Impossibly Tongue-Tied (14 page)

“Yeah, it's like being in some sort of celebrity side show, isn't it?”

“Except that
I'm
the only freak here,” she murmured as a Bunny with size 38DD chest came into sight, anchored on each side by a Wilson brother.

“Trust me, it's not you who's the freak. Although you
are
somewhat of an anomaly in a town where most twenty-four-year-olds have already had cosmetic surgery. The trick is finding the ones like you, who haven't.”

“Maybe I should reconsider my stance on that,” she said as she watched the tide of women ebb and flow around Nathan. For a second there, she thought she might have seen a familiar face—Katerina's? But it disappeared into the crowd.

As did Nathan, who was suddenly nowhere to be found.

Watching her look off after him in that direction, Sam declared, “Hell, don't do that! You're absolutely perfect.”

“Well, thank you for the compliment. It's very kind.”

“It's more than that. It's the truth.” Once again, her cheeks pinked up. He really had been telling the truth, but the last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel uncomfortable in any way, so he changed the subject. “Hey, have you seen the Grotto yet?”

“Nope, not yet.” She tried to steady herself by laying a hand on his sleeve. Suddenly she was too dizzy even to care where Nathan might have gone. Thank God Sam was there so that she wasn't totally alone. Catching her breath, she added, “And since I'm here, I guess I should take in that infamous site. Lead the way.”

Elbowing their way through a thicket of off-season professional athletes, rock stars, sitcom kings, and Ocean's Thirteen
wannabes, Nina caught a glimpse of the midget whom she thought had played Mini-Me. He was dressed as Cupid, and he had his hand up the red velvet miniskirt of a pantyless Playmate, who was squealing with delight.

That sight, combined with Nina's champagne and vodka chaser, made her queasy again. She reached out to grab Sam's hand so that she didn't lose him, too, in the crowd headed for the Grotto.

The steam that enveloped the man-made cave was stifling. Bare flesh was everywhere. She tried hard not to stare, opting instead to look through the water, but the shimmering lights, reflecting on the cave walls and back into the undulating pool, were making her dizzier by the minute.

Finally she spotted Nathan—although she thought:
That can't be him, because he's kissing that woman…

…That woman who looks just like…Kat.

It was Kat.

And yes, that was Nathan with her.

Kissing her.

Sam, noticing the look on her face, scanned the crowd to see what had shocked her.

Just then, Nathan looked up and saw them staring. He waved uncertainly, then headed over. Kat stayed at his side.

“Hi!” she said brightly, as if being in a lip-lock with Nina's husband was an everyday occurrence.

It was, but Nina didn't know that.

Until now.

Nathan stood by warily, waiting for Nina's reaction.

He didn't have to wait long.

She threw up—
on Kat
.

 

“Jeez, Nina! What the hell did you go and do that for?” He hadn't said a word to her the whole way back from the Grotto, or even as they stood curbside, waiting for their limo to pull around. But once they were safely ensconced inside the leather-clad tomb, he scolded her as if she were…well, a child.

A child with an active imagination.

One who only
imagined
that another woman had been kissing her husband.

“I—I couldn't help it! It just came…up!”

The words came out between sobs. She turned to the window, then came right out with it:
“Why the hell were you kissing her, anyway?”

“What?” He acted distracted, as if her question was not worth the breath to answer it. “That? It—it was
nothing!
A—a friendly little peck. She's…a little down. About being alone on Valentine's Day, and all. That's—well, you know how hard that can be for women.”

“Yeah, sure, I feel for her, really I do. But let me tell you something, Nathan Harris Harte, it's not
nearly
as bad as spending Valentine's Day with your husband and oh,
by the way
, a hundred beautiful women!”

He felt the heat in her words and turned to face her.

“It's my job, remember? Fiona says that it's important that I get out there. You know I have to make the scene, get my name in the columns.” He frowned angrily. “How many times are we going to have this discussion? Look, if it bothers you so much, then next time don't tag along!”

“Tag along?
Tag along
?” She fairly spit out the words. “Have you forgotten that today is—
Valentine's Day
?”

Until he saw the haunted look on her face, yes, he had forgotten that it was any day other than one on which he'd finally been allowed to play with the big boys.

And the very big girls.
And Katerina
, who didn't feel that any woman was her competition, let alone Nina.

He felt like a heel for forgetting.

And for lying about the kiss.

He reached over to her. Even though she shrugged him away, he held her tighter, pulled her closer, and nuzzled her until she quit fighting him.

By the time they'd reached the apartment and he'd tipped the limo driver, they'd kissed and made up.

