Anything But Mine
Authors: Barbara Justice
ANYTHING
BUT MINE
A novel by:
Barbara Justice
© 2015 –
Barbara
Justice –
All
Rights Reserved
ISBN: 151208560X
ISBN 13:
9781512085600
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
For Mom and Bill
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
“E
xplain to me again why we’re here, and not at the beach or in the pool,” Vince Moscolo said while wiping his brow with a handkerchief on a hot, humid August Sunday. “It has to be 100 degrees in this tent,” he added, gruffly.
“We’re here,” replied Daphne Warfield, his girlfriend of six months, “because I’m trying to convince Sid Stein to cast me in his new movie. I explained all of this to you earlier, Vince. I need you to offer to finance the movie so I can get the part.”
“And I told you that I wasn’t going to do that,” Vince replied, aggravated. “I already rented you a house for the summer because you wanted to be close to the ‘action’ out here.”
“Now, Vince,” Daphne said in a sing-
song
voice, as she draped an arm around his shoulders, massaging the back of his neck, “you know how difficult the transition from modeling to acting has been for me. I need you to pave the way with a sizable cash infusion into Sid’s new project.” Scanning the crowd gathered in the VIP tent at the Bridgehampton polo field, she said, pointing, “He’s over there. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Rolling his eyes, Vince turned to Seth Jacobs, his best friend since they met on their first day of college nearly 23 years earlier, and said, “Why does it always comes down to money with women? Just once, I’d like to meet one who was more interested in me than in my wallet, someone who didn’t treat me like a cash machine. Maybe even someone who hasn’t been ‘around the block’ too many times, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, it can’t be easy being one of the richest, and most eligible, bachelors in the world. You must get really tired of fending the women off, buddy,” Seth replied, chuckling, while patting Vince on the back.
“I’m serious, Seth. Just once, I’d like to meet a woman who doesn’t throw herself at me and then expect me to rent her a house in the Hamptons, or buy her a part in a movie, just because she gave me a blow job,” he said, gesturing towards Daphne.
Seth nodded his head in understanding, as the two men continued surveying the scene from the edge of the VIP tent, when Vince’s attention locked in on a tall, willowy woman with a golden tan and blond hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
Now that is a gorgeous woman,
he thought.
She’s young, but not jail-
bait
young, and looks so innocent in that white sundress.
Pointing across the tent, he asked, “Who’s that?”
“The girl talking to Grant Glasso?”
“Yes, the one in the white sundress. Who is she?”
“I’m not sure, but she looks familiar.” Turning to his wife, Seth asked, “Do you know who she is, Rachel?”
“That’s Jennifer LaBella. She’s a model,” she replied.
“She’s stunning,” said Vince, unable to take his eyes off her. “How come I’ve never seen her before?”
“Because she hardly ever goes out to parties or events,” interjected Daphne, who had suddenly materialized by Vince’s side. “You aren’t trying to make me jealous now, are you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vince said, a hint of aggravation in his voice.
“Oh, yes you do,” Daphne replied, as she placed her arm possessively around Vince’s waist. “Anyway, she’s not your type.”
Daphne watched Vince raise his eyebrows in surprise. She laughed and shook her head, before chiding her boyfriend. “You’re a little too tough, and you like it a little too rough. She’s a real goody-
goody
.”
Intrigued, Vince asked, “A goody-
goody
?”
“We did some photo shoots and runway shows together, back when I was still modeling,” Daphne said. “Miss goody-
two
-
shoes
made the rest of the models look bad, because she was always on time, always polite, hardly ever went out, and never showed up hung over. She was in college back then, and always had her head in her books, you know, studying, and when she wasn’t studying she was knitting. Knitting –
can
you imagine it? Ugh, she’s such a bore.” Pointing across the tent to a man who was whispering in Jennifer’s ear, causing her to blush and giggle, Daphne continued, “That’s her boyfriend. She met him in college, and she basically supports him while he works at some charity foundation. He apparently doesn’t make any money, and we all mock her because he never takes her anywhere, and she always has to pick up the check on the rare occasions when they do go out. I mean, seriously, what is wrong with her? She can’t even get a good boyfriend. She’s so dull and boring.”
