I Love My Secret (Nicole's Erotic Romance) (8 page)

“I haven’t seen you at Marlena’s parties. Are you
a new friend of hers?” I’ve never met the guy before, the one who’s made his
way out to the balcony to join me for a cigarette…and from the looks of how
he’s holding that stick, he’s never smoked before, either. I have to admit his
feigning being a smoker to talk to me, is appreciated. I’m a fifth wheel
tonight, as is so often the case lately. David and Jess and Amber and Josh. And
me. Outskirts Number Five. The single girl. I don’t even mind being single, but
it’s hard to stick to that belief when your best girlfriends are getting loved
on by two men who’ve claimed them, right in front of you and the whole damn
world. I had to come out here… to escape.

I watch, slightly amused but for the wrong
reasons, as he takes another drag. He looks like a teenager who’s trying to act
cool. He’s average looking, and I’m trying to be happy he’s here…but really?
There’s something needy about him that is already rubbing me the wrong way, two
seconds in. Michael has held the bar very high and I’m finding few men who can
jump it. Actually, I haven’t found one.

But he’s here and I’m bored so I answer. “I’ve
known Marlena about six months now. Couldn’t make it to the last one.” I bite
the corner of my mouth, wondering if I have the interest to say more. Where’s
my wine? Oh. In my hand.
(Sip)

He grins. “Six months, huh? That’s not long. I’ve
known her for years.” He takes another painful puff, flicking it before it’s
ready.

 
“Give
me time. I’m sure I’ll know her longer than six months, soon. Maybe I’ll catch
up to you.”

“Ha. That’s funny. What’s your name?” He holds out
his hand, “I’m Mitch.”

I think ‘Mitch’ means
Oh he of the agenda
.

“Nicole.” I shake his hand, but it’s soft and
limp. Oh man. Now any desire for his company – even conversation – is
erased. But I like Marlena. I’m not going to be rude to her guest. I prepare
myself for a torturous half-hour.

“Nicole. That’s pretty. I had a girlfriend named
Nicole once. She broke my heart. You wouldn’t do that, would you?” He laughs
and looks at me like we just shared a joke.
 
I picture him living in the 1950’s,
selling door-to-door insurance.

I raise my eyebrows simply because he won’t stop
smiling. “No, I’m sure I wouldn’t do that.”
Because
I would never give you the chance.

He’s about to launch into another sales pitch when
Amber and Jess save me by walking onto the balcony, sans boyfriends. I’ve never
been happier to see them in my life.

“We have to talk to you,” they say at the same
time, looking at poor Mitch like it’s time for him to go –
so sorry.

To his credit, he almost doesn’t leave. I give him
major points for standing up against these two. He looks at them as Jess
threads her arm through Amber’s to form some sort of estrogen wall, and Jess
gets this stupid smile on her face that makes me almost lose my shit, laughing.

“Uh… I’ll catch up with you later?” he asks just
me, ignoring them.

I nod to the poor bastard and tell him, “Have a
good night.” As soon as he leaves, I turn to Amber, because Jess’s face was
laughable… while Amber’s was a disgrace. “Amber, that was horrible. Your face
screamed
, get the fuck out of here, buddy
.”

They blow me off and we chat like old times, like
when we were all single. I didn’t know I miss those days until right now. But I
guess I do. When Jess leans over the balcony, Amber and I both yell at her, and
it just feels like… home.

That is, until I pull out a fresh cigarette and
Amber practically spits at me, “Why do you hate yourself?”

“Excuse me????”

Amber gets that look on her face that’s like a
lock-jawed pitbull who won’t let go, no matter who’s telling her to. “You can’t
love yourself and smoke those things, Nicole. And I saw you before, looking all
distracted. It was because you wanted a cigarette, isn’t it? Tell me you’re not
addicted.”

Damn. She saw that? And she always calls me Nico,
so what’s with this ‘Nicole’ shit? I cross my arms and raise one eyebrow. “I’m
not addicted. I just smoke these when I’m out. It’s a social thing.” I turn to
Jess for help. “Jessica, can you believe the balls on this girl? What kind of
person accuses someone of not loving herself?”