When they got upstairs, they made love.

Tenderly at first, then tempestuously.

It was make-up sex at its best.

Afterward, spent and sweaty, they cuddled until Nina fell asleep.

When she woke an hour later and reached over for him, she saw that he was standing beside the bed, dressed again in his new Sean John jeans, a black T-shirt, and an Armani jacket.

“You're going back there?”

Of course he was.

“Why don't you just say it:
You just don't trust me
.” Whenever he was annoyed, Nathan's Greek god–like profile seemed etched in impenetrable granite.

If I don't answer
, she thought,
he'll know he's right and he'll leave angry
.

I can't take that, again. Not on Valentine's Day.

So she lied. “Of course I trust you. It's just that—that I
would…miss you too much if we were apart…tonight especially.”

Still, he knew he'd gotten what he wanted: her uneasy agreement to let him go.

He bent down and gave her kiss. “I won't be long.”

Then he went out the door.

Happy Valentine's Day.

She got up, made herself some coffee, and went to work.

 

In reality, she was too angry to be on the phone with men who were seeking the kindness of strange women. Too bad. Her kid was at a sleepover, her husband was at the Playboy Mansion, and she was on the war path.

Bring it on.

Poor King Kong. He had the misfortune of dialing her number in anticipation of fifty-eight minutes of erotic empathy.

As if there is such a thing.

What he got instead was O's dissertation on the sensual advantages of being a hairy man, which included the wherewithal to stay warm in colder climes, not to mention being able to keep his buxom buck-naked partner warm during chilly nights. By the time she asked this supposedly big hairy brute if he might like to take a razor to her nether regions and sculpt it into some work of art, then allow her to do the same to his back, King Kong, flushed and cocky (in both the physical and literal senses), admitted that he was as hairless as a chihuahua…

And oh, by the way, was she into dwarfs?

Nina vomited for the second time that night.

Leave it to a guy nicknamed King Kong to present her with yet another reason to get out of the business.

Normalcy. That was what Nina and Nathan needed.

And what could be more normal than a cookout with some of their loving friends around them?

Nina got that bright idea after a week in which the two of them lived like strangers: passing in the same hallway, sharing the same rooms—even the same bed—but strangers nonetheless.

Albeit very polite strangers.

Neither of them wanted to rock the tiny sailboat that was their marriage, particularly in what were already turbulent waters.

Nathan jumped at the idea. Put him in front of their portable Weber with a bag of Kingsford charcoal briquets and he was king of the world! Nina would wheedle some perfectly marbled New York strips from Tommaso's butcher at a fire sale price, grab a couple of six-packs of some of the store's chichi microbrewed beer, and they were in business.

“So, who would you like to invite?” Nina asked warily.

Was he foolish enough to say Kat? Of course not. The last thing in the world Nathan needed was to have the two women he loved within spitting (or barfing) distance of each other.

Besides, ever since Nina had caught them kissing at the mansion, she'd become suspicious and anxious. And as for Kat—well, Kat was acting less covert about their affair, and more possessive: throwing tantrums when they were called back to the set before she was done “cuing him” (her little euphemism for their daily love trysts), pouting if Hugo called for additional takes when she was ready to call it quits for the evening, sulking or crying whenever Nathan couldn't get away to meet her, or if he tried to end their rendezvous before she was through with him first.

And that was the problem:
She was wearing him out
.

By the time he got home, he was too tired to even consider sex with Nina. It didn't matter that she had stayed up all night waiting for him just so that they could make love.

At first when he begged off, she was surprised, but understanding. “I'm sure it must be exhausting on that set all day,” she murmured, concerned and perturbed at the same time. After a week or so, though, she took matters into her own hands—
literally
—with scented oils and some expert finger manipulation, while wearing her sheerest babydoll camisoles.

Nina realized instinctively that she was in a battle of the sexiest.

What she didn't know at the time was that she'd already been outmaneuvered and outflanked on every front.

Not to mention the backside, too.

It was only when Nathan began faking being asleep that she realized how close she was to losing the war for his affections.

Upset and disillusioned, she pulled back to reassess the situation. She was willing to concede that he was tired. And, from what she had witnessed when she saw him with Katerina, maybe—
just maybe
—he had a little crush on the star, and was reveling in the attention she was showing him.

And obviously Katerina must have been somewhat flattered. She certainly admired his “tenacity and stamina on the set,” as she so eloquently put it once, when she had called the apartment looking for him to remind him of “a little business” they had discussed for the next day…something that had to do with his bringing his old varsity jacket to the set.

