A Girl by Any Other Name (39 page)

to get me to socialize again despite my steadfast philosophy to live the rest of my life like a nun

without a church.

“Don’t be mad. You only turn forty once.”

“I’m forty-three.”

“I know, but we have some making up to do.”

I put on my best tight smile and greeted all the guests. Jeff actually stood up to kiss my cheek,

which was awkward. Libby had set us up on a date—my first and only since the divorce. We hadn’t

clicked at all. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t talk about John and I hadn’t. But it was Jeff, who’d

spent the evening rehashing the pain his ex had put him through, as if she’d personally accosted him in

a dark alley, leaving him injured and penniless, to die alone. The bitterness in his voice had reminded

me that I needed to move on before I sounded like that. The problem with men my own age was that

they were all divorced and disillusioned, and if you found one that wasn’t… Well, there was a reason

he’d never gotten married in the first place.

Looking back, in some ways it was good that John and I never had kids. We’d wanted to once,

when we were young and heartsick. We’d both been able to, but ironically, the combination of us

wasn’t compatible. We’d talked about adoption and surrogates, but somehow time had slipped

through the hourglass, and John had found excuses why we shouldn’t. That should have been my first

clue our marriage was doomed to fail. Funny, I could pick up any small tidbit of foreshadowing in any

novel I read, no matter how well the author tried to hide it, but I was completely oblivious when it

came to my own life.

I chatted amicably with everyone, staying on light topics. Almost every single person told me I

looked fetching for my age, which seemed like a backhanded compliment of sorts, but I smiled and

nodded graciously just the same. A great deal of fanfare was made when a bottle of fine wine was

delivered to our table as our dinners arrived, compliments of Mr Ivanov.

Libby studied the label intently, smoothing out her salt-and-pepper hair before holding it up like

a game show hostess. “Jesus, Julie! This is at least eight-hundred bucks.”

I did a double take, knowing she was probably very accurate in her pricing. Her parents had

owned vineyards, and she’d grown up with an education that rivaled most sommeliers.

“Who’s your secret admirer, Julie?” Myrna Kemp asked.

I shrugged. “Just a man I bumped into.”

“I wouldn’t mind bumping into him. He has good taste,” she said, downing her glass.

“It’s more like fell,” I explained. “I fell into him.”

“Lucky fall,” Myrna said with an air of cool, hostile smugness that only women were capable of.

“It’s kind of showy in my opinion,” Jeff replied, studying the bottle.

“You know, Sandy and John are having a wine-tasting party.”

And there was the reason I didn’t like Myrna Kemp. She wasn’t even friends with my ex, but she

was just a little too happy to mention him in my presence. It was as if she enjoyed my discomfort.

“Well, bully for them. Jesus, Myrna, it’s one thing to invite yourself, but there’s no need to be

such a catty bitch.” Libby never was one for mincing words.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” she slurred slightly, letting me know she’d had one too many.

“Should we send it back? It’s far too expensive.”

Libby grabbed the bottle, pouring a quick glass. “You can’t. It’s opened, and even if it wasn’t, I

wouldn’t let you.”

“It’s very gracious of him.”

Libby winked at me, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He can afford it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Wealth is a physical trait in some people, like hair color or limp knees. He wears his wealth

well, like some men wear ties. Or were you too busy eyeing his biceps to notice?”

“Very funny.”

“So are you going to thank him personally?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

I gently slapped her arm. “Stop it. I told you, he’s too young.”

“Jesus, Jules, when did you get so boring? You’re not in the grave.”

She stood up then and proclaimed a toast to the table. “To my best friend, Julie. The only person

I know that’s not only read, but claims to understand James Joyce. The kind of girl that can tackle

Faulkner for breakfast and enjoy Kid Rock at lunch. You are an inspiration to us all.”

I held up my glass, clinking it with everyone else’s. Thankfully, Libby was being discreet about

my run-in with Mr Gorgeous. Everyone was having side conversations so Libby and I had privacy to

speak openly.

“I’m not boring. I’m just smart enough not to read anything into it. He was being nice.”

“Being nice would be asking if you were all right. It’s more than that when he’s staring at you

like you’re the last bagel in Manhattan.” Libby should write a book called Libbyisms—she had a

million sayings no one else was likely to get. She leaned in, lowering her voice, “Don’t let his

betrayal impact your self-esteem.”

My jaw dropped. “How can it not? What’s worse than your husband trading you in on your

fortieth birthday for a twenty-year-old?”

Libby smiled crookedly. “He could have traded in for two twenty-year-olds and gotten even

change for his money.”

I almost spat out my wine as a result of my completely unladylike laugh. Libby could always lift

my spirits.

Then the birthday cake came and all I could do was scowl. It looked like a floating, blazing

inferno with all the colorful glowing wax sticks perched on it. I counted quickly. Forty fucking

candles… Was she crazy?

“I hope you got the fire marshal’s approval for this,” I said. I noticed that even the waiter was

holding it nervously away from his body before he set it down with apparent trepidation in front of

me. I felt the heat on my face like I was in front of a roaring fire, but there was nothing cozy about his

cake.

“I thought it would be fun,” Libby said, clapping her hands.

I shook my head. I blew out the candles, hoping I had enough breath in my lungs for this exercise

in embarrassment. I didn’t. They all flickered, went out then came back on.

Libby giggled with a child-like glee. “Trick candles.”

I shot her a venomous glare. “You know I’m forty-three and not three, right?”

“Sorry, it might have been too much,” she said, looking contrite.

I couldn’t stay mad at her. She had spent too many nights pulling me out of dark places. A person

has to be willing to go to hell to save someone from it, and Libby had done that for me.

“Help me out before we burn the place down,” I said, putting my arm around her. We managed

to blow out all the candles after three attempts.

