Cosmo's Deli (4 page)

Sara and Renny exchange looks.

“Renny, just do the presentation. It'll work out.” Sara sips her water.

“That's it? My career is in a shambles and my two best friends couldn't care less.”

“You do tend to overreact when it comes to work. I'm sure you'll do a great presentation and everything will be fine.” Sara reaches for the bread. “Can you pass that?”

“Val said she would fire me.”

“You're not going to get fired,” Sara says.

“You know it's not even two full weeks, it's two work weeks. That's only ten days really. Here I am the big 3-0 and I'm alone and doomed to get fired.”

“What on earth does being alone have to do with getting fired?” Gaby asks.

“I don't know, but something I'm sure,” Renny says dismally.

Next to their table, the waiter sets up a serving tray with their food and Gaby's fresh drink. As he picks up their plates, Gaby grabs the martini off the waiter's tray and takes a long sip. The waiter smirks as he walks away with the empty tray under his arm.

Sara touches Gaby's arm. “You should slow down. Eat something.”

“It's Renny's birthday. I'm celebrating.” Gaby raises her glass, sloshing purple liquid onto her hand.

Oh no, Renny detects the crack in Gaby's voice and the moisture amassing at the rim of her eyes. Quickly she turns toward Sara, “Have you heard from Bart?”

Sara shifts in her chair. “No.”

“Not anything?” Renny presses trying to show concern. For the last few weeks Sara has kept a pretty tight lid on her emotions. Every time Renny tries to reach in, Sara makes her feel more like a prying nuisance than a caring friend.

Sara glances over her shoulders at the surrounding tables.

“No one's listening to us.” Renny tells her.

Sara leans in anyway. “His mother called yesterday. She said Megan and I have nothing to worry about financially. You both know that the Matthews family practically prints money. She said they'll take care of Bart's responsibilities. That's what his parents think of Megan and me—we're not family, we're just his responsibilities. Like I'm a dog he dropped at the kennel and forgot to pick up. I guess they don't consider emotional support as part of their son's responsibilities.”

“That's just awful,” Gaby says.

“They think that just because they're depositing money into my account each week we're taken care of. They haven't even bothered to ask anything about the baby.”

Renny ponders, “God, I wish someone would just make a big weekly deposit in my account. Then I could tell Val to fuck off.”

Sara's lips purse and her face turns red.

“Sara, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—” Renny says.

“No, I understand what you meant,” Sara says cutting her off. “Listen, I know I'm fortunate that at least I don't have to worry about how to feed my child and keep a roof over our heads. I just have to figure out a way to tell her how come Daddy doesn't come home anymore.” Sara stabs at her food with a fork.

Renny wishes the fork would stab her in the hand instead, at least then she wouldn't feel so bad. She opens her mouth to apologize again.

“The strangest thing happened when I went to the drycleaners today,” Sara begins. “The stuff I picked up had the weirdest smell. Did that ever happen to you?”

Polishing off her drink, Gaby chimes in. “I know! What is that smell? It's like it crawls up your nostrils.”

“You're right. I still smell it,” Sara says. “Did you ever get someone else's clothes mixed in with your stuff?”

“That's happened to me,” Renny says.

“Me, too,” Gaby adds. “And if I like it, I keep it.”

“You keep it?” Renny and Sara ask at the same time.

Gaby nods. “Y'all don't expect me to give if it back as long as it fits?”

“How can you do that?” Sara asks.

Renny eats and listens to the two of them discuss this innocuous topic for another fifteen minutes. Then they move on to manicures and pedicures for another ten minutes. Their conversation is like a pinball game, each of them flipping the discussion away from the taboo subjects that would make the evening tilt.

What's happened to their ability to confide in each other, Renny wonders?

Sara checks her watch and motions to the waiter. “We should get the check. I have a long drive back to Greenwich. I hope the Triboro isn't backed up.”

