Black Butterfly (23 page)

“For now!”

Sydney walked to the door, but then looked back. Her eyes narrowed on Xenia who wore a smug look of satisfaction on her face. “Ever been ice skating, Ms. Minetti?” Xenia’s nose pinched and she tossed her chin upward as if she was insulted. “Not since I was three.”

“You should go. It trumps dinner at the Tea Room anytime.”

It was nearly six, and three days since Nolen had seen his butterfly. Sydney had agreed to be picked up at nine. He’d told her to bring clothes, and she’d pretended not to hear him. Hell after the call he got from her the other day he’d be lucky if she came with him at all. It made him uneasy how much he craved her so soon—a bad sign. As long as she was his and her heart belonged to him, he would learn to abide by some of her rules. The first was that they keep their affair private for now. Sydney called him from the rehearsal studio demanding to know if he fixed the auditions so she got the part, or if she earned it on her own. Normally he wouldn’t engage in such trivial matters while in the middle of business. But the need to protect the slither of happiness he found in her arms took over. She informed him the next three days rehearsals with her Madame Gustav would be long and tiring. She put him off, and agreed to see him at the end of the week. He swore he’d not interfere and reassured her that she earned everything. She seemed satisfied with that response. For three days he had to wait to see her again.

Flipping through the account statements Annemarie had printed for him, he felt no joy from his latest coup. Scott Harris had seen the wisdom in complying with his demands, and part of him still wanted to put the bastard through a public scandal. He hated liars, it reminded him too much of who he and his dad were when they ran together. Nodding his approval, he closed the folder. He’d won this round, and he was going to make sure he won the next.

“You have dinner plans with Monique tonight, sir. Shall I send a car for her?” Nolen frowned at Annemarie. He’d forgotten that she’d mapped out his life and she knew more about it than he did. “I’ll need you to check my calendar and remove all dates with Monique, Camille, Daria, Regina, Pamela, and Xenia.”

Annemarie stared at her boss in disbelief, but said nothing.

“Did someone say Xenia?” Xenia asked as she walked in, smiling.

Nolen looked over at her.

“Leave us, Annemarie.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Hello, Ms. Minetti.”

Xenia nodded. “Annemarie.”

As Annemarie left, Nolen sat back in his leather chair and stared at Xenia, beautiful as always, wearing her sable coat. “I forgot we said that you would come here to meet me today.” She walked in swaying her hips. “I didn’t. It’s all I could think about all day.”

“That’s too bad because my request wasn’t a social one.”

Xenia stopped her approach and looked surprised. “It wasn’t?”

“No. It’s about the play, or musical, or whatever it is today.”

“It will be a modern ballet.”

Nolen looked at her. “Finally got a script, huh?”

“Yes!”

“What’s it called?”

“Black Butterfly,” she said, putting her hand on her hip.

Nolen smiled. “Really? Interesting name.”

“I thought it would please you.”

“I’m very pleased. I called you here today to tell you that I plan to honor my investment, but I’ll have nothing to do with your production.”

“Excuse me? You’re the executive producer!”

“Which translates to financier, Xenia. Nothing more.”

“This is a partnership, and I need you at my side.”

Nolen shook his head. “No. You’ll go through Annemarie for anything you need from now on.” Xenia pulled off her heavy mink and tossed it onto a chair. “What’s going on with you?” she purred, running her hand across his desk as she walked around it, making her way toward him. “It’s been a week since I’ve seen you, and even longer since you’ve requested to see me. I’ve missed you so much.” Nolen moved his swivel chair and watched her approach. Undoing the single button of her suit jacket, she pulled it off, revealing her dark silk blouse. “I know your appetite, Nolen. Do you need me to remind you how good things can be with us?” she asked, unbuttoning her shirt.

“Don’t embarrass yourself, Xenia.”

Stopping her striptease, she froze. “What did you say to me?” Sitting forward, he stared at her coldly. “I said, don’t make a fool of yourself. I know you’re mine for the taking.”

Blushing, she ran her hands through her long curls. “Well, that’s true . . . What we have . . .”

“What we had was fun for a moment and pretty bland toward the end. I’m bored with it, and I’m bored with you,” he said, well aware that his words were like a slap across the face.