Amber blurts, “The kind who loves you! It’s called
a
friend
. It hurts me to see you
lighting up a cancer stick like it’s no big deal. I need you to stay alive,
thank you very much.”

Jess offers, “That’s so sweet…?”

“I’m not feeling the sweetness,” I say, annoyed.
Look, I beat myself up over these things enough on my own. I don’t need my
girlfriend joining the line.

Jess doesn’t help me, though. She goes into how I
can save money if I quit and how much they cost. As if I don’t know this! I’m
not backing down to Amber this time, no matter how much Jess is playing
middleman. I take a long Bette Davis drag of my cigarette and say in my
smoothest, coolest voice, “And don’t think I didn’t notice you calling me ‘Ni-cole’
back then, like when a mom says your whole name because she’s pissed.”

Jess explodes into laughter. I nailed it. They
both know I did.

Amber gets all huffy. “Another way to get your
dopamine levels up is to have sex, NICOLE,” she says, like
Game On!

I take another sexy drag and walk over the balcony
and hold their attention with a nice long pause as I look over and assess the
city below. Then I turn, hold her eyes. “I have plenty of sex. Sex…is not my
problem.”

“She does have plenty of sex,” Jess nods from
where she stands beside me.

I can’t believe it. You never win in war against
Amber. But there she is, looking awkward! And could she give any more attention
to that spot on the floor she’s staring at?
I
won!

Amber opens her mouth but no words come out for
almost two seconds. Jess and I are totally leaning forward in suspense until
she finally says in a quiet voice, “But maybe what you need is sex with someone
you…love?”

 
“Did
you tell Josh you love him!?” Jess yells.

Oh my God. She won. She fucking won. How does she
DO that?! As we hear a summary of the juicy details about her and Josh telling
each other they love each other for the very first time – as if we all
didn’t see that coming – I think to myself that if she can be brave
enough to fuck him in Marlena’s closet, then I can sure as hell quit these
cigarettes. For good. I toss them over the wall, which appalls her and makes it
extra fun. But I’m so happy I came tonight. I don’t want to miss these big
moments of us dancing out on a balcony somewhere, celebrating each other’s
happiness.

When we’re about to go inside, I pull out my
lipstick to reapply it, and kick myself for not buying gum for this taste in my
mouth. I look at Amber and can’t hold this question back, though I should. I
see her and him and I wonder, how does she do it? He’s so good… doesn’t it get
boring?

“Is Josh man enough for you, honey?”

Amber crinkles up her nose. “Of course he is. What
do you mean?”

“Well…” Why did I say that aloud? Shit. I put the
lid back on the lipstick and slide it in my bag, biding time to figure out how
to get myself around this. Truth is, it has nothing to do with him, and
everything to do with me. So I pull an answer out of nowhere. “You’re tiny, but
you’re all ambition and go-get-it-ness. Your man is going to have to be
accomplished to get your respect.” For the record, I have no idea if Josh is
accomplished or not.

She turns to look at Josh through the glass door,
where he’s standing next to David. He looks over at her, and smiles, like he
knows we’re talking about him. He’s a good guy. I can see it. As she comes back
with a valid defense of him, I want to apologize, tell her I’m voicing my own
fears, not ones I have for her. But I don’t want them to
ask
me about my fears. Not tonight. So I just say, “He really does
love you. You can see it when he looks at you. I do like him.” It’s the truth.

“Yeah?” she asks, and her eyes are so open and
hopeful that I feel like a jaded bitch for putting doubt in them.

 
“Yes.
I’m not just saying it. I want what you guys have. I was just playing devil’s
advocate, because I know you.” God, where do I come up with this stuff?

We talk a little more and then Jess and I –
as if we are of one mind – both take her hands and stand at her side. We
all remain quiet, standing together for a little while. Visions of Michael
standing in there beside Josh and David play in my mind. My heart hurts just
thinking it, I want it so bad. But I know that Michael would find those two
guys boring beyond words; conversations about beer and movies are not his bag.
Oh…what would he think of my girls? Amber saves me from that thought-train
with, “Let’s go inside.”

