Complications (2 page)

“It’s what Laura wants too. She hates working in the
Herald
’s secretarial pool. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard her say she wished she’d stayed in grad school, I could buy the whole damn paper.”

“Still, if Nick quits, there’s a job you’d be perfect for.”

“With my resume?” She snorted. “Dream on.”

“They hired Nick right out of journalism school. What makes you think you’re less qualified?”

“Getting laid off from two features editor positions on two different magazines two years in a row doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

“That’s not your fault. New publications go out of business all the time.”

“If it’d only been once, I could get away with chalking it up to bad luck. Twice, and it looks more like bad judgment.”

She had a point. “Have you thought about switching to TV? There’s a producer from MSNBC who sits on the Courtland Industries board. I’d be happy to put in a good word for you.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t have any on-air experience, except for a couple of video blogs I did at my last gig. I doubt that’s what they’re looking for.” She finished her vodka, then stood, swaying on her high heels. Eric sprang up and caught her under the elbow. “Wow. Guess I drank that too fast.”

Too fast, and too much—she’d downed that vodka like it was water. “I’d better get you a cab,” he said, letting go once he was sure she could manage without help.

“You, you don’t have to do that.”

Now she was starting to slur. Had her life really taken such an awful downturn? He’d never seen her like this before. “Yes, I do, unless you’d rather spend the night in the guest room. I’m not letting you get on the subway in your condition.”

She hesitated, then nodded, blinking blearily. “I’ll take the cab.”

He called downstairs for the concierge to hail them a taxi before helping her on with her coat and escorting her down in the elevator. Good thing he’d insisted on coming along—they’d just exited the building’s revolving door when Ally gave a startled yelp and slumped against him.

“Shit!” she hissed, yanking off her left shoe—an elegant black leather pump now missing its heel. “I just bought these a few months ago. Fine Italian craftsmanship, my ass!”

Eric bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Want me to ride along with you?”

“S’okay. I think I can make it from the cab to my front door without breaking my neck.” Still clutching his arm, she bent down to remove her other shoe. “Perfect ending to a perfectly fucked-up day.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Eric replied with a dour grin.

“You’ve got my cell number, right? Give me a call if you need to.”

“You do the same.”

“I will.” She stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek, until a gust of wind knocked her off her feet and into his arms. Their gazes locked for an awkward moment. Then he set her down hastily, both of them erupting in nervous laughter.

He helped her into the cab and, over her protests, handed the driver enough cash to cover her fare and a generous tip. She waved, flashing him a wan smile as the cab pulled away from the curb. He watched it creep south for a block on Eleventh Avenue before taking a left turn.

* * *

Ally collapsed on the couch the moment she got back to Holly’s. She tumbled down a deep, dreamless tunnel of sleep for about three hours, then spent the rest of the night wrestling with her pillow, her head pinging like a broken clock. When she heard Holly puttering around in the kitchen making coffee around seven, she hauled herself into the bathroom to pee and wash her face, trying not to glance in the mirror.

No such luck, of course. God, she looked like she’d been dragged through a knothole backward. That was it—no more fucking vodka. Sighing, she swallowed some Tylenol with a handful of tap water, threw on her robe and trudged into the kitchen.

“Morning, Hol,” she rasped, pulling out a chair to sit down. “Could you pour me a cup too? No sugar this time.”

Her roommate swung around, eyebrows arching under cinnamon-red bangs. “Whoa. Did you and my lumpy couch have a battle royal last night?”

At least Holly was nice enough not to mention how awful she looked. “A little of that, and a lot of me dropping by to see how Eric was doing. We ended up having too much to drink. Or at least I did.”

And nice enough not to say
“Isn’t that getting to be a habit with you?”
aloud,
even if it was written all over her face. “Hope this helps,” Holly said, handing Ally a steaming mug.

She took a long sip, grateful for the caffeine, if not the bitter taste. Not exactly Jamaican Blue Mountain, but still a hell of a lot better than she could afford on her lousy unemployment check. “Oh, well. Back to work on that article today, even if I do feel like hammered dog crap.”