Renny knows that is Sara's code for ‘don't ask me to drive you home.' She tries to hide her disappointment that their evening is ending so early. Having told them no cake or fuss for her birthday, Renny had still expected something. Within a second of her thought, five waiters appear with a flaming dessert singing “Happy Birthday” a cappella. Sara and Gaby join in.

Renny fakes embarrassment. They didn't let her down after all. She blows out the candles wishing for things to get better—for all of them.

The waiter walks over and places a shot glass in front of Renny. “It's from the gentleman at the bar.”

A handsome man standing at the bar smiles at Renny.

Sara sucks in air and caresses her belly for a moment.

“Are you all right? You look pale.” Renny sneaks a peek at the bar.

Sara waves off the question. “It's just a Braxton Hicks. I get them all the time now. It's normal.”

Absorbed in the moment Renny asks them, “What should I do? He's cute.”

“I saw him looking at you before,” Sara says tiredly.

“Really?” Renny smiles.

A woman sitting at the next table leans over her chair and taps Renny on the shoulder. She is dressed in a tight aqua tee shirt, with big diamond studs on her ears and a matching pendent hanging just above her leathery, tanned cleavage. Her sculpted physique bespeaks many hours in the gym, but the thick make-up on her face can't mask the forty-nine hard-living years she's clocked. “Do you know who that is?” she asks in a gravelly smoker's voice.

Renny, Sara and Gaby shake their heads no.

“He's one of the morning deejays on Q92.7.”

Gaby nods, her speech slow and rubbery from alcohol, “I listen to ‘em. Which one is he?”

“Georgie,” Cleavage Lady says.

Renny thinks she looks crazy.

Gaby puts down her drink for the first time that evening. “The magazine I write for is sponsoring the station's charity bachelor auction. Isn't he the one fixing to be auctioned?”

“No, that's the other guy, his partner. Georgie has been dating a supermodel for years. I know because she and I go to the same manicurist, Fong.” Cleavage Lady waits for a reaction, as if they should recognize the name.

They don't.

She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, Fong told me that they're on and off like a light switch.” Pointing at Renny she chuckles, her laugh sounding like tires on a dirt road. “Looks like its time to screw in a new bulb.”

“What should I do?” Renny asks.

“Listen to me, honey,” Cleavage Lady says. “Prince Charming doesn't come knocking every day. You got to at least have the brains to open the door.”

Renny stares at her.

“I'll spell it out—get up and go talk to him!” Having spoken her mind, she coughs and turns back to her own table.

Renny finds Sara and Gaby nodding in agreement.

Sara tells her, “Go ahead, we'll take care of the bill. I've got to get home anyway.”

“Me-a, toe.” Gaby slurs.

Renny and Sara exchange concerned looks.

Sara sighs, “I'll drop you at home, Gaby. It's on my way.”

Gaby nods obediently and Renny mouths a ‘thank you' to Sara.

Rising from the table, Renny feels like Cinderella going to the ball, with Cleavage Lady as her fairy godmother. She gaily utters the ultimate parting gift to her friends. “I'll call you with details in the morning.”

Chapter Three

Three hours and four shots later, Renny tries unsuccessfully to navigate her key into the lock of her front door. Georgie's warm hand wraps itself around her waist and his lips brush her neck, sending a shiver rippling down her back. His hand covers hers, gliding the key to its destination. The door swings open.

“Can you handle this?” he purrs in her ear.

Renny turns and they meet in a kiss so delicious, she feels her tongue may explode. Maintaining their oral connection, Renny and Georgie move into the apartment and his fingers start on the buttons of her shirt.

Renny sobers up just enough to make a quick mental check of whether things can proceed.

Wearing good bra and underwear? Check.

Bikini line? Waxed a week and a half ago, it'll have to do.

Still on the pill? Yes, thank God!

