First Kiss (24 page)

Well, who knew the glamour treatment would take hours? Thank God for Suzi-Suzi's A-Z thinking in packing the complete beauty arsenal. Kiki was able to do a manicure, pedicure, body wrap treatment, eye mask, face mask, throat mask, deep hair conditioning treatment, light chemical peel, teeth bleaching, light waxing session (eyebrows, upper lip, bikini), and a cellulite-fighting cream blast. Exhausting!

But she did double up on tasks. Confused about the waxing directions, she called Bliss Spa for a bit of phone help and secured the name and number of that agent for Suzi-Suzi. Now, finally able to relax for a moment, she was soaking in a vitamin-enriched Sake bath and had time to make at least one phone call. She rang Suzi-Suzi.

" You are brilliant. I'll never doubt your packing judgment again," Kiki said without preamble.

"Oh, my God! You did the head-to-toe glamour treatment," Suzi-Suzi said. "I can tell just by the sound of your voice. How amazing is that feeling?"

"More than amazing," Kiki agreed. "In a way, it's like great sex."

"I've never heard it described like that. But you're so right. And can I just tell you that it is also exhausting ."

"I was just telling myself the same thing."

"People don't understand. I'd like to see some of these military guys go through a head-to-toe glamour treatment. Marines act like they can handle anything, but they'd fall down like ninepins."

"They'd be complete powder puffs," Kiki agreed. She sank down a bit to let the Sake bath lap over her shoulders and neck. "So how did the sex therapist thing go?"

"I won't know right away. It takes a few sessions. Otherwise, every girl would be clunking her guy over the head and dragging him in there."

"I'm so excited about this new agent for you. I think he's going to find you some wonderful projects," Kiki said.

"I was working on my resume earlier, and after today's caper, I think I'm going to add Alias to my list of shows that I've been on."

"I don't see why not," Kiki encouraged.

"Did you see me in the wig? I totally worked it. And then I jumped into the Taurus and dove down to the floor. By that measure, I'm not just an actress but a stunt woman, too."

"Put that down," Kiki said. "It shows you're very athletic, and sometimes casting notices come in requesting that."

"I want to add as many things as possible, so that I get tons of auditions."

"Knowing other languages is always good."

"I can't speak Spanish, but I love Latin male singers," Suzi-Suzi said.

"Hey, that's half the battle," Kiki said. "If you ask me, that makes you bilingual."

"And what about Japanese? Again, don't speak a word, but my nephew loves those Yu-Gi-Oh cards, and I'm constantly buying them for him."

"Okay, fluent in Japanese," Kiki decided.

"Really?"

"Totally," Kiki said. She signed off and slipped into a sexy pajama ensemble by Picalina. The little shorts were fuchsia and had the cutest little heart buttons splitting up the side, flashing skin from upper thigh to hip bone. The matching tank was snug and featured a rhinestone-studded hummingbird on the front.

Spritzing herself with Bobbi Brown's Beach, she inhaled the delicious Coppertone hints, a fragrance she loved but couldn't use as one. After all, it'd just be stupid to walk around wearing Coppertone all day.

Three knocks rapped the door.

Her first visitor in the new suite! She raced to answer. And this time she wasn't surprised to find Fab on the other side of the door.

For a second, his eyes did that crazy am-I-seeing-what-I-think-I'm-seeing thing. He swallowed hard. The bob of his Adam's apple was a main event.

Kiki left him standing there and walked, slowly, to the French four-poster bed with the sumptuous silk canopy and crawled into it like a lazy cat who just finished a big meal. Yawning and stretching, she made certain that the work of Dr. Mendez was being properly exhibited. "God, I'm so tired."

Without warning, Fab bum-rushed the show. He stormed inside, kicked the door shut behind him, and in a mangled voice growled, "You smell so damn good," as he climbed on top of her, kissing her like mad.

Kiki mocked his need, playfully pushing him away. "Fab, stop, I'm ready for bed, and you're getting me all messed up."

"I've never seen you like this," he murmured, hearing none of it, still nothing but hands.

"Like what?"

"Perfect. Beautiful. Like dessert. God, I just want to eat you up!"

Kiki laughed. "It's no big deal. This is my standard bedtime routine."

The expression was instant slave. The impression was a thousand nights of bedtime with her could still be considered relationship infancy.

"I've never seen you look so gorgeous," Fab marveled. "Think about it. The first time we met you were running for your life from the paparazzi. Then I caught you with that Fango mud deal. Next time was the morning after your tequila raid. And earlier today, well, let's not even talk about that." He stroked her leg from knee to thigh. "But this is you." He lunged for her.

She twisted away from him. "Fab wait. Don't you think we should talk about what happened this afternoon? Or rather, what seems to always happen to us whenever we're not having sex?" One beat. "Or trying to in the stairwell?" Kiki didn't wait for him to answer. "I don't know. Maybe we're two very passionate people. Or maybe we're just not compatible."

