Bicoastal Babe (26 page)

“So where’s little Miss T and A?”

I glance around the room but don’t spot Jen.

“I don’t see her. I don’t have to stay with her all night, do I?”

“I don’t see why you would.” Victor pulls my arm. “Let’s head toward the bar.”

As I wait behind him for the drinks, I notice an older lady decked out in shiny gold and diamonds, approaching me.

“Are you Lindsey Miller?” she asks.

I nod and shake her hand. “I’m Ethel Kim, Walt’s wife.” Walt. Okay. No idea who Walt is. “Julia pointed you out to me – apparently she’s got some questions for you regarding your little trend thing. It’s so cute, dear. And very interesting!”

“Yes, thank you very much!” I can feel Victor slide a drink into my hand, and I’m hoping that Ethel Kim will introduce herself and explain to him how the hell I’m supposed to know who these people are.

“Walt read the whole thing on the train on his way home from work, and he says it’s worth every penny!”

Walt must work for one of our clients.

“Oh, there’s Julia right now.” She points, and pulls me toward a woman in her thirties. “You two have fun!”

“Hey, don’t mind Ethel,” Julia says as she shakes my hand. “Her husband is on the board of trustees for the paper and she’s got her nose in everything – both in the paper and behind the scenes.” Julia has shoulder-length dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses that make her look like a sexy librarian. She seems really laid-back, and I get a good vibe from her immediately.

“Can I ask – where does her husband work?”

“He works at Citibank in the marketing department.”

Okay. I was right. He’s one of our clients. Mental note to ask Liz to give me a rundown of names I should know.

“So you write for the
Times
?” I ask her.

“Yeah, but my dream is to get into television.”

“Lindsey Miller!” I turn to see two men and a woman whom I’ve never met before. One of the guys gives me the thumbs-up. “Nice job on the trend thing – very cool!”

Who are these people? I feel like I’m drifting around on a spaceship, surrounded by strange, unidentified aliens who mysteriously know my name. It’s giving me a funny feeling – uncomfortable, but in a way that might be anxiety but might be excitement – I’m not sure which.

“So do you want to sit down and rap about
The Pulse
for a few minutes?” Julia asks. “I’ve already talked to your partner.”

“You have? Where is she?”

“She’s around here somewhere.”

Julia turns to Victor. “I’m Julia Sykes. Staff writer for the
Times
Lifestyle section.”

Victor introduces himself and politely ducks away, telling me to come find him when I’m finished.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Julia asks.

I laugh nervously. “Well, you know. Sometimes.”

She gives me a look I can’t decipher – something between confusion and amusement. Then she pulls out a notebook. “Okay, so your partner was telling me that the way you guys thought of your teen panel was completely by accident. Any comments on that?”

Wait a minute. The way “you guys” thought of the teen panel?

“Wait, I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I don’t want to be redundant. What exactly did Jen tell you about the teen panel?”

“She said…” Julia looks through her notes, then reads directly from what she wrote. “She said, ‘The way we started the teen panel is funny – it was actually completely by accident.’ But then we had to stop. So I was hoping you could finish the story.”

I’ll finish the story, all right. But scratching out every “we” and adding a big, bold “Lindsey Miller” in its place. But can I do that? Would it be right? Would it look petty and immature? Or would it be totally understandable and fair?

“This is not about me and it’s not about you. It’s our thing together…” Jen’s words echo in my head as I struggle for the right way to handle this.

“Lindsey?” Julia puts her hand on my shoulder gently, as if to remind me that she’s still standing there.

“I… I’m sorry. Right. Yeah… uh… it was a funny story, actually…”

•   •   •

Walking away from the interview with Julia, I feel like I just posed nude for a pervert’s Polaroid. I took absolutely no credit for my contributions to the newsletter, outside of bobbing my head like a wobble doll every time Julia made reference to “you two” or “you guys” or “you and Jen.” Yet I’m not sure that I didn’t do the right thing. Copywriters at Gordon-Taylor don’t really get credit in the marketing world for their cool ads – the credit just goes to the agency. Or does it? Once again, I feel like such an idiot. I have no idea how the world works.