We all walk in, and I announce I’m going to quit
smoking, which they shoot down as being a false claim. They’re probably right.
But I don’t want to be Miss Fifth Wheel anymore tonight, and if I can’t smoke
to make myself feel better, I’m going home. I’m tired.

“I’m going to see if Marlena will give me a tour.
Of the closet
,” I say to Amber, to tease
her for her sexcapade.
 

“Ask her why she doesn’t own any color,” Amber
calls back, with a wink.

I laugh, and leave the four of them. I never make
it to Marlena, though. My bed is calling me. I could call up Zach. I haven’t
seen him in forever… nor thought of him, either. . Or Jason? Maybe patch things
up? No… not tonight.

At His…Our…Studio

The sun is trying to make its way through the
clouds outside. Candles are lit all over and “Pompeii” by Bastille is playing
loud on the speakers. I downloaded it recently, it and a number of other songs
that had me dancing so hard with the radio, I had to Shazam them on my phone
and buy them immediately. Now I’m alone painting to the best playlist ever and
my head is clear and lighter than it has been in months. Getting that sleep
last night after the party was such a great idea.

A sunbeam glides in through the window and dances
with the smoke that wafts from the ashtray, where I left the cigarette I forgot
I was smoking. That whole quitting thing didn’t last. I’ve even forgotten I
said it, truth be told. Because right now, the colors are exploding from my
brush onto the canvas and the world is a magical place of possibilities and
purpose. My hips are bouncing to the music…it’s just me, the music and my muse.

Maybe I’m even breaking down that wall Michael
talked with me about.

Down below, a knock on the door cuts through the
beat of the music. I straighten up and wait. Who could it be? What time is it?
I walk over to my phone as the knock comes again. The time says 1:11 p.m. and
my cigarette is almost out. I pick it up quickly and take the last little drag,
smash it out in the ashtray and run down the stairs as the third knock comes.

“Okay. Okay. I’m coming. Jeez.”
 

I open up the heavy warehouse door and see a woman
standing outside, looking at me. She’s pretty, beautiful even, the kind of
beautiful that is sweet to my spicy.

“Can I help you?”

She looks at me oddly, “Is Michael here?” she
asks, tentatively, peeking her head up and into the door to see upstairs.

“No, he’s not here right now.”

Her eyes fall on me again and quickly rake my
body. Suddenly I feel very self-conscious. She’s dressed to the nines in
classic style, the kind you’d expect from the girl who married Prince William
– Kate whatever her last name is. It’s a major contrast to my
paint-covered overalls, Chucks, and black tank top. My hair is wild, too
– the polar opposite to her long, straight, blonde hair. The girl could
not be any whiter.

And then it dawns on me. “Oh! You must be here to
buy some of his work. Did he tell you he’d be here today? I didn’t realize.
Well, if he’s coming, he’s not here yet.”

She frowns. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, sure. Come on in.” I smile and walk up the
stairs, letting her follow me. I’m not going to let her go up the stairs first.
I pay for this space, so Miss Queenie can take a back seat. At the top, I go to
the music and turn it down. It’s playing Swedish House Mafia’s “Don’t You Worry
Child” …and I love the song, so I’ll have to replay it as soon as she’s gone.

I point to his canvases. “His pieces are on the
left. You’re welcome to look through them.”

She’s walking very slowly. She says something, but
her voice is so little I can’t hear it. And now I’m just getting annoyed, so I
don’t answer.
If you have something to
say, you’re going to have to speak up
, I think, as I plop myself on the
stool to light a new cigarette. She’s wigging me out. I want her to leave. I
don’t even care if he doesn’t make the sale. He’s rich. He can live without it.

“You didn’t hear me?” she asks.

I reach up and give my hair a shake, take a drag
with my other hand, shake my head no, with a look that says
and that’s fine by me.