme commitment to his wife would only be worsened by a growing family. No, it couldn't happen.