Cosmopolitan Girls (9 page)

“What did I just tell you?” He smacked me hard on the thigh.

“Stop, Randy, I don't want to.” Tears began to stream down my face. “Please, just stop.” I pushed him back.

Randy looked at my tear-streaked face. I was naked and trembling. He was breathing heavy with his shirt open, chest exposed, and his pants around his ankles.

“I should have never met you tonight. I love Troy, Randy.” I snatched my dress off the floor, quickly putting it on, and stuffed my bra and panties into my clutch.

“Yeah, right!” Randy snickered. “We'll see what your boy thinks of you now!”

“Fuck you and your threats, Randy!” I ran out of his apartment and never looked back.

Chapter 16

Yeah, Right, Whatever

I thought re-creating the other night would help bring back those lost pages. But the sound of waterfalls, and an entire bottle of wine, didn't do a thing. Are you sure you want to shut down? the computer asked. “Just shut up, and shut down already!” I pounced hard on the enter key. The phone rang, startling me. I checked the caller ID: “out of area.” Was it her? I was not in the mood tonight. If it is, I'm going to let her have it with both barrels.

“Hello!” I snatched the phone up in a fury.

“You fucking bitch! I hate you!” the female caller barked in a drab French accent.

“I'll kick your ass!” I said with my
Bed-Sty-do-or-die
Mafioso tough-girl attitude. She hung up. I collapsed on the sofa, staring at the phone. I was angry and there was nothing I could do.

I shook my head in disgust. Screw this! As soon as Michael walks through that door, I'm going to confront him.

I heard Michael closing the front door. I stepped into the hall. “Michael, are you cheating on me?” I came right out with it.

Michael started to laugh and headed for the laundry room.

“I'm talking to you! Don't you dare walk away from me!” My voice was loud and full of contempt. He knew better than to take another step. “And I don't see a damn thing funny!”

Michael turned around, looked at me, staring me in the eye. “You're right, I didn't mean to laugh. It's just what you said is so ridiculous.”

“I'll tell you what's so ridiculous, a woman who keeps calling my damn house and hanging up in my face! Who is the bitch, Michael?”

“What is this really all about, Charlie? Wedding jitters? Your not being able to write your script? And, please don't say my kids. You knew my situation from the get-go, so don't give me that shit!” Michael paced the floor, getting more defensive by the minute. “You know you got a lot of fucking nerve accusing me. I work hard every day to make sure you don't want for nothing. And all I ask from you is a clean house and a hot meal. I mean damn, how many brothers do you know that would continue to support this dream of yours?” Michael realized what he'd said but it was too late to take it back.

“Don't try to flip the script! Just answer my fucking question or I swear I will tear this house apart!” I was enraged and started to tremble. I think I scared him. He took a deep breath before speaking.

“Damn it, I didn't want to tell you like this.”

Michael tried to step toward me but my body language told him that if he wanted to keep his head attached to his body he'd better stand still. “Look, I have an investor, who happens to be a woman. A very wealthy woman, but it's not what you think. She's well connected and is only interested in making money. That's all.” Michael looked at me as if he'd been wounded.

“Please! Do I look like a fool to you? There's a woman who's been calling here for weeks. If what you're saying is true, and it's all about business, then why in the hell is she hanging up, and calling me out of my name?! Doesn't she know you have a fiancée!” I screamed.

“Charlie, this is crazy! Anyone could be making these crank calls. What about Juanita?” Michael said, now taking baby steps toward me.

“So tell me, is this investor woman of yours French?” I asked, throwing him off.

“I think so. Yes, actually she is,” Michael said, acting like he was unsure.

“Well, it ain't Juanita! You're lying, Michael!” I belted out.

“I'm not lying! Charlie, I may have lied about some of my double shifts, but I did it because I wanted to surprise you,” Michael said, reaching his hand out to me. “Charlie, please, I'm telling you the truth. My investor's name is Natasha and she's an older woman with lots of cash. She's what they call a venture capitalist.”

Michael started talking fast as he took me by the hand and pulled me close. “The woman is making my dream,
our
dream come true. I thought you wanted this for me, for us. You know I've always wanted to start my own construction business. If all goes well, I could be signing a lease right before the wedding.”

Part of me really wanted to believe him, but my anger had me convinced he wasn't capable of telling me the truth.

“I'm telling you, baby, it's not what you think. I love
you
and I'm going to marry
you.
Why in the world would I jeopardize that?” Michael pleaded.

My mind was pounding with uncertainty. I pulled away, stormed into the bedroom, and slammed the door behind me.

“Yeah, right, whatever!” was all I could say.

Chapter 17

Come Again?

I walked out of Robert's office invigorated. He had approved the pilot script for Alix's show. Once I get the pilot shot, I'm going to spring it on Robert that I want to jump into the producer's ring. Just then Robert called out.

“Lindsay! The writer did a great job on the final draft.”

I stopped, and he caught up.

“Obviously you're feeling better?”

“Yeah, it was just a bug,” I answered, praying we wouldn't have to relive my near breakdown.

“Just make sure you stay healthy. This show's going to be incredible. I need you feeling a hundred percent from here on out.” Robert gave me a reassuring look.