“Got any nibbles for this one?”

“I pitched it to
The New Yorker
, but they weren’t interested. I’ll query the
Atlantic
or
Harper’s
next.”

“Good luck. You’re braver than I am, trying to freelance in this economy.”

“Not like I’ve got much choice.” Ally sighed. “Besides, it could be worse. If you hadn’t offered me your couch, I would’ve had to move back in with my dad.”

“You’d do the same for me.” They fell silent while Holly nibbled at her toast, then got up to put her dishes in the sink. “I’ll be a little late getting home tonight. I need to stop to pick up some groceries and my dry cleaning.”

“I could take care of that for you, if you want.”

“You sure?”

Ally shot her a mock-exasperated look. “You’re letting me crash here rent-free. Running a few errands is the least I can do.”

After Holly left for work, Ally brought her laptop into the kitchen, poured herself another cuppa joe and launched back into research for her article on rising oil prices and their impact on the global economy. Around noon she caught a whiff of her aromatic armpits and decided to jump into the shower, then went out to run Holly’s errands.

It was a pleasant early-autumn day, blue-skied and sunny with a hint of crispness in the air. Ally strolled along, guilt needling her for wasting time she should’ve been spending on her article, but being out and about was too delightful a treat to rush through. She was used to being cooped up in stuffy office buildings all day; even now, without a nine-to-five job, she still clung fast to that old nose-to-the-grindstone work ethic. Still, she spared a few minutes to browse in the little mom-and-pop market on the corner, then headed for the dry cleaner a couple of blocks down on the opposite side of the street.

She walked back to the apartment with a bag of groceries under each arm and Holly’s cleaning slung over her shoulder, humming an off-key tune that trailed off when she spied a black stretch limo parked at the curb. Then Eric poured out of the backseat, flashing a grin, and she froze. What was he doing here? And why did he have to show up when she was wearing her rattiest pair of jeans, an old Columbia sweatshirt and no makeup?

“Hi.” She forced a weak smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“Neither was I, but you left something behind last night.” He held up her BlackBerry.

Holy crap.
She hadn’t even noticed it was missing—but then, her phone hadn’t exactly been ringing off the hook lately. “Thanks. I appreciate you bringing it by in person.”

“I figured you’d want it back as quickly as possible. I wouldn’t last five minutes without my phone.” He slipped it in the side pocket of her purse. “There you go.”

The groceries were getting heavy; she was about to set the bags down on the sidewalk when Eric’s driver stepped forward and took them from her. “Um, how’d you know I was living here?” she asked, her gaze flicking from the driver back to Eric.

“The cab driving off in the wrong direction last night was my first clue,” Eric said. “Then when I showed up at your old building and saw you weren’t listed on the directory, I looked up Holly’s number on your phone and gave her a call.”

So now he knew she was not only out of a job, but reduced to sacking out on her best friend’s couch. Oh for a crack in the pavement to crawl through… “Well, um, thanks for coming so far out of your way. Like I said, I appreciate it.”

She was about to bolt up the front steps, groceries be damned, when Eric reached for her arm. “Let James help you carry everything inside.”

“That’s not necessary,” she snapped. “I can manage fine by myself.”

“I know you can. But there’s no shame in asking for help.”

She hadn’t felt so awful and humiliated about her situation until now. Accepting Holly’s aid was one thing—they’d been friends since freshman year in college, and besides, she knew Holly would never think less of her for it. But Eric’s offer hit her like a fist to the gut, making her realize how sad and pathetic she must look to him.

Her eyes stung, but she blinked hard, channeling the tears into brittle laughter. “That’s funny, coming from Mr. Self-Sufficient himself.”

“You think I haven’t been at the end of my rope? Believe me, I have. I’m sure Nick must have told you what happened the year my mother died.”

God, why couldn’t he just
go
? “What’s that got to do with me?”

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” He shrugged, looking away for a moment, and now Ally saw the weariness—and the loneliness—beneath his veneer of casual indifference. “But I’d hate to see you tumble down the same rabbit hole I ended up in.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, but she had to say something. “It’s not so bad. I’ve got a roof over my head and all the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I can eat. It’s sweet of you to want to help, but I haven’t reached the point of utter desperation yet.”