Sensing her mental green light, Georgie roams from her shirt to her pants, undoing the clasp. He flashes a boyish grin and she catches her breath at how handsome he is. His sharp cheekbones are hidden by dark honey-colored stubble that matches his tousled mane, thick enough for a girl's fingers to get lost in. Kissing him, Renny lets her hands roam down over his pants, finding him very ready for action. Impressive, she thinks. Most guys wouldn't be able to resist rubbing their eager warrior up against her thigh or groin, a major turn off for her. But not Georgie, he patiently kept his package to himself until she went looking for it.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

A guttural “Ah-huh” is the only response she can muster. She lets a nervous giggle escape as they shimmy and grope their way into the bedroom. On the bed, her feelings of awkwardness fall away along with the garments that separate their bodies. She watches his broad shoulders as they move over her breasts, his mouth sending hot shivers through her. Deftly his tongue explores her body. When done, he stretches out next to her, gently shifting her hips so that she is perched on top. How could he know that is her favorite position, where everything that starts well ends well. Her hands rest on his smooth bronze chest where his nipples are mounted like two rich succulent chocolates. Like musicians jamming together for the first time it takes a few chords before they find their rhythm. But even as they move in tune, her thoughts remain slightly off-key, as the ancient boudoir prayer drums through her mind;
Please, dear God. Let him call me after this!

***

Renny's head throbs and her mouth feels as if a bag of cotton balls has taken up residence on her tongue. Her clock flashes three forty-five in the dark. She rolls over and sees Georgie asleep beside her.

“Happy fucking birthday to me,” she mouths in the darkness. It's been four years since Renny slept with someone on the first date. Since when does five shots in a bar add up to a date, is the rhetorical zinger that shoots back at her. Listening to the rhythm of his breathing, Renny tries to recall when the act ended and slumber began, assuming now that they must have passed out before the last curtain call.

Georgie shifts, casting an arm up over his head and Renny aches to curl into the space left vacant between his bicep and side. Instead, she scrutinizes his face. Because of his success, she guesses him to be a few years older than she. And he's handsome, but not in the traditional pretty boy way. The minute he looked at her in the bar, Renny could tell he reeked of adventure. If there were any chance, Renny knew she would take him home, wanting more than anything to frolic with this untamed bad boy. During their canoodling, their eyes locked and Renny felt as if they melded spiritually. Did he feel it too? Or am I just a needy soul trying to pin eternal meaning on what he'll probably consider a fling? Renny wishes that just once she could flip her psyche off and not dissect the minutiae of every moment.

Desperately thirsty, Renny slips out of bed and goes into the closet to find something to throw on. If he wakes up, she wants the first thing he sees her in to send the right message. She pulls on an oversized denim shirt that she inherited two boyfriends ago. Hanging loosely on her frame, the shirttails fall above her knees. She assesses her reflection, opening one more button so it drapes just between her breasts. Her sense of daring makes her giggle. “It's sexy with a country feel. I guess that makes me the country wonder slut,” she whispers, tossing her already rumpled hair before leaving the closet.

Renny tiptoes over his expensive Italian haberdashery on her way to the kitchen. Filling a glass with water she hears him stir from the bed. A moment later he is behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his nakedness pressed close.

“I missed you.” He reaches for the bottle of aspirin sitting on the counter. “Too much to drink?”

“Those shots were kind of strong. What did you say they were?”

“Vodka and peach schnapps. They're called a Bad Habit.” His devilish smirk enchants as he pops two aspirin in his mouth. He motions for her glass.

“I remember the peach. Interesting choice of shot.” Renny keeps her voice playful while handing her water over. “Is that what you consider yourself, a bad habit?”

“That's a rhetorical question.” He leans in and kisses her while his hand slides up under her shirt, finding her breast.

Renny's thought process crashes.

“Pretty good habit, don't you think?” He nibbles her ear.

“You think a lot of yourself?” she teases.

“Does the lady still need convincing?”

“You think you're up for the job, buddy?”

Georgie arches an eyebrow playfully and their kisses intensify. He lifts her up on the counter, the hard ceramic surface sending a jolt of cold through her naked bottom, doused only by the heat that crosses every synapse. She giggles at the christening her kitchen counter is about to receive.

