Unleash Me, Vol. 2 (Unleash Me, Annihilate Me Series) (16 page)


You

ll adjust.


I

m beginning to wonder.


You have no
idea how much I

ve
missed you,

she
said.
 

It

s
only been two weeks, but it feels as if it

s been months.


I was going
through withdrawals.


Twin
Separation Anxiety Disorder.


You

ve had it, too?

She pulled away from me with a wink.
 

I
did, but now I

m
cured.


With the
exception of when Alex and you were on the island, I don

t think we

ve
ever spent that much time apart.


Let

s not do it again anytime
soon.


I want to
talk to you about Singapore.


Later.
 
Tonight is all about you.

I looked behind her and saw Alex, who was dashing as
always.
 
Six-foot-two, gleaming dark
hair raked away from a chiseled face peppered with stubble, full lips, and eyes
that were the color of the sea.
 
They were his best feature

blue-green and framed by thick
lashes.
 
He was wearing a navy blue
suit with a white button-front shirt opened at the throat.

I gave him a hug, kissed him on the cheek, and in his ear,
whispered,

Thank you for everything.


There

s no need to thank me.


I think we both know differently.
 
So, please

let
me thank you for all of it.


You

re very gracious, Lisa.


What I am is grateful.


That

s some dress,

Jennifer said.


Barbara sent it over for me.


It

s perfect.

I lifted my foot.
 

And how about these heels?


They look oddly familiar
…”


Thanks for letting me borrow them.


What

s mine is yours.

 
She looked over at Tank.
 

And don

t you look handsome.


Lisa makes me look good.


Nicely said,

Alex said.
 

I

m
stealing that line.

Tank shrugged.
 

What

s
mine is yours.

We laughed at that before Blackwell cleared her
throat.
 

Are
you finished fawning over each other?
 
It

s getting embarrassing.
 
Take your seats, for God

s
sake.
 
Lisa and Tank

you

re
next to me.


You

re so bossy,

Jennifer said.


What I am, my dear, is the law.

I put my hand on Iris

shoulder and welcomed her before Blackwell interrupted
again.
 

Lisa,

she said.
 

The dress

divoon.


I love it.
 
Thank you so much.

She was seated opposite Iris and was facing the room, as
Tank and I would.
 
I took my seat
next to Barbara, and Tank sat next to me.
 
We were well paired

Jennifer was opposite me, and Tank
was opposite Alex.


I don

t know about any of you, but I

m
dying for a drink,

Iris
said.
 

I

ve
been thinking about having a martini all day.

Blackwell raised an eyebrow at her.
 

Really, Iris?
 
Already embracing the clich
é
?
So soon in the evening?
 
Is that it?

Iris, who had dressed beautifully for dinner in a fitted
black dress that accentuated a lovely figure I never would have known she
possessed given the way she usually dressed, leaned forward in her chair and
leveled Blackwell with a look.
 
I

d
never seen her with makeup on before, or with her unruly red hair pulled away
from her face in a tight chignon.
 
I
thought she looked elegant

and formidable.
 

Tank was right.
 
Blackwell is used to being the focus.
 
This isn

t
going to go well.


I don

t know what that means, Barbara,

Iris said.


It

s well known that you editorial types
like to be half in the bag on a daily basis, generally by mid-afternoon.


Is that so?


I can confirm that, by noon, your throat is likely battered
with booze.
 
You know, as if you
drank a quart of pancake mix.
 
It
would be that thick and that coated.
 
You

d be drunk.


I can assure you that none of that is true here,
Barbara.
 
My dear, sweet, bombastic
Barbara.
 
I rarely imbibe, but since
this is a party for Lisa, I can tell you right now that I will be imbibing.
 
Heavily.
 
All night.
 
And who knows?
 
You might have a mess on your hands if you

re
not careful.


Mon Dieu
.


But since you

ve brought up the issue of clich
é
s,
I think it

s fair to point out that you

ve fallen into a
sinkhole of your own.


Impossible.


Really?
 
Then
allow me to take you back to class.
 
When women of a certain age
—”


A certain age?


That

s right, a certain age.
 
Since one can be painfully deluded when
it comes to seeing what one

s become in the wreckage of one

s
downhill slide toward the depths of death, let me just break the news gently to
you

you,
my dear,
are
of a certain age.
 
When I see older women, such as yourself showing off too much d
é
collet
é
,
as you are now, I always smell a whiff of desperation.
 
A cougar on the prowl.
 
And I want to weep for the world.


Save your tears, Iris.
 
If you don

t, you

ll just salt your cocktails with
them.


Isn

t that clever?
 
And news to me.
 
Might I point out that

s
information only a weeping drunk would know?


I

m far from being a drunk, Iris.


You

re also far from being twenty-five,
so perhaps you should stop dressing as if you were.


I

m wearing Chanel.


Then the French hate you.
 
And why shouldn

t
they?
 
With all of that horse hair
on top of your head, not to mention all the whale bone and foam rubber you

re
using to give yourself something that resembles a figure, I don

t
know whether you

re a woman or a five-piece living room set at Frank

s
Warehouse.


This from a woman who typically dresses like a man,

Blackwell said.
 

Oh, how your words cut through my
heart.


And this from a woman who places her self-esteem in the
cold clutches of couture.
 
Oh, how I
wish my words could even find your heart.


You wouldn

t recognize couture if it bit you on
the ass.