When Nina questioned Nathan as to why he needed it, he muttered, “It's for a little role playing—I mean, a Method acting technique Kat wants to show me.”

Oh,
really?

Nina found that hard to believe. Still, it was easier to buy into than the thought that Kat might be reciprocating Nathan's crush. Just the fact that Kat was being so open with her was reason enough that Nina couldn't, in a million years, believe that Nathan and Kat were anything other than a tabloid pipe dream, or gossip used by the publicist to fuel the public's interest in the film.

Besides, if he ever had an affair with Kat, or
anyone
, that would be the end of their marriage—no ifs, ands, or buts about it—as well as everything they'd spent six long years building together.

Not to mention their tiny, happy family.

And didn't Nathan just know that.

Which was why he was tense and irritable at home, but afraid to do anything other than what he was told on the set, whether it was Hugo or Kat calling the shots. But unfortunately, from one day to the next, it was hard for him to tell who was running the show.

He jumped at the chance to do something normal, like a cookout on Santa Monica Beach, where he could escape the tension with a little Frisbee, some volleyball, and a couple of rides with Jake on the pier's Ferris wheel.

“I was thinking we could invite Jamie,” he answered almost too cheerfully.

Nina winced. The few times Nathan had connected with his pal since he had signed with Sam, Jamie had been a bit of a wise guy, accusing Nathan of having “graduated to the big leagues” now that he no longer came to class with the rest of them but instead took private lessons from Euphegenia.

“I guess he's too good for us now, huh?” Jamie once muttered at Nina, when he called to ask why Nathan had skipped class.

“No, it's nothing like that! He's just…well, he can't break away from the set so Euphegenia is coaching him privately a couple of times a week. But he's only doing that because the production is running behind schedule. They're working him
really
hard, and he's always tired.”

She didn't have the heart to tell Jamie the truth: that he was right, that Nathan now felt that going to class with other less successful actors was beneath him. Besides, now that he could afford to have Euphegenia all to himself, why shouldn't he indulge himself? It was only, what, a couple of hours of additional phone time for O, no big deal.

To him
.

“Yeah, I can just
imagine
what's making him so tired.” She could almost feel Jamie's leer through the telephone.

Granted, Jamie made her cringe, but still, just the fact that Nathan even suggested inviting Jamie meant that he, too, was looking for things to go back to the way they were.

“What do you think about me inviting Casey and Jarred, or Susannah and Rolf? You like them, right? And that way Jake will have someone to play with, too.”

Nathan shrugged. He'd finally met both couples at the school fund-raising auction, but they were more Nina's pals than his own. This was obvious by the way both women had scrutinized him closely, a clear indication to him that they'd been reading the tabloid headlines that were popping up recently about him and Kat. As for their husbands, Rolf immediately started pitching him some cockeyed indie projects that needed a “name” to attract any real financing, and that rubbed Nathan the wrong way.
Hell, where was that offer when he was a nobody, huh?

On the other hand, Jarred's nonchalance toward him hurt Nathan's ego.

Not that he could say any of this to Nina, who finally felt a part of the SOA family, now that she'd found a few kindred souls to hang with.

So instead he said, “I dunno. I'd be afraid that Jamie might—you know, glom onto Jarred. Also, he may come on to Susannah.”

Nina could easily envision both of those scenarios occurring, and would feel ashamed if they did, so she didn't push the idea of having her new friends join them.

“What about Helene?”

The question was innocent enough. Nathan smiled benignly and nodded. “Yeah sure, why not?” In truth, he would prefer to let sleeping girlfriends lie. But since he was going for anything that resembled their old lives, he'd just have to hope that Helene would demonstrate her appreciation for this invitation from the rising star and his wife by keeping her yap shut.

That was too much to ask for.

As the men stood sentry over the Weber, Helene and Nina laid out the rest of the picnic spread on a nearby table downwind from the billowing smoke. Sometime between setting out the Hungarian sour cream potato salad and slicing up the bruised or overripe ortaniques, pomelos, satsumas, and tangelos Nina had pilfered from Tommaso's fruit bins, Helene nervously grilled Nina about Nathan's new life: the role he was playing, the hours he was putting in, the thrill of working with Hugo, and of course, what it was like to costar opposite Kat McPherson.

“She's been very sweet to him,” Nina said cautiously.

“So you've met her?” Helene, still cutting up the pomelos, looked up sharply to gauge Nina's reaction.

“Yes, of course.” Nina's tone was belligerent, but she couldn't help it. She knew what Helene was referring to, and she hated the thought that their friends would even
think
that about Nathan.