“All right. But I’d count it as a favor if you’d have dinner with me this evening.”

She hesitated, until he fixed her with an intense blue gaze that turned everything from her knees down to water. “Why?”

“Because I’d rather not go home tonight and drink myself into a stupor again. Think you can help me with that?”

A hundred lame excuses swirled in her brain, but when he flashed her that mischievous smirk that had made her want to smack him so many times in the past, her last scrap of resistance dissolved. “Okay, okay, you win. But it can’t be one of your fancy five-star eateries. I don’t have anything appropriate to wear.”

“I know just the place. Pick you up at seven?”

“Seven it is.”

Eric still insisted on his driver carrying her packages in for her. This time she didn’t kick up a fuss, though her cheeks flushed hot when Eric caught a glimpse of the rumpled bedding piled on the couch.

She peered out the front window as the limo drove away, a tiny anxious flutter settling in the pit of her stomach. Accepting Eric’s invitation was probably a very bad idea, but it was too late to change her mind now.

Eric decided to leave the limo behind tonight, and drove his sapphire-blue Jag XKE to pick up Ally for their dinner date. She must have been keeping a lookout for him, because she emerged from the building a few seconds after he pulled up, flashing him her trademark toothy grin. He climbed out of the car and opened the passenger’s side door for her, grinning right back.

“Do I look okay?” She twirled to give him a prime view of her stylish black wool pencil skirt and matching cardigan, with a white

V-neck blouse underneath. She wore her hair up tonight in a neat classic French twist. Pearls at her throat and earlobes completed the ensemble. “It’s my job interview outfit,” she added with an apologetic shrug. “Nothing else was clean.”

“You look enchanting,” he replied with utmost sincerity, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving. I worked straight through without stopping for lunch.” She gave the car a once-over, letting out a whistle. “What’s with the extra-fancy wheels?”

“I felt like driving tonight.” Eric circled around to the driver’s side. “C’mon, let’s go eat before one of us passes out.”

He cut across town on 40th Street, then headed straight up Amsterdam, pulling up in front of an old haunt from their college days with a familiar red, white and green flashing neon sign. The
l
in “Alfredo’s” was burned out, but aside from that, it looked virtually the same as it had a decade earlier.

Ally crowed with delight. “Oh my God, I haven’t been here in ages! I didn’t even know they were still open.”

“Neither did I, until I cracked open the phone book this afternoon. Shall we go see if that double-pepperoni pizza’s still as good as we remember?”

“
Hell
, yes!”

The restaurant hadn’t changed much on the inside either, except the rickety old TV over the bar was now replaced by a thirty-two-inch plasma screen. Same old cocktail tables in front, booths covered in red-and-white checkered tablecloths in back. The drippy red candles stuck in old wine bottles struck a hokey yet heartwarming chord.

“Talk about stepping into the way-back machine,” Ally observed as the hostess ushered them to a booth, then left them to look over their menus. “In fact, I think I recognize that crack in the wall over there.”

“It’s comforting to know that some things in this world remain constant.”

She gave him a look he couldn’t quite puzzle out, coupled with a tiny smile. “I suppose so.”

They ordered all their old college standbys: Caesar salad, a large double-pepperoni and a carafe of house red. The wine tasted tart and vinegary, but it still packed one hell of a kick; Eric called a halt after a glass and a half, then switched to Perrier. Last thing he needed was to get too intoxicated to drive home, and have to leave the Jag parked on the street overnight.

Ally, on the other hand, appeared quite happy to polish off the carafe by herself. When she started to fill her glass for the third time, Eric reached over and laid his hand across the mouth of her glass. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

The carafe froze in midair. “Who died and made you the booze police?”

Concern warring with discretion, he slowly pulled his hand back. Hard experience had taught him that pressing the issue would only prove futile. But perhaps a more subtle strategy would yield the desired result. “Go ahead and finish the bottle, if you insist. Good thing you’re wearing flats tonight.”