“You’re hanging out with her?” I asked now. “I thought you didn’t like her.”
“She’s better now than when you first met her. I don’t think she’s as…bitter. Besides, we’re both single, and you know we single girls have to stick together.”
I was still single, I wanted to protest but didn’t. I might undercut all my claims of newfound commitment with Kirk. Though, in truth, I wasn’t feeling the warm, fuzzy security of commitment now that Kirk had all but disappeared from my life.
“In fact, we were down at Lola’s last night. On Nineteenth Street? I think you and I might have gone there before.”
Yes, we had, I thought, trying not to feel miffed that Grace had come all the way downtown and hadn’t even called me. Why would she call me, now that she had Claudia to pal around with? I’ll admit I was jealous. But I didn’t have time to pout when I heard Grace’s next words.
“You’ll never guess who I ran into.”
“Drew?” I asked hopefully.
“No,” she replied somewhat irritably. Then she laughed. “I couldn’t see Drew at Lola’s. It’s a little too…downtown for him.”
“So who then?” I said, ignoring her little jab at Drew, whom I was still rooting for.
“Billy Caldwell.”
“Bad Billy Caldwell?”
“Yeah. And he’s still just as good…”
Uh-oh. Bad Billy Caldwell was one of the first men Grace had dated when she moved into Manhattan. With his dark hair, cool blue eyes and somewhat rough-around-the-edges good looks, he was one of those guys most women couldn’t resist. Which was essentially the problem with Billy. He usually didn’t resist either, reaping whatever conquests his killer good looks brought. And they brought a lot of conquests, Grace had discovered within two months of their initial, torrid affair. But rather than give him up completely like she should have, she seemed to gravitate toward him whenever the need for debauchery arose, usually right after she’d given up one of her perfectly great men…like Drew.
“I hope you didn’t sleep with him.”
“Well, we didn’t exactly sleep…”
“Grace, what are you doing? You know you always feel like shit after spending any time with that guy” In fact, it was almost a pattern with Grace. Break up with Mr. Perfect, sleep with Billy, wish Billy were Mr. Perfect, break up with Billy.
“Well, I don’t feel like shit now.”
Of course she didn’t feel like shit now. She was probably cruising on the pheromone rush that would always inevitably be followed by crashing disappointment when Billy abruptly disappeared after a few mind-blowing weeks of sex—you know, so mind-blowing that you might actually mistake it for love.
“I hope you used a condom.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “So how are things with you and Kirk?”
“Fine,” I said quickly. Then, feeling as if I should be somewhat honest, I said, “Well, he’s been kind of busy lately with work. He’s trying to get this big proposal done before we go home for the christening.”
“Ah, the big meet-the-parents weekend. When is it—Labor Day weekend?
“Uh-huh,” I replied, swallowing around my fear.
Sensing my discomfort, she said, “Don’t worry so much. They’re going to love you. The question is whether you’ll like them.”
That made me even more nervous.
“Look, you need to take your mind off this whole thing with Kirk,” Grace counseled. “What are you doing this Friday? There’s a new salsa club opening in Soho—kind of a swanky lounge with a DJ that spins Latin tunes. And you know what that means…”
Clearly I was out of the loop, because I had no idea. “What?”
“Gorgeous Latin men. Lots of ‘em. Wanna come?”
“Okay,” I agreed immediately. Not that I was in the market. I just wanted to be with Grace. I missed her laughter, her rowdy embrace of life. It seemed she was back to her old self again. Her old single self, but I would take what I could get.
“Good. I’ll call and get us on the list so we don’t have any trouble getting in. Let’s see, that will be you, me, Claudia…”
Claudia. I almost groaned. I could handle Grace and her new rambunctiousness, but Claudia and Grace together would make a pretty formidable team of Single and Seeking Females. And the last thing I needed was to find myself with two ravenous women in a room full of hot men. I felt like I needed protection…or something. “Can I bring someone?”
“Like who?”
“Michelle?” I said, not even sure why I suggested her. Michelle and I hadn’t hung out since the days when we were dating the Salerno cousins back in high school. Besides, I wasn’t even sure I could drag the Queen of the Brooklyn Marrieds out for a big girls’ night out in Manhattan. But I was desperate. If Grace was bringing Claudia, I needed backup.
