A Girl's Best Friend (9 page)
I see Lilly sitting prettily on the scarlet vinyl sofa that’s straight out of a 1950s doctor’s office. As I look at her, her coffee cup in hand, I bring my fingers to my nose as casually as possible.
How are you in here?
I want to ask her, but she’s sipping her coffee and everything seems fine. An older cocker spaniel ambles across the floor, and I suddenly find the source of the scent.
“His ear leaks,” Nate explains. “That’s the smell. Were you wondering?”
“Want some Vicks VapoRub?” Lilly asks me cheerfully.
Nate hands me a cup of java, and I feel the distinct need to wretch, not play house and drink coffee. I thrust the cup back towards him. “I need to make an urgent phone call. I forgot something.”
I rush down the stairwell, exhaling and gasping for air as though I’ve been on the moon for a time. And they say Starbucks is expensive? Man, the price of Nate’s coffee is intolerable.
There’s a man outside Lilly’s door when I come to the ripped, tenement-by-comparison hallway. It’s Max Schwartz, Lilly’s boyfriend—and would-be fiancé if she had an ounce of common sense, but at the moment there is only her business and her goal of proving to everyone she doesn’t need him. Including Max.The entire situation is ridiculous and unnerving, and as someone who has absolutely no prospects for a job or a legitimate boyfriend, it’s painful to watch.
With Lilly’s sharp sense of smell, you’d think she’d have better instincts. Max is of average height, has a strong, sexy nose and chiseled facial features, and a receding hairline a la Matt Lauer. Max comes from big money, but he doesn’t live like it. And yet where is Lilly? She’s up with two people who are shacking up. One stole twenty thousand dollars from her (she got it back) and the other kissed her and then moved in with the roommate who stole the money. And they call me naïve.
As far as choices go, Lilly’s in desperate need of counsel. And yet she thinks I’m here to help me.
My cell phone is trilling again, and I press it off, making a mental note to get a new number. Here’s the thing: when you marry a man who has already married a few other people, it’s best that he doesn’t have your phone number. You’d think when someone has been in jail for bigamy, he would sort of get a clue. But I guess if he’d sort of gotten the clue in the first place, he wouldn’t be a bigamist.
Max Schwartz is still standing there, all gorgeous. I’m currently thinking Lilly is in desperate need of a lobotomy. At least a good spa weekend where we slap some sense into her.
He’s staring at me, waiting for me to speak.
“Max, it’s good to see you.”
“You, too, Morgan. Is Lilly here?” He looks around the apartment
as I open the door, and I watch as his expression falls.
“She’s not.” I point towards the ceiling, indicating Nate’s. “She’s just upstairs, Max.”
Max nods solemnly and walks towards the stairwell leading downstairs. “Thanks, Morgan. Tell Lilly I stopped by, will you?” He’s still limping from a badly broken leg and the surgery that followed. Before he starts down the stairs, he looks back at me. “You’re not hanging out there, too, now? What does that guy have up there, pixie dust?”
“Coffee. Aren’t you going up to see her?”
He walks back toward me and shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Max, you’re not giving up on her?”
The corner of his lip turns up. “Never. We share a love for being on the scene.”
“On the scene? Lilly? If there’s a person with a more mundane life than Lilly, I really need to hear this. The girl thinks picking up the newest Lysol scent is living large.”
He laughs. “It was a joke.”
It’s the first time I can remember Max being humorous about anything. He was raised by a stoic father like my own, and if we’re taught anything, it’s to keep our emotions to ourselves. San Francisco society doesn’t want to hear about your problems, unless they’re huge and scandalous like my own and can provide gossip and sell papers. Otherwise, keep it to yourself.
“Come on in and wait for her, Max. I’ll go up and get her.” I start to shut him in the apartment, but he stops the door with his hand and shakes his head.
“I’ll give her a call when she’s home. She’ll have to be getting to work, and I have to stop by the hotel to do something for my father.”
I grab his arm, and he stares at me, his lids heavily laden with fatigue. My thoughts run amok.
What if I’d fallen in love
with a man like Max? A healthy and generous sort who was willing
to commit and—here’s the kicker—willing to commit only once
instead of getting a group rate on brides.
