Unsuitable Men (9 page)

She normally might have objected to having him speak to her that way, but there was an undertone in his voice, an amused indulgence, like he was saying she was spoiled but didn’t actually mind spoiling her. And besides he was calling now; he hadn’t even wanted to wait until the morning, and that made her feel somewhat smug. She liked the idea that he may have struggled all evening with the urge to call her and not been able to sleep until he did.

“Tracy,” he heaved a deep sigh and mumbled something to himself that she couldn’t hear.

She waited.

“I’m back on Wednesday afternoon,” he said finally. “I’ll pick you up at your place for dinner at eight.”

“Okay,” she said quietly, stifling a smile.

“
Alright
?” he demanded.

“Yes,” she said louder. “Okay.”

“Good. And Tracy?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t leave me any more shitty messages,” Brendan said before he hung up on her.

Tracy put the phone back on the charger and turned to hug her pillow once again, smiling into it.

She didn’t need anything new and it wasn’t as though tonight was a date or anything, but Tracy felt compelled to shop, and it was an urge she rarely resisted. She moved through the boutique, slowly,
taking in the shape and cut of each dress, each pant, each blouse, pointing out to the sales consultant, which she wanted to try.

“This is a lot of effort into a ‘quick bite to eat’,” Russell said from behind her.

Tracy shot him a look. Russell was her and Riley’s former housemate, from way back when they’d first moved to the city after college. For the past year he’d been living in Atlanta where he thought—mistakenly it turned out—that he would meet what he called “an interesting new crop of men.” But after several months of dating men he referred to as “flaming drama queens” he had returned to New York where, after all, Tracy believed, he really belonged.

“I like having new things,” Tracy said.

“Hmm,” Russell said skeptically, looking at his nails. “Whatever you say. It’s obvious you’re into him.”

“He’s a good friend,” Tracy said pulling out a short orange linen tunic. She remembered having the distinct impression that Brendan liked her in that orange maxi.

“No.
I’m
a good friend.
Riley
is a good friend. You would never go shopping just for a quick bite to eat with either of us,” Russell pointed out.

He paused to regard himself in a nearby full-length mirror. Tracy couldn’t blame him. He
was
pretty damn cute. The color of dark chocolate with eyes as black as coal, and the physique of someone who spent many vain hours in the gym. Needless to say, Russell and Tracy had a lot more in common than Russell and Riley did. He was the one Tracy consulted about fashion, hair, make-up and all things trendy since Riley was hopeless in that arena.

“Why couldn’t
you
be straight?” Tracy said glancing him over. “I think it’s an act of aggression to be as fine as you are and not like women.”

“You’re trying to distract me with flattery,” Russell accused. Then he paused. “But go on. How fine am I again?”

Tracy laughed and nodded to the sales
consultant, letting her know
that she was ready to try on her selections.

“No, but seriously,” Russell said. “I’m still trying to wrap my mind around why you’re not all over this dude.”

“Because he’s just not . . . right for a long-term relationship. I could never see myself married to someone like him.”

“Someone like
who
? A man who dropped everything and drove like a bat out of hell to Brooklyn to rescue you from unspecified danger?”

Tracy had shared with Russell only some of the details of Friday night’s misadventure; just enough so that she could tell him about Brendan’s visit, but not sufficient information to make him alarmed and go blabbing to Riley. As far as he knew, it was just some guy who wouldn’t leave; a predicament Russell himself had plenty of experience with.

“He’s in the entertainment business,” Tracy said. “He’s a player. He travels to a million places, sits around in clubs sipping Dom Perignon and socializing with music video girls and models.”

“And yet here you are, acting like you’re going to prom when all you’re doing with him is getting a so-called quick bite to eat,” Russell pointed out.

Tracy looked at him but said nothing. It was true. There was no way to account for, or explain why she was feeling this giddy about seeing Brendan. All she knew was that she liked him more than she remembered ever liking any man, and more than that she liked the way he made her feel like a little girl who, when she was with him was totally safe; and like a sexy, desirable woman too because when he looked at her, he so obviously wanted her. It was an intoxicating combination and one that she was not accustomed to. Men who wanted her had never made her feel safe. In fact, often, it was strikingly the opposite.

Russell followed her unselfconsciously into the fitting room, ignoring the raised eyebrow of the sales consultant, and Tracy smirked. Russell had probably seen her undressed more times than all her ex-boyfriends combined. It gave her a kick to sometimes be completely naked in her bedroom walking around getting ready for some event, curiously checking his package every now and again as he lay across her bed, waiting for her to get done. One time he’d caught her looking and rolled his eyes.

Nope,
he’d quipped.
Still gay.

“Did you ever tell Riley what happened that night?” Russell asked as he helped her with the zipper of her first selection, a cream
Reem
Acra
pantsuit.

“No. I was putting it at first and now it seems like it might be too late. She’d be pissed if I told her now, several days after . . .”

“Well
yeah
,” Russell said. “I don’t understand why you didn’t call her that day.”

Tracy lifted her hair and turned in front of the mirror, checking out her derriere. She seemed to be losing it. Maybe a size two had been taking her diet and exercise routine too far.

“Riley’s life is different now,” Tracy explained. “And when the baby comes it’ll be even more different. She’s thinking about babies and nesting and here I come with some seedy story about my one-night stand.”

Russell nodded. “I know what you mean. You see I didn’t show up for that brunch baby shower thing she had. I mean, what the heck would I be doing out in Jersey
oohing
and
aahing
over silver rattles and shit?”