Now Grace groaned. “Oh, God, Ange.Why her? She’s a little… weird.”
Grace had had the misfortune of hanging out with me and Michelle when Michelle was just getting over her breakup with Eddie. Grace had come back to Brooklyn for a weekend with a brand-spanking-new boyfriend from Long Island, whom Michelle had proceeded to hang all over. But that was back in high school…
“She’s different these days,” I argued. “She’s more…stable now that’s she married. Besides, I’ve been hanging out with her a bit lately,” I hedged, remembering that night we shared drinks, cigarettes and man-snaring plots at the bar. Then there was our little ring-shopping expedition.
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Much to my surprise, Michelle leaped at my invitation, which was given somewhat halfheartedly, I’ll admit, after Grace’s admonitions. “It’ll be just like old times!” she said, referring to the brief friendship we’d shared in high school.
Now here we were, comrades again, I thought on Friday night as we waited out front of the Spectrum Lounge on Mercer Street for Grace and Claudia to arrive from uptown. In a shiny black dress that looked scarily like spandex from the way it clung to her curves, Michelle gave the impression that she
hadn’t recovered from the disco era. I was kind of surprised, as she looked fairly normal at work. I guess she didn’t get out much these days. And her hair! Was Aqua Net really still the official hairspray of the Brooklyn Beauty Queen? I was afraid she wouldn’t make it through the door with that coif. Or past the velvet rope, I thought, eyeing the big, black-clad bouncer who seemed to be judicious about who he was letting through the dark glass door.
I can’t say my hair looked any better. Despite a painstaking twenty-minute blow-dry to make it straight in keeping with the current fashion, the cloying heat was threatening to unravel all my attempts at sleekness. Thank God for my Calvin Klein tank, which I’d paired with a sleek black skirt and strappy heels. At least my boobs looked fabulous.
But fabulous couldn’t even begin to describe the sight of Grace as she stepped out of the cab with Claudia a short while later. Her short blond hair had that tousled, just-got-out-of-bed look (which was entirely possible, now that Bad Billy was back in the picture), and her legs were six miles long in the sleek silver-gray halter dress she wore, which made her smoky eyes glow. Hell, she glowed, especially next to Claudia, who was draped in black from head to toe. With her long, pin-straight hair and heavily made-up dark eyes, Claudia looked like a Goth-who-just-happened-to-shop-at-Saks. The only thing that saved her from a completely bohemian look was her somewhat strained aristocratic features and the diamonds that glittered on her ears and at her throat.
“Hey, Ange,” Grace said, leaning in to hug me. “Hi, Michelle, long time no see,” she added, embracing Michelle, too, because no matter what Grace thought of Michelle these days, she’d never be unkind to a fellow Brooklynite.
I tried to follow suit, even leaned in to give Claudia a hug until she lifted one well-manicured hand and waved it in my face. “Hello, Angela. Don’t you look darling?”
Darling? Suddenly I felt like a twelve-year-old. Even more so when I found myself huddling with Michelle behind Grace and Claudia as Grace dazzled the doorman, smiling widely at him as she gave him our names to check off the guest list. Even if our names hadn’t been there, he would probably have let us in, judging by that smile he was beaming back at Grace as he let us by.
It did feel like old times, I realized as we stepped into the darkly lit lounge. Because as Grace entered the room and heads turned to watch her stroll by, I remembered how difficult it had been over the years to live in her glow. Whenever Grace was in a room, she owned it. Men just fell over her. In fact, I often felt like a bump in the carpet, the way they usually tripped all over me to get to her.
And it appeared nothing had changed, I thought, watching as she wound her way to the bar. What else could I do but follow, noticing how all eyes slid over her, then flitted past the rest of us as we filed by in the shadow she left in her wake.
Thank God I had Kirk, I thought, watching as Grace shimmied up to the bar. “Bacardi O Cosmo?” Grace said, turning to Claudia as if to confirm that this was also her drink of choice. When I saw the wink Claudia gave Grace as she nodded, I said, “I’ll have the same.”
“Me, too,” Michelle said, apparently not wanting to be left out of the loop either. Then, once the bartender had poured our pretty little drinks, Michelle elbowed her way to the front. “I got it!” she said, shoving a fistful of cash at the bartender.
