In Love by Design (The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod) (2 page)

Unfortunately,
Friday night the senior Drakes caught a late evening flight back to Chicago with Svettie. They were providing the little baby with moral support. The Russian was freaking out after being requested to show up on Saturday to prepare for her witness testimony in the government’s case against her ex-boyfriend, the money man for a Russian crime boss. Svettie’s time slot for testifying had been moved up to first thing Monday morning, instead of later in that week.

This meant I never got to have my
cozy lunch with Luke’s darling mother. That was sad enough, but it also meant I was foiled again in my attempts to see the inside of Luke’s house. Once more that accursed farmstead has beaten me, but I’ll never give up.

On the bright
er side, Damaris and Paul seem thrilled that Luke has a girlfriend. Mama D’s called me several times over the past two weeks. Both of us were busy women, especially me at this time of year, but we agreed texts and emails were crappy ways of getting to know one another. We’ve had a few fun phone conversations, and one not so fun conversation. At least, it wasn’t very fun for me.

Th
e result of this conversation was the second thing on my mental list tonight that was making me see green, and not in an eco-friendly way. Innocently, Damaris mentioned that Svettie lives with Luke in his Chicago condo. I’m sure Damaris thought Luke must have shared this small detail of his life, so I kept quiet that I had no clue Svettie lived there.

Was
I wrong to be unpleasantly surprised to find out a woman blatantly after my man lived with him in Chi-town? In his studio condo? A condo that I’ve never been invited to visit?

Was
I wrong to look back now and read into Svettie’s smirking smile when Luke’s parents stopped by the store to say goodbye to me that Friday evening on the way to the airport? A smirk that plainly stated sneaky Svettie hadn’t given up trying to get Luke because now she was going back to her territory--a place where she lived and worked with
my
boyfriend?

I don’t think I
was, either.

I totally agree it
’s beside the point that Damaris was telling me how she’s helping Svettie find her own place. Svettie’s loser boyfriend was firmly behind bars and not getting out anytime soon. Damaris said now that there’s no threat on the table for her personal safety, Svettie was free to live as she pleases without worry. Svettie can rent or afford a condo of her own, since she has a nice little nest egg saved up for a down payment. Being somewhat familiar with Chicago’s condo market and the currently squeaky tight lending practices for mortgages, I concluded Svettie must indeed have some whopper of a nice little nest egg. She hadn’t been working for Luke’s company that long. This led me to believe it must have paid well to be the trophy girlfriend to the money man of a Russian crime lord before Svettie ran off.

‘Although, maybe
a booby-prize is a better description than trophy and the dude paid her off to leave,’
I thought darkly, recalling Svettie’s hysterical fits.

Damaris went on to
heap praise on her son. Sure, I agreed that Luke was a great guy for helping to provide protection and a safe haven for poor Svetlana, since he’s gone so much and his condo sat empty most of the time. It’s the “most of the time” that won’t stop rankling around in my brain box.

I know women and I have a
filthy, suspicious imagination. Ms. Romanov probably sashays around the condo clad only in those white fur Yeti boots while saying, “Oh, Luke vhat is vrong vith me? Help me! I forgot to put my clothes on today!”

I found a reason t
o get off the phone with Luke’s mom soon after that little bombshell. It was either that, or Damaris might be able to tell by my inventive swear words what I really thought of her beloved son’s silence on the subject of living with that skinny, robe-dropping Russian. Unhappily, I had to draw another logical conclusion. Luke’s deliberately chosen not to tell me that he and Svettie have been condo comrades during the entire time we’ve known one another.

The only bright si
de I could muster up after learning this was Stella assured me those stupid fur boots of Svettie’s had to be coated in some kind poisonous chemical to repel dirt and stay so white.

The
third item on my list evolved from a conversation with Jazy ten days ago. It was the Sunday night when our Women’s Weekend was finished and the Florida girls were safely on their homeward bound plane.