Making my way back toward the bar, I see that Victor and Jen have found each other. They’re standing at the bar laughing, standing perhaps one centimeter too close for my comfort. Or is that in my imagination?

“How’d it go?” Jen asks sweetly as I walk up.

“Fine,” I answer tersely. “Victor, can we go soon?”

“Seriously? Lindsey, we just got here.”

“I want to go home.”

Victor shrugs at Jen, then reaches for my wrap. But as I turn to toss it around my shoulders, my eyes are blinded by the flashbulb of a camera in my face.

“It’s Jen Savage and Lindsey Miller from Friday’s Lifestyle section,” I hear someone say, and I suddenly feel arms pulling me forward.

When my eyes adjust, I see a photographer, with his light guy holding up a giant bulb. “Let’s have a good one, you two,” he calls out.

Jen jumps over and throws her arm around me. My eyes are still blurry from the flash. I try to smile as the camera clicks three times. Then I glance around for Victor, who’s watching from off to the side, looking amused but slightly jealous. And then I feel another hand on my arm.

“You’re not leaving so soon, are you, dear?” It’s Ethel Kim, whispering in my ear.

“Well, I was going to,” I say timidly.

She shakes her head disapprovingly. “No, no, dear. Let me make you aware of something. According to your newsletter, you’re an expert on spotting trends, is that correct?”

I nod.

“Well, then, darling, you should be noticing right now that the new trend emerging in this room is
you
.” She smiles knowingly. “And,” she continues, “if you play your cards right, all this” – she motions around the room – “all this could be just the beginning.”

And then just as suddenly as she appeared, she’s gone.

I look around the room and everything seems like it’s swirling in slow motion. Ethel Kim is right. I’m at a swanky New York party, and I’m not here because of Victor. I’m here because of me!

“Lindsey, Jen – over here!” I turn to see another photographer, who identifies himself as being from the
W Magazine
social page. Jen leaps to my side and the camera snaps, and it hits me that even if it’s for a very short time, in a very small way, I am somebody in this world.

And when I wake up two mornings later, naked in Victors bed and sticky from last night’s whipped-cream fiesta, I’m greeted by a fresh copy of
The New York Times
and a dozen red roses with a note that reads,
I’m proud of you, Lindsey Miller. Love and admiration, Victor.

B
uying a Halloween costume is not easy.

“Look at this one,” I say to Victor. “Piece of Pizza – how cute!

“I’m thinking more along the lines of Daisy Duke,” he says as he pulls a skimpy getup off the rack.

We’re browsing through the Scare Store, Manhattan’s biggest seasonal extravaganza of costumes and accessories.

“Or what about this. Pair of Scissors! How do they think of these things?”

I look over to see him pulling a Naughty Schoolgirl costume off the rack with a look of desperate hope.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I laugh as he holds it up to me and nods his approval. “But just remember, you’re not going to see it on me anyway.”

His face falls. “Why can’t you spend Halloween with me?” he demands.

“You know why. Because I won’t be in New York that week.”

“So come back for it. I’ll buy your ticket.”

I shake my head. “I can’t. I’m sorry!”

“Why would you want to spend Halloween in Los Angeles? It’s not even special there. Everyone’s so used to dressing up each day like superficial movie assholes that the concept of putting on a costume is totally lost.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m sure I can imagine,” he grumbles.

It’s true. Halloween is in two weeks, and I’ll be in L.A. I’ve been invited to several soirees in both cities, but the Haunted Heaven and Hell party down by the beach with Danny sounded like the most fun. Besides, Victor and some of his Wall Street buddies are dressing up like hundred-dollar bills and walking (on a dare from their office manager) in the gay parade down in the Village. Which means I’d be standing on the sidelines for most of the night.

“So it’s down to Sexy Librarian, Army Sergeant, and Bumble Bee,” I tell him. “Which should I pick?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” he muses. “That’s a tough one. Are you sure you don’t want to throw on a burlap sack and go as Mrs. Potato Head?”

“So you’re saying I should go with the Sexy Librarian?”

“Only if you give me a private preview.”

“But I really want the Bumble Bee!”

“I know you do.” He sighs. “So take it then, and let’s go get some dinner.”