On the contrary, Daphne,
Vince thought.
Your description of her makes her probably the most interesting woman at this event. She sounds like she’s a nice girl, and with that last name, she must be at least part Italian. And she’s gorgeous too.
“If she rarely goes out, then why do you think she’s here today?” Vince asked, trying not to sound too interested.
“I guess because Grant Glasso is one of the hosts of the VIP tent, and he’s the one who discovered her a couple of summers ago, when she was working in his shop on Job’s Lane in Southampton. She’s been his muse ever since then.”
“She’s from the Hamptons?” Vince asked, feeling a tingle of excitement in his groin.
“She’s actually from the city, but she once told me that she always spent her summers out here on her grandparents’ farm. Her father is a doctor, and her mother grew up out here,” Daphne explained, happy to gossip about her former colleague.
They stood together, silently observing the crowd for a few more minutes. “I don’t know about you, Vince, but I’m going to do some more networking,” Daphne said, as she delved back into the throng.
Vince nodded his head, but had tuned out what Daphne was saying, choosing instead to shift his entire focus to the young woman in the white sundress across the tent.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way about a girl on first sight,
Vince thought. “Excuse me,” he said, as he left Seth’s side and began to make his way across the tent.
I haven’t even met you yet, but I have to get to know you,
he said to himself as he walked towards her.
I have to find a way to make you mine.
CHAPTER TWO
F
ollowing a November fashion shoot in Paris, Jennifer LaBella sank down into the plush leather La Premiere Class sleeper seat after boarding the Air France 777, feeling all the residual tension seep out of her body after a grueling week of photo shoots.
I can’t wait to get home to Chris
, she said to herself, smiling at the thought of her boyfriend back home in New York.
I’m so glad I was able to get on a flight tonight, rather than having to wait until tomorrow morning. He’s going to be so surprised,
she thought, as she slipped her feet out of her ballet flats and stretched her lanky five-
foot
eleven-
inch
frame before fastening her seatbelt.
A flight attendant walked down the aisle with a tray of champagne flutes, and Jen accepted a glass. “Thank you,” she said with a smile.
Some days I have to pinch myself to believe this is all real,
she thought, as she closed her eyes and took a sip. When she opened her eyes, she noticed a man across the aisle nod at her while lifting his champagne glass, as if making a toast, and Jen did the same, more from her good manners than an interest in starting a conversation.
The stranger attempted to engage Jen in conversation. In heavily French-
accented
English, he said, “A beautiful woman, traveling alone. Were you in Paris on business, or for pleasure?”
“Business,” Jen replied, taking another sip of her champagne.
“You’re in the fashion industry, then?”
“Yes,” Jen replied, trying to stifle the conversation while avoiding being rude.
“You’re a model?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” she said, regretting not slipping her sleep mask over her eyes the moment she settled into her seat.
“I’ll be in New York for a week. Perhaps we can get together for dinner,” he said, with a leering smile. “And perhaps something more,” he added, reaching across the aisle to touch her arm.
Jen shuddered and jerked her arm out of his grasp, repulsed by what the stranger was insinuating. “I’m not that type of girl. I have a boyfriend.”
He shrugged, and replied, “Ah, I see. Too bad. We could have had some fun, some romance.”
Choosing not to answer him, Jen instead reached for her large Louis Vuitton tote bag that she had stuffed under the seat in front of her, dug out the sleep mask she always traveled with, and slipped it on over her eyes. She wished she could relax, but found she was too disturbed by what had just transpired.
I’ll never understand why some men feel they can proposition a woman without even getting to know them,
she wondered.
He never even asked me my name.
