Cosmopolitan Girls (4 page)

Chapter 7

Caught Up

I stood proudly next to Robert center stage at Radio City Music Hall. I was running on fumes and pure adrenaline, but we did it! Our presentation was solid, and as the theater emptied out, I soaked it all in for the last time and shifted my focus to Robert, who was finishing up an interview with
Entertainment Weekly.
No better time than right now.

“Robert, I took to heart our conversation the other day, and I agree in order to make a splash on Exhale it's gonna take a star. What would you say if I could deliver Alix Alexander?” I said, walking alongside him as we talked.

“I'd say fantastic. But it'll never happen in a million years. She's too hot right now. Alix is a huge movie star.”

“I know her and she's psyched about doing a one-hour show about a female cop who is tormented by her past. All I need to know is if I get her in a room with you and a hot writer, can we do this?” I wasn't backing down.

“You are
persistent,
Lindsay Bradley,” Robert said, shaking his head and walking away. I was sure he'd left me hanging, until he turned back around midstride. “But I like it. You pull it together and I'll guarantee a pilot, maybe even some episodes.”

“That's all I needed to hear.” I was ready to make my move.

I told Robert when I first took this job that one of my dreams was to produce for television. So, I plan on taking some serious time and putting the elements of this show together: the star, the writer—and then I'll convince him that I can produce it.

I coasted through the Upfront and Robert was getting praised by the media and the chairman as if he were the prodigal son who had saved the company. Robert made sure my contributions weren't overlooked. I got a nice mention in daily
Variety
and the awkward moment exchanged that night in his office was never mentioned again. Robert respects me and he's proving that he really wants me to succeed. I know he wouldn't do anything to cross that line and jeopardize everything he's built.

I got Robert excited about the idea of going after a big star to do a drama series for Exhale. I would produce it and Alix would star. Alix and I had developed a great rapport. We hung out a few more times before she headed back to L.A. to start shooting her new movie. She loved the show idea too. Alix liked to party and have a good time, and I perfected the art of schmoozing, courtesy of my corporate American Express card.

“Lin Lin!” Tara waved me over to the booth where she and Judy were on what looked to be their second round.

“Hey, here's to the girl who's the toast of the town. Nice mention in the trades,” Judy said, handing me a fresh Cosmopolitan, as I sat down.

“What's the 411, ladies?” Judge Judy ordered. Court was in session.

“The 411 is, I got a man! I'm crazy about some Troy y'all. He treats me good and we have so much fun when we're together. None of that big-dog, shot-caller crap, treating me like I'm an accessory in his life. We talk, vibe, and Troy makes love to my mind.” I was caught up!

“All that's fab, but what about the sex!” Judy exclaimed.

“No sex,” I said, sipping my drink.

“Excuse me?” Judy interjected, clearing her throat.

“Hold up! Lin Lin. You mean to tell us you haven't let go of the good stuff yet?” Tara was shocked.

“Nope! This time I wanted things to be different. Maybe have a chance at a lasting relationship. It's hard 'cause you know I'm a firm believer in giving it up on the first date,” I said, as we all broke into naughty laughter.

“Damn! What's it been, a month?” Tara rolled her eyes. “But, I hear you. I need that kind of self-control.”

“I'm not mad at you either,” Judy interjected. “All I know is he's the complete package we all want and strive for, the ‘Ultimate Prize.' This man could give a girl everything she ever wanted: marriage, seven figures, a palatial estate in Closter, New Jersey, babies, and serious shopping in Barneys' procreation department,” she said longingly.

“Hello!” I added, giving Tara and Judy a soul-sista high-five.

Not that Judy had to tell me. I knew Troy was a rising star. He was one of the top video directors in the industry and soon he would be a paid
high
seven-figga-jigga!

And here comes my man now . . .

Troy was walking through the door headed straight for our table.

“Hey Troy,” Tara said, scooting over to make room as he bent over to kiss me.

“Whassup Tara? Whassup up Judy?” Troy politely greeted.

“Hey T!” Judy greeted, giving her famous air smooches. “By the way, that new Busta video is the bomb!”

“That's 'cause my man is the bomb!” I said, sexily putting my arm around him.

My cell rang. I cringed. “I'm sorry, I thought I turned it off.” I fumbled for the phone.