“I would love to take you back to bed,” he whispers his lips grazing the skin between her breasts and making her thankful she left that last button open, “but...”

Oh no, Renny thinks. Not but!

Georgie continues, “It's close to four, and I have to be at the station by five to get ready for my show.”

Be nonchalant, Renny thinks. Don't break the mood. Be hard-to-get for once.

He fingers the hair around her face. “What's up?”

“Nothing.” Then beset with a case of verbal diarrhea, Renny's thoughts pour from her lips unchecked, “I want you to know that this isn't something that I usually do. Not this, not usually.”

“Sitting on the kitchen counter bare-assed in the middle of the night is kind of weird, but don't worry, your fetish is safe with me.”

She wonders what to say that won't make him run out of her apartment, never to be heard from again.

“Oh! I get it,” he nods, “you mean you don't usually meet a guy in a bar, take him home and do it until you can't keep your eyes open. Is that the something?”

“Well, yeah. Something, like that.”

He wraps his arms around her. “I'd be a liar if I said I haven't done this before. And by the way that shirt fits you, I don't think I'm the first guy to be in your, ah, kitchen.”

She opens her mouth to protest and he puts one finger to her lips and keeps talking. “But if all I was looking for was getting laid, I'd have been out of here a couple hours ago.”

“You don't have to say that.”

“I never say anything because I have to.” He takes her hand. “Now, if I don't get dressed and out of here, the station will be broadcasting dead air from six to ten.” They walk back to the bedroom, where Renny watches him get dressed, swearing that no matter what, she won't offer him her phone number. He'll have to ask for it himself.

“So?” he asks.

“So?” Renny answers.

“I need your number or else I won't be able to call you later.”

Digging in her night table for a pen and paper, she bites the inside of her cheeks to contain a shit-eating grin from running loose across her face. She writes carefully, making sure in her excitement that she doesn't accidentally put a wrong number down.

“Great,” he says, taking the paper and the pen. He jots something down on half the sheet and rips it off. “My number, in case you need to call me.” He takes her hand and leads her to the front door. “I'll call you later.”

“Great.”

He kisses her and she wishes they could stay entwined for the rest of the day. Peering at her sideways he says, “You never said if this is going to become a habit.”

“Possibly.” Dare she hope that this could be a start instead of a finish?

Renny closes the door after their last kiss and dashes back to her room, diving under the covers. She checks the clock. Just after four. Damn! She wishes she could call Sara and Gaby. When they lived together and one of them had a guy over, it was no big deal for them to wake each other up to analyze each moment. But things are different now. Sara probably wouldn't speak to her for a week if Renny woke her, and Gaby is probably out cold from all the alcohol she consumed.

The phone rings. Who would call now? Renny smiles as the obvious answer comes to mind—its Georgie calling from his cell phone on the way out of her building. “Miss me already?” Renny says picking up the phone.

“You're my daughter. I always miss you,” her mother answers.

“Ma?”

“Who were you expecting? It's four in the morning.”

“I know that. Why are you calling me now?” Renny asks.

“I'm your mother. I don't need any other reason.”

“Why aren't you asleep?”

“You're father's snoring again. Why aren't you asleep?”

“My lover just left,” Renny says, opting to see how the truth goes over.

“Very funny, if you're having trouble sleeping then warm up some milk.” She sighs and continues, “Oh, I almost forgot. Your father is going to Brooklyn in the morning. He can pick you up at work and drive you out.”

“Good, I hate the bus.”

“Don't forget—”

“My laundry. I know, Ma.”

“Go to sleep before you get wrinkles,” her mother orders and hangs up.

Renny shakes off their phone call and wraps herself in the memory of her night with Georgie as she dives under her covers again and lets out a joyous screech. She hopes none of the neighbors can hear her jubilation through the building's thin walls.

They've heard enough screams for one night.