I bite my lip. I’d love to go out for dinner, but I’m so swamped with work that I can’t imagine taking more time out for fun today.

“Uh… okay. On one condition.”

Twenty minutes later we’re sitting in Victor’s living room surrounded by cardboard cartons of Chinese food. I can feel a cool breeze blowing in through Victor’s window, and I’m reminded that summer in New York is officially over.

•   •   •

“Almost finished?” Victor asks hopefully.

I give him a look that suggests he is crazy for asking. I’ve got my head buried in statistics as I frantically try to pull together this month’s results from the Internet trend study, and I’m way behind, as seems to be the norm lately. Victor is half watching
Jeopardy,
bored and frustrated that I’ve had no time lately for drunken carousing or crazy sexcapades.

Indeed, the last two months have been a whirlwind. After the first issue of
The Pulse
came out and the story broke in the
New York Times,
Jen and I became celebrities of sorts in the marketing and advertising circles of both New York and L.A. I’m not saying there aren’t other companies out there doing trend-tracking, because believe me, there are plenty. Most of them have been around a lot longer, and their methods are probably a lot more time-tested and reliable than ours. But we’re the newest, the latest, probably the youngest, and, according to Jen, the best-looking. Like that has to do with anything – even if it were true! But Jen swears, “Don’t underestimate the power of a tight ass, a good outfit, and a killer haircut. If you’re even the slightest bit interesting, they’ll want to take your picture.” Even so, the challenge for me has been to keep the newsletter fresh and creative by coming up with new outlooks on trends every month. So far it’s worked, but now I’m more terrified than ever of slacking off and ruining everything.

But time has become an issue. The more popular our newsletter has become, the more popular
we’ve
become. Which means parties, lunches, dinners, screenings, and various other events around town that have made it hard for me to find time to stand on street corners, harassing people for their opinions on what’s trendy.

So the thing that has suffered is my social life. I just simply don’t have a lot of time to spend with Victor
or
Danny – which Carmen has identified as an undeniably good thing. It means that I’ve been able to have a great time with both of them, without getting too serious with either. And the minute I feel myself falling in any certain direction, I’m whisked off in the other direction.

“Maybe I should come out there for a couple days,” Victor muses.

“Where?”

“LaLa Land.”

“Seriously?” Oh, shit.

“Yeah, maybe next week.”

“But… you know I’ll be busy pulling the newsletter together for print. I won’t have much time to hang out at all.”

“I’m a big boy, Lindsey. I can entertain myself. I could hit Rodeo Drive, maybe go to the beach…”

“No!” I practically shout. He looks up at me curiously. “But Victor, you hate L.A. And it’s a long plane ride for just a couple days. And I really am busy out there.”

Victor crawls over the couch and begins to kiss the back of my neck as he tries to slide my tank top down. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t come visit you.”

I disentangle myself and jump up. I can’t even remotely let myself think about Danny when I’m in the near territory of getting busy with Victor. “Maybe I’m seeing someone out there,” I say nervously.

Victor watches me for a minute, then goes back to
Jeopardy.
“You’re not seeing someone out there,” he says.

“Maybe I am!”

“No, you’re not.” He rolls his eyes.

I stomp my foot in defiance. “What if I am! How do you know?”

“Because I know.”

“How
do you know?”

“Lindsey. You won’t even put on a sexy-librarian costume in public. I highly doubt that you’re fucking two different guys at the same time.”

“You listen to me.” I grab the remote control from his hand and flip off the television. “I am not old Mrs. Prudence Prudity over here. I’ve done some pretty entertaining things in that four-poster bed of yours. Admit it!”

“If memory serves.”

“Admit it!”

“You’re going to have to remind me.”

I jump up, head into the kitchen, and grab the spray can of Reddi-wip that we had fun with not so long ago. Then I stomp back into the living room, walk up behind Victor, and spray the cream all over his head. “There’s a reminder!” I announce triumphantly.

Victor smiles. He looks absolutely ridiculous. Then he reaches up and buries my face in the enormous mound of whipped cream on his head.

I squeal and run, giggling, into his bedroom as he chases me with the spray can.