Three o'clock rolled around and the words on my computer screen began to run together. I kept thinking about Troy and Randy. How could I have allowed “it” to happen with Randy? I was branded with my very own scarlet letter. I never wanted to speak about it, think about it, or bring it up again. Suddenly, my line lit up.

“Lindsay Bradley,” I answered.

There was a long pause.

“Hello?”

“Lindsay, I need to see you. I know it's late, but have you had lunch yet?” It was Troy. I was elated, oblivious to his strained tone.

“I've eaten already, but I can get off early to meet you.” I made myself instantly forget that Troy hadn't called in weeks. For him to ask me to leave the office, it had to be important. I hung up, and quickly wrapped up for the day.

We had been sitting at the Empire Diner for over twenty minutes. Troy barely hugged me when I arrived, and I watched him eat his entire meal practically in silence. I was stuck on weird, and the Empire's cold metal-and-chrome décor, and the hard leather seats, made me even more uncomfortable.

I was about to bite my nail when Troy reached over and pushed my hand away from my face. His familiar touch lightened the mood and I felt better.

We exited Empire. Troy's hand was on the small of my back. I inhaled deeply. It was good to have him back. He stopped midstride and turned to me, lifting my face in his hands. I braced myself. He was finally ready to say the long-awaited words. I pictured myself standing in his kitchen telling him I loved him. Now I was going to finally hear it from him.

“I felt myself falling in love with you a long time ago, Lindsay.” My heart danced with delight. If only he would just hurry and tell me now. Troy's words flowed with ease: “But I discovered you aren't the one for me.”

“What are you saying, Troy? Where is this coming from?”

He cleared his throat and tilted his head. The sun hit his eyes and they sparkled something devilish. “Look, Lindsay, we can stop the games.”

“What games? What are you talking about?” I was dazed.

“I know you slept with Randy.”

The earth dropped from beneath my feet. Troy had found out about it. The “it” I vowed to forget. He was trying to be calm, but his anger hung from the edge of his tongue like an icicle.

“You know you really hurt me. I trusted you, but now I'm done. We're done, Lindsay.”

I felt as if my body had cracked into a million pieces.

“Hold on . . . please, no, not like this. You don't understand. Please, Troy.” I tried to explain, but couldn't. My tongue swelled up. I was fighting back tears. Troy touched my hand. I was numb.

“There's someone else I should've pursued a long time ago, but I got sidetracked with you.” He let go of my hand. As angry as I was, pride wouldn't let me cry. My heart pounded faster and faster. I looked up. A taxi was headed toward us. “By the way, Randy was right. Your intentions were always impure. He told me from the beginning it wasn't going to work out,” Troy said, flagging the taxi.

Troy opened the door and I grabbed his arm, making a last-minute, desperate plea.

“Randy's full of shit, Troy! He told me the same thing about you! Don't you see, Randy wants what we have. Please just let me explain,” I stammered.

“You're the one who's full of it. When you told me you loved me, I admit I didn't know how to handle it. I went to my boy for advice. He said that you did the same thing with him. I wanted to prove him wrong, so I told him to test you. Test what we had. You failed.” Troy started to laugh. “All this time I was so worried about you and your boss. I never thought it would be Randy. Damn, some bitches don't have any self-control.” Troy served me one too many low blows. I was fed up.

“To hell with you, Troy! Randy told me you've been screwing Robin and everything else with two legs! Yeah, your boy Randy told me all about it. So don't give me a holier-than-thou speech!”

Troy couldn't believe his boy had ratted him out. His face puffed up with anger. “Hear me loud and clear, I'm never going to let a bitch come between me and my boy,” and with that he got into the cab and disappeared.

I felt my chest cave in. He had called me a bitch twice in several minutes. The world circled around my head. My legs felt like Jell-O. I don't know how I did it, but I raised my hand and hailed another cab. I slid in and miraculously got out one word, “Uptown.”

The smell of curry and Middle Eastern spices filled the backseat. Then Eartha Kitt's famous growl reminding New Yorkers to “Grrrr! Buckle up!” pierced through the rear speaker. New York cabbies had jumped into the twenty-first century with state-of-the-art celebrity safety messages. However, they were annoying. Listening to one on a good day could drive a sane person insane. So you know what it could do on a day like today!

I felt confined in the cramped backseat, and I was going to lose it for sure if I didn't get out fast. “Stop the cab!” I screamed, banging on the Plexiglas partition with my fist. The taxi had only gotten a block away from the diner. I opened the door as the wheels came to a halt.

“What you doing, crazy lady! You pay!” The driver was going ballistic.

“Pay for what? You didn't take me anywhere!” I screamed. I gave him the very unladylike middle finger, yanked my purse up, and jumped out, but not before scuffing my shoe and ripping my panty hose. The cab driver burned rubber, and flipped me off too.

I started feeling sick to my stomach. Then suddenly, just as I was thinking my guardian angel had failed me, a gypsy cab barreled around the corner of Twenty-third.
Thank you
Lord,
I silently mouthed.

I dove into the backseat. No prerecorded corny messages about buckling up from Bernadette Peters, Alan Alda, Joan Rivers, or any other TV, Broadway, or movie star. The cab zoomed up Tenth Avenue.

I couldn't believe all this was coming down on me. It was unfair and Troy wasn't being held accountable for anything. Randy was devious and calculating but I had to give it to him: he played his game well. I never saw it coming. I clasped my hands to keep them from shaking.