Xenia touched her diamond pendant and stared at him, devastated.

He matched her stare. “Is there anything else?”

Her vocal chords trembled causing her voice to crack when she spoke. “Why are you such a hateful bastard?” Nolen didn't bother to answer. Xenia buttoned her blouse. “You owe me more respect than that. I’ve been with you for over a year!”

“I owe you nothing.”

“Really? What about Sydney?”

Nolen narrowed his eyes. “What about her?”

“She’s going to be headlining in my show. Oh wait? She didn’t tell you?” The news stung. He knew how important the lead part would be for his butterfly, and she hadn’t said a word.

“Raymond thinks that her technique and stage presence could make my production a hit.” She seethed.

Her eyes blazing with anger, he could see her composure slipping.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“She isn’t the only hot black dancer in New York. She’s replaceable. As a matter of fact, we’re going to have more auditions for some stand-ins, just in case your butterfly doesn’t live up to her potential.” Nolen drew in his breath. “Xenia, don’t fucking play games with me. I’m better at them than you are.” Xenia put her jacket back on and picked up her mink, slipping it on in a huff. “I won’t ask if you’re screwing her because it doesn’t matter. I know how you collect women and how short your attention span is,” she said, grabbing her purse. “Once the grand feel of new pussy wears off and you need the comfort of my arms, I’ll be waiting. I understand your issues Nolen. I’m the only woman who can.” Nolen stared at her, saying nothing, and Xenia turned to leave. “As for our new starlet,” she shot over her shoulder, “her success depends on how well she follows instructions. Since you aren’t dealing with my play anymore, those decisions are solely mine, right?”

“I’ll tell you this. If I hear that you’re undermining her or making her life difficult in your little show, I’ll get involved, and we both know what that means.”

“Asshole!” she muttered as she breezed out.

Nolen remained at his desk long after Xenia’s temper tantrum. His thoughts were filled with the wrong decisions he’d made in the past. He knew the discipline needed to stay in control. He was a master at it. He just needed to stay focused.

The show would be centered on his butterfly. He would have a celebratory dinner ready for her. Picking up the phone, he called his chef to make the arrangements. He’d give Xenia a loose leash now, but the minute he tired of her taunts, he’d pull that chain and get her back in line.

Sydney walked in the door to the tantalizing smell of Portia’s fried chicken. Trish was sitting on the sofa sketching.

“Hey, guys!” Sydney said.

Portia came out of the kitchen. “What on earth is wrong with you? You couldn’t call us to tell us you were ok?”

Dropping her dance bag and taking off her heavy jacket, Sydney smiled. “I have the most wonderful news,” she said, ignoring the comment. For the past three days she had missed her roommates, arriving early and practicing until late in the evening they were never in the same place at the same time. Today she found them both in the apartment and she couldn’t contain herself.

Portia went back into the kitchen, and Trish lowered her sketchpad, looking somber. “What is it, Sydney?”

“I got the prima role in the ballet!”

Trish dropped her pad and raced over to hug her tightly.

Portia, now standing at the sink, stared at Sydney through the open partition. She wore a look of shocked disbelief.

Sydney hugged Trish, ready to burst with happiness. “I can’t believe it! I found out Monday!”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Trish grinned.

“It’s been crazy, and I could never catch up with you guys.”

“I don’t know why you can’t believe it,” Portia muttered. “You’re fucking the owner of the show.” Sydney let go of Trish and looked over at Portia. “I knew you’d say that.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“The decision to make me the star was made before I went on a date with Nolen. The owner of the show is Xenia Minetti, and according to her, she’s fucking him, not me. So my position in the play was something that I earned fair and square!”

Trish gasped. “So you slept with him? Really, so soon?”’

Sydney smiled. “It was fantastic!” she said, dying to tell them how great Nolen was, in and out of the bed.

Grateful she didn’t bruise easily. It would have been awful if she spent the week explaining Nolen’s handprint on her throat.

Trish blushed and shook her head, but Portia turned from the sink to check on the chicken.

“Portia, the people at the production don’t know that I’m friendly with Nolen now,” Sydney said. “We’re keeping this low key. Please be as happy for me as I am for you whenever you walk through that door with a new gig, no matter how you got it.”