It wasn't meant to be a question. But there seemed to be a now-or-never debate raging somewhere deep in Fab's eyes. A private war was being fought. He had her drift. The compatibility mystery was girl code for commitment . But here it was, hanging in the brief space between them, begging to be solved. His jaw stuck out. The mere idea of the conversation seemed to offend against his natural order of things in the way that a day without celebrity worship might hers. "I think we're compatible," Fab said.

" Here , yes," Kiki said, gesturing to the luxury that was the bed. "I think that goes without saying. But what about when we're not doing that . It's just one argument after another."

"You're infuriating," Fab said.

Kiki took in a breath, rising up in protest.

"But in a good way," he clarified. "It's refreshing. Honestly, I've never taken the time to fight with a woman before. Not like with you. I usually helicopter out when the conflict starts. Any conflict. So this is advanced female interaction for me."

"Until"

"Until what?" Fab asked.

"Until you get bored with me?" Kiki threw down her greatest fear like a gauntlet.

"I just said you were refreshing."

"Yeah. Today. Now . What about tomorrow? The next day. The day after that."

He grinned. It was the grin of a man who wanted to end the argument and get things back in sexual gear.

But Kiki would have none of it. She felt desirable. She was desirable. His eyes were begging her to put the John Gray Men Are from Mars bit in deep freeze until he had his way with her. But Kiki just stared lasers, refusing to budge.

"What do you want from me, Kiki?"

"I want some honesty."

"I like to take things one day at a time. Is that honest enough for you?"

"It's better." Kiki drew back. The personal space invasion was no more. There were just a few feet between them on the massive bed. But in what she thought they could be for each other, the chasm talked doomsday.

He was itchy for sex. And now he was irritated. "What do you want, Kiki? My high school ring?" A coldness crept into his voice.

Kiki knew that she'd basically walked herself into that one. But it was something she felt very fortunate to come across. She could feel the red high up on her cheeks. Sometimes she thought that she led the ticker-tape parade when it came down to celebrating your own needs. For the most part, Kiki's world began with herself. And ended there, too. But she'd met her match in Fab Tomba.

He reached forward to her shoulder and touched her. "I didn't mean that." The too-late apology dripped from his lips, floating in the air around them like a bad script that was getting worse with each line reading.

Kiki flicked his hand away. "This is all just a little too convenient for you, Fab. I mean, come on, you don't even have to leave your job. You just take the elevator up a few flights and expect to star in a late-night Cinemax movie. The tabloid thing will blow over. I'll go back to my life. And somehow I just don't see you putting out the effort when that's what it will take. Effort . I think effort bores you. Maybe not in business. You built this hotel. You're building a nightclub. But building something with another person seems beyond you." She stood up, reached for a robe, and covered herself up, making a point to knot the tie. "I suppose there's a very good reason why you called this place Affair and not Relationship . Well, here's a new one for your dance card, Fab Tomba. I'm bored with you ."

Kiki thrust her hands into the deep pockets of the robe and put forth her best been-there-done-that tough girl vibe, trying not to cry.

Without a word, Fab climbed off the bed and walked out of the May-December suite. He closed the door behind him quietly.

And then she did cry.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: CALL ME!

Kiki!

Where the hell are you? I've left messages at your apartment, and for some reason I don't have your cell. All My Children wants to bring back Jean-nette. Apparently, after she got pushed off the cruise ship, she floated on a piece of driftwood and ended up on an island. They want to do a Castaway story arc with your character. Only in soaps. You're back, baby.

Keith

Kiki Douglas was a fire-breathing fashionista of ferocious feminine force. It looked that way. It felt that way.

The morning after the hurricane. Turns out, the damage wasn't as bad as she originally feared. So Fab Tomba was impotent when it came down to commitment. He wanted to show up whenever for easy sex and throw off pithy one-liners about his stupid class ring. Screw that. And screw him.

Why? Because the executive producer of All My Children wanted to marry her. Well, practically. At least he was talking to Keith Bush about an initial three-year relationship. These days, that was almost marriage.

Anyway, there was a worthy gentleman caller.

Kiki had a plan of attack. She needed to check out, move on, get beyond. The scandal. The mini-heartbreak. All of it. And since she knew that Fab's kryptonite when it came to her was the simple art of looking, smelling, and projecting a certain fabulousness that was Kiki's personal brand identity, there was only one thing to do.

Dressing to kill would be too easy. And why allow him a quick death? He deserved to be punished. So the strategy was this: Dress to make him cry.

God love Suzi-Suzi. Again, she knew how to pack for a girl. And there were enough so-sexy-the-cabbies-will-drive-up-on-the-sidewalk outfits in the garbage bags to make the selection process pure torture. Hmm. As nail-biters go, Meryl Streep had a far easier time of it when she had to decide which child to turn over to the Nazis in Sophie's Choice .

Kiki slipped on a paillette-dotted muslin blouse and silk crepe hot shorts by Marc Jacobs for Louis Vuitton. The neckline plunged dangerously. The breasts she charged on American Express spilled out ominously. Thank God for invisible tape. But one slip of it and Janet Jackson's famous wardrobe malfunction would be recommended viewing for children by comparison.