Tracy laughed. “It actually wasn’t that kind of party. But I get your point. She hasn’t turned into some kind of Stepford Wife or anything
don’t
get me wrong. It’s just that she’s happy, y’know? And all my self-inflicted drama just doesn’t seem to . . . fit.”

“Yeah but you were there for her drama. She at least deserves to have the chance to be there with you for yours.”

“Oh shut up,” Tracy said reaching back to unzip the pantsuit. “I hate it when you’re all reasonable like that.”

“She’s still at the condo, right? We could stop by and bring her a cup of coffee or something. Last time I talked to her, she told me woke up to find her precious Lamborghini espresso machine missing.”

“Ah, the joys of obsessive love,” Tracy sighed. “I think her husband needs to be committed to a mental institution honestly.” She would never admit it out loud but she was beyond pleased that Shawn was taking such good care of her friend. If anyone deserved it, it was Riley.

After settling on a Stella McCartney poplin dress with a very demure neckline and a very short skirt, she and Russell took a cab to Central Park West and Riley’s place. These days, you had to punch
an elevator code to get to their floor, a security feature for which Shawn and the only other tenant on their floor had agreed to split the cost.

Upstairs, Riley looked even bigger than she had been just the prior week and Tracy’s eyes involuntarily widened upon seeing her. Russell, never one to mince words, clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Oh my god, girl, you are
huge
!”

Riley rolled her eyes. “Yes. Thank you. I am well aware.”

She hugged them both and made her way over to the sofa where she had clearly been camped out, reading magazines. She eyed the Starbucks coffee cup Tracy was holding and her eyes lit up. Tracy held it out of reach as though Riley might pounce.

“Before I hand this over to you, I need to know two things. One; how’s your blood pressure?”

“Slightly high within range of normal for pregnancy,” Riley said promptly, moving toward her.

“You’re not lying are you?”

“No Tracy, I’m not lying. What’s your second question?”

“You aren’t going to rat me out to Shawn are you? I need to know that if you feel the need to confess, that you won’t bring me down with you.”

“Done,” Riley said.

Tracy handed her the cup and watched as she took a sip, eyes closed as though in bliss. Then she took a deep whiff of the aroma and handed Tracy the cup.

“That’s all I needed,” she explained. “And Shawn’s right. I don’t want to take any chances.”

Russell and Tracy exchanged a look.

“What?” Riley laughed.

“We know you’re going to tell him,” Russell explained.

Riley shrugged. “Shawn and I don’t keep secrets from each other.”

At least not anymore
, Tracy thought uncharitably.

“And besides, he’s on his way home right now. He and Brendan should be here any moment, so it would put a real damper on our reunion if he walked in and I’m holding a venti americano.”

Tracy’s head whipped around to the front door.

“Brendan’s on his way here now?”

“Yeah. He was with Shawn in Philly,” Riley looked confused at her agitation. “They were checking out this guy they’re thinking of signing.”

“Well I knew they were there together. I just . . . so
now
? He’s on his way now?”

“Yes.”

Tracy noted Russell’s amused and smug look but didn’t have time to get into it with him. She had to leave. She didn’t want to run into Brendan before their
da
. . . before he stopped by that evening. It would be too weird.

“Okay, so I’m leaving,” she said. She kissed Riley on the cheek. “Russell, you’re hanging out for awhile, right?”

He nodded. “Sure. But what’s the hurry, Tracy?” he challenged.

“I’ll deal with you later,” she said, heading for the door.

As she pushed through the front door, she heard her friends behind her.

Riley asked “Why do I feel like I’m out of the loop?”

And Russell’s laugh. “Girl, you have no idea.”

Faded jeans, worn brown boots and a white t-shirt.
He looked damned good in those jeans, but still.
Jeans
, while she was standing there, feeling stupid in her hot little Stella McCartney number. Tracy opened the door and stepped aside to let Brendan in, her face studiously neutral. He laughed at her expression and held his hands up.

“You never told me where you wanted to go.”

“So you assumed what? A cookout?”

Brendan shook his head. “I can think of any number of really nice establishments that would be happy to have me, even dressed like this. In fact, I have one in mind, just across the bridge . . .”

“Where?” Tracy demanded.

“You don’t have to be in charge all the time, Tracy. C’mon, let’s find you something else to wear.”

And before she could stop him, he was taking the stairs two at a time and heading for her bedroom. She really had to start putting her foot down about these liberties he liked to take, she thought following him.

When she got there, he was in her closet. Tracy watched as he moved things around on the racks.

“You talk about me and designer stuff? Where your jeans at?”

Tracy breathed an impatient breath and shoved him aside, pulling out a tiered hanger. Brendan grabbed a random pair of jeans and started hunting for a top.

“I was supposed to be taking
you
out for dinner,” she said. “So I should be able to . . .”

“Yeah, I thought about that. And that didn’t sit well with me.”

Oh god, he was about to tell her about him and Meghan.

“I don’t feel right about you thanking me for doing something that any decent man would do,” he said, still looking through her tops. “So I’m taking
you
to dinner.”

“A lot of men aren’t decent, Brendan.”

“Maybe you need to pick a different kind of man,” he said pausing to look at her.

Finally, he pulled out a sleeveless orange blouse and she smiled. She knew he’d liked her in that orange maxi. She took the top and jeans into the bedroom to change.