Portia looked back over her shoulder. “Ricky was really hurt when you left the club. I sat up all night talking to him.”

Sydney looked at Trish, who shrugged, refusing to get into the conversation, and then turned back to Portia. “Well, I’m sorry he was hurt, but our relationship is over. He knows that.”

“What’s going on with you?” Portia snapped, taking the chicken off the burner and wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “You used to care about other people and their feelings. Lately you’ve been really selfish. Having that man come to Ricky’s club and leaving with him in Ricky’s face, then not bothering to tell us where you were staying all night?”

“I’m not doing this with you!” Sydney snapped, picking up her bag and heading for her room.

Portia came out of the kitchen. “I don’t want to fight either. I just want to know what’s going on. Ricky’s the first guy you dated when you came to New York. Almost two years and you haven’t dated anyone else. He thinks that means something Sydney. Exactly what makes Nolen Adams so special other than his money and the fact he owns your show?”

Sydney stopped halfway to her room. She looked at Portia, then at Trish, who was watching her closely.

“Love,” she said firmly. “I’m in love with Nolen.” Her heart raced from the revelation—for three days she fought against the truth. She would tread with caution and take things slow. That’s why she put him off all week.

Portia and Trish were her best friends. She planned to tell them the truth.

Portia’s eyes grew wide, and Trish stepped forward, looking shocked. “Sydney, are you sure?” Sydney sighed. “I wanted to keep this under wraps,” she confessed, “but you two are my best friends. I think I’m in love with him.”

“Oh my God!” Portia shouted. “Are you crazy? That man just wanted to sleep with you, Syd! He can have any woman in this town. Do you really think he would want some nappy-headed girl from Beaufort, South Carolina?”

Trish pushed Portia. “Stop it! You’re going too far!” she shouted.

Sydney glared. “I see what’s going on now, why you’re so determined to make this into something ugly.” Portia tossed her long curls from her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How many men like Nolen have you screwed, Portia?” Sydney retorted.

“Sydney, stop,” Trish said, pulling at her arm.

Portia smirked in Sydney’s face. “Enough to know that he’s probably struggling to remember your face.” Sydney slapped her, hard. Portia swung back, hitting Sydney across the face. As they fell to the floor, screaming, kicking, and hitting, Trish jumped in and tried vainly to pull them apart.

“Stop it, damn it!” she screamed.

Sydney and Portia froze. Trish stood over them, her tear-streaked face beet red, her hair disheveled.

“We’re a family! We’re supposed to love each other. What’s wrong with you two?” Pushing each other away, they got to their feet, panting. Sydney spoke first. “Trish, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not! You shouldn’t have hit Portia!”

Portia gave a snort. “You crossed the line.”

“And, Portia, you shouldn’t have attacked her with your hate and jealousy just because your life is shit!” Trish shouted.

They looked at her in shock. Trish never cursed. Trish shook her head, crying. “I don’t want any part of you hurting each other. I’ve had a lifetime of meanness. I won’t live with it. I can’t have it around me!” Turning, she grabbed her leather jacket and keys from the sofa chair.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Sydney said, trying to stop her. “We were both wrong.” Trish shook her off. “I’ve got to go!”

Portia frowned at her. “Go where?”

Trish looked at her, then at Sydney while still crying. “Someplace where I can just be me, away from all this hate!”

She left, slamming the door behind her.

“She must be going to the community center,” Portia said, adjusting her denim skirt.

Sydney looked at the door. “Yeah, maybe.”

“She’s been acting strange all week.”

“Strange? How?”

“I don’t know. She came in here brooding after that little paint session. Then she disappears on this job she won’t talk about for hours. And now this?”

Sydney knew that Trish was supposed to paint Todd, and things might not have gone as well as she’d hoped. She started to tell Portia, but after Portia had accused her of getting top billing because she’d been with Nolen, she could only imagine what she would say about Trish being attracted to a man who was paying her to paint him.

She looked at Portia in disgust. After all of the slime buckets she had slept with in this town, and the way they both had supported her, now she was judging them.

“You hungry?” Portia asked.