Jen began to unwind as she inhaled the vanilla and lavender scent she had sprayed on the mask before leaving for Paris the previous week. Just before she drifted off to sleep, she said to herself,
I can’t wait to get home. It will all be better once I get home.
Jen woke with a start and peeled off her sleep mask, shaken and breathless from the memory of her dream.
It all felt so real,
she thought, remembering that, in her dream, she was in bed and passionately making love with her close friend and running partner, Drew Crawford.
I can’t deny the attraction, but I have a boyfriend,
she thought, even as she squeezed her legs together, causing a wave of pleasure to shoot through her core, still feeling aroused by the recollection of Drew’s hands and tongue exploring her body in her dream.
What is wrong with me? I’m going home to Chris, and have to get Drew out of my mind,
she reprimanded herself for the thousandth time since she met Drew two years earlier after she moved back home to Brooklyn to concentrate on her modeling career while finishing her last year of college.
But the truth is that if Drew hadn’t been involved with someone else when we first met, we’d probably be together today
, she thought, recalling the many times she’d caught Drew staring at her, particularly when they were running together on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade.
I’m sure he’s caught me staring at him, too
.
And even though he broke up with his girlfriend, I can’t do anything about it. It would hurt Chris too much, and I just can’t do that.
She turned to her right, and stared out the airplane window as JFK airport came into view.
Chris is my future,
she repeated to herself over and over, trying to get Drew out of her mind.
Chris is the one.
Once the plane arrived at the gate and the captain turned off the fasten seatbelt sign, Jen popped out of her seat and quickly stretched, before slinging her tote bag over her shoulder and retrieving her small carry-
on
suitcase from the overhead bin. With nothing to declare other than three new silk scarves, she cleared customs in record time, and exited the terminal to find a cab.
As grimy and smelly as New York is, it’s still home,
Jen thought, as she pulled her cashmere cardigan tightly around her to ward off the chilly, damp November wind. She climbed into the back seat of a yellow taxi, and said to the driver, “The corner of Hicks Street and Clark Street in Brooklyn Heights, please.”
She turned off the volume of the video screen in the rear of the taxi before digging her cell phone out of the bottom of her tote bag. She began to dial her home phone number to let Chris know she was back, but changed her mind.
I’m just going to surprise him,
she thought with a smile, as she instead opened a note-
taking
app and began making a list of everything she needed to pick up for the pies she promised her mother she would bake for Thanksgiving later that week.
A half hour later, Jen slid the key into her apartment’s lock, and quietly opened the door. She left her suitcase in the entry way and tip-
toed
further into the apartment. As she passed the kitchen, she saw an open bottle of vodka and a container of orange juice on the granite countertop, along with some dirty glasses, and rolled her eyes.
I’m just going to ignore the mess for now,
she thought, as she continued walking down the hallway towards her bedroom.
“Come on, Vicky, stop,” Chris Geary half-
heartedly
pleaded with the petite brunette who was caressing his manhood. “I’ve got to get up, and get this place cleaned up, before Jen gets home tomorrow.
“I think you’re ‘up’ already,” Vicky said in a sultry whisper. “You’re amazing in bed. C’mon…let’s do it again.”
“Last night was a mistake. We shouldn’t have…,” Chris said, his voice trailing off as he tried to resist Vicky, but she had a firm grip on him, and her constant stroking of his erection wore him down. He rolled over and climbed on top of her, entering her roughly. “That feels so good,” he said, as he was thrusting back and forth inside Vicky, so lost in the throes of passion that he never heard Jen enter their bedroom until she screamed.
“What the…oh my God, what the hell is going on here?” Jen cried out as she dropped her tote bag on the floor of the bedroom.
Chris rolled off of Vicky, unable to speak, but Vicky sat up straight in bed and said “Gee, Jen, we obviously didn’t expect you home today. Weren’t you supposed to be away until tomorrow?”