The idea is laughable, however, because Max Schwartz would have been completely respectable to my father, and if there’s anything I’ve learned to avoid, it’s a man my father approves of. My dad has given me a solid foundation for life, and I must say, one of the bricks in it is avoid men that look too good on the outside. I just have to find the right balance between fixer-upper and marked for demolition.
Max looks at me softly, and it feels like the first time he’s noticed me, and not just in anticipation of Lilly. “Hey, I’m sorry about what the newspapers are doing to you, Morgan.”
I shrug. “It comes with the trust fund, I suppose. Nothing more fun than watching a rich person go down.”
He laughs. “I suppose it’s true.”
I slap his arm. “Except when you’re in the paper, it’s for your latest good deed. When I’m in the paper, it’s to tell the world I’ve made yet another bad boyfriend choice.”
“You’ll get it right,” Max says absently.
I hear Lilly coming down the stairs. How do I know it’s Lilly? She’s preceding her steps with the swooshing sound of Lysol spray. Apparently, the stairs are ready for their close-up, or the mixture of dog and espresso has finally invaded her nostrils. Max turns quickly towards the stairwell, and his expression changes instantly to anticipation. He is gone. Thoroughly enamored with Lilly Jacobs and unable to wrench himself free of her antiseptic scent. I can only hope she has the presence of mind to see what’s in front of her.
“Lilly!” He walks towards her, and their eyes meet, and it’s as though I have disappeared from the planet. I never once thought I could feel jealousy over one of my best friend’s joy, but I feel anger welling up in my chest. Lilly has a man who loves her like this, and he’s not married to someone else, and there is nothing stopping them from a future together. I honestly don’t remember a man ever looking at me like that. At least not when it was real. Andy looked at me like that and made my stomach churn with excitement, but it was little more than modern-day mythology.
I watch Lilly’s expression melt into Max’s before she straightens her shoulders, smiles slightly at him, and then takes on an air of indifference.
“Max, what are you doing here?”
“I thought you were coming over to sketch last night. I waited up for you until it got to be ten, and I figured you wouldn’t come that late. The night was clear and the Bay lights looked incredible. I thought you would have loved it, and I just couldn’t believe you weren’t there to enjoy it.”
“I took Morgan to the singles group and then I was just tired, so I went up to Nate and Kim’s to watch a movie and just crashed.”
Max’s face doesn’t flinch, but I’m astonished. She was tired? When Max Schwartz was expecting her, she just decided not to go? I know we all cling to what’s comfortable, but hanging out as a third wheel for Nate and his honey should not be comfortable for Lilly compared to a night with her boyfriend, all cozy and cuddly overlooking the San Francisco city lights. Lilly is hiding something, and I can’t imagine what it is, but I hope she figures it out before Max Schwartz hightails it out of her offbeat life. And she’s left with Nate, his girlfriend, and that wretched smelly ball of fur.
“You could have called.” Max’s jaw tics ever so slightly, but Lilly hasn’t noticed; she’s folding fabric on her futon.
“I didn’t know I needed to check in.” She turns around, clearly challenging him and hoping for a reaction. I am so going to hurt her.
“I didn’t ask you to check in, just to have common decency. You are my—”
“Well,” Lilly cuts him off with a sinister stare. “I’m common. Did you expect anything less? Sometimes I miss out on the decency part.”
“I would think anyone raised by your nana would have the manners to make a phone call.”
“Well, maybe you should go home and tattle and let her know how she failed, too.”
Max’s eyes flash, and he turns on his heel faster than I thought possible for someone who just had surgery. He looks weary and unwilling to put up with whatever obstacle Lilly has prepared for him next.
“Have a good day, Morgan.” He brushes past me briskly. “You’re going to have to face this, Lilly.” His voice drips with ice. “This is not a temporary situation. There are consequences.” He exits and slams the door behind me.
Lilly doesn’t look at me. She just keeps folding fabric, fingering the delicate red silk. When enough time has passed that she’s certain I’m not going to question her, she looks up.
“What movie did you watch?” I ask, more curious than ever about her behavior, but unwilling to turn her away by asking.
“
Sense and Sensibility
.”