“Robert didn't give you those instructions. You'd better answer the phone,” Troy said flatly through gritted teeth while removing his jacket. His suspicions that Robert kept me on a short leash for personal reasons were becoming harder and harder for me to convince him otherwise.

I excused myself, finding a quiet spot to take the call. Robert wanted me to come in an hour early tomorrow to go over some research before our staff meeting. When I hung up and returned to the table, Troy had finished my cocktail and seemed more relaxed.

“Can you ladies handle some shots?” Troy challenged the table, calling out to the bartender to bring over his best tequila.

“Whatever. How about, can
you
handle a shot?” I smarted off, kissing him on the lips as he pulled me close.

“Next time you better let your boss know you're off the clock, before I tell him. Man to man. I don't like how he tries to have all this power and control over you.”

“You need to just worry about having control over your
own
woman,” I playfully jabbed, stroking his face, kissing him again.

“Keep it up, and I will throw some of this control on you.” Troy smiled, becoming aroused as I pressed my body against his.

“Do you guys need a room?” Tara teased as we all broke into laughter.

I lost track of time. About five shots later we had abandoned my girls, and we were in our own little world on the dance floor. A funky hip-hop track was bumping as Troy danced behind me. He began rubbing my thighs. I suddenly remembered I'd gone pantiless. Big deal. “Girlfriend” liked to be free every now and then too, especially in the summertime when I wore certain clingy fabrics.

In the clumsiness of tequila shots and Cosmos, I tried to stop Troy's hand, but it was too late. His hand slipped under my dress. As he began to massage me, I felt myself having an orgasm on the dance floor. I excused myself and rushed into the ladies' room.

I had that drunken pounding-heart feeling. Had anyone seen my lewd act?

“Oh we saw it all!” Tara barreled into the bathroom.

“Everything! You two are wild!” Judy screeched. “We just came to tell you we're out. Not that you would notice.”

We giggled, giving each other good-bye hugs and air smooches. When they were gone, I stared in the mirror for a moment.
Look out Lil' Kim!
I thought, hysterical with laughter.

I flung the bathroom door open and exited with my head held high. I scooped Troy by the arm, and we walked out of the bar and right into Randy Lanier.

“Whassup T? Lindsay?” Randy was so suave it made my stomach turn. He had that pretty, prep-boy look I was talking about. It was our first time seeing him since Troy and I started dating and you could feel the tension. My high was instantly blown.

“Whassup Randy!” Troy gave him a pound.

“Randy,” I said, avoiding eye contact.

“Don't leave. Stay. Let's have some drinks. I know you like drinks, Lindsay!”

Randy wanted to make it clear we had history. “No, I'll pass.” I ignored Randy and seductively pulled Troy close. “But you stay, honey.”

“You sure?” Troy asked.

“Absolutely, have fun.” I kissed him good-bye, wishing my girls were still here. I flipped my hair and strutted off Naomi Campbell style. I had to make sure my exit was memorable.

Chapter 8

Killer Dress

My wedding planning is in complete shambles!

Granny and my mother can't afford to fly down here every weekend to help me pick out my dress. It's bad enough I compromised with the entire family by having the ceremony in Buffalo. But I will not, I repeat
not
buy my wedding dress in Buffalo! Not when I live in the greatest fashion city in the world, second only to Milan.

Not to be misleading, Michael and I are far from rich. But this is my first and hopefully last time being a bride. I plan to have my nuptials in all the major publications back home and
Jet
magazine, and I plan on representing Buffalo well.

My dreams of becoming a famous writer haven't come to fruition just yet, but relocating to the city and getting married is considered success in the eyes of Buffalonians. So on that note, I
must
look the part. Never mind the fact that I've been driving poor Kyle insane with my indecisive dress antics.

“What about this one? I like the way the train detaches.” Kyle held up what could have easily been gown number two thousand. Lord knows I've lost track.

“Yeah, it's nice but I don't know if I want my dress to be detachable!” I said, shuffling through Macy's bridal book. Kyle shot me a look and hung the dress back up, then continued to riffle though the endless racks of white.

“I have two words for you,
high maintenance,
and all I know is you better cut it out!” Kyle warned, but I knew better. Kyle was too happy to help me look for a dress. It took everything in him not to run into the dressing room and try one on himself.

“It's my wedding, so I'll complain if I want to,” I said, playfully sticking my tongue out.