She sure knew how to spend Frankie’s money. I was grateful for her generosity, however. My wallet was feeling a little lean after my recent expenditures. But when I saw the uneasy look in Michelle’s eyes as she clinked her glass into Grace’s while we toasted (at Claudia’s suggestion) to good sex, I realized that Michelle was probably feeling more insecure than I was. Maybe she sensed Grace didn’t feel all that fondly about her. Or maybe she just wasn’t used to being in bars anymore, I thought, as I watched her down half her drink in one fell swoop.
Whatever it was, I didn’t have time to contemplate it, because, suddenly, standing before me, was the most beautiful Latino man I had ever seen. Broad-shouldered, with thick dark hair and beautiful dark eyes. “Would you like to dance?” he asked. I looked around, as if uncertain he was talking to me, and caught Grace’s eye as she raised her drink to me and mouthed, Go.
I turned to look at him, saw those beautiful eyes were still smiling at me and plunked my glass on the bar. “Hold my bag,” I said, practically whapping Michelle in the chest with it.
And suddenly, there I was, out in the middle of the dance floor, hip to hip with a man I barely knew but who gazed at me as if he wanted to know me better—a lot better.
It was just an innocent dance, I told myself, though I knew there was nothing really innocent about salsa. For one thing, you really couldn’t do it without a man’s hand pressed firmly against your back, his groin moving rhythmically with yours. Or against yours, as was often the case with me, at least in those first few steps, as I strove to get my rhythm.
But I got my rhythm all right. Because suddenly we were grooving together like there was no one else on the floor. And I remembered how much I loved to salsa. Why hadn’t I done it in so long? I needed to make Kirk take some lessons. Then I remembered Kirk hated to dance.
All thoughts of Kirk dissolved from my mind as the song changed to a faster beat. I rose to the challenge, even managed a few dips and twirls, which were surprisingly easier now that I had some strength and flexibility in my arms and legs from my daily morning workout. I twirled again and again, laughing as our bodies met over and over under the glittering lights. I was having so much fun, I didn’t even notice that Grace had joined me on the floor with a hottie of her own, until she grazed up close to my ear and whispered, “Just be careful. You go three dances with these Latin guys and they think you’re going home with them.”
As she whirled away once more, I almost stumbled over my own feet, leaning somewhat heavily into my now-sweaty dance partner. “Are you okay, beautiful?” he asked, touching the back of one large hand to my cheek. God, those hands were big…could it mean that wasn’t his belt buckle I’d been feeling out there?
“Um, I’m going to take a breather,” I said, then felt a pang at the sudden dismay that spread over those gorgeous features. “But thanks for the dance. It was…fun.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“No thank you,” I said quickly, and rushed away. If three dances got me a roll in the hay, God only knows what a drink would garner. Probably a venereal disease.
When I got back to the bar, I found Michelle engrossed in a conversation with yet another gorgeous Latino. God, Grace was right. This place was teeming with good-looking men. And the way this one was looking at Michelle made me queasy. Hello? Did he happen to miss the two carats she was waving around on her left hand?
“Hey, Ange. This is Jose,” Michelle said, as Jose took my hand and kissed the back of it.
Michelle beamed at him. “Isn’t that cute? Jose is a descendant of the Spanish conquistadores,” she announced proudly.
I wondered if Michelle even knew what that meant and realized she had no idea, since the Spanish conquistadores never set up shop in Brooklyn, which is all Michelle really knew anything about. But that was probably what good old Jose here was counting on, I thought, watching as his eyes flitted down to Michelle’s chest for the third time in the thirty seconds I’d been standing there.
“Where’s Claudia?” I asked, wondering how Michelle had managed to lose the Ice Princess so she could warm up to Mr. Hot and Spicy. “Over there,” she said, gesturing to the lounge area. “Here’s your bag,” she said, slapping it into my hands as if to say, “Get lost.” What had gotten into her? She was married, for chrissakes. And very happily, from the looks of all those photos of her and Frankie she had crammed into her cubicle.
I glanced at the bar, thinking a good swig of my Bacardi O might make this new version of Michelle a little easier to swallow. “Where’s my drink?” I asked when I saw my glass was gone.
“Oops. I think this one might have been yours,” she said, taking one last sip before she handed it back to me, half-empty. “Sorry!” she said, with a smile that wasn’t all that apologetic, then promptly turned her back to me to focus on Jose.