“And which is it you have?” I ask her, referring to the storyline of a sister who loves with all her emotions and a sister who clings to her reason, pushing away love.
“Both, I should think. I printed out some jobs off Monster.com for you. Some of them sound really good, and I think you should get a résumé off as soon as possible.”
“My father is getting married,” I blurt. I hadn’t realized the news was there lurking beneath my cool facade like a cougar who lies in wait for its prey, but there it is.
“He’s pushing me. Too much, too fast,” Lilly says with a shake of fabric.
“My father?”
“Max. He wants me to meet his mother and be the kind of wife that’s expected of him. But I’m no socialite. Why can’t he just understand that I love him? I’m not called to be a woman like . . . well, a woman like you, Morgan. I’m just not ever going
to be that person.”
“Fair enough, but just be warned there are more than a few women willing to be that space in between.”
“I know that. Do you think I don’t know that? My nana has always said it’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man, but it’s much, much harder.”
“I’m sure I’ll cry you a river tonight. Would you even care? Let’s say I swoop in and take Max off your hands. Our wedding is announced in next month’s society page. Are you bothered by that? Just remotely?”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“I was engaged to a man dying of liver disease and married one who was a bigamist. How can you be so sure of what I might do next?” I cross my arms and slip off the flip-flops. “Max is a solid man, and he’d be a great husband. I’m not immune to that reality, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m more than willing to build myself a family.”
“You’re my Spa Girl,” Lilly giggles. “As if you’d break the golden friendship rule. Even bad friends don’t steal boyfriends.”
“I might.” I shrug. “I have a thing for suffering men, and you are certainly making Max suffer. That’s how it starts, you know. I let him cry on my shoulder . . . Yada, yada, yada.”
I haven’t convinced her. Lilly just laughs this off. Now I have to say, Max is definitely tempting, but only because I’ve seen the way he looks at Lilly, and the reality is he won’t ever look at me like that. To him, I might just as well be a wooden plank on the Embarcadero as a San Francisco socialite with the right connections. Max made up his mind who he wanted a long time ago, and it’s my mission to make sure he gets her. Because Lilly Jacobs was made for him, and if she’s not bright enough to see it, I will definitely help clear the windshield of her mind.
If I’ve learned anything in my recent history, it’s how fragile real love is. Sometimes we need to be hit with the two-by-four that is reality.
T
his Monday morning has taught me one thing. There are more annoyances in life than salons being closed. Really. Looking for work is a completely humiliating experience, and it’s not nearly as easy to make money as I thought even two days ago. People are not actually clambering to give me a job, and they don’t consider my fine wardrobe a benefit to their office. Though they should.
Even though I’m not wearing my nice clothes (Lilly is still working on that image thing; let’s hope she’s over that soon!), I look like I’d have a nice wardrobe. People should know— the blue diamond I wear on my right hand is only a small taste of the excellence I’ve created in my image. Yet I’ve walked into countless offices and allowed receptionists in ill-fitting clothes to look me over like a piece of meat, grab my résumé as though it’s riddled with snot, nod without comment, and send me on my way. Without a job, no less!
A few days ago, I would have walked in confidently, my legs striding long with Jimmy Choos to lead the way, and snapped my fingers to get what I wanted. But today? Today I have a pair of cheap “pleather” mules, and besides looking like Nurse Rachet, I feel like the ugly stepsister crammed into Cinderella’s itty, bitty slippers.
There’s one last lead on my job sheet and though my feet feel like hamburger, I’m determined to finish the day. The job is not in a great neighborhood, and I’m leery of going, but considering the luck I’ve had, I schlep on over, imagining myself in Christian Louboutin, and hold my head high as I enter the last office. I shut the door behind me, and the receptionist looks up and then back down at her paperwork.
Honestly, my first thought is,
Could I really live with this
carpet while I worked?
It’s busy, and I’m sure filthy, and it matches the ghastly chairs and the bad artwork. But I think about being in my father’s perfect shop, with all the blue halogen lighting beating down on the flawless diamonds, and I remember I have nothing to show for it. So maybe the carpet isn’t that bad.
The receptionist is that type of redhead that’s straight out of the bottle—the mahogany sort that resembles the hue of a fine antique English desk. Good for furniture, not really so great for hair.