We
’d had our traditional family dinner earlier and almost everybody had left my apartment to go home. Armed with a tin of Mama D’s baklava and an armload of Bride magazines, Blanca went happily with Stella to have a sleepover at her garage apartment.

Jazy and I were alone
in the kitchen and sitting around the island. Looking over her shoulder at the tall couple on the sofa, Jazy said in a low voice, “Great, I can finally talk to you about James Byrd without anybody around to overhear.”

Following her glance,
I looked at Crookie and Tre in the living room. Amused, I noted they were now sitting a foot apart while watching TV together. This was progress. At the rate they were creeping closer and closer, maybe their elbows would have contact by Christmas. They were so cute together that I kept forgetting Crookie’s wife’s funeral was still two days away on Tuesday morning.

You’d think by the w
ay Crookie was yelling at the TV that they were watching Sunday night football. Tre J had come into the kitchen to fill their wine glasses a minute ago and informed Jaz and me that it was a cooking show, not the NFL.

I’ve never seen Crookie so aggressive, but he must take his cooking seriously if his shouts of, “You call yourself a chef! Any idiot knows that was too much oregano!”
were any clues.

Laughing,
I encouraged Tre J to take the whole bottle with her. When she left the kitchen I replied to my sister, “Ah man, do we have to talk about James Byrd?”

“Yes we do
,” Jazy answered firmly. “Why won’t you hook up with him, Bel? Really, I think you should. He’s as great as they say!”

I
tried to give her the benefit of the doubt that she wasn’t saying what I thought she was saying. “Jazy, why are you trying to push me and James Byrd to hook up? I don’t get it.”

Jazy’s grin was full of self-satisfaction. “He’s seriously got the touch, Sister. You would not believe what he’s
done to me, it’s friggin’ amazing! I never believed a man could convince me to do half the shit James has, much less make me love it!”

Throwing my hands up in aggravated
disbelief, I retorted, “Jazy, do you seriously think I need your advice on who to hook up with, for Pete’s sake? What about the limo? What was that all about?”

J
azy’s face wore a look of wary confusion at my tone and then her arched brows drew together in a slight frown. “Oh, the limo was just James’ unsubtle way of letting you know he’s interested in taking you on,” she shrugged and added with a flippant laugh, “and because he thought we’d enjoy the hell out of it. Hey Bel, why don’t you chill, I was only making a recommendation!”

I shook my head
in dismay and crossed my arms. “Geesh, Jaz, the day I need you to recommend what man has the touch, especially after he’s touched you, is the day we’re both touched--in the freakin’ head! What is wrong in your brain that you’d think for one nanosecond I would ever be interested in such a thing? What do you think Luke would have to say if he heard you trying to hook me up with your leavings?”

J
azy now looked totally confused and then her face got tight. “My leavings? I haven’t left James. I told you he’s really fucking good and knows his stuff.” She got off her stool and grabbed her purse. “Fine, don’t take my advice on anything. God forbid the little sister should know anything in this damned family. What does Luke have to do with anything, anyway? Is he so great in this area, too? Are you so dick whipped you can’t make decisions now on your own?” Jazy grabbed her coat next and put it on with angry jerks. “Wow Bel, it’s been what--three days? Already you’re acting as brainless as every other woman around here because you’ve got a boyfriend. I NEVER thought I’d see this day!” She stalked off through the dining room towards the foyer and yelled back at me over her shoulder, “Even Charles Barkley says James is brilliantly talented!”

At the mention of
my banker’s name, I was completely floored. I was sure that I’d lost my mind. Did Jazy say Mr. Barkley has an opinion, and a mighty positive one at that, on James Byrd’s sexual performance?

Then I
burst out laughing. “Wait, Jazy! Just wait a minute, okay?”

I caught up with her in the
dining room and threw my arms around her to stop her from leaving while trying to contain my laughter. She stood stiff with affront in my arms.

“You haven’t been talking about sex,
have you?”

Jazy
’s eyes bugged out at me like I was crazy which set me off again. I started hopping in place while holding my legs tightly together. I’d quaffed several glasses of water with our stir fry dinner. Crookie was a little heavy-handed with the Tamari.