A heavy, festively wrapped box was thrust upon my lap. I looked up to see Jeff standing there,

running his hands through his thinning hair, covering the beginnings of a steep widow’s peak. “I was

in charge of buying the present. I hope you like it.”

I smiled. “You guys shouldn’t have gotten me anything.” The dinner was extravagant enough and

the last thing I wanted was a present.

“
We
didn’t. That’s from Jeff,” Libby said.

“Thank you.” I was both surprised by and uncomfortable with the gesture. I carefully tore

through the wrapping paper, ripping at the corners.

Libby leaned in, whispering in my ear, “I bet you wish you were unwrapping Mr Tall, Dark and

Sexy back there.”

I giggled, shaking my head and tore off more of the paper. As soon as I read the flourishing script

on the box, I decided to refrain from opening the whole thing.

“It’s very nice. Thank you so much, Jeff,” I said, hoping it sounded sincere.

Libby peered over my shoulder to get a better look. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“It’s a doughnut maker,” Jeff responded with pride. “I know how much she loves doughnuts and

now she can make her very own.”

I wondered for a moment why he thought that before I remembered. We’d discussed our favorite

pastries for some reason during a lull in his complaints about his family. I realized he’d purchased

this with sincerity, and possibly as a way to create the pretense of a deeper relationship than existed.

In an odd way, it was touching.

“You bought her a doughnut maker? She doesn’t even know how to bake cookies for God’s

sake.” Libby’s voice rang out, halting all side conversations at our table.

Jeff turned beet red, making the wide expanse of his forehead more noticeable.

I shot Libby an admonishing glance. “It’s a very nice present, and I’ll treasure it. I’ll learn how

to use it and make you all doughnuts.”

Libby tapped her long nails against the table. “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it. I hope you kept

the receipt Jeff.”

“I did—”

I held up my hand, “Absolutely not, I love it. Thank you, Jeff.”

Everyone dispersed as soon as cake was over, except Libby and Jeff, who lingered behind. Jeff

took up Libby’s vacant seat when she went to use the facilities.

“Julie, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I really messed up and I would really like another

date with you.”

I didn’t really want to, but I found it difficult to reject him. Libby said I was a people-pleaser,

and I couldn’t make an exception even on my own birthday. “Sure, give me a call.”

As we walked out of the restaurant, I spotted Victor Ivanov, sitting at the bar, sipping a gold-

colored drink in a short glass.

“I need to thank him,” I said to Libby.

“Make sure you thank him a lot. Let me know if you need help thanking him,” Libby said.

Thankfully, Jeff was out of earshot.

“I’ll wait for you,” Jeff offered. Wow, he had good ears, judging from the scowl that he was

giving Victor.

Victor turned in our direction then, as if he could feel our gazes on him. His tie hung loose and

his jacket was off, making him look even younger. His black hair was slightly disheveled, and fell

almost artfully across his forehead. I didn’t think it was possible, but he actually looked hotter than he

had when I’d fallen into him. I found myself breathing hard, unable to form coherent words. He gave

me an amused nod, holding his drink up in a toast.

“Come on, Jeff. She’s a grown woman.” Libby grabbed Jeff’s arm. “You’ll call me if you need

me,” she added, giving me a warning look.

“I’m just thanking him,” I replied, a little perturbed she’d think my intentions were deeper.

The fact was they were, but I didn’t like being called out on it. I hadn’t thought of much else but

our small exchange all through dinner. I had spent the whole time coming up with the most charming

words to communicate my gratitude. Okay, I was really debating with myself. For the first time in my

life, I was contemplating a one-night stand.

“Of course you are, dear. I’ll take this to your apartment.”

Libby relieved me of the awkward birthday present. I’d moved into her building after the

divorce, so she lived just downstairs from me. When I turned to deflect her comment, she was

practically ushering Jeff out of the restaurant. I smiled, watching them speak with animated hand

gestures, until he finally acquiesced and took her arm.

I walked over to the bar, trying my best for a sexy saunter, but I knew I was too jittery to achieve

any such goal. My legs were shaking like I’d stepped onto an electrified floor. It didn’t help that he

watched me the whole way, biting his lip.

“Thank you for the wine. It was delicious,” I said when I finally approached him.

“Only the finest things should ever touch your lips, Julianne.”

I swallowed, wondering why I’d thought this was a good idea. “You can call me Julie. That’s

what everyone else calls me.”

He shook his head. “I have no desire to be like everyone else, especially when it concerns you.”

“Do you always come on so strong?”

He pulled out the empty barstool next to him and gestured for me to sit. As soon as I perched

myself on it, he pulled it closer to him with his foot, so we were only inches apart. I couldn’t believe

how swift his movements were. His legs had to be very muscular to glide the stool over with my

weight on it. He leaned closer to me, dropping his voice to a husky whisper, “I know what I want and

I don’t like to waste time. The only question is, what do you want?”

This was getting too dangerous. Talking to him was like stepping into quicksand—and I knew

my feet were in danger of sinking deeper with every phrase he uttered.

“I just wanted to thank you. I need to be on my way.” I was losing my nerve. He was far too

charming and salacious for the likes of me.

He clasped my hand. “Have a celebratory drink with me, at least.”

“What are we celebrating?” I asked, staring at my trembling hands.

He laughed. “Your birthday, of course. I would rather celebrate with a traditional birthday

spanking, but this will do…for now.” The last two words were stretched out and followed by a

delicious grin.

I swallowed, trying not to grimace.

He tilted my chin so I was staring at him. “Why aren’t you happy it’s your birthday, Julianne?”

Sexy, strong, and perceptive…damn.

“Did you see my cake? It had forty candles on it!”