“Get out! Get out of here now, Vicky!” Jen reached down and picked up Vicky’s clothes from the floor and threw them at her. “Get out of here now!”
“I don’t know…Chris, do you really want me to go?” Vicky asked.
“You heard Jen,” Chris replied solemnly. When she hesitated, he said, “Just go, Vicky. Leave. Now!”
Vicky got out of bed and scurried towards the door, pulling her clothes on as she went. When he heard the door slam as Vicky left the apartment, Chris said, “Jen, I can explain everything.”
Jen cut him off, “There is nothing to explain. Pack your bags and get the hell out of here.”
“But, please, Jen, I love you. Please let me explain,” he begged. “She means nothing to me. I was drunk last night and don’t remember what happened.”
“Well, you’re not drunk now, are you? What excuse do you have for what I just witnessed?” Chris didn’t answer, and instead sat silently on the edge of the bed, looking down at his feet and shaking his head. “That’s what I thought,” Jen continued. “There is absolutely no excuse for what you were doing. So pack your bags and get the hell out of here.”
Jen walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where she surveyed the mess that was left from the previous night. As she was cleaning up the dirty glasses and pouring out the warm contents of the orange juice container that had been left on the counter overnight, the enormity of what had just happened hit her. Collapsing onto a stool, she placed her head in her hands and burst into tears.
Chris heard her crying, and came to her side. “Jen, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I love you. Please let me make it up to you,” he pleaded with her.
Jen slowly picked her head up and, turning to look at him, felt nothing but rage and disgust. “How could you do this to me? Especially with Vicky, of all people, after the way she bullied me and made fun of me when we were in college.” She began to cry again, and through her tears, said, “I work so hard, supporting both of us, and this is what you do to me?” She then repeated her words from earlier, “Get out. Get out of here now, and don’t come back.”
Once she heard Chris leave the apartment, Jen picked up the intercom and called the doorman. “Hey, Ray, it’s Jen LaBella,” she said, as she tried to choke back tears. “Chris Geary no longer lives here with me. We broke up. Please don’t allow him upstairs unless he is announced. Thanks.”
While a 24-
hour
emergency locksmith changed the locks on her apartment door, Jen pulled the sheets off her bed and threw them into the washing machine. She began to feel sick to her stomach and doubled over in pain, realizing she hadn’t eaten in nearly twelve hours. She walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, but found nothing but beer, diet soda, and some milk that had gone sour.
Ugh
.
On top of everything I have to go out to the store.
As soon as the locksmith was gone, Jen put on her sunglasses to hide her red, swollen eyes, and pulled a baseball cap onto her head. Grabbing her new apartment key, she shoved some money in her pocket, and closed the door behind her. Walking around the corner and up the block to the supermarket on Henry Street, she aimlessly wandered the aisles, picking up some eggs, milk, cereal, yogurt, low-
fat
cheese, a box of crackers, and, on a whim, some chocolate ice cream. After paying for her purchases, she walked outside onto Henry Street, and immediately bumped into Drew.
“Jen, are you okay?”
Jen shook her head. “No,” she said, as she burst into tears.
Drew took her into his arms and guided her towards her apartment. “Let me get you home. You can’t be out on the street in this condition.”
Once they were in the privacy of Jen’s apartment, Drew unpacked her groceries while Jen collapsed in tears all over again on the sofa. He brought her a glass of ice water, and said “I heard what Chris and Vicky did. I can’t believe what happened.”
“How did you hear about it? I’m so confused,” Jen said, as Drew handed her a tissue and she began to blow her nose.
“I saw Chris dragging a suitcase up Clark Street after I finished my run. He told me what happened,” Drew said.
“I have never felt so betrayed, Drew. Never, ever, did I think he was going to cheat on me,” Jen said, leaning over and burying her head in her hands. “And especially not with her, of all people, after the way she was so mean to me back when we were all in school. She was such a bully.”