I gasped out
over my snorts, “Uh-oh, come with me to the bathroom before I pee my pants!”

Not giving Jazy a chance to leave, I held
onto her and pulled her along while she fought to get away and shook her arm violently to dislodge me.

Distracted from his TV show,
Crookie was watching us wide-eyed and inquired tentatively, “Did I hear yelling? Is everything all right?”

He looked at me hopping in place and laughing while holding onto
a bucking, pissed off Jazy and turned to Tre J in bewilderment.

Grinning, she patted his shoulder and
said, “Ignore them. They’re fine.”

I pushed
the flailing Jazy ahead of me through the foyer. “Yeah, everything’s fine, we’re just going to the bathroom together!” To Jazy, I laughed and said, “Settle down, you’re scaring Crookie!”

Before the bathroom door had slammed shut behind us, I dropped my jeans and hit
the toilet. Sighing with relief, I forced myself to be serious and explained, “Holy Crap, Jaz, since the second you opened your mouth about James Byrd, I’ve misunderstood what you meant about him! I’m sorry, okay?”

“
Uh, so I gathered.” Jazy replied huffily and then couldn’t hold onto her mad any longer. She relaxed back against the door in the small bathroom and started laughing, too. “Did you see Crookie’s face out there just now?”

We snorted and snickered
, and I answered, “Let’s just say Crookie’s had an interesting time of it these last few days while staying here with all us women. I think he’s traumatized.”

F
inishing my business and then standing at the sink to wash my hands, I observed my sister cracking-up and interrupted to demand, “If you’re not trying to get me to make beautiful love with James Byrd, then what do you want me to do with the blasted man? I hope to God it has something to do with finance since you invoked Mr. Barkley’s hallowed name.”

Jazy laughed harder. “
Give me a minute here. I can’t get your face out of my mind either. Now that I know what you’ve been thinking all along and remembering what I said…” She rubbed her face and got her breath. Then she glared at me and sniffed in a righteous tone, “Hey, that’s some messed up shit you accused me of doing, Bel. Against the record, I’ve never slept with James Byrd. I should smack you for even thinking such rotten things about me.”

“It’s for the record,
not against, and I’m astounded to hear you’ve passed James up. Isn’t he some kind of super-stud with a dong-a-long of impressive proportions?” Right after the words left my mouth; I shook my head in dismay and quickly held up a hand to stop her from answering. “Never mind, please don’t say one word. I really don’t want to know about James Byrd’s sex life or his anatomy. It’s those Florida girls. All their penis talk was a bad influence on me this weekend.” I tugged on the bathroom door knob and Jazy stood up straight while I went on, “And
of course
that’s pretty messed up shit to accuse you of, Jaz. That’s why I got so weirded out. The idea you would ever think in a million years your favorite middle sister would want your leftovers is just sick!” Stepping into the hallway, I shuddered. “I don’t get why would you want to smack me for what you were thinking? You should beat yourself up, if you feel the need to hit something.”

My tough
little sister’s nostrils flared and I smirked. “Dick whipped, am I?”

When I saw her arm twitch, it was
my signal to run. Hurling threats, Jazy chased me down the hall, past my lovestruck and useless bodyguard on the sofa, twice around the dining room table, and back into the kitchen. Laughing from across the island, I called for a truce and Jazy must have been feeling off her oats because she agreed. Fanning her rosy cheeks, she took off her jacket and sat back on her stool. I poured us each a glass of chilled Riesling.

Jazy
took out her spite by informing me the rumors concerning the freakishly handsome James Byrd were true. He was a super-stud with a super-dong. Against my will and with way too much relish, Jazy named names and gave me in-depth, second-hand testimonials regarding his sexual expertise. She used sex slang I’ve never heard of before to describe sexual techniques and gymnastic maneuvers I’ve never dreamed of before. When she ran out of fingers and toes to count out women’s names, I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. I was definitely impressed with her total recall and attention to detail.