She took a deep breath, then scanned the beach for Jake. He was chasing sandpipers in and out of the surf. “I've seen those stories too. About Nathan and Kat. They're garbage. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Helene responded quickly.
Too quickly.

“No, that's not true.” Nina walked over to where Helene was standing, picked up the thick pomelo skins the lanky blond had peeled off the fruit, and fairly threw them at the trash can. A couple of scavenging pigeons scattered, then reconvened greedily. “You wouldn't have said anything if that were really the case.”

Helene put down her knife and looked over at Nathan. “I really don't think you want to know.”

“Try me.”

Helene hesitated. “Okay, you asked for it. The bottom line is that Nathan isn't as innocent as you think.” She picked up a satsuma and, with meticulous precision, focused on peeling it.

“Oh.” Nina felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. “Tell me: Have you ever seen him come onto anyone?”

“No…nothing like that.”

Nina put her hand on top of Helene's so that her friend would stop peeling and look at her. Whatever Helene had to say, Nina wanted to be sure to read the truth in her eyes.

“How about you, Helene?”

Helene froze, but she didn't glance away. “No. No, I can honestly say that he hasn't. Not that I didn't want him to.” The smile that came onto her lips involuntarily was a sad one. “Let's just say that he's…susceptible.”

“If that's the case, then why are you warning me now?”

“Because—well, if it were me, I'd want to know, so I thought you might, too.”

“Thanks. But if and when it happens, I think I'll know.”

“Know what?”

Helene and Nina looked up to find Nathan standing there. Helene turned beet red and suddenly took an interest in rearranging the fruit on the platter. Nina went up to him and put her arm in his.

“I was just telling Helene that I think I'll know when your fame gets the better of you.”

“According to Jamie, it already happened.”

Nina looked around for Jamie. He was stalking off angrily toward the street, where he'd parked his Harley, the one status symbol he shared with his idol, George Clooney. Hopping on, he kick-started it and revved off noisily, toward Coronado Avenue. “What, now he's upset?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Nathan laughed caustically. “He's pissed because I won't introduce him to Hugo. I mean, the movie's already been cast! What, does he think he can just talk his way into a part of something? He's such a loser sometimes.”

The women stared at him blankly. Sure, both of them thought Jamie's bluster left a lot to be desired. Still, they'd all started out at Euphegenia's together. Just because Nathan was the first to move on to bigger and better things didn't mean that Jamie—or by that definition, Helene and Nina—were losers.

Or did it?

Either way, Helene didn't like the implication. Slowly she wiped her hands on a paper towel. “Well, um, maybe I should be going, too. I've got class tonight, and if Jamie blows it off now that he's angry, I'll need to prepare a monologue to take the place of the scene we were supposed to do together. You
know how it is with us losers. We keep plodding along, no matter what.”

“Hey, look, Helene, that's not what I meant to say. You know that,” Nathan walked up to her and put his arm around her, but she wriggled out from under it.

“Okay sure, whatever. But if I were you, Nathan, I'd remember the old saying: ‘Be nice to the people you meet on the way up, because they're the same people who'll be stepping over you when your new friends kick you to the curb.'” She turned to Nina. “You've got my number, right? Keep in touch, okay? You never know how things may work out.”

As she sauntered off, Nathan looked anxiously at Nina. “What did she mean by that?”

“Nothing,” she answered, but Nathan could tell that she was upset at him, too. Suddenly Nina had no appetite, which meant lots of leftovers for the boys. She went off to call Jake to come and eat.

Damn
, thought Nathan,
can't I say or do anything right? So much for going back to the way things were before.

Maybe that's for the best.

 

Needless to say, because it considered itself the epicenter of its clients' world, Tommaso's had an exceptional newsstand. There, its discriminating clientele (never customers, always clientele) could find every specialty magazine imaginable (
Spa
, say, or
Daruma
, even
Outre
and
Raw Vision
, and always
Placebo Journal
), major newspapers from every state capital
and
twenty-two foreign nations, and eighteen or so financial
publications, not to mention a handful of existential manifestos filled with erudite social commentary.

And of course Tommaso's newsstand also had every gaudy, glossy celebrity magazine imaginable, many of which featured the most renowned of its clientele.

When Nathan's beefcake photos began appearing in the gossip rags that stared up at Nina from the shelves lining the checkout counters, she tried to ignore them, pretending that her husband wasn't the guy
Cosmopolitan
had placed as number three on its list of “Hollywood's Ten Hottest Hunks,” or that
Life & Style
hadn't proclaimed him the “Naughty Hottie of the Month.”