“I'm serious. This is our third store of the day. I mean, give me a break. I understand you want to look fabulous, but you know I know you. All of a sudden you want to turn into Miss Dainty. Hell, I can't even remember the last time I saw you in a dress. Trying to get all Miss America on me. Who do you think you are?” Kyle carried on. Although he wasn't really looking for an answer, something stirred inside me. I was Charlie Thornton. I was a self-made beauty, and in the process of transformation from girl to woman I've become, shockingly, just what Kyle said,
high maintenance.
What's wrong with that? It's not the typical definition of “high maintenance”: the mandatory weekly manicure, pedicure, and wax-me type. No, I'm the girl with slightly rough edges. Ashy hands, if I'm too busy for tedious moisturizing. Hairy legs in the summertime, if I don't feel like shaving. And maybe even chipped fingernail polish if I don't have time to make it to the nail shop.

That's who I am, but when I need to show it off, believe me, I know how! And for the first time in a long time, I feel good about myself.

Placing my hands on my hips I decided to let Kyle and the whole world know. “Well, mister, I'll tell you who I am. I'm one of the hottest new copywriters at my job. I have a man who wants to give me his last name, and although I'm thirty-two, I can still pull a twenty-year-old from all shades of the color spectrum. I'm all that
and
a bag of chips! That's who I am! So if I'm a little high maintenance, so be it. I have two words for you:
killer dress!
” I threw up my hands, making a grand exit.

“Oh no, Miss Thing didn't read me!” Kyle said, laughing as he ran to catch up with me.

I got home and the house was a mess, but thankfully silent. Michael had decided to treat the kids to Six Flags. They'd be at the amusement park till dusk. I had been complaining about my writer's block to Michael. So this morning, on my side of the bed, he left me a Giant Hershey's Kiss and a greeting card that read:
I love you a lot, and I hope some
time alone will help lift your writer's block. The poem is lame
maybe, because you're the writer of this family.

I'm so lucky to be marrying a man who truly believes in me and my dreams. The card reminded me of when I first laid eyes on Michael. I was shopping in the NYU campus gift shop. I was taking a creative writing class to brush up on my skills, and Michael was completing his carpenter's license. He was looking for a birthday card for his mother and asked for my help. I suggested he get a blank card and write from his heart. When I told him I was a writer, Michael suggested I help him with the card in exchange for dinner. We've been inseparable ever since.

This morning was a disappointment as far as the dress hunt was concerned, but I had all afternoon to take another shot and work on my script.

I ran to my desk and decided to go back to an old ritual that my professor from NYU had passed on to me. I turned on the computer and printer. Professor Shepherd's method was to sit down with a printed copy of the script. This would allow the words to breathe and come to life, sparking a natural wave of what to write next. While the script was printing I could quickly tidy up the apartment, freshen up, and slip into some comfortable writing gear.

My favorite Diptyque candle was burning, and my sounds of nature CD played softly throughout the apartment, and I was on my third glass of Riesling. I was happily in the zone, sitting in the middle of the apartment surrounded by the pages from my screenplay that covered most of the floor. Suddenly, it came to me. I got it! I jumped up and sat down into my chair.
Act 5, scene 1 . . .
My fingers could barely keep up with the speed of my thoughts but I was on a roll.

Suddenly, the front door flew open, and terror invaded the room. MJ ran right over my papers, and I made a mad dive to protect what was left. “Damn it MJ, watch out!” And right out of a scene from
The Matrix
, out of the corner of my eye, in slow motion, Tiffany was running in and tripped on the cord to the computer. My heart stopped. I looked up, and the computer screen went black. “No!” I screamed as I tried to rescue the file, but it was too late, Act 5 was all gone.

Tiffany was on the ground holding her scraped knee and crying. Michael quickly picked her up, assessed the damage, and then walked over to me and kissed me on the forehead.

“I'm sorry babe, I love you,” Michael said. “Listen, Little Man,” he said to MJ, “you have to watch where you're going, okay?” MJ looked up at his dad and then at me, smiled faintly and said “Sorry.” “Come on, MJ, help me get your sister ready for bed,” Michael said while picking up the remaining papers from the floor. He turned back to me and whispered. “Right after I put them to bed, we'll tootsie roll all night, I promise.”

Instantly my body warmed over. “All night?” I asked wantonly.

“All night,” Michael said, discreetly sticking his tongue out at me, causing us both to laugh.