Maybe not all the time, but as a sensitive person who can
tap into the ethereal at a moment

s notice, I always can smell that
faint scent of sorrow that enters the air when one

s
youth has left them forever.
 
And
that scent?
 
Oh, it

s
all over you, Barbara.
 
It

s
practically fumigating this place.

Blackwell gave a light, easy laugh at that, waved a hand in
front of her face, and glanced around at the rest of us.
 
Did she see our mortified
expressions?
 
If she did, I don

t
think she cared.
 
And I was
confused.
 
I thought she liked
Iris.
 
What was their problem?
 
Had something happened between them
before we got here?
 
I was about to
say something

anything

to change the conversation when
Blackwell stopped me with a warning look.


OK, everyone.
 
Now, tell me the truth.
 
Don

t
worry

if
you don

t agree with me, I can take it.
 
You won

t hurt my
feelings.
 
So, I need to ask.
 
Do I look a day over forty-five?


Oh, please,

Iris said.
 

Really?
 
Now you

re just looking for
sympathy.
 
And from your friends, no
less.
 
Here

s a
tip.
 
If you

re
looking for sympathy, you can look it up in the dictionary

right
along with

death,


shit

and

suicide.
’”

Blackwell turned back to Iris and was about to say
something when Iris lowered her gaze and bit her cheek.


That

s right,

Blackwell said.
 

Look away from me in shame like your
mother did when she gave birth to you.
 
And while you

re at it, put your dentures in backwards and bite your head
off.

And with that, Iris

head snapped up, she was about to say something to
Blackwell, but then, inexplicably, the two women started to cackle with
laughter.


What the hell was that?

Jennifer said.

Blackwell took a sip of water while Iris dabbed at her eyes
with her napkin.
 
They were still
laughing.


The shame on my mother

s face when she gave birth to me!

Iris said to
Blackwell.
 

Oh,
that was priceless.


The French hate me!
 
A five-piece living room set!


Salting my cocktails with my tears

that
has to be your best line ever.
 
And
so off the cuff.
 
I almost lost it
when you said it.
 
It was perfect!


Is this a joke?

I said.


Of course it is,

Blackwell said.
 

Iris is one of the few people who loves bitchy word play as
much as I do.
 
We

ve
been doing this routine for years, only in private.
 
Tonight was a show just for you, my
dear.
 
A fine way to energize the
party.
 
Because of us, you won

t
soon forget this evening

and that is the point.
 
Now, Jennifer, close your mouth and stop
looking like a goddamned guppy.
 
Alex, you sly fox

you already knew what we were doing,
so bravo to you for keeping mum.
 
Lisa, stop looking so horrified or mystified or whatever the hell it is
I

m
seeing on your face.
 
Be more like
Tank here

I think he rather enjoyed the show, but I also think he was
on to us.
 
Were you, Tank?


I might have had an idea.


I thought so

you can

t get much past a
former SEAL.

 
She raised a hand to catch our waiter

s
attention.
 
When he came over,
Blackwell said to the table,

Showtime

s
over.
 
Let

s
order drinks so we can toast our guest of honor

Lisa
Ward.

 
 

*
 
*
 
*

 
 

When dinner was over and the plates had been cleared, I
felt happy and spent.
 
What an
evening it had been with my closest friends

and
with my new friend Iris Masterson

not to mention with my fantastic
boyfriend, who had held my hand beneath the table during those moments when we
weren

t
eating.
 

Marco Boss and Kevin were never mentioned, so the mood was
kept high and light, especially after Blackwell and Iris

unexpected
hijinks.
 
I was finally able to
catch up with Jennifer

we talked of her time in Singapore,
the movie deal, what it was like to work with Iris, how she couldn

t
wait to read the newly edited book, and how much she and Alex were looking
forward to joining us at the Wenn Publishing party.


We

ll all go together,

she said.


Done,

I said.
 

And
potentially fun.


I

ll be staying with Alex again tonight.
 
Send me the manuscript tonight via
email.
 
I

ll read
it straight away.


You

re practically living together at
this point.


I thought you needed to be alone so you could finish your
book.
 
You didn

t
need me lurking around to distract you.
 
After tonight, if you want, I plan on spending the rest of the week at
the apartment with you.

 
Her
eyes met mine.
 

After
all, we do have a lot to catch up on

.

That was code for

We totally need to talk about Alex
and me, you and Tank, and everything in between.


Agreed,

I said.
 

I

ve
missed you.


So, tonight, I

ll be with Alex.
 
And, you know, you might be with someone
else.


I think we

re being set up, Tank,

Alex said.


I can deal with being set up like that,

he said.

Alex nodded at him.
 

Same here.

 
He
turned to Jennifer and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek just as our waiter
approached the table with a martini on a round tray.


Final cocktail for the lady?

he said to me.

I hadn

t ordered it, but I wouldn

t
have put it past Jennifer to order one for me.
 
I looked around the table.
 

Are one of you trying to get me
drunk?

I
said.
 

I

m
only drinking it if the rest of you have another one with me.
 
Otherwise, no way.

The waiter smiled at me.
 

It

s actually from an
admirer, Ms. Ward.
 
He purchased the
martini and asked me to bring it and this envelope to you at the end of the
evening.

Blackwell rubbed her hands together.
 

My plan is working.
 
People are